Rian tied a frayed piece of bright blue rope in a knot around my wrist.
“I found it on the street,” he said.
“Am I part of the clan now?”
“Yeah sure I guess.”
I met Rian outside the albergue this afternoon. Maddie and I were walking up the drive getting drenched by the rain. He was smoking a joint under a tree.
“Hey, you play ukelele?” We were on the bunks and he was plucking out a tune.
“Maybe.”
The uke flew between bunks.
‘Tocar’ is the verb used in Spanish when playing an instrument, it means “to touch.”
I touched the strings until my ears found Dm7, G7, and Cmaj7 – a jazz 2-5-1 progression.
“Hey man you’re really good!”
“Just figuring it out.”
Thank God for music school.
Rian is walking the perimeter of France, Spain, and Italy. No big deal. Someday he’ll return home to Ireland.
“Maybe.” He says.
“I’m a stone worker by trade. I have a mark and everything. Hold out your hand.”
Obediently I held out my hand.
Rian drew in black ink a symbol with three prongs, two crosses, and what looked to my uneducated sensibilities like male genitalia but was quite obviously sacred to him.
“That’s my symbol.” Said Rian capping the pen. “It’s black magic.”
“Well shit.” I thought to myself.
Later Rian and I were bonded in Celtic friendship by the bracelet made of trash he gave me. We now sit in a tavern together, he with his pint and me with my hot chocolate. He and Maddie take turns telling the day’s story in doodles cross-hatched out on notebook paper.
“Okay so ‘what’s the craic?’ In Ireland Is equivalent to ‘what’s up?’ In America?”
“Yeah” said Maddie smiling “and you respond with, ‘the craic is mighty.’”
“Perfect.” I laughed. “First thing in the morning then.”
“Oh, can we walk together?” Asked Rian looking surprised.
“Definitely.”
And just like that friendship is made on the Camino. Three mornings later my blue bracelet still rubs against my wrist even though Rian and I have parted ways. Maddie and I look for his black magic mark on stop signs wherever we go just to remind us that we’re on the same road.