Doctor Menendez, Dreaming of Spiders

The older doctor endeavors to nap each afternoon on the third floor of the nursing home. In order to achieve a restful slumber, he seeks to soothe his senses. He pours himself a neat shotglass of whiskey. He dons a pair of excellent noise-cancelling headphones, pushes “PLAY” on his sound system. Reclining in his ergonomic chair and crossing his feet onto his desk, he drinks in a series of burning gulps. What sounds in his ears is the Habanera, delicate, winsome, even flirtatious, of Maurice Ravel; as if, Menendez thinks, quite consciously seeking the image that he knows awaits, a piece of newspaper were to blow across the wide steps… of the Alhambra. Out of moments such as these — inaugural, incantatory — emerges the likelihood, even the certitude, of a rendez-vous. A searing sensation in his abdomen doesn’t interrupt this invitation to more — only sleep will, perhaps.

Doctor Menendez was born in 1921, in Granada, a city where he no longer has family. He is, however, related to an Israeli family named Ben Porat. He knows this from research that his daughter, beloved, estranged, has recently conducted. With the advent of internet, so much becomes possible! Menendez has the option now of engaging in dialogue with lost family — if the family were willing. The irony (if there is irony) lies in the fact that Menendez has returned to the religion of his forebears, that is, a Maimonidean Judaism, while his relatives in Israel have entirely forgotten about such things. Or so it...