By Derek Eretz (michael@moses.datasys.net) Date: 2 January 1999
... The following Sunday afternoon, there were festivities in the Eratosthenes Student Center and in the open areas surrounding it on campus. The occasion was the annual distribution of the Wayfarer's Guide to Alexandria, a handbook of the region, speciliasing in reviews and recommendations of local businesses. This was its thirtieth anniversary of the student-published guide, so there was more hoopla than usual. Local bands performed for about a half-hour each, artists' works were displayed here and there for sale, and various organisations had set up booths. Though the crowds were smaller than that of a typical football game day, they still numbered easily in the thousands.
Claudia went to the central distribution point at the student center because she wanted to pick up a few copies for her house mates and herself. This was the only day to do so because by evening the supplies would be exhausted. The guides were treasured not only because they were amusingly written and provided valuable recommendations, but because they often offered sizeable discounts in the businesses reviewed. But Claudia was not in the mood to be around so many people; she had a slight headache and more studying to do. She would have preferred to be back at her house, sitting in the cool grass with her books, sipping iced tea. But her friends were all working, and she was the only one available to go out and get the highly treasured guides. So she had bit the bullet, inexplicably put on a summer dress and makeup, and headed out.
This was the kind of occasion Jacob never missed. Not only did he love observing people in the events that brought them together, but there were several good bands playing, including that of his landscaper friends, Dayfall. As he approached the Eratosthenes Center square and heard the music, his anticipation reached a buzz that the beautiful, sunny weather and the caffeine in his system only augmented. He worked his way through the people as a gypsy-style guitar group got warmed up. They were starting with some predictable old favourites, like "La Bamba" and "Volare". But what was the harm? he reasoned. This performance was meant to be enjoyed, not analysed. No doubt they would get into original compositions later, after they got the crowd hooked.
Suddenly a thought crossed Jacob's mind: what if Claudia were there, somewhere among the crowd? This would be an auspicious time and place to meet her. How he would love to take her by the hand and dance to the sounds of Los Gitanos, regardless of how cheesy their song choices were. The band was getting started with their third song now, "Besame Mucho". Fifteen seconds into it, Jacob spotted Claudia across the square. And she didn't look too happy. She was looking around for something, her right hand held up to her forehead to block the sunlight. He knew what he had to do, and he knew this would be the acid test. Only in this way could he know if she had the same kind of feelings for him as he did for her. It would take a lot to pluck her out of her funk at a moment's notice, but a lot was what he demanded if his hopes were to be requited. He began walking determinately toward her, gently but unapologetically pushing people aside left and right. She still had not seen him, so the window of time for her heart's response was growing smaller. Besame, besame, besame mucho, they sang. This became his anthem.
His heart was pounding as he reached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned around briskly, and to his great relief, her scowl melted, giving way to a look of satisfied happiness. Halfway there. "Shall we dance?" was all he said, and without giving her a chance to answer, took her waist in his left hand, her hand in his right, and led her around. Her face remained motionless, and she simply followed.
Shakily and rather clumsily at first, they began to turn around and round until they reached a clear area. They soon adjusted to the rhythm, and their motions became surer. Jacob led her with more and more conviction, his expertise soon belying years of puritanical prohibitions from dancing, the result of a year and a half's dedication to ballroom dancing classes (or Baptist Rehab, as he called it). It did not matter that no one else around them was dancing yet. They were unaware of everything except themselves and the music. Besamebesamebesamebesame, sang the Gitanos soulfully. Besame, besame, besame mucho, besame. Jacob and Claudia's pas de deux attracted attention, and other couples began emulating them.
The did not say a word. None were necessary. The questions were simple, the answers finite. They could have been multiple-choice, the responses clearly filled in on a bubble sheet with a soft-lead number-two pencil. Claudia looked at Jacob's dark brown eyes, he at her hazel irises, and they graded on the spot. They would be dancing for a long time.