Uxío

Uxío Quiroga was a very accomplished architect. He was from the province of Lugo, in the interior, but he currently resided in Santiago. He held a position in the important Colexio de Arquitectos de Galicia, the main school of architecture in the area, and planned to retain it in the upcoming elections. That wouldn’t be difficult, because his resumé was stellar and, even more important, he had allies among his colleagues in the Colexio who would support him unconditionally. 

Uxío was also quite striking in appearance. His once-black hair had gradually been turning gray, but he hadn’t lost any of his youthful hairline. In his mid-forties, he turned heads (probably male as well as female) with his square shoulders and the near-swagger that might have been learned but was still appealing to most gazes. Some might have thought him arrogant, and judged him stiff or figured him to be a man who was always looking in a mental mirror when he was out in public. He was still good at what he did, that was undeniable.

There had just been a conference for architects, archaeologists, and art historians on the topic of Lugo and its monuments. The event had attracted a lot of renowned figures and the papers presented had provoked endless, heated discussion, which participants took out of the conference rooms and into the night, to the bars and wines for which the walled city is rightly famous. 

In some bars, plans were drawn up for future projects, on the hope that the Xunta, the Galician government, would see fit to fund them. You never knew which way the winds blew, but they had to try to protect and promote their patrimony. This was straight-laced architecture at its finest. For the common good. Honest ideas. Urgent concerns.

In other bars, the wine (and a few other beverages of higher proof, perhaps), and the ethics of the group members escalated somewhat to shouts and concerns. The drinkers rejected the proposals for turning a historic site into a museum or protected space, a workshop for cultural design. They were more in favor of a lucrative venture, because cultural heritage was vital, right? It was for the good of Galicia, blah blah…

In the rest of the bars, perhaps due to sheer amount of augardente that was being consumed, the conversation barricaded itself with mumbling suggestions for exploiting Lugo’s astonishing history and enticing tourists to visit the underbelly, the hidden side, of the Middle Ages. It didn’t matter that many sites were closed to the public and awaiting proper restoration before access could be permitted. What mattered was how the world below the surface could be utilized to gain wealth for the architects who were forging their plans. Uxío was in this last group, but told himself he was spending time with them so they would expose their intentions and then he, if need be, could put a stop to their machinations. That would be another star on his resumé. Hero of the People. He liked the title and repeated it in his head: O herói do pobo, o herói do pobo, o herói…

***

The world below the surface. The underworld. Underbelly. The terms haunted Uxío after he returned to Santiago, He knew he needed to give more serious thought to what had been buzzing about in the sessions for the professionals and, later, the bar sessions attended by the professionals. Buzzing, like bees in their albarizas, they had literally been buzzing. Excited, maybe. Ready to attack, maybe. It all excited him very much, maybe too much. Still, only two hours’ drive from Santiago, there was a world that did seem full of potential. There was enough there in Lugo for all three groups of architects. The good, the bad, and the downright ugly who would sell their souls for a good amount of Euros.

What did Santiago have to offer? There was no Santalla de Bóveda nearby. It was the third century structure built by Romans and only discovered in 1926. It had been designated a National Monument a few years later and, in the 80s, Ben de Interese Cultural, translated as something like ‘Cultural Interest Asset’. A real gem. Or treasure. Lots of potential.

“I could make a bundle selling a site like Santalla,” Uxío said to himself, although he’d said it out loud. “I can get Turismo interested and all the pilgrims who come to Santiago can be informed about this mysterious site that is centuries old and nobody really knows its whole story.” 

Tourists liked mysteries. They didn’t care much for the facts and much less for the details of construction, usage, future preservation. No, tourists were not interested in the places they visited so much as the fact that they had photos of the places and could tell their friends about what they’d seen. In a couple of years they wouldn’t even remember the places. Meanwhile, they’d spent money. That, of course, was the real objective. It was good for the local economy. Who could argue against that?

“Santiago doesn’t have a Santalla de Bóveda. What else is there around here can draw them in?” Uxío was discouraged, but hadn’t given up. 

At that moment Fortune smiled on him, as he liked to say. The renovations of the little bar called A Tertulia next door to his office, started to turn up odd elements. Walls that were older than the outer ones dated from around 1600-1700. Old inscriptions on some of the stones that had tumbled out. Old doors or blocked passageways that never should have been in that spot, seeing as how it was a modest neighborhood, even run-down. Nowadays only a few ladies of the night wandered the streets of the Barrio do Carmo, and they were so far over the hill that they could have been survivors of the 1600s. Old, too. Everything around the site was old.

Uxío made up his mind to wander, or maybe saunter, since he knew he did that quite well, into A Tertulia and just ask a few innocent questions. Questions any normal architect might ask. If need be, he could look with his ocean blue eyes at the cute girl behind the bar and ask her how things were going. The question, and his eyes, could easily give the impression that the question was also an offer, one only he could make. He knew his pride was getting the better of him, but thought if you’ve got it you should flaunt it, especially if it might get you somewhere.

Minia was tending bar and apparently knew Uxío had been away for about a week. He was flattered that she had missed him, or at least had noticed he hadn’t been in recently. 

“What’s up?” repeated Minia, because Uxío had been thinking his appearance wasn’t up to par on this occasion and hadn’t heard her the first time. “Look around. This place is a disaster, what with all the remodeling. Dust, noise, just chaotic. Wish they’d hurry up and finish.”

Uxío nodded, showing he understood and, more than that, sympathized, quite sincerely, with the barmaid’s plight. She was such a cute barmaid, too.

“When will this renovation work be finished?” he asked, just to keep the conversation going. It wasn’t hard, because there were only a couple other customers in the untidy bar.

“It should only be another month or two,” replied Minia, who knew in Santiago very little could be done quickly because every inch of the way there was somebody monitoring the digging, rebuilding, removal of stones, and carting away of dirt in the old part of the city.

“Any reason to think the work might be held up?” Uxío had to ask. A fellow could hope, right? There might be something of value - architecturally speaking, of course - that would bring the remodeling to a halt so the findings could be assessed properly. He conjectured: What if a half-submerged structure like Santalla de Bóveda were to surface? As a next-door neighbor, he could offer some pro bono assistance, could he not?

“Doubt it,” was the distracted reply, since the barmaid had gotten distrated washing dirty glasses and silverware. That told the handsome architect that another dose of blue-eyed concern might be in order. Minia seemed to know more than she was letting on.

“Another clariña,” he ordered, giving his best up-and-down look at the barmaid. She was definitely quite young, but he believed in his power to appeal to her. Older man, mature, attractive professional... who wouldn’t be happy to offer him another shandy and even some bits of information? 

Minia looked around and determined the customers at the far end of the curved bar with oaken border and several brilliantly-designed taps with handles made from the famous Sargadelos ceramics were innocuous. One was staring at the muted tv screen where the local soccer team was playing Zaragoza and, for once, winning. The other was scowling at the newspaper, which looked to be Sermos Galiza. 

“Well, it’s no big deal, but the owner, you know him, has this lady from the States coming in to look at some things one of the workers pulled out of one wall. They were in a box that had been stored in a niche downstairs, next to the wine cellar. Just junk they should have thrown away, but O Fuco got it into his head it was worth something. He told his friend Xan at the María Castaña, and Xan told this foreign lady. She speaks English and they thought she’d be able to take a quick look, tell them if anything was worth saving, maybe something for a museum. She’d probably do it for free.”

Uxío leaned closer and spoke in as intimate a voice as he dared.

“So what is it?”

“Darned if I know, but she’s been back several times and at least once she took something with her.”

Uxío suddenly forgot about employing his winning ways with Minia, and pressed her for more information on this foreign woman. Foreigners were known to find things they didn’t deserve to find, then they got all honest and alerted the authorities to their discoveries. Locals like him didn’t get a chance to cash in on the finds when that happened. It wasn’t fair.

“What’s her name?” He smiled, having remembered his masculine wiles were his best weapon, and, incredibly, was rewarded for his effort.

“I heard the boss call her Lavinia, Lavinia Rivers. She’s here doing research for a few weeks.”

Uxío didn’t like what he was hearing. This woman could be dangerous. She could have access to something he deserved: new information about Santiago. Information that could lead to a discovery that he, as architect, could put to good use. He had some important decisions to make. The discussions or rather, shouting, that he had been present for in the third group from the conference in Lugo, came back to him. There could be documentation as to the origins of the little building where A Tertulia now stood, but more than that, there could be something older, something subterranean. He was thinking: A tunnel. A passageway I can develop and turn into an attraction for the thousands of tourists, pilgrims, hell, even the government officials, who come annually to Santiago.

He could become famous (after he got rich) for discovering a new site that would be a major contribution to the history of the city. He worked next door. He had a claim to this and would not be pushed aside. He was convinced the box held secrets that were important to the history of the city and that should be associated with his name. Especially if they revealed another Santalla right in his back yard. Well, in the back yard of his office…

The rest was easy. Minia happily provided Uxío with the times Lavinia usually came to study the artifacts (Minia didn’t use the term artifacts, but the architect knew what she meant) during the late afternoon. She stayed for at least a couple of hours or more, leaving as the last daylight was disappearing. This was perfect. When Minia offered to find out where she was staying, Uxío Quiroga the architect, declined it. He certainly wasn’t going to go to her place of lodging when he had her right next door. 

***

Two days later, the opportunity came. The woman from away showed up, installed herself in the back alcove next to the lareira, the beautiful old hearth that once had been used to prepare all the food of the household, from caldo to grilled sardines to roasted chestnuts. The lareira was no longer in use, although perhaps the renovations would give some thought to reviving its function. Lavinia had admired it when she first started inspecting the items in the box, but now she was more interested in what she had been asked to do. Of course Uxío, even with all his manly charms, hadn’t gotten much more information out of Minia, but he was thinking they might be useful with the foreigner. 

Galician men always had good luck with the women tourists - something he knew from experience. The architect was dressed to the nines, his hair a bit longer than he liked, but it gave him a slightly daring air - so he thought - and did his best casual saunter into the bar. Minia was working and served him his usual, then dipped her head in the direction of the lareira. Maybe she feared Uxío would try to go back there and leave her stuck serving drinks and running the wet rag over the bar to clean it, but she did it anyway.

Uxío surprised her and paid minimal attention to the woman in the back of the bar. He ordered a pincho of the potato omelette that was so well prepared by the bar’s owner, who was also the chef. After that, he ordered some pementos de Padrón and switched to a glass of ribeiro. He was making sure it looked like he was having supper and talking it up with the cute young barmaid. Minia admitted to herself she was pleased at this, but she didn’t know her customer was thinking about his recent trip to Lugo and his dream of finding his very own Santalla de Bóveda in Santiago. Her customer wasn’t thinking of showing her his gratitude at having received the vital information about a potential business venture (if, of course, the little bar was indeed located in a place where there was history to be exploited). He was thinking that he needed to know what Lavinia was learning and what she was removing from the box she was examining. 

As luck would have it, Lavinia stayed until dark this time. By this point, Uxío had passed his limit of drinks and pinchos, but this only made him bolder. He had a plan. It was a good plan and would both scare her off as well as allow him to get his hands on what she had removed from the site (unlawfully, in his opinion). Lavinia packed up her things, which included a laptop, a notebook, a few miscellaneous papers, and something or some things wrapped in what looked like coarse, muslin-like fabric. She came to the front of the bar and left a generous tip for Minia, who smiled shyly. 

Lavinia opened the door of A Tertulia and walked out. She stood momentarily on the sidewalk, feeling the need to stretch her neck and shoulders, stiff from the hunched-over position she’d been in for so long. After that, she started up Pombal Street, thinking that it was a perfect night to walk about the old city, starting up by Porta Faxeira. She could think better while she was walking.

Uxío Quiroga had other plans for their evening.