It was raining that day in La Palma. Martha had ordered a beer. His head was turned towards the bay window of the bar. What was she looking at outside ? In fact, she wasn't really looking out, but into herself. She held her cigarette in the air as she always did and could stay that way for hours. She was so absorbed that she did not see the bartender bring her a Dorada.
She was thinking of a woman on the other side of the world. They had met in Tokyo and, in his memory, it all happened very quickly. They had arrived at the same time on the terrace of a restaurant and there was only one table left. They had decided to eat together. In conversation she said to Martha ̒I like all causes, but I prefer those who are desperate.̓ Instantly, Martha fell in love. She masked her confusion by holding her cigarette in the air with languidness.
She remembered the two colored paper lamps above them that seemed to watch over them like angels. The light diffused by the two globes, however intense, could not match the emotion that overwhelmed her. Suddenly theirs fingers brushed. The evening was advanced. The other customers were leaving one after the other. They were moving away while Martha and the unknown woman were getting closer. After most of the clients left, eyes closed, she kissed her on the lips.
When Martha opened her eyes she found herself near a stone bridge spanning a quiet river. The bridge separated two misty moors. Martha knew she had just reached another point on her dream journey. Yet it was neither a memory nor a dream. An old man with a familiar face looked at her with a compassionate gaze. The bright colors had given way to pastel and evanescent tones. Nothing here seemed tangible. ̒You look so sad, is something wrong ? ̓Simply asked the old man. Martha was fighting back tears. ̒It was a long time ago now, but I haven't forgotten,̓ she managed to tell him. ̒You don't want to let go of the past, do you ? ̓ ̒It's me that has been abandoned, so many times.̓ ̒That's the human condition, isn't it ? People, events and all kinds of things come and go in our life.̓ ̒Yes, it's true.̓ ̒Something is always present and never leaves us? It's the same person who goes from happiness to sadness, isn't it ? Who is this person ? ̓
The old man left Martha to his thoughts and crossed the bridge. ̒Wait !,̓ she said. But everything was already disappearing in the haze. When she dissipated, Martha saw a door. She was in a dead mall. A blind with twisted and dusty blades were hanging on the glass door. Logos, such as hieroglyphs, testified to a past today. His inner life had a time looked like, stripped of his substance. She distinguished a flower in the middle of the rubble. She had found.
Martha came out of her reverie, drank a sip of Dorada and pulled a puff on her cigarette. Smoke volutes took the shape of an island or an archipelago. It could be the Palma, her island, or Japan. This could be the present, the past or the future. What was close seemed far away, and vice versa. She smiles. Memories did not matter, either what happened or what would happen to her. The most important thing is that she had found herself.
