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Calixto loved theater. Since childhood, his parents had taken him to see a play once a week, a family tradition interrupted only on rare occasions when the theater was closed, such as during periods of royal mourning or Lent. Calixto had grown up captivated by the witty verses, duels to the death, lively dances, and impossible romances that were born and died upon the stage for his delight. Yet, no one would have guessed his passion for the dramatic arts had they judged him by his current state.
With his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands, and a distant look in his eyes, he was clearly bored. But a keener observer would have detected that his boredom was the sort felt by those awaiting something so spectacular that everything preceding it seems insipid. And indeed, Calixto was waiting for something—or rather, for someone.
He had already seen and read this play, Don Gil de las calzas verdes by Tirso de Molina*. In fact, this was the fifth time he had seen it in this exact theatre, the Corral del Príncipe*. And while he had enjoyed it the first time, it was nothing about the plot that had drawn him back to witness the performance four more times, but rather...
"There he is again!" he gasped, not addressing anyone in particular, though Jacinto, his servant, heard him. Calixto’s crimson eyes fixed like a hawk’s upon the figure stepping onto the stage: a young, slender man with dull blonde hair and hyena-like ears. He wore a ridiculous costume adorned with images of saints, for his character, Caramanchel, was a comic figure who, in this scene, was arming himself with amulets to protect against his mistress, whom he believed to be a demon due to a misunderstanding. The audience laughed; some even applauded the scene’s jokes. But Calixto, who was usually quick to laugh, remained silent, absorbed in watching the actor.
He was glad he had chosen a seat in a side box near the stage, for he now had the best view of the young man he had enjoyed in days. Four days earlier, this actor with hyena ears had captured Calixto’s attention with his grace, skill, dexterity, and beauty. The image of this comedian had become fixed in the white haired boy’s mind like a yoke upon the necks of a pair of oxen. From the moment he had risen from his seat to applaud the Gracioso*, Calixto felt a need to see him again to hear that sweet, nasal-toned voice resonate through the hall, and to see him close enough to make out the colour of his eyes...though that last wish, he lamented, had not been granted, even with his proximity to the stage. Not that it ruined his afternoon. After all, he had still been able to revel once again in the spectacular performance of his beautiful artist.
Once the final verses were spoken, the audience erupted in cheers and applause. “Bravo, bravo! Bravo to the Gracioso! Bravo!” Calixto exclaimed, rising abruptly. He kept it up for several minutes, so much so that most of the audience had already left, leaving his applause as the most prominent sound in the theater.
“Calixto...” said Jacinto, his voice heavy with exasperation. “Calm down; the play is over. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Oh, Jacinto! How can you ask for calm when I have been blessed with the most beautiful vision mortal eyes have ever beheld?”
“Don’t exaggerate.” Jacinto took his master by the arm and began leading him toward the exit. “By God, it baffles me that you’d get like this over a simple actor.”
“Simple?!” Calixto stopped so abruptly that Jacinto nearly fell backward. “There is nothing simple about him,” the nobleman told his servant in a grave tone rarely heard from him. “He is the most extraordinary man I have ever seen in my life.”
Jacinto sighed in exhaustion. “Listen,” he said, resuming his stride. “I can understand how your impetuous nature might draw you to a comely face upon the stage. Even King Felipe, our Lord, succumbed to the charms of an actress*. But the difference between His Majesty and you is that his position rests upon a royal lineage that can be traced all the way back to Pelayo of Asturias* himself.” By the time he said this, they had stepped out of the theater and were making their way toward their carriage. “You, on the other hand, are a New Christian* who has been fortunate enough to possess a substantial family wealth and a knighthood bought with that very fortune. But money cannot buy honour—a currency far more valuable than gold here at Court. We are no longer in Granada, Calixto. You no longer have the unconditional support of family and friends. You must choose your associates with great caution and discretion, and also—Calixto?”
The white haired boy had stopped listening to him a while ago. Just as they were about to board the carriage, the nobleman had glanced back over his shoulder, and that was when he saw him. His handsome thespian with the hyena ears was leaving the theater, and Calixto could not resist the urge to approach him.
Once face to face with him, the first thing Calixto noticed was his eyes. Those orbs he had longed to see for four evenings were finally before him, and they were far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. They were a bluish hue with touches of green and gray, like the waters of a pristine lake. Calixto was instantly reminded of the aquamarines his mother had so loved wearing in her jewelry. When those eyes fixed upon his own, he felt something he could only compare to the fascination of gazing closely at a burning flame: they captivated him so intensely that it almost frightened him. That last thought struck him as odd. Fear? Yes. Fear of sinking into those beautiful lakes that were watching him.
“What can I do for you, Vueselencia*?”
Calixto startled slightly at the sound of that sweet voice, spoken in a casual tone and without any need for projection, directed at him. Looking more closely at his face—the larger than normal eyes, the faint scars on his complexion, the upturned nose, the soft looking lips—Calixto felt he was in the presence of a beauty comparable only to that of the angels in church paintings.
“I assure you, I am ready to serve you however I can.”
Calixto detected a hint of nervousness in his voice, noticing at the same time how the actor’s hands, with their lovely, long, slender fingers, were clenching the pair of leather gloves he held.
“Did you enjoy the play?”
Calixto had to take a moment to process the sight of the blond man’s teeth, white and sharp, peeking out from between those sensual lips in a fleeting smile as he asked the question. When he managed to compose himself, he finally spoke.
“Did I enjoy it? By God! Never has a play of this caliber been seen in this theater! And it is all thanks to you! Your performance as Caramanchel was perfect! You are the finest Gracioso to ever set foot in Madrid! My good sir, let me tell you: I am your greatest admirer.”
The blue eyed boy seemed surprised by these words for a few seconds, but that surprise quickly gave way to an expression of sudden relief, accompanied by a particular glint in his eyes—one that betrayed cunning and even eagerness, like a raven eyeing a shiny object.
“You honour me with your words, Vueselencia” the blonde boy said with a slight bow.
“Might you tell me your name?” Calixto dared to ask.
The blonde seemed to hesitate for an instant, though Calixto wasn't sure if he hadn't simply imagined it.
“My name is Roque Burgos, Vueselencia”
Roque Burgos. Roque. Calixto decided he had never heard a more beautiful sound than that name. “Roque,” pronouncing such a beautiful name felt like blasphemy on his lips.“I am—”
“Don* Calixto de Almada y Vértiz,” interrupted a voice, which turned out to be Jacinto’s, and he was visibly annoyed. “And, as you surely understand…Roque…It is not fitting for a nobleman to associate with the likes of you. Calixto, we are leaving.” he said, taking his master by the arm.
“But Jacinto, I—”
“The audacity! The sheer impudence!” Roque said, his tone one of playful indignation.
“Huh?” Jacinto asked, confused.
“How dare you treat your master that way?! As I’m sure you understand… Jacinto…it is not fitting for a servant to go around bossing his master about. Shishishishishi!”
Calixto didn’t know what affected him more: the look of stupefaction on Jacinto’s face or that magnificent sound that was Roque’s laughter. Even at his friend’s expense, he couldn't hold back a laugh. “Ah ha-ha!”
This positive reaction seemed to egg Roque on; he laughed again, which in turn made Calixto laugh once more. The chorus of laughter was interrupted by Jacinto’s menacing mutter as he advanced towards Roque.
“I’ll teach you a lesson, you little—”
“Stop!” Calixto exclaimed, holding his servant by the shoulders. He turned to look at the blonde, pouting slightly. “Your wit is remarkable, Roque, but I will not allow you to speak that way about my dear Jacinto. Apologise.”
“You enjoyed the quip too, but very well, if Don Almada insists.” He looked at Jacinto with an expression that conveyed anything but remorse. “I beg for your forgiveness.”
“You see, Jacinto? He has apologised. Now, you do the same.”
“And why should I?!” the servant exclaimed. “I haven’t done anything!”
“You were rude without provocation. Apologise and return to the carriage; I shall join you in a few moments, and then we will leave.”
“But—!”
“Jacinto. Please.” Calixto was well aware that his gaze could be quite intense when he chose to make it so. He wanted to convey just how important it was for him to speak with Roque alone and undisturbed. As was his custom, Jacinto yielded.
“Very well. But make it quick.” He shot a resentful glance at Roque. “I am sorry.” With that, he turned and walked toward the carriage.
“Your servant is a spirited fellow,” the blue eyed boy remarked.
“Jacinto is very intelligent and talented. He usually offers the best advice, but I can't listen to it right now.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of you, Roque.” The large aquamarine eyes opened in surprise, fixed on Calixto's own ruby ones. “You have taken hold of my thoughts during the day, and you have ruled my dreams at night. Forgive my frankness, Roque, but I cannot hide that I am fascinated by you.” “I wish—no, I need to get to know you better.”
Before the blond man could say anything, the bells of the parish church of San Sebastián* rang out. The sudden peal startled Roque so much that he dropped the gloves he was holding. Calixto picked them up almost immediately, kneeling to reach them. Still kneeling, he took one of Roque’s hands—charmingly calloused—and gently placed the gloves in it, raising his gaze to the object of his adoration’s face, who returned it with evident astonishment.
Time seemed to stand still, and they both remained like that, Calixto on his knees holding Roque’s hand, and Roque, in turn, equally motionless. It must have been a rather peculiar sight for all the passersby who saw them: a young man so richly dressed, on the ground before another young man in ragged clothing. Calixto cared little for the opinions of others, captivated as he was by the feel of those adorable hands, the intensity of those dazzling eyes, and, to his supreme delight, the slight blush that peeked out from his cheeks. And, if asked, he would venture to say that Roque didn't seem to care about the people around them either.
The silence was broken by the actor, who forced a smile that was meant to be mocking, but whose trembling revealed intense embarrassment. “D-don Almada, returning my glove in this way…I appreciate the courtesy, but I can't help but notice that it's a very peculiar gesture, and along with your interest in me…Shishishishishi! Could it be that you intend to court me?”
“And what if I told you that's exactly what I intend?”
A blush spread across Roque’s face and down to his neck, turning his skin a delightful crimson. Accompanying this was a sudden drooping of his ears, causing them to flatten against his hair. The blonde realized his reaction and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it by pulling his hand away from Calixto’s and using it along with his gloves to cover his mouth. “You’ve seen too many comedies,” he said, glancing away. “You’re making fun of me. I warn you, I’m not one of those peasants who let themselves get beguiled by a colourful doublet and an impeccable ruff.”
“I would sooner die than mock you!” Calixto exclaimed as he straightened up. “If I have offended you, please, I beg your forgiveness. Is there anything I can do to regain your favour?”
Now composed, Roque looked back at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smile that made the red eyed boy's heart skip a beat. “I’ve always said there’s nothing a full stomach can’t cure, and since you wish to get to know me...how about you treat me to dinner?”
Calixto was overcome with joy and sprang to his feet. “Of course! Look how generous Providence is! I was just organizing a dance on the banks of the Manzanares*, beneath the grove of elms, tomorrow night. Will you come?”
“Will there be delicious food?”
“The very best.”
“Can I eat as much as I want?”
“Everything will be at your disposal.”
“I hope you won’t come to regret your generosity.”
“Never. Especially not when it comes to you.”
Roque’s ears twitched slightly. “Save the gallantry for tomorrow night, Don Almada.”
“Please, call me Calixto.”
“All right.” Calixto felt a hand rest on his shoulder and watched in astonishment as Roque stepped closer, close enough to whisper on his ear, “See you tomorrow, Calixto.” With that, Roque walked away briskly until he disappeared around the street corner.
The joy in Calixto’s chest was so great that he felt his heart might burst from sheer happiness; his stunning actor, his precious Roque, had gotten so close to him! Had he not been lost in such ecstasy, he might even have caught his scent. He consoled himself with the thought that he would have the chance to do so at the following day’s ball. As he made his way to the carriage, feeling as though his feet were floating on clouds rather than walking, he imagined dancing with his beloved: that blonde hair resting against his chest, those slender, calloused hands interlaced with his own, and hearing that intoxicating laughter once more as they spun to the sound of guitars and flutes...
This reverie was shattered by a gasp from Jacinto the moment he stepped into the carriage.
“What's the matter?”
“You’re missing one of your earrings!”
“Calm down; it must have just fallen off.”
“That’s impossible! You’ve danced countless times while wearing them, and they never fell off. Yet the moment you speak to an actor—what a coincidence—one vanishes. That scoundrel stole it from you!”
“Huh?” Calixto then recalled Roque’s sudden closeness. The realisation made him laugh. “Ah ha ha! What a rogue! His fingers are so deft I didn't even notice! Absolutely Charming!”
“Can’t you take this seriously, Calixto?!”
“Why would I do that? It’s not like I’m not in a position to buy another one. Besides, I’ll see him tomorrow and ask for it back, if he has it.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve invited him.”
“Fine, I won’t tell you. Don’t worry; I’m sure he’s a good man, you know I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“So you say…”
“Then again, he’s stolen something far more important than an earring.”
“Yet another thing?! And what would that be?!”
“My heart.”