27 August 1941
Felipe Miguez watched the other anthropologist work on the door in the Alhambra palace. Maria Luisa Loyola tugged hard at the vine covering the door, her long pony tail bouncing. It slowly seemed to unravel. He would have taken a machete to it, but she had far more patience than he did. She looked back at him, her black eyes seemingly laughing. She smiled at him, a fetching smile that made him twitch. “Give me a hand with this?” she asked.
Felipe and Javier both tackled the huge vine. With snaps and groans, it finally came away from the door frame. Beneath was a wooden door, rotting away in its frame, the iron hinges and handle rusted brown. At the base of the door, there were holes where small animals had burrowed through.
Javier got closer to the door, pushing back his hat to try and see better. “I don’t think we can save the door.”
“It’s a miracle this place is still here,” said Felipe.
Maria Luisa – called Marisa – merely smiled. “It stands to the testament of Moorish building.”
Javier clicked his tongue. “A shame nobody took care of it and it’s become so overgrown.”
“Should we go inside?” Felipe looked up at the sun and pulled at his shirt to try and let his sweat dry to cool him off.
“A shame about the door,” Javier said, and kicked it in. The three ducked inside, since it was only four feet high and three feet wide. Javier had the flashlight and shined it inside. Marisa followed next, not even having to duck; then Felipe with an additional flashlight.
They didn’t need the flashlight, as a series of windows above them, although covered over with vines and trees, still let enough light for them to see by. They were caught in a tiny foyer, of which three steps were in front, and a series of steps leading up were to their right. Javier looked around “Well…”
Marisa examined some of the fine wainscoting, picking out a taq, the alcove where a jug of water would have normally been placed. “This was probably heading to the mosque,” she said, heading further into the foyer.
Felipe offered, “Up first?”
They headed up in the same order they entered. After three landings, they came out to an area with a window. Piles of rubble and bird shit was throughout the stone floor. The three of the fell on the rubble, like dogs on a fresh kill, in an attempt to see what had been there. They found only the remains of a small fire.
Javier looked at Felipe. He pulled out a sketchbook, and Javier pulled out his camera. Marisa still examined the calligraphy on the walls. “Frederic and Isabella didn’t take these things down.” She read the words at the front door.
May God make his works as beautiful
as are his mettle and his figure. (1)
They heard a noise. All three of them looked at each other. “Who’s there?” Javier yelled, first in Spanish, then in Arabic. Javier immediately got between Marisa and the entrance from the stairway, as he heard someone start to come up the stairs.
Felipe also stepped forward, and Marisa moved back into a corner. A man cleared the third landing and stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked up at them, a red-haired man with sky blue eyes, dressed in what might have passed for Arab garb but whose colors were entirely mis-matched, and he looked uncomfortable wearing them. He spoke in a language neither man knew.
“He’s speaking Latin,” said Marisa and stepped forward to look at the man. She spoke in the same language to him, but before she could finish a sentence, the man ran up the stairs, three at a time, and shoved the two shocked men aside. He tripped on his clothes.
Marisa screamed, jumping back, and the man untangled himself from his clothes, standing naked in front of them. Javier blinked, and the only weapon he had was his machete. Felipe, however, had no weapon, but tackled the naked man, knocking him to the floor.
The man was hot – meaning his skin was unbelievably hot. Felipe cried out in pain as he touched the man’s skin. The floor was marble, so it didn’t catch fire, but Felipe’s clothes did, bursting into flame.
Screaming, he rolled off the man and rolled around on the stone floor to put out the fire. The man got up and they all saw he was on fire. He turned to Marisa, who screamed again as the man grabbed her.
The room they were in rumbled, and the muqarnas – that looked like stylized staglites -started dropping from the ceiling like spears. Javier grabbed Felipe and got him out of the way, but the man held onto Marisa tightly. Her clothes also caught fire, burning away, but not burning her. Her pony tail had gotten loose, as her dark hair cascaded over the man on fire. He ran at the window, carrying her.
“No!” yelled Felipe, knowing that drop would kill her. The man on fire jumped out of the window, holding her, just as Felipe got away.
He thought he saw the man suddenly have red wings before the point of a muquarna hit him on the head to knock him out.
Words: 896
Comment: Was looking for a garden in Spain, where Soniac would have gone after seeing Luther in ’39. I found The Generalife, a garden attached to the Alhambra palace. It has only within the last few decades become restored, so I thought that her being on the restoration team would be a nice place for her.
Theme: Vishnu, e.s. Posthumus.
(1) http://www.entradasalhambragranada.com/en/alhambra-poems