Return to the Alhambra

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The turnstiles opened, and a few tourists moved to the entrance. Early in the morning the main stream of tourists had not yet arrived and attacked the eternal fortress.

Submitted: March 24, 2017

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Submitted: March 24, 2017

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The turnstiles opened, and a few tourists moved to the entrance. Early in the morning the main stream of tourists had not yet arrived and attacked the eternal fortress. I entered its territory, accompanied by the sweet twitter of birds, and disappeared into the shade of the huge trees lining the long alley. I found they resembled gypsies dancing flamenco.

Firstly I went to the Generalife gardens. They were full of an infinite number of flowers and bubbling fountains. I  felt like a sultan, walking along the paths and drawing the future of his state. Under my feet here and there under the bars flowed artificial streams that supplied the Alhambra with water. The best view of the castle was from the gardens. Here it was revealed in all its glory.

I flowed to the palace, or rather, to the whole ensemble of amazing buildings. Inside, all the rooms were delightful and unique. Arabic script with unusually patterned pieces on the walls reminded us of the ancient lords of the land. Vaulted ceilings seemed like sugar houses, flipped upside down. I imagined how Boabdil, the last emir of Granada, used to spend his time before he surrendered his kingdom to the Catholic kings Ferdinand and Isabella. Within these walls there had been over seven hundred years of history during the reign of the Moors in Spain.

I crossed the courtyard with a long pond, fueled by small and barely audible fountains. This is the Arabic style, in which the sound of water shouldn’t drown the running of thoughts.  At the end of the pond I looked at my enormous reflection in the background of the blue sky and floating clouds. At the other end of the pond from nowhere dumped out group of Asian tourists, Chinese or Japanese. Their silhouettes in the water in the distance seemed quite tiny compared to my giant figure. I felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, lost in the labyrinths of their toy town.

I went out from the palace to the square. It was infested with endless crowds of tourists. In their multilingualism it seemed to me that I was somewhere on a distant planet. All this rumbling, growling, meowing, barking, grunting, croaking and hissing of foreign languages was driving me crazy.

Suddenly, in the countless stream of tourists I saw my mother, who anxiously looked somewhere aside.

- Mama! - I tried to shout, but it turned out some wheezing.

However, she noticed me, smiled, and waved. The next moment the crowd hid her from my eyes. I rushed to the place where she had just stood. I flounced from side to side, pushing the indignant tourists. Everything was in vain. She disappeared.

We had been here together six years ago. She liked the Alhambra. It was her last journey.

The time was past noon. The heat pressed from all sides. I thought it was too hot and I began to have haunting hallucinations.

A light gust of wind reminded me of the sea breeze. Enough sadness. I went back to Malaga, to the sea. I wanted to bathe.


© Copyright 2017 Igor Mit. All rights reserved.

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