Flying Circus - 2. The Kid - Part II

Sunday, 2 May 2027
Barcelona

Done eating, Ritch excused himself to go change. He expected his suitcase to have been delivered by then, and Lucy followed him. About an hour later, the grinning, flushed couple rejoined the family in the hotel’s lobby. T-shirts or polos, hoodies, jeans, and sneakers appeared to be the day’s uniform.

Brett voiced what others thought. “You went to change? Sure as hell took you forever, flyboy.” Before Ritch could object, his father stripped the Aviano Air Base ball cap off his head. “I’m keeping this one. You can have mine.” He handed his Los Angeles Lakers hat over, running a hand over the lieutenant’s head. “And why is your hair damp if all you did was go change?”

“I rinsed off, okay? You know, travel dust and all that?” The grin was clear indication he knew nobody would buy his excuse.

“Come on, Liebe. Keep up. You need to walk a little faster.” César put a hand out to stop CJ so the girl could catch up to them. Father and son walked behind the rest of the family, and the girl had lagged a few steps further back. As soon as he realized it, César stopped.

“Hey! Slow down a bit, okay?” César’s shout made the others stop and glance back. He squatted so he could talk to his granddaughter eye to eye. “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

Soon after Brett announced the trip, foreseeing limited time on the ground in Barcelona, CJ had insisted on organizing their afternoons. He had arranged a tour of the Basílica de la Sagrada Familia for Sunday.

“I don’t wanna go.” The girl’s whining echoed her mood. “We’ll have to sit for a long time and stay quiet while the priest talks and talks and talks. It’s always boring.”

CJ chuckled while running a comforting hand down the girl’s back. “We’re not going to mass, Munchkin. We’re just touring the place. Same way we’ve done before at other churches. I think you’ll like this one.” Over the years, the girl had been to other houses of worship while traveling, when CJ insisted on visiting what he called architecturally and socially significant structures.

“That’s it? You promise? I thought since it was Sunday, we’d have to go through all that other stuff.”

Although Liebe and her brothers were being raised without any religious affiliation, because of their fathers’ positions, she had been required to attend multiple church events. She had even walked down the aisle as a flower girl at a couple of weddings.

“Nope. I promise.”

“Okay…” She was not entirely convinced, but she took her grandfather’s offered hand, and followed along as they caught up with the rest of the family.

CJ made one more attempt to cheer up his daughter. “It won’t be bad. And you’ll get to see cousin Arnau again. You remember him, right?”

“The guy who owns all the paintings by the dead man with our last name?”

CJ nodded. “That’s him. But he doesn’t own them, Munchkin. He runs the museum where they’re on display. Joan donated his art collection to the city of Mollet, they established a museum for it, and our cousin’s in charge of it.”

While living in Havana, CJ and Owen were invited to the opening of an exhibit of works by Catalán impressionist Joan Abelló i Prat. Arnau Bernat, director of Museu Abelló in Mollet del Vallès just north of Barcelona’s center, traveled with the artwork and supervised the uncrating and installation. A relative of the deceased painter, he was delighted to meet someone with the Abelló surname.

Nearly ignoring other attendees, he spent most of the evening with CJ and Owen, talking about the painter. Maybe because CJ’s birthday was on December 23, and Joan Abelló had been born three days later on the twenty-sixth and died on Christmas 2008, a day shy of his eighty-sixth birthday, CJ felt a special connection. Since then, he always toasted their deceased relative on his birthday.

Based on what Arnau shared that evening, CJ found another connection, making him think the spirit of exploration everyone said he had might have been a genetic trait. Joan Abelló had traveled extensively throughout his life and memorialized places he visited in his work.

After the opening, following emails to and from his assistant in Barcelona, Arnau let CJ know there was a confirmed, familial connection with the painter. CJ, Joan, and Arnau were cousins. Distant, but cousins nonetheless.

César flew to Cuba to meet the Spaniard. A little over a month later, armed with a genealogical chart tracing their lineage to the ancestor who settled on the Caribbean Island that confirmed the link to the artist, he and CJ traveled to Spain for a weekend visit to the museum.

Like other artists of his time, Abelló spent time in London, Paris, and other major cities. In the 1960s, he returned to Mollet, interested in interpreting the area’s Mediterranean landscapes in his work. A collector as well as a painter, in 1996 Abelló donated the accumulated artworks to the Mollet del Vallès town council. The Joan Abelló Municipal Foundation inaugurated the eponymous museum three years later.

Mostly works by the artist were on display, along with many the painter had gathered during his lifetime. Priceless works by Picasso, Miró, and Dali, signed by the artists to Joan Abelló, were included.

Brett’s parents had amassed a collection of art primarily from twentieth-century Americans. A portion of those works was on extended loan to the California Museum of Art at Los Angeles, but the rest were on display at family-owned homes in Malibu, Vail, New York City, and Washington.

Over the years, Brett and César had augmented the inherited collection with more modern pieces. Generally from unknown or up-and-coming artists. CJ following in his parents’ footsteps did not surprise anyone. He was raised surrounded by fine art. Since marrying, he and Owen had made a few purchases themselves.

After meeting Arnau, César and CJ both expressed a desire to add something by their relative to their respective collections. Their spouses concurred. Inexpensive when compared to some of the artwork they already owned—individual Abelló pieces sold for five figures instead of millions—Brett and César had acquired two landscapes for less than ten thousand dollars. CJ was still waiting for one particular painting to become available. That specific piece Arnau had promised, based on his knowledge of who owned what and when it had sold before, would come up for auction in the near future. CJ had been amazed at the detailed registry maintained by the museum.

“Hey.” Ritch slowed his pace, allowing his father, brother, and niece to catch up with him. “I’ve seen a few rainbow flags and decals around. Is this like Barcelona’s gayborhood?”

“It’s called the Gaixample.” CJ’s response seemed to baffle his brother.

“The what?”

César provided a better explanation. “The area’s known as the Eixample, Ritch. That means expansion in Catalán. It’s one of Barcelona’s districts—lots of wealth and gay establishments. We walked around a lot after we got in yesterday.”

Visitors funded the Basílica de la Sagrada Familia’s ongoing construction through admission fees which CJ paid for. Arnau Bernat had insisted on being their guide and arranged for expedited access; they would not have to wait in line the way most tourists did.

Near the basilica, a young man with a dark beard and smiling eyes waited for them at the northeast corner of Plaça Sagrada Família. Directly across from the church. “CJ!”

Brett slapped CJ’s back hard enough to nearly make him stumble. “I’m glad some things don’t change. Everyone still knows you!”

“Screw you.” A grinning CJ hugged their cousin. “Arnau! It’s so wonderful to see you again.” With an arm around the young Spaniard, CJ faced the family. “You’ve met Owen, the kids, and one of my fathers; the grumpy blond’s the other one, Brett Davenport. And the two with their hands all over each other are my brother, Ritch, and his girlfriend, Lucy.”

Arnau hugged Ritch first. “I know, that like me, your last name’s not Abelló; you’re still family, though. Welcome to Barcelona.” The man turned to Lucy, placed his hands on her shoulders, and leaned closer. In typical European style, he touched his cheeks to hers while kissing the air. “¡Eres preciosa! CJ showed me pictures of you and his brother, but they did not tell how lovely you are.”

Liebe tugged on Ritch’s shirt and motioned for him to come down to her level. “I think he’s flirting with Aunt Lucy. Stop him.”

Ritch fully squatted after the stage whisper. “That was loud enough, I think everyone heard you. What do you know about flirting, anyway?”

The girl shrugged. “Duh, the Dads do it all the time. Are you gonna tell him to stop?”

“That wasn’t flirting, Liebe.” Lucy was the ideal person to clear the confusion. “He was paying me a compliment in a respectful way. When boys start saying that kind of stuff to you, pay attention not only to the words but to how they say them. And what else they’re doing at the time. Arnau knows I’m Ritch’s girlfriend and never winked or looked funny at me. You’ll learn how to tell the difference.”

“Okay, now that we cleared all that…” CJ picked Liebe up and hoisted her on his shoulders. “So, you know we’re just going to look at the church and that Cousin Arnau wasn’t flirting with Aunt Lucy. One other thing you should know, if any boy ever talks to you that way, you need to tell me. I’ll spank him so hard he won’t be able to sit for a week.”

Liebe and her brothers giggled while Owen rolled his eyes.

“I guess I’m safe now?” Arnau’s little joke would have been the end of it had Brett not opened his mouth.

“Keep a hand close to your balls. You never know when she might feel the need to kick them.”

“That’s not nice, Grandpa Cap. I understood what Aunt Lucy said. I would never kick Cousin Arnau. The Dads wouldn’t like that.”

“Ha! Smarter than your average first grader.” César’s evil glare settled on Brett. “And obviously much smarter than your average Marine.”

It took a few moments before Arnau stopped laughing. “I haven’t been around all of you together before. Is it always this much fun?”

“They have their moments. Are we ready to go inside?” Lucy tilted her head in the church’s direction. “I’m actually looking forward to this.”

“In a minute. I need to show CJ something first.” He scrolled through his phone until finding what he was looking for and turned it so everyone could see the image. “This is the one you’re interested in, right?”

“YES! Is it for sale?” CJ’s nodding was mirrored by Owen.

The screen showed Joan Abelló’s Ángel de la Independencia. Considering he, Owen, and Liebe had been able to see the monument from their balcony while living in Mexico City, they had expressed an interest in adding the oil on canvas work to their collection.

“It’s coming up for auction next month.”

“We want it.” Owen glanced at CJ, who nodded his agreement. “How do we make it happen?”

“The auction’s in London, but they accept remote bids. You’ll have to register and establish a line of credit with them. I can send you the details.”

“Do it!”

“I’ll email it when I’m back at the office. Good, now that that’s taken care of, let’s go play tourists.”

Instead of crossing the street, Arnau stood on the sidewalk staring at the imposing structure. “Funded entirely by private donations, construction on the Basílica de La Sagrada Familia began in 1882. A year later, the original architect was replaced by a young man starting to stand out in the field, Antoni Gaudí.”

“Is he the same man who built the funny-looking buildings we saw yesterday?” Once her father lowered her from his shoulders, Liebe moved to stand next to Arnau. Her trepidation about visiting the church had evaporated, and she was intrigued by the amount of detail on the building’s walls.

“Excellent, Liebe! I’m proud you paid attention and remembered what we talked about.” CJ had often told her he had considered becoming an architect and encouraged her to follow the path he had not taken if she wanted to. She did enjoy building structures with Lego bricks and Lincoln Logs, but she had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Arnau placed a hand on her shoulder and kept it there. “I’m impressed. When Gaudí took over as chief architect, he changed the design to align with his style. The church combines Gothic and curvilinear Art Nouveau details. He worked on the project for the remainder of his life, but at the time of his death in 1926, less than a quarter of the project was complete.”

“That’s a long time. I bet Grandpa Cap and Grandpa A would have finished it faster.” Liebe was proud of the structure she had seen in Washington built by the family’s development company.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Liebe. But this is way bigger than anything we’ve ever done, and it would take a long time to build. Plus, when they started, they didn’t have computers or some of the other machines we use now.” Brett grinned at his granddaughter. “Maybe if you become an architect, we’ll try something like this.”

“When did they finish it?” Because Jefferson and Roosevelt were behind her, Liebe could not figure out who had asked the question. Her brothers not only looked alike but sounded it too.

“It’s not complete yet.” Arnau momentarily glanced at the boys and shrugged. “The structure should be finished by next year and the remaining decorative elements within half a dozen more.”

“Why does it take so long?” The other twin had to get a question in. It was part of the boys’ competitiveness.

“A lot of reasons. One of them was that in 1936, during the Spanish Civil War, a fire destroyed most of Gaudí’s notes, plans, and models. It took a very long time to reconstruct them. It’s been over 100 years since the cornerstone was laid, but we’re nearing the end. Come on, let’s go inside.”

The fact both boys were asking questions was a sign they were paying attention.

“Maybe we’ll come back for another visit once it’s finished.” Owen reached for Roosevelt’s hand and tipped his head at CJ. “You take Jeffer. I don’t want them crossing the street by themselves.”

Roosevelt slipped his hand out of Owen’s as soon as they reached the sidewalk and ran toward a pillar. “What’s this? Why does it look like it’s holding the building up?”

CJ loved his kids asking questions. He and Owen tried to answer them as completely as possible, even when the children did not entirely understand. If they asked follow-up questions, it gave them a chance to impart more knowledge. “It’s called a flying buttress, and it is holding the building up.”

“You guys remember the last time you were at one of our building sites?” Brett’s question elicited head nods. “All those metal support rods you saw all over the place were not used when they started building this church. Back then, stone held up the entire building. Since it was really, really heavy, they added the buttresses so it wouldn’t fall down.”

“What’s all the shiny stuff in the stone?”

It was Arnau’s turn to reply. “That’s quartz. Do you know what that is?”

“I know.” Liebe raised her hand as if in school. “It’s a mineral. Like the pink ones in the bracelet Uncle Rod and Aunt Taisha gave me as a present.”

“Very good, Munchkin. The ones in your bracelet are rose quartz. These are clear ones.”

“They are. I’ll point out different stones inside since they seem interested in them.” Arnau shifted his attention from CJ to the twins. “There have been over fifty different types of stones used, and most of them have the shiny crystals.”

“Why so many?”

“Availability. Quarries can shut down when the supply of a particular type runs out, or producers go out of business for various reasons. With so much needed, it’s been impossible to get it all from one place. While at the beginning most came from Spain, material from France, Germany, Brazil, India, and a few other countries has been used since.”

Once she realized their visit to the church was only to look at the building, Liebe relaxed. Having experienced this type of excursion from as far back as she could remember, and having begun to enjoy them as she grew older, she paid close attention to Arnau’s ongoing commentary. She did not think she would remember all the details, but her fathers were always good at answering questions. “What’s a quarries?”

“A quarry is a mine. It’s what you call where stone’s taken from.” CJ’s response satisfied her.

The basilica’s interior was as imposing as the exterior. While Arnau spoke, everyone had their heads tilted back, staring at the soaring columns and the ceiling. “When completed, the basilica will have eighteen towers. Twelve will represent the apostles, four of them the evangelists, one the Virgin Mary, and of course the last one, the highest one in the middle, will honor Jesus Christ.”

“How high are they?” Liebe had climbed tall structures in the past and hoped they could do it again.

“Some seventy meters… I’m not sure what that is in feet. Like two hundred?”

“Doesn’t matter, Arnau. We’re teaching them both the metric and imperial systems.”

“Good. Well, the Jesus tower exceeds the average height. At over 170 meters, it’s the tallest structure in Barcelona. You’ll enjoy the view from the observation platform.” The smiling Spaniard pointed at the ceiling. “Are we ready to go up?”

The light from the stained glass windows was captivating, and the panoramic view of Barcelona breathtaking.

“How come the glass on one side’s all blue and green, but on the other it’s red and orange.”

“That’s very observant, Liebe. Gaudí, the architect, felt the morning sun provided a soft light, so he designed the eastern side windows in cool blues and greens. The western ones reflect the warmer colors of fiery sunsets.”

Knowing CJ could spend hours and hours wandering through the building, Liebe was glad her brothers started acting up. The fathers called for an end to the tour and a stop at the shop. They admired the computer-generated drawings and 3D-printed models, but everyone knew why CJ stopped. He insisted on buying a miniature of any significant structure they visited. The ever-growing collection was on display in his study’s bookshelves at Everhope.