It was a few days later. Maite and Kepa were strolling along La Concha in Donostia. The sun glistened off of the water in the bay, which slowly lapped at the beach. People were spread out everywhere. Kids were splashing in the water while their parents sat back under umbrellas, watching them. More than a few people were sunbathing and Kepa’s eyes kept wandering to the topless women scattered here and there on the beach.
“Why don’t we go to the beach more often?” he asked absentmindedly.
Maite elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow!” exclaimed Kepa in mock pain. “What was that for?”
“You get distracted too easily,” she chuckled. “As I was saying, what did you think of those apartments?”
“Right, sorry,” replied Kepa. “Well, I liked the one in the Parte Vieja; it would be cool to live there. But it was a bit run down and I do wonder if it would be hard to study there.”
Maite nodded. “Bai, I think it would always be pretty loud there. What about the one in Egia?”
Kepa shrugged. “It was fine, but nothing special. There was nothing wrong with it, but I just didn’t find the neighborhood all that interesting.”
Maite sighed. “I agree. And the one closer to the university was a bit more expensive than I hoped. It would be hard to afford that one.”
“Well,” said Kepa, “unless I get a good job.”
“I don’t want you to have to pay for everything.”
Kepa winked at her. “One day, when you are a famous scientist, you’ll be the one paying for everything.”
“Ha!” Maite burst out laughing. “You don’t really have any idea of how this science thing works, do you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Kepa.
“It’s long hours. And the pay isn’t great.”
“So why are you doing this again?” asked Kepa, jokingly.
“For the fame and the glory,” replied Maite with a wink.
“I guess we’ll just have to live off of that,” said Kepa with a smile.
“Well, you can’t eat fame nor glory,” said Maite before pausing. She was staring across the bay at the small island that arose out of the water. She sighed as she pointed at the peak.
Kepa looked and saw a bright pinpoint of light flickering on the top.
“Time to get back to work,” he said.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.