Súile glasa

Cibeles Sanz

“Here we go, lads!,” says the director, putting his fingers on his bagpipe’s holes.

Even though I love to dance, today, like all Saturdays, here I am, sitting on the village’s céili platform, with my fiddle on my shoulder, keeping the rhythm my fellows mark with their tin whistles and bodrháns.

The metallic soles of the dancer’s shoes echo on the wooden floorboards like bells ringing the hours. While we tune our instruments, I focus on one of the girls in the group. She wears a green dress, with a short skirt and long sleeves, brocade in gold, white lace stockings and black leather dancing shoes. Her hair, as red as fire, is in a braid which hangs over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band. For an instant, I can see her eucalyptus coloured eyes and I think she has seen me too.

Suddenly, I slide my violin’s bow accidentally, which provokes a loud grind. The director makes us stop to resume some minutes later.

She looks at me again and I feel her look as if it was bewitching me. For an instant, my skin bristles and I have the impression that time has frozen and it is just the three of us: My fiddle, she and I.

After the last reel, I can’t stop smiling at her. I see how she changes her shoes before joining the rest of the members of the group, who get onto the bus.

“Slán, súile glasa!,¹” I think.

And I am smiling while thinking about her. Next week I will return, and I will wait for her, looking for those green eyes in the crowd.

(1) Irish Gaelic for “Goodbye, green eyes!”