There were several visual cues to rep/carbon-date Sevilla
the giant waffle
the labyrinth streets
the church opposite a Starbucks or a Starbucks opposite a church
whichever came first
but the only places Sila had been the last few days were the hostel hidden in the side of an old building, the modernist bus depot currently making up the backdrop and the train station when they’d first arrived.
And a bookshop too, to get a Danish to English dictionary, but just like in Barcelona and Valencia and Almeria and Granada there were none, only Danish to Spanish, so each time he wanted to talk to his sudden daughter he had to look up the Spanish then translate that into Danish which he wasn’t even sure she understood as every time she spoke back it was brief and mumbled.
In the end, depressingly, he had no choice but to fall back on the phone, the thing all his high school friends would’ve started with.
Which didn’t help much.
Recorded audio fuzz or his own voice, both failed around 72% of the time. And the ones that did land got a yes or no in drizzled response.
Two thoughts came to mind, as the queue to the ticket booth ahead shortened.
One, as a mythological demon, maybe it was old Danish she knew?
Two, as a mythological demon in modern times, shouldn’t she know a bit more of up-to-date Danish?
And a wildcard third: maybe he was the first foreigner to attempt Danish on her and she couldn’t get past the out of phase errors?
Sila looked down at the top of the girl’s blonde head and found something new to say, typing it out quickly and then, a minute later, eking it out in the simplest possible sentence:
‘Are you looking forward to Portugal?’
The girl looked up and instantized the usual stare.Continue reading