“See that turret with the cross?” I point to the roof. “Some people think it’s supposed to be the lance of Saint George who’s just slayed the dragon.”
“Architecture. Maybe this is your future.”
“It’s more art than architecture.”
“Same thing,” he says.
I ponder this, but if my interest was that strong, I’d want to rummage around through its insides. I’d want to inspect every angle from as close a vantage point as possible. “Nah,” I finally say. “I just like the story. And the way it looks.”
Josh places an arm around me. “Every art needs its connoisseurs.”
I happily burrow into his wet side.
“What’s next?” he asks, glancing at the clock on his phone.
I look at him in question.
He shakes his head, and we try not to be disappointed. It’s still too early to check in.
Sagrada Família is next. The map easily leads us to the closest transit station. The métro is an unaccented metro, but apart from that, it’s identical to its brother in Paris. When we exit the station, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. And then we see it. Casa Batlló may be a dragon, but Sagrada Família?
It’s a monster.
It wants me to cower. It wants me to weep. It wants to save my soul from hell. Gaudí started work on this church in the late nineteenth century, but it won’t be finished for at least another decade. It stretches twice as high as the tallest cathedrals of France. It looks like a fantasyland castle – wet sand dripped through fingers, both sharp and soft. Bright construction lights are everywhere, and workers are tinkering around its massive spires in dangerously tall cranes.
We circle the entire structure, shading our eyes from the rain, as we look skyward towards the figures that are carved into every inch of its facade. So much is happening, everywhere, that the overall style defies categorization. Some of the spires are topped with mounds of rainbow-coloured grapes, while the west side is austere and tormented, drawing the eyes to an emaciated Jesus on an iron cross. Stone women wail beside a pile of skulls at his feet. But then the east side is an abundance of life – humans and angels and animals and wheat – and topped by a green tree covered in white doves.
“It’s beautiful,” Josh says. “Fuck, that’s beautiful.” Something occurs to me. I’m off running. “Hold that thought!”
“Where are you going?” he shouts.
“I’ll be right back! Don’t move!” I dart across the street and down two blocks until I find a convenience store with a display of umbrellas beside their entrance. I grab the first one, pay for it, and race back with a cheap clear kiddie umbrella.
Josh is confused and upset. “Don’t you think it’s too late for that?”
I hold it above his head as I dig into his backpack. I toss him tomorrow’s T-shirt. “Dry your hands.” He obeys, and then I replace the shirt with his sketchbook and pen. “You have to draw it. When will you get another chance?”
“Isla, I…”
I zip up his bag, step aside, and hold the tiny shelter above his body.
He watches the rain roll down my face. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
I beam back at him. He kisses my cheek and then bends over his pages, further protecting them, as he uncaps his pen with his teeth. He draws quickly, and I have to urge him to slow down. I don’t mind the rain. He focuses on the dove-covered tree. “We have maybe two hours until sundown,” he says, after nearly twenty minutes of silence. “How are you doing? Are you cold?”
“A bit, but I’m okay. There’s only one more destination marked on our map.”
“Do we win a prize if we check off every box?”
“The grand prize.”
He raises an eyebrow as he caps his pen. “Then we’d better do it.”
We admire his drawing together. I like it even better than the real thing. I only see the beauty, not the accompanying fear. Everything Josh touches is beautiful to me.
He puts his sketchbook away as I search for our map. “Oh, no!” I glance in the direction of the convenience store. “I must have dropped it while I was running.”
“Do you remember its name?” He takes the umbrella and holds it over my head. “Not the convenience store. The name of our final destination?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Josh smiles. He unbuttons my coat, places his fingers against my collarbone, and fishes out my necklace from below my dress.
It’s incredibly sexy.
He holds up the compass. “Then we’ll find the Right Way.”
Chapter seventeen
We take the metro north and emerge into a neighbourhood that’s emptier and dirtier. No one exits the station with us, and there are no street signs for our last destination.
“Is this the right place?” I ask.
Josh scratches his head. “I think so. Let’s try up there.”
He points towards an area that looks less barren. We hike up the street, sharing the umbrella as best we can. The drizzle has turned into a fine mist. Weeds spill out through ruptures in the sidewalk. Everything feels abandoned. We finally chance upon a long hill with several grouped sets of stairs and escalators. Escalators. I’ve never seen them outside like this, sandwiched between residential apartments and souvenir shops. But despite these promising signs…the street is still deserted.
As we ride the rickety escalators, the mist gets lighter and lighter. And as we reach the top of the hill, it evaporates into a clear sky. Sunshine.
We tilt our heads backwards and marvel at the heavens.
There’s another, smaller hill across the street. “Looks like it’s right up there,” I say.
With a burst of energy, Josh scoops me over his shoulder and runs towards it. I scream with laughter. He shouts with mad glee. I pound on his back with my fists, but he doesn’t set me down until we’re through the gates and on the summit. He throws up his arms in triumph. “I win!” And then he buckles like a weak hinge. “I’m dying.”
I grin. “Serves you right.”
Josh lifts his head. “Oh, yeah?” And then he sees my expression change as I notice what lies behind him. He turns to look. His entire body straightens in astonishment.
We’re not just at the top of the final hill. We’re at the top of Barcelona.
The jumble of the city stretches to every corner of the horizon, sharp rectangles of brown and grey and yellow and red. Towering above it all are the spires and construction cranes of Sagrada Família, but directly below us, there’s a seemingly endless path winding its way down through a landscape of Mediterranean greens.