Cleaning my waters

(The pool cleaner, 2000)

Scene: She watches from the terrace, a bored smile under her dark curls as he kneels by the pool, fair and strong beneath the Spanish sun. Green eyes glinting as he stirs the water with precision.
 

Her:
"Mmm, that water's clearer than my conscience, fair boy.
You always work like this? In silence, in sweat?"
 

Him:
"Silence serves me, señora,
the quiet water’s my friend.
Chemistry and balance, that’s the game.
But here—take my number, should trouble come.*
Emergencies, you know, or…something else."
 

Her:
“Emergency indeed.”
 

(She pockets the number with a sly tilt of her head.)
Later that evening, the call goes through just before the pool shop closes.
 

Her:
"Is the pool well? Of course, it is.
But I need… let’s call it a guide.
Show me these parts, if you’ve got the time."
 

Him:
"The parts, señora? I’m not much of a tour guide.
The hours find me here or there, not much else."
 

Her:
"Tour guides are for tourists.
I want quiet, hidden, a place we can breathe.
Does that suit you, or should I call some other caballero?"
 

Him:
"Quiet? I know that, a place in the huertas.
We’ll stop for something...for the night."
He picks her up in the well-worn furgoneta, a dusty charm, a rumble beneath her. At the petrol station, they buy "just in case." She brushes his hand with her fingers as she hands him coins.
 

Her:
"The dunes call us tonight, don’t you feel it?
The stars, the sea whispering close?"
 

Him:
"The dunes are cool by the water, secret and still.
Let’s find a place, where the sand holds us both."
 

They park near the huertas, step out into the soft night, where jasmine lingers and citrus trees sway in a breeze that speaks of salt. They lie close, stone beneath them, kissing deep, her neck arched, a hand on his cheek.
 

Her:
"Ah, but these stones, they know no mercy,
hard as the desert, fair boy."
 

Him:
"Then the sand, near the water, soft beneath our hands.
Come, follow the moon with me."
 

They find a spot near the water’s edge, and the sand gives way beneath them. Skin against skin, the night deepens, stars above their only witnesses.
 

Her:
"Young and strong—you keep this rhythm well.
Legion-trained, they must have taught you something there."
 

Him:
"Endurance, señora.
I once starved in Sierra Nevada, but thirst was the worst.
I’d never go thirsty now, not with you here."
 

Her:
"A lost soul, now found in a furgoneta trunk,
who’d have thought the legion would lead you here?"
 

They laugh, a shared breath, tangled and warm in the maletero. Her fingers twist in his hair, his hands roam, and the intensity rises.
 

Him:
"Turn for me—
I want all of you, señora."
 

Her:
She arches, bares herself to the moonlight, supple and free.
"This, fair boy? I didn’t know soldiers could be so bold."
 

Him:
"For you, I’ll be anything, anywhere.
Lost, found, the night’s ours."
 

They move, shift, bodies entwined in the close air, neither growing tired, no end in sight. She wonders, a playful whisper as the dawn begins to blush.
 

Her:
"What do they teach you in the legion, fair boy?
Strength, sure…but such stamina?"
 

Him:
"More than just strength, señora,
It’s the will to keep going, to endure.
And with you, I endure well."
 

As dawn’s light spills over the horizon, they finally rest, two souls, strangers no longer, breathing as one.