Remember that sleepover in the cemetery with Tina and Henry? The first day after the official finish in Santiago? Well, I was the first one to wake up that morning – again. For some weird reason I was actually well-rested. Go figure, sleeping with the dead really does the trick! I’m definitely doing it again someday. When I wormed out of the sleeping bag, I naturally went all CSI on the location and the episode was called HELL NAW, I WAS NOT READY FOR THIS! Picasso would not be impressed with the chocolate masterpiece made by perineum. I’m talking about diarrhea, in case you forgot... Goddamnit.
Tina and Henry never found out about my savage battle with intestines that night. It’s not something you tell everyone about. Well, they know now.
Anyhow, when the sleeping beauties finally raised from the dead, my stomach was already busy digesting breakfast and my mind was focused on the trip to Muxia. But when I tried to put my trainers on, my foot wouldn’t fit! They turned into elephant feet during the night. Yes, that’s the first Camino I’m referring to, the one where my feet were fucked. That was the moment I feared my legs were permanently bust. Level of distress: DISLOCATED EYES WITH JAW ON THE FLOOR. So Tina and I decided to walk back to the nearest town and take a bus to Muxia. Sorry. When we got to the town, which wasn’t that far from the cemetery, we found it all festive and shit. They sure love to have their fiestas. I have no idea what day it was and frankly, who gave a shit, I was on vacation and every day was basically Saturday. And that’s the only way to do it. We asked around about the buses to Muxia and we learned we just missed the morning one – the penultimate one for that day. But we could wait for the afternoon bus, they said. Six hours, they said.
So, we went to the park next to the fiesta-in-making and we reminisced about all things Camino, killing time. Oh, I forgot: Henry decided to walk to Muxia. Then, a short and thick man of grey hair and accordion-like mug walked into the park. The energy and gazes between us three weren’t exactly symbiotic.
But he decided to approach us and start a conversation. What the hell, we grabbed the bait. Let’s see what he has to say, right? And when you think you’ve heard it all… He told us how he steals food from hostels for hikers, just to survive a day. As he was telling us that, his tiny blanket held much better grub than our hands did. He obviously had a picnic in a park. When we asked him why he’s living like that, he told us, he’s hiding from the Mafia on Camino. He used to be a part of it and he certainly doesn’t want to go back. Oh, and he spent twenty years in a clink for murdering his wife’s lover. Show no fear. I thought it was just another story to make himself the center of attention, so I asked him carefully and with utmost tact, what’s his opinion of the modern world and how he adapted to it. A moment of silence followed, his head pointed down. Then he looked up and a single tear rolled from his left eye. He said he can’t get used to the world nowadays and that’s the reason he’s hiding on Camino. The Path reminds him of life from 20 years ago. He felt like home. Then, after another moment, he told us: “I can’t wait to go back to Italy to murder my wife too and go to prison again.” Stone cold that man was when he said that. That was the moment Tina and I looked at each other and non-verbally communicated our desire to get the fuck out of there.
Standing there, ready to go, we asked him one more thing: could he sleep on his “solution” just a bit? Think about it. Do people really need to die again because he’s insecure? He was a mobster, after all, and they’re supposed to be tough guys, right?