Sardines in Lisbon

 Sardines in Lisbon

       by Douglasi del Sardos

Donna Juanita turned her back in modesty and Don Juan peered out the window of their summerhouse at a sailing ship with sails down and men loading her. He looked at his wife. She had her back to him and was bending over to pull on her stockings. She was naked and exposed but Don had other things on his mind.

       "Juany," he said. He watched her as she disappeared out the bedroom door. She sang a little song from the next room: "Ave Maria, Aaaaaave Mariiiiiiaaaaaa."

       "Which reminds me," he said, coming on her in the on-suite sitting on the commode, "Renaldo ordered the green. He thought it would go better with the underwear." Donna Juanita finished and washed and hurried into the kitchen, looking at her wristwatch.

       "Renaldo took it upon himself to order the green? Did you give him permission?" Don Juan got the milk from the refrigerator and also the brown sugar and orange juice and carried these to the dining room table. Outside a Junkocock whistled and made much of the morning, its song a downward whining with a tiny bright lilting uplift at the end and three dots of notes, low and throaty, following that. The dog scratched at the basement door to be let into the main living area. A mouse nibbled in the pantry on fallen crumbs. They let mice be for the most part.

       "I heard you the first time," she said and ate the last slice of grapefruit. She looked in the cornflakes box and thought better of it and put it back down. She put bread in the toaster and waited beside it. She reached up for the butter tray and put it down beside the toast plate.

       "I want blue but he gets his way." She took out a knife and fork from the cutlery drawer. "He is no friend of mine. I will have him for breakfast one of these days," she said, gesturing with the cutlery as if she were cutting and eating Renaldo.

       The wine glass held a clear and tawny liquid and it smelled sweetly of sherry when she looked at Don Juan. Don Juan sipped and remained quiet. He sipped and spoke. "I don't think it matters what we want since he's paying." He ducked down to his egg to avoid her irritation.

       Donna Juanita shrugged and got up and draped the wrap over her bare shoulders before leaving through the back door. He watched her for a minute, weaving through the purple Spirea along the garden path and then descending the stone steps to the alley. She was a splotch of graceful orange in a tall bank of green entering a band of grey and brown. He turned to his breakfast. He poured a second cup of wine. He drank it and drank a third, had a cup of coffee from Sunday's carafe and then walked down the garden path himself. He would find Ramona and ask her what she thought about it.

       Ramona opened the door. She wore a see-through something that showed Don Juan more than he needed for proof that it was really her he was speaking to. Nevertheless.

       "Do you think color is important at this wedding?" he asked her after she had offered and then poured and handed him a glass of bright pink liquid. It scented the room as if blossoms had been suddenly spread on the floor.

       "Do you wish for a salted sardine with that?" she asked. She brought him one on a plate. It smelled wonderful, old campfires, old cheese, and he bit into it, lifting it to his lips. He sucked his greasy fingertips and asked the question again.

       "No," Donna Ramona said, pausing just long enough to pour another bit of the busy fluid into his glass. "I do not think that the sardines are as good this year as last. Maybe it is the coolness of the spring that sent us an inferior mass. I don't know. Maybe my appetite for them has gone. Maybe I should attend mass regularly again." The bird in the apple tree outside whistled. Ramona bent forward and he could see her torso with its slippery, damp skin. He bent forward so he could kiss her. Which he did. Twice. She brought him more sardines, so many that he could do nothing but lie down afterwards on her bed to sleep off his fatty insouciance.

       When he woke and felt refreshed he went to the warf where he spent the rest of the day with Renaldo at billiards and drinking brandy. The ships came and went. The day slipped its moorings, and now and then a Junkocock landed on the window ledge and looked in at them playing till the night darkened the street outside and no birds, Junkococks or any others, were visible to the naked eye.

      

 Sardines in Lisbon

       by Douglasi del Sardos

Donna Juanita turned her back in modesty and Don Juan peered out the window of their summerhouse at a sailing ship with sails down and men loading her. He looked at his wife. She had her back to him and was bending over to pull on her stockings. She was naked and exposed but Don had other things on his mind.

       "Juany," he said. He watched her as she disappeared out the bedroom door. She sang a little song from the next room: "Ave Maria, Aaaaaave Mariiiiiiaaaaaa."

       "Which reminds me," he said, coming on her in the on-suite sitting on the commode, "Renaldo ordered the green. He thought it would go better with the underwear." Donna Juanita finished and washed and hurried into the kitchen, looking at her wristwatch.

       "Renaldo took it upon himself to order the green? Did you give him permission?" Don Juan got the milk from the refrigerator and also the brown sugar and orange juice and carried these to the dining room table. Outside a Junkocock whistled and made much of the morning, its song a downward whining with a tiny bright lilting uplift at the end and three dots of notes, low and throaty, following that. The dog scratched at the basement door to be let into the main living area. A mouse nibbled in the pantry on fallen crumbs. They let mice be for the most part.

       "I heard you the first time," she said and ate the last slice of grapefruit. She looked in the cornflakes box and thought better of it and put it back down. She put bread in the toaster and waited beside it. She reached up for the butter tray and put it down beside the toast plate.

       "I want blue but he gets his way. She took out a knife and fork from the cutlery drawer. "He is no friend of mine. I will have him for breakfast one of these days," she said, gesturing with the cutlery as if she were cutting and eating Renaldo.

       The wine glass held a clear and tawny liquid and it smelled sweetly of sherry when she looked at Don Juan. Don Juan sipped and remained quiet. He sipped and spoke. "I don't think it matters what we want since he's paying." He ducked down to his egg to avoid her irritation.

       Donna Juanita shrugged and got up and draped the wrap over her bare shoulders before leaving through the back door. He watched her for a minute, weaving through the purple Spirea along the garden path and then descending the stone steps to the alley. She was a splotch of graceful orange in a tall bank of green entering a band of grey and brown. He turned to his breakfast. He poured a second cup of wine. He drank it and drank a third, had a cup of coffee from Sunday's carafe and then walked down the garden path himself. He would find Ramona and ask her what she thought about it.

       Ramona opened the door. She wore a see-through something that showed Don Juan more than he needed for proof that it was really her he was speaking to. Nevertheless.

       "Do you think color is important at this wedding?" he asked her after she had offered and then poured and handed him a glass of bright pink liquid. It scented the room as if blossoms had been suddenly spread on the floor.

       "Do you wish for a salted sardine with that?" she asked. She brought him one on a plate. It smelled wonderful, old campfires, old cheese, and he bit into it, lifting it to his lips. He sucked his greasy fingertips and asked the question again.

       "No," Donna Ramona said, pausing just long enough to pour another bit of the busy fluid into his glass. "I do not think that the sardines are as good this year as last. Maybe it is the coolness of the spring that sent us an inferior mass. I don't know. Maybe my appetite for them has gone. Maybe I should attend mass regularly again." The bird in the apple tree outside whistled. Ramona bent forward and he could see her torso with its slippery, damp skin. He bent forward so he could kiss her. Which he did. Twice. She brought him more sardines, so many that he could do nothing but lie down afterwards on her bed to sleep off his fatty insouciance.

       When he woke and felt refreshed he went to the warf where he spent the rest of the day with Renaldo at billiards and drinking brandy. The ships came and went. The day slipped its moorings, and now and then a Junkocock landed on the window ledge and looked in at them playing till the night darkened the street outside and no birds, Junkococks or any others, were visible to the naked eye.