La Luna Negra

Isabella’s note said, “I am sorry, my love. I’ve decided. I won’t be coming back.” His heart seemed to stop beating.

Gabriel journeyed out among the thin outline of the green coast, traversing the rough crags bordered by multicolored thatched rooves of sailors’ homes which clung to the slopes and cast terrible shadows down along the coastline. The shadows looked like the menacing fingers of a deformed giant trying to reach down and snatch living souls.

Isabella had erased his entire history. Was he an amnesiac? A stranger to himself? He could not quell the waves of emotion that charged and receded with halting crashes, tentatively probing the shore of spoiled memories. All his work these last few years had been directed at finding a stable trade, solely as a means to start a life with Isabella—but, now he hated his vocation as a distributor with the same hatred he held for his adulterous fiancé.

The cavern was lit by the beckoning ebb of soft jiggling candlelight. Neon signs lent a surreal warmth to the shadowed chamber. The melodic clink of glasses echoed and mixed with the din and rumbling chatter of the full bar. The air carried the mingling scents of tequila, sea breeze, and fine Spanish delicacies. As Gabriel pushed open the heavy wooden doors and entered the ornate lobby, he saw that it was adorned with a chandelier hanging from the cave ceiling. A long staircase led down, carved entirely from the cave itself. 

Gabriel was captivated by a placard depicting the tale of King Charles V's near demise at sea before arriving at the uncharted lands of Spain that lay beyond this very spot, a King first setting foot in a foreign land of alien inhabitants. Gabriel pondered the significance of this place as he embarked on his own journey into the unknown, descending the steps deeper and deeper into the underworld.

Approaching the bar, Gabriel's eyes met those of a sleek female bartender with a dark complexion, dressed entirely in black. Within the dramatic sweep of her eyelashes, shades of gold and lapis lazuli merged seamlessly, mirroring the vibrant hues found in ancient hieroglyphics. The metallic shimmer of the gold pigments glistened and reflected from her raven-black pupils. Thick black eyeliner extended outward elongating the corners of her eyes in a falcon-like design.

She introduced herself as Lucia Barbara. She hummed the notes of a popular song as she cleaned glassware and served a group of rowdy young fishermen drinking like it was the last night of their lives. "Drinking to forget or searching for something more?"

“My fiancé left me for another man. So, yeah. Cheers to that.”

"Ahh, the fragility of love," she said, her husky voice emanating in a melodic whisper like a gust of wind through a set of chimes. Lucia stood to her full height and said, "But remember, Gabriel, lost things may be found beyond the veil."

“I was so depressed I went to see the priest, and he reluctantly told me about this place.”

“Alejandro is a regular. But he’s never sent anyone… this girl must have really been something.”

“Truly, she was.”

“I’ve seen you in the market. You are a distributor. You have a company, selling wine, cheese, fish? So, you are all right.”

“That is the thing. I started out as a fish merchant when we moved here to be able to afford a home for Isabella—to support a family. Isabella was on a different path. She followed her heart and became a curator at the Museo de Bellas Artes de Asturias. She started a small side gig giving tours in Oviedo, showing tourists the Cathedral, the Plaza de la Constitución, el Campo de San Francisco, the sculpture of the fishwife, La Gitana, and the other statues. And she painted. She was always painting.”

“I know her work,” Lucia said.

As they spoke, the bar faded momentarily from view, and the two of them were alone in a hallowed confessional.

“And while she was following her heart, what were you following?”

“I was following her. She used to quote Picasso, ‘Everything you can imagine is real.’ And she would quote Van Gogh, ‘I would rather die of passion than boredom.’ This is how she is, unflinching, totally impractical—a stubborn mule. If she has twenty dollars to her name, she’ll spend it on an opera at Teatro Campoamor. Who can deny her? She lives in another world, a world where she had made an oath to God to find his handiwork in the works and devotions of men. Her commitment and resolve are total. She is a collector of inspiration. She finds and appreciates beauty. She is a mirror of whatever she observes—and she can share that infectious enthusiasm, giving life to even the most mundane curiosities. Any mystery suddenly lights her up and her eyes will zero in on the object of her attention like they are tractor beams. I lived to keep her safe and bring her joy, however I could. But in time, my gifts and devotion…”

As Gabriel paused to find the right words for what he wanted to say, Lucia considered what he had said so far, pausing and looking up with a verdict.

“…lost out to her first true love,” Lucia said.

“Exactly. And I am alone now that she has tossed me aside. We were going to be married, but one day when I awoke, I knew that it was finished.”

“Young love. Such a flimsy thing! It buckles and falls to its knees with the smallest shove, it breaks its promises with one strong drink. It offers eternity—with no concept how long or dull that offer really is; then, fickle and aimless, it crashes on any rocky shore it finds, strangled in the tares of envy and self-absorption.” She winked at him and shoved his arm playfully, saying, “go on, tell me, what happened—was it you? Did you fuck it up?”

“No, it was another man. There was a soldier named Miguel who Isabella had promised her heart to, but he went off to war and was captured as an enemy combatant long before we settled down together. Thinking him dead, she agreed to marry me. But he lived! He turned up in Tazones just when our relationship had started to unravel. Did Miguel come between us? Is she a faithless libertine? Or did I stop being the man she loved? Who knows. I think maybe it was just that Miguel was less demanding and didn’t interfere with her true love—art. It keeps me up every night till dawn. I drink straight whiskey, but it doesn’t work.”

Lucia Barbera’s gaze never wavered as she poured a crimson elixir into a crystal glass. "Try this, Gabriel. It is called Blood & Betrayal."

His voice quivered as he finished the story. "My sixteen-year-old cousin, Diane, and I were at the bedside of my dying Uncle, Teodoro. Diane knew of Miguel, as Isabella had revealed the secret to her on her quinceañera. While my uncle lay dying, Diane became emotional and in a momentary lapse of restraint ended up telling me the whole story, saying that her guilt was eating her alive for keeping this secret from me for over a year. That was how, in that sterile, cold hospital, kissed by death, I received the verdict that I already knew was coming."

"And how did you respond, Gabriel? Were you obsessed with vengeance?"

Gabriel's hands clenched and the potion on the bar trembled and foamed up with bubbles. "I spiraled out of control, trying anything to feed my wounded pride. I worked endless hours, and I became ruthless in my quest to obtain what I wanted. But even as I had success that I had never even dreamed of, I was falling into an endless abyss of my own bitterness. Every night I took my whiskey neat and every morning I woke up before dawn with my nerves on fire. I waited for a sign. I bargained with God. I let my anger run free. I fueled my every move with pain, thinking the pain would run out—but it proved to be an endless well of energy."

As their conversation unfolded, Lucia Barbara revealed fragments of her own story. Lucia had been married to a soldier, a famed leader of battalions, named Uther. He was a man of stature in the community who was adored by many and whose subordinates obeyed unfailingly. “My husband and I were truly in love and had all that the world offers to those in bliss. As a man, he mastered my rebellious heart and brought me into total submission. His demand for obedience and his firm ruling hand ordered my days and left me feeling protected as I had never felt before. We saw eye-to-eye and lived our lives as dutiful servants of one another, each carrying out our appointed tasks with joy. We came to spend so much time alone together because it seemed that the whole world envied our happiness and sought to bring it to ruin. Uther’s brother Seth was the worst one of all.”

He was so envious of Uther’s place in the community that his jealousy drove him to murder. One night, Seth drugged Uther and during an evening at La Luna Negra, tricked him into stepping into an ornate cedar chest, which he nailed shut. Later, Seth took the chest and dumped it in the sea, leaving Uther’s body to the currents. My husband’s death transformed me and led me to witch doctors and mystics to find a way to traverse the boundaries between the mortal plane and the other world, searching for the means to bring my husband back from the grave. There is much I could tell you about these twisted journeys and transformations and all that took place but let us just say that I too know loss, I too know the unquenchable thirst of the death of an unfinished love and the dark compulsions borne of God’s betrayal.”

Gabriel asked, “What are these dark compulsions?” As he spoke these words, the house band began playing a Latin-themed upbeat version of the song “Hotel California,” humming to the tune, “On a dark desert highway… da da da dat da da… I saw a shimmering light… dum da da dan dan dada.” 

The sharp pluck of the base and the horns—bump, bah, bump—carried a lively, enchanting rhythm. The bassist slapped the wooden body of the bass and strummed the tumbao. Behind him an old man with a handlebar mustache and wild Brun Gouery hair banged on the congas, eyes closed, in ecstasy. 

Lucia walked to the other side of the bar facing the stage, and lingered, spellbound by the band as the sleepy bar roused itself from slumber to exhilaration. The paint of the walls shimmered in oil colors—creamy pastels and bright, vibrant heat—which came to life and swirled, moving with the rhythm—the colors themselves dancing and rearranging themselves to the music. One image was a Spanish woman on the seashore, by a palm tree, clad in orange, sitting up tall on a blanket, looking out at ships on the horizon. She swayed. Another painting was a couple dancing in the dark, the man dipping the woman, both faces obscured by floppy hats, with deep blues and reds and greens against a purple-black backdrop. They came to life and turned and spun. The top section of the fresco mural was a purple night, with a band on an outdoor stage, with deep purples, with one Latin player drumming, another taller figure piping on his horn, and a third shorter one plucking his banjo, musical notations and sheet music floating in the air about them. Their cabaret came to life and moved in syncopation with the actual band.

Lucia turned her head to the side and addressed Gabriel who watched as if in a trance. As she spoke, Lucia swept her arm, palm up, displaying the gallery of paintings affixed to the cave walls.

“What do you think of our selection of paintings, which come to life in the night?”

“I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

“This is no ordinary place, Gabriel. Close your eyes and turn inward—feel what you desire and summon it.” As Gabriel closed his eyes, the cavernous space seemed to shrink, and he felt the woosh of a gust of cool night air wafting in with an invitation of mystery and allure. The wooden doors swung open, focusing all attention on the entrance.

She stood at the entrance in a striking red blazer and skirt suit, with a floppy wide-brimmed red hat. Tawny yellow hair adorned her shoulders, and her virescent-green eyes were flickering wells cutting through the surrounding darkness. She exhaled a final waft of smoke from her crimson red lips, which gnawed on the nub of a smoked cigar. 

She flung the cigar away into the street as she entered and descended the grand staircase. The bar crowd parted, creating a path leading directly to Gabriel, and she walked, step by deliberate step with the click of her red silver-tipped heels, leading her to the seat next to his. Gracefully taking her seat and settling into her perch on the cushioned bar stool, with legs crossed, she looked fiercely up at Lucia and said, “Martini, extra dirty, three blue cheese olives, with your best Vodka, the way I like it.” And Lucia nodded knowingly back at her. Lucia asked, “My dear, will you be gracing us with a song tonight?”

Rosalind said, “No, no, no – tonight I don’t feel like making music, but the music will always have the final say,” and she gave a one-sided smile. Lucia nodded.

“And as for you,” Lucia said to Gabriel, “I have another drink for you, this one is called Feliz el Azar.” And Lucia poured a half flute of champagne and a quarter flute of ginger beer, and then shook some cinnamon gold flakes into the glass, adorning the rim with a touch of syrup and green sugar, and topping the potion off with a touch of absinthe. As the absinthe hit the champagne and ginger, the potion fizzed, and a small green plume of smoke shot up. Lucia pushed the drink over to Gabriel with aplomb. 

“What is this concoction, Hemlock?”

“Liquid serendipity, the cocktail of chance encounters and unpredictable returns,” Lucia said laughing, as she walked back to the other end of the bar, leaving Gabriel and Rosalind alone.

Gabriel looked directly into Rosalind’s eyes until she turned to meet his gaze. “You have a way of commanding attention without saying a word, don’t you?“

She considered this for a long time, holding his gaze. “I suppose the spotlight has a way of finding me, and any other tortured soul; it likes to make a spectacle of suffering.” As she said this, she raised her eyebrows in exclamation, and raised her martini glass, shrugging it off. They toasted and drank.

“Tortured souls don’t usually dress… like this,” he said, turning his palm up and dropping his hand along the contour of her silhouette.

“I just left a real estate showing,” she said, dismissively. Then changing the subject, after a long, intentional pause, “I know more about you than you think. Lucia is trying to set us up.”

“But that’s impossible. She didn’t know I was coming here tonight.”

He stared at her speechless. 

“Haven’t you been wondering what Lucia is up to; what this place is? I’ll tell you. Lucia has been transformed by suffering and widowhood. She thinks she is a mother to all the lost souls of Tazones. She is a student of the healing arts. She draws in the sick and lovelorn but at a price. It is a strange business. She turned in her grief to Egyptian texts and strange black magic. She has convinced herself that she can still have a child imbued with the spirit of her late husband Uther.”

“What are you talking about,” he said. “If Lucia is really into the occult, then why are you here? If you know all this?”

Rosalind considered how much to tell Gabriel, and then continued, “You need to ask yourself what it is about you that Lucia wants. I met her years and years ago when my father was dying. It is too late for me now.” 

The band finished their set. The bar grew quiet. The laughter of the rowdy fisherman replaced the bass tones and horns. 

Lucia appeared in front of Gabriel and looked down at his empty glass. Kahlua went into a shaker of ice, and she then poured it into a narrow zombie glass, adding a layer of sweet Irish cream and topping the drink off with a layer of Cointreau and an orange slice. Pushing the drink over to him, she said, “This one is called Sueños de Juventud—Dreams of Youth.”

“And what is this potion for?”

“To ignite lost hope and unearth buried passions that life has suppressed.”

Gabriel offered Rosalind his hand, and he guided her into the center of the small dance floor which was opposite the bar and cloaked in the shadows of the cave walls. The red-tinted oak floor reflected the light of hundreds of candles that had been set all around the corners of the enclave. With a flourish, Gabriel spun Rosalind away. Then pulled her back and swept Rosalind into his arms, pulling her close to his body, her arms draped around his shoulders.

Her eyes were wide half-circles, green seas reflecting the candlelight above them. She tilted her face up toward his and brought her lips almost to his. Gabriel brushed his lips against hers and then pressed harder. 

“Be careful, Rosalind. Lucia may have gotten the better of us.”

The music abruptly stopped.

Gabriel’s heart had started to beat again.