ISSUE 1 - November 2006

The soft and languid sounds of gentle Latin rhythms drifted like a warm breeze from the hotel terrace to my place of solitude on the beach, temporarily anaesthetising my brain from the all pervading pain, the sense of hurt and betrayal that had sent me scurrying to this bolt-hole, this escape from reality to which I’d retreated.

The sand was white, warm, and soft beneath me, and, as I stared out at what could only be described as the perfect sunset, as that great orange orb seemed to sink before my eyes into the far Pacific horizon, I suppose I could have been forgiven for experiencing a moments’ fleeting calm in my heart, the sights and sounds that surrounded me a temporary panacea for the broken heart I was nursing so carefully.

Despite it being almost six months since Petra had left me, running off with the owner of our local antique shop, where she’d worked part-time for nearly a year, most of the time it still felt like yesterday. We’d lived together for almost ten years, eight of them in what I thought were marital bliss. I should have known something was wrong when she began working every hour she could, staying out until late, ‘stocktaking’. No antique shop could have carried that much stock! Anyway, she was happily ensconced in a nice new house with Andrew now, the divorce was going ahead without any complications, and here I was, sitting on a beach in Mexico, listening to the strains of distant music and drinking in the beauty of a quite remarkable Mexican sunset!

I’d arrived here four weeks ago; I thought that maybe this would be the place to revive my flagging writing career. The hotel behind me wasn’t actually where I was staying, oh no, far too expensive for a struggling novelist trying to escape the reality of real-life heartbreak. I just enjoyed sitting here in the evening; it was peaceful, calm and easily the cheapest place in town to spend the hours from dusk to darkness. If I got thirsty I could wander up the beach to the terrace bar, order a tequila, then return to my own piece of beach to swirl the ice-cubes around the glass, sip the fiery liquid, and slowly numb the ache in my heart that never seemed far from overwhelming my every emotion.

I had found a room above a small cantina on the outskirts of town, not too far from where I now sat, the owner seeming quite happy to let me live and work above his humble establishment for just a few pesos a week. Pablo Mendes was a jolly, slightly rotund, stereotype of a Mexican bar-owner, complete with Pancho Villa-style moustache, and an equally jolly, identically rotund wife named Rosa, both of whom apparently felt that having an author (albeit a poor one) staying on their premises gave them some additional street-cred with their friends and neighbours. I was introduced as ‘Señor Harry, the great English writer to anyone and everyone who Pablo and Rosa came into contact with whilst I was around. I must admit, I enjoyed the small-town fame that went with my situation.

"Señor, you are alone?" The voice startled me; I thought I was alone on this stretch of the beach. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone approach. It was quite obvious that the girl had approached me from behind, from the direction of the hotel.

I turned and there she was, dark eyes, beautiful jet-black shoulder-length hair, a smile that could melt the hardest heart, and, I guessed, no more than eight or nine years old. She was well-dressed, and obviously not one of the beach orphans who every day attempted to make a meagre living from selling cheap souvenirs to the tourists who thronged the sand during the day. No, this girl was different, educated, and well spoken, her English very good for her age.

"Hello señorita," I replied, "yes, I’m afraid I am alone, and what is one so young doing here alone, talking to a stranger on the beach, where are your parents?"

"Mama and Papa are there," she replied, pointing at the hotel. "Papa is the leader of the band, and Mama is one of the singers; you are the famous writer from England aren’t you?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I am, how do you know who I am little one"

"Pablo Mendez is my mother’s cousin, he and Rosa told us all about you when we saw them the other day, and described you very well, they both said how sad you looked, and you do!"

I must admit I was quite taken aback to be so quickly summed up by one so young. This little Mexican girl obviously had me summed up pretty quickly.

"Do I really look so sad?" I asked the child, who now moved forward a sat beside me on the beach, our credentials safely established.

"Oh yes Señor, very sad," she said, shaking her head knowingly. "My uncle says you have a broken heart; that your woman left you and you have run away from home to come and live in Mexico and write your books, to make your fortune."

Well, she was mostly correct; tough I wasn’t sure about the fortune bit, nice as it sounded.

"You seem very grown up, er… I don’t even know your name, how old are you?"

"My name is Maria-Conchita Alvarez, and I’m nearly ten years old. I like to be grown up. One day I will learn to sing like my mother, and then I shall join Papa’s band, and entertain hundreds and hundreds of people."

That was it then, this young lady had her career plan all mapped out, and the thing was, I was certain that she would do exactly what she’d just told me she would. There was a certainty and determination in her words that left no doubt that she wouldn’t fail in her chosen path. I wished I could be so certain where my future lay.

"So, Maria," I said, very seriously, "Do you have any suggestions as to what I can do to cure this sadness you seem to see within me?"

"Oh but yes, of course," she replied, equally seriously. "I told my Uncle Pablo that I would come and talk to you, and take you to see my friend. She can help you feel better, she can make anyone feel better."

"So tell me Maria, how can this friend of yours help me, does she cast a magic spell to take my sadness away, or what exactly is it that she does?"

"I think perhaps she does cast a spell," replied Maria, maybe not in the way you think, but she does, really. I told Uncle Pablo I wanted you to meet her, and he says he’ll take us to Nuevo Vallarta tomorrow to meet her. Her name’s Nuna. Bring your swim shorts."

I had no plans for the next day, and thought there’d be no harm in going along with Maria’s little fantasy. The child was adorable after all, and maybe meeting her little friend would add to my knowledge of local colour and could certainly do me no harm.

"OK Maria," I agreed, "I’ll go and meet your friend, and we’ll see if she can mend my broken heart shall we?"

"Si Señor, bueno," she replied, "I will come to my uncle’s cantina at ten in the morning, and we will go and visit Nuna. She will make you much better, I know she will. I must return to Mama and Papa now, buenas noches, goodnight Señor Harry."

"Goodnight little Maria," I called as she skipped away into the night, the sun having set fully below the horizon as we spoke. The night was still warm, and the sounds of the music continued to drift across the sand to soothe my ears, my heart. I stayed on my patch of beach for another twenty minutes before making my way back to my room above the cantina, Pablo and Rosa were very busy in the bar, and I chose not to disturb them choosing instead to retire early, to try to let sleep give me the peace of mind my waking hours denied me.

As always, sleep did it’s best to avoid me, wherever I lay down, sleep stayed a long way distant from me. After tossing and turning my way through a very warm, humid night, I rose early, showered and dressed, and descended the stairs to enjoy one of Rosa’s typically filling breakfasts. Suitably victualled for the morning,

I took a seat on the cantina’s terrace, and awaited the arrival of Pablo, who always rose late after working in the bar, and his precocious little niece.

Two hours later I found myself seated in Pablo’s battered old Dodge truck, as we trundled our way the few kilometres to Nuevo Vallarta. Maria sat behind me, giggling with the innocence of youth, and being deliberately evasive when I tried to get her to talk about her friend Nuna. Pablo was equally reluctant to speak of Maria’s magical friends, (that was how I’d come to think of her), and I must admit to feeling a sense of intrigue, as if they were playing a game with me, and taking pleasure from my evident discomfiture.

As we arrived at our destination I wondered just who Maria’s friend could be, and what she did at the Nuevo Vallarta Marine and Biological Research Agency. She obviously wasn’t some child fiend of Pablo’s niece.

"Hey come on you two, are you matchmaking or what?" I asked. "Just who is this friend of yours Maria?

"You’ll see soon enough Señor Harry," she replied.

"Glad you’ve got your shorts on," said Pablo, "she’ll be in the pool by now. I think I ought to warn you, her mother’ll be watching."

That was it, now I knew they were matchmaking. Obviously Pablo and Rosa thought that it’d do me good to have some female companionship, and this Nuna was their choice of a suitable companion. Little Maria must spend a lot of time at the Research Agency, and know Nuna through regular visits.

A few minutes later, I was introduced to Nuna, who was, as they’d said, already in the pool, and, without doubt, she was the most beautiful creature I had ever set eyes on! I watched her for a minute or two before joining her in the water at Maria’s urging.

We never spoke, not one word, yet, again as Maria had promised, I found myself beginning to feel better, less oppressed by my feelings, and for the first time in a long time, I felt uplifted. Nuna did indeed make me feel happy, or at the very least, less sad.

I can’t describe how she made me feel for the next two hours, and her mother was indeed there, all the time, watching us together in the pool. We swam together, played together, and, towards the end of that first meeting, she kissed me, and I kissed her back, stroked her very gently, she was so warm to the touch, and, for the first time in my life, I realised what people meant when they talked about the therapeutic effect of swimming with dolphins.

"See, I told you Señor Harry, I told you Nuna could make you feel better!" said Maria as we rumbled back to the cantina in Pablo’s decrepit old Dodge.

"Yes, you did Maria," I replied, "and you were right, I feel much, much better, thank you."

"Maria was also very sad," interrupted Pablo, "two years ago she had the disease you call Leukaemia, she was very sick, my little niece, then, she met Nuna. The people here at the Agency let her visit every day, they swam together, became great friends, and suddenly Maria had something to look forward to. The therapy was hard on her, but she never gave up, she kept coming and talking and swimming with Nuna,

she convinced herself that Nuna would make her well again. One day, at the hospital they told my brother that Maria’s Leukaemia was gone! She was well again. Maria was convinced that Nuna had helped her get well, that Nuna could help anyone get well, and that’s why she wanted to bring you here, to see for yourself."

"Maria, you’re an amazing young lady," I said, feeling very humble at that moment. "I don’t know how to thank you for bringing me to meet Nuna. She really is truly incredible, and I actually do feel so much better after seeing her."

"It was a pleasure Señor Harry." She replied.

A year later I’m still here, in my little room above the cantina, still writing my best seller. I’m still visiting Nuna regularly, and, oh yes, I must tell you one last thing. On my second visit to Nuna, I met Luisa, her friend and keeper, and guess what? We’re very happy together!

© Copyright Brian L Porter 2006