One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy

A beachside road

I fall awake on a grass field in broad daylight. Immediately in front of me is a two-lane concrete highway. And just beyond that is a sandy beach and then the ocean. I've never been here before. I look to my right and see a semi truck barreling in my direction. I step out into the road and challenge the truck to stop. The grill is bearing down on me. At the last possible moment, I jump and fly so that I crash through the windshield instead of the grill.

The driver is a man in a flannel shirt. I grab him by the head and pull him out of the cab, flying above and clear of the vehicle. The truck continues on its own down the road. Annoyed, I fling the guy off into the ocean, never to be heard from again. Phew. Maybe I just needed to work some aggression out.

The scene is now calm. I fly out a ways over the ocean and then turn back toward the shore to get a better look at everything. It is quite picturesque. I gather that I am now facing South with the road and the beach running East and West. To the right, the road follows the beach in a lazy winding path all the way to the horizon. Beyond the road is a green grassy expanse of gently rolling hills. The beach itself is quite narrow. Maybe 30 feet only of fine yellow sand. To my left, the beach abruptly changes to a wall of seaside cliffs that curl out into the ocean, forming a cove that hides the horizon. These cliffs extend inland as a highland area, and the road cuts through it in a narrow canyon. It is from this canyon that the truck came.

"Where is Quixote..."

A rider appears on horseback on the beach to my right, bearing East at a full gallop. He is some distance away but I know immediately that he is indeed Quixote. He wears the armor of a Conquistador-era Spanish knight with a lance. His horse is dark brown with a sable black mane and tail.

"...and his man Sancho of La Mancha?"

Another man appears on the road directly in front of me, near where the canyon opening is. He is Sancho, Quixote's portly squire. Normally he rides a donkey but today he is waddling on foot. He wears clothing of the same era, but not of a knight. He has a leather waistcoat and a jaunty hat.

I fly down to greet them. We all meet on the beach in the shadow of the cliffs. Quixote is always eager for adventure, so I'm looking forward to what's in store for this encounter.

"¿Cómo estás, Quixote?" I ask, still hovering a few feet off the ground as I usually do so I can get a better vantage point of the scene.

"Bueno. El Portucale..." and then he continues to ramble on in Spanish, too fast for me to understand. He speaks with great urgency, as if describing a crisis. I think Quixote can speak English and he seems to understand me when I speak, but he seems more comfortable delivering his tirades in Spanish. I nod along and exchange knowing glances with Sancho. At least I grasp that Quixote has a very important adventure for us, and it has something to do with Portugal, one of the great rivals of the Spanish Empire.

Finally, Quixote finishes. I turn to Sancho, who is more comfortable with English and often acts as our translator. Though, Sancho's translations tend to be very short and to the point, but I gather it's because Quixote doesn't really say much in his ramblings. "Basically, Portugal is causing trouble and we have to do something."

Quixote nods and continues his spirited instructions. "Sí, sí. Nosotros...." We do the whole thing over again. I am amused as always. He finishes and I turn to Sancho again. "Uh, you should just follow us."

With that, we head off through the canyon. Quixote galloping on horseback, me flying, and Sancho running as fast as his little legs will take him. Somehow we manage to remain a group. The concrete highway is gone now. It has been replaced by just a dirt path worn into the grass. We navigate the canyon, which quickly open back up into a broad grassy plain. We seem to have moved inland and left the ocean behind.

In the distance, a windmill appears on the horizon. Of course it would be a windmill. We bear a ways closer and then stop. I turn to Quixote. He raises the visor on his helmet. He has a serious and pensive look on his face. His eyes are on the windmill, as if vigilant. He doesn't want to let it out of his sight.

Amused as ever, I take the situation into my own hands. Leaving Quixote and Sancho at their siege post, I fly on toward the windmill. The sails are still. The building is round and made of yellowish-white sandstone slabs. Aside from the wind sails, it looks more like a castle turret. A parapet lines the rim of the roof and a lone narrow window appears near the top of the building. As I get closer, I see a woman in the window. Of course it would be a damsel in distress.

I fly up to the window and hover outside it. The girl sees me. She has auburn hair and wears a powder blue shoulderless dress. Now that I am close to her, she doesn't seem to be in much distress. She's just leaning out the window, eating a slice of orange with a nonchalant expression on her face.

"I'm here to rescue you?" I say, uncertain if it is the right thing to say.

"I don't need to be rescued." She seems amused at all the ado for nothing. She reaches for another orange and, with a single magical gesture, she peels it. The slices inside fan out like the petals of a flower. She offers it to me. I take a slice and have a bite. It bursts with juicy orange flavor and sweetness. She smiles, pleased that I like it.

"But, Quixote..." I turn to look back at my comrades, but they are gone. There is just the empty green plain, the clear blue sky, and the horizon where they meet.

I turn back to the girl and I think we both shrug. With the same magical skill with which she peeled the orange, she runs a finger down her cleavage, lowering the dress until her breasts pop out. She give me a coquettish look, as if to say See? No need to worry. Not even need a bra.

As usual, I can only laugh in amusement. What a delightful mis-adventure.