by Joan Lingard
And then, in October, after being away for two and a half years, Don Geraldo returned. With a wife.
1932
Gamel Woolsey was American, and a poet. The fact that she came from the United States of America, a country where the buildings reached the sky and the streets were paved with gold, caused a stir in itself. Anyone they’d ever heard of who had emigrated to North America had made a fortune. Half the village would have packed up and gone, given the chance, though few could actually imagine doing it. It was a far and distant land, appearing much more distant than Argentina where, at least, the people spoke Spanish.
Doña Gamel was not young, perhaps no younger than Don Geraldo himself, which caused surprise, considering his tastes. It was decided that she must have money. When that rumour reached Don Geraldo’s ears, which it inevitably did, he laughed and shook his head. He told White Maria that there were poor people in America just as in most countries.
‘But you don’t mean Doña Gamel was as poor as a woman like Pilar,’ said White Maria, somewhat shocked.
‘No, of course not. It’s all relative, I suppose. I mean, it depends on what one is used to.’
He introduced his wife to Encarnita when they met on the path below the village. Doña Gamel nodded in recognition when he said Encarnita’s name. ‘I’ve told her about you.’
‘You speak English, I believe?’ The American woman had a soft, low, dreamy voice. Her hair was very black, as black as Encarnita’s own, but her skin was much paler. Don Geraldo repeated the question in English.
‘Un poco,’ Encarnita answered, staring down at her grubby feet. Then she lifted her head and added in English, ‘A little.’
‘You like to read, don’t you?’
‘Yes, like to read.’
‘So do I.’
‘How is Cinderella?’ asked Don Geraldo.
‘She well.’
‘She is well,’ Don Geraldo corrected her gently. ‘You see, you can have a conversation in English. You haven’t forgotten during all the time I was away.’
‘I never forget,’ said Encarnita.
Don Geraldo put a hand under his wife’s elbow and guided her on down the path. She trod on a stone and her ankle went over just a little and he was immediately concerned, asking if she was all right, and she was reassuring him. They smiled at each other. Encarnita watched them go. It would be nice to have a man who would look after you like that. Most of the men she knew would go ahead of their wives and never thinking of putting out a hand to support them. She turned and went back up into the village.
Juliana was standing in the doorway of Casa Narciso. Since Don Geraldo’s arrival Elena had not been visible in the village. Pilar suspected that Juliana might be keeping her out of the way so that she could bargain with Don Geraldo should he want to see the child. But would he, when he had a new wife with him? In Pilar’s opinion, it would be better for him, and his new wife, if he were to let sleeping dogs lie and let the child think Paco was her father. He had made no attempt so far to see her even though he was continuing to support her. There were some in the village who still maintained that he was not the father. Most were agreed, however, that he was a fool to go on giving Juliana all that money.
‘What were they saying to you?’ demanded Juliana as soon as Encarnita reached her.
‘We were talking about reading.’
‘You will burn out your brains! What use are books?’
‘He taught you to read.’
‘I only liked to read when he was sitting beside me. But it’s useful, I suppose.’ Juliana shrugged. ‘But her, what did you think of her?’
‘She seems nice.’
Juliana sniffed. ‘But she’s quite old, isn’t she? Soon she’ll be a withering flower. He always said he liked young, fresh girls.’
‘Perhaps, for his wife, he wanted someone different.’
‘You don’t think she’s prettier than me?’
‘Are you jealous, Juliana? But you’ve got Amador.’
‘Amador! I am going to get him back, you’ll see.’
‘Don Geraldo?’
‘I’ve bought some love philtres.’ Juliana held up a phial. ‘You go into his house sometimes, don’t you? Will you put this in his wine for me?’
Encarnita took a step back.
‘You’re my friend, aren’t you? Oh, go on, Encarnita, do this for me,’ wheedled Juliana, her bottom lip sagging into a slack pout. ‘He’ll want me again, I know he will. She won’t be as good for him in his bed as I will, I can tell.’
‘He’s my friend too,’ said Encarnita and ran off.
‘Bitch!’ yelled Juliana after her.
It was no secret that she was trying to tempt Don Geraldo with love potions. The woman who made them up for her had a tongue that wagged. White Maria had warned Don Geraldo to touch nothing that came from Juliana.
Encarnita met him another day when she was with Cinderella. This time Doña Gamel was not with him. He stopped to admire the goat. ‘You’re obviously taking good care of her.’ His voice changed a little, dropping a register. ‘Do you still have Gabriella’s picture? My friend – my friend Carrington who drew it – she is dead.’ His voice cracked as he said it.
‘Dead?’ echoed Encarnita. ‘How can that be? She was not very old.’
‘No, she was not old. But she was very unhappy. Because Señor Strachey – you remember him?- died. She didn’t want to go on living without him.’
Encarnita was confused. ‘She loved him, then?’ The long thin man with the piles and the big nose who complained about everything? But Señorita Carrington had married Señor Perdiz, who was younger and much more handsome. And had she not also been in love with Don Geraldo?
‘Yes, I know it’s difficult to understand, Encarnita.’ Don Geraldo sighed. ‘Relationships between people often are.’
To her, the story was a muddle, but she supposed that Juliana’s love life was, too.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ He looked away from her, up towards the mountains.
After a moment, she ventured, ‘Doña Gamel is nice.’
He nodded. ‘She is, very nice.’
‘How long will you stay this time?’
‘Perhaps for ever.’
Encarnita’s face broke into a smile. They had heard a rumour that he had been talking to Doña Clara about buying the house and that she was more than willing to sell it, since she would never want to live in it again herself.
The Brenans began to have work done. They had a big fireplace installed in the living room and screens fitted on the windows to keep out the insects in summer. Doña Gamel had been used to such things in America. She and Don Geraldo roamed the countryside buying furniture. They loved going on shopping expeditions and on their return Encarnita would run up the hill to see what they had brought back.
Once Doña Gamel had got used to the village she went out walking in the campo on her own. The terrain was rough and boulder-strewn under her delicately arched feet but Don Geraldo had obviously decided that he need not watch over his wife quite so closely as he had been doing. Her health was not good; she had had tuberculosis when young and part of one of her lungs had been removed.
Encarnita would often see her when she was grazing Cinderella. She sensed that the American lady liked to be alone. At times she would not even notice Encarnita, who wondered if she might be writing poems in her head. And then, another day, Doña Gamel might be in a different mood, and would stop to talk. They would exchange a few words in both English and Spanish. Doña Gamel said they could help each other for she had much to learn too. She told Encarnita that she was coming to love Spain, and although the country did seem to be somewhat unstable politically, and a bit worrying because of that, she did not want to go back and live in England.
‘It’s cold and damp there in winter.’
Doña Gamel was soon to find that it could be cold and damp in Yegen, too, in December, when the rains came. There were days when
it poured relentlessly and water ran down the streets in torrents, flooding the lower floors of houses that were badly placed. You couldn’t put a foot across the threshold without getting drenched within seconds. White Maria said the Brenans were feeling depressed; they hated the morning-to-night greyness and they were missing their friends. The news depressed Encarnita. She had so much hoped that Doña Gamel would like Yegen and would want to stay. Pilar warned her not to rely too much on her friendship with the Brenans.
‘You know what Don Geraldo is like. He’s restless. It seems he always has to keep moving.’
He took Doña Gamel to Granada for Christmas and when they came back they were in better spirits and immediately started to arrange for friends to come and stay. Encarnita was pleased. She loved the arrival of visitors from England. She would wait for the sound of the mules approaching, eager to see what the people would look like, what they would be wearing, and what their voices would sound like.
In February, came the elderly Señor Roger Fry and his wife with his very much younger wife. White Maria told Encarnita he was a painter and that he wrote things as well, but what she did not know.
‘You are such a nosey child,’ said Maria’s sister, Rosario, good-naturedly. She had been taken on by the Brenans as cook, so now the sisters worked together. ‘You were from the day you were born, isn’t that right, Maria? Your eyes were everywhere.’
One day, when Encarnita was down at the stream washing clothes, Don Geraldo came past with his friend. They were so absorbed in their conversation that they did not see her. Señor Fry was talking intently and gesticulating. He sounded distressed. Encarnita caught some English words that she could understand, words that she had come across in the fairy tales. Poor. Miserable. Hovels. Poverty. Rags. Barefoot.
She looked down at her skirt. There was a rent in her skirt and the hem was ragged. Her feet, too, were bare.
‘It is the year 1932!’ said Señor Fry vehemently. ‘It’s unbelievable! And in Europe!’
What did he mean by that, wondered Encarnita.
The men went on by.
After the visitors had left, Don Geraldo sought her out. He was hesitant at first as if he had something to say and did not know how to say it. He began, ‘You remember my friend Señor Fry who was here? He has given me some money to distribute amongst a few people in the village.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘He wanted to make a gift to the village since he had enjoyed his stay here. So, Encarnita, I want you to take this.’ Don Geraldo put fifty pesetas into her hand. ‘Don’t thank me! Just take it.’
She remembered the words Señor Fry had spoken. Poverty. Rags. Barefoot. She looked down at her own bare feet and felt her face heating up. For the first time she was seeing herself as another saw her and now she knew why Señor Fry was giving them money.
‘Buy yourself a new dress, Encarnita,’ said Don Geraldo hurriedly and left her.
When she showed the money to her mother Pilar said, ‘But what is it for?’
‘For nothing. It is free.’
They both had new skirts when the pedlar called, and for Encarnita there were two bodices, as her breasts were beginning to strain against the cloth of the old ones. They had some money left which Pilar hid in a corner of the stable.
Don Geraldo finally went to see Elena, and when he did, according to Juliana, he recognised at once that the child was his daughter.
‘I know myself that she is! When I look at her eyes I see him. Can’t you see it too? She is not from Paco.’
‘Did he speak of taking her to England?’
‘He wants to.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told him I didn’t want to give her up.’
‘And then?’
‘He said I could have more children.’
‘Will his wife not have a child?’
‘Maybe not, since she’s not strong.’
‘He will offer Juliana money,’ said Pilar, when Encarnita reported the conversation to her.
‘But she can’t sell her baby!’ Encarnita was horrified.
‘Poor people do things that the rich would not do.’
‘But she gets money from Don Geraldo now.’
‘He might stop that if she doesn’t let him have Elena.’
Encarnita felt upset that he could do this to Juliana. It was not as if he knew and loved the little girl and she knew and loved him. They were strangers to each other. Also, Encarnita did not want him to leave Yegen, but if he were planning to take his daughter to England he must intend to live there himself. How dull the village would be without him and his hundreds of books and the dances that he gave and his strange visitors who were so clever and who strode around the campo laughing and talking! Always talking. She loved hearing their voices echoing around the valley and sometimes she would catch and understand the occasional word in English and when she did she would feel that she was preparing for her journey. One day she would make it; she was sure of that. ‘You and your journey!’ Luisa would say when she talked of it.
Encarnita, thinking still about Juliana and her child, took the path out of the village that led to Úgijar. People said she was getting to be like Don Geraldo, going for long walks into the campo. It was not a thing the villagers did without a reason. Pilar was not easy about her walking alone and warned her that there could be bandits about. But they tended to roam the higher hills. The almond trees were shimmering with pink and white blooms and looking so pretty that Encarnita’s eyes were dazzled even though she had seen them every spring of her life. But, then, blossoms last for only a short time before they wither and drop.
Further along the path, she met Don Geraldo. She had thought that she might for she had seen him heading off in that direction earlier in the morning. He would have been going to fetch his mail.
‘Buenos dias, Encarnita. It’s a fine day, isn’t it?’ He had an open letter in one hand and he was smiling. ‘This is from my publisher. My publisher! He is to publish my first novel in October.’
‘You’ve written a book??’
‘It’s called Jack Robinson and it’s about a fifteen-year-old boy who runs away from home to go travelling.’
‘I wish I could read it!’
‘I’ll bring you a copy when I come back.’
‘You’re leaving? Soon?’
‘Quite soon. We have things to arrange in England. But we’ll be back.’
He was always coming and going. She feared the time when he would go but not come back.
That winter, Pilar’s cough began to trouble her more. At times she was racked by it so badly that after it had calmed she had to sit upright for a long time, with Encarnita supporting her, gasping as she struggled to find her breath. Increasingly there were streaks of blood in her phlegm but she said it had come from her throat because she had been coughing so fiercely. Encarnita walked up to the village of Válor where she sought out a woman who was reputed to be good at brewing herbal potions for bad chests. Encarnita thought that if Pilar could make it through to the spring she would be all right for then the sun would help her to regain her strength. Encarnita also took a few centimos from their savings and went into the campo to buy eggs and cheese for her. Jaime came by from time to time and left them a couple of eggs. For no payment. After Encarnita had milked Cinderella in the evening she would hold a cup of warm milk to her mother’s lips and encourage her to drink.
‘It will soothe your throat, Mama, and quieten your cough.’
Pilar did make it to the spring but she looked hollow-faced and black round the eyes.
By then, Don Geraldo and his wife were on their way back to Yegen, though their arrival was delayed because he had been taken seriously ill himself when travelling in Portugal. A message came to say he had flu, which had then developed into pneumonia.
‘You see, Mama,’ said Encarnita, ‘even rich people who live in dry houses and can buy medicine get ill.’ But they knew that the rich would always have a bette
r chance to recover.
At length, the Brenans arrived and Don Geraldo went to see Juliana to discuss the future of Elena. Juliana claimed that while he was there they’d made love with the child looking on. Encarnita was not sure whether to believe her or not though, knowing Juliana as she did, it was possible. But it looked as if Don Geraldo had not changed his mind about taking Elena to England. Pilar wondered how Doña Gamel would feel about that. ‘After all, Elena speaks not a word of English.’ And she urinated wherever she stood.
When Encarnita met Don Geraldo in the campo she saw that he looked at her in a different way, the way a man might look at a woman, and she blushed. He commented that she had grown up in his absence to be a young lady, a pretty young lady. She glanced away, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, yet flattered that that a man like him should think her pretty.
He had heard about Pilar’s illness and expressed his concern and insisted on giving Encarnita money to buy food and and medicine. He also gave her a copy of his book Jack Robinson. She was delighted.
‘But it doesn’t have your name on it!’
‘George Beaton is a pseudonym. A made-up name. Same initials, that’s all. G.B.’
‘But why?’
‘I might want to write different things under my own name. Non-fiction. I might write about Yegen.’
‘But Yegen is not an important place.’
He smiled. ‘It is very important to me,’ he said, though, even then, he was planning to leave it, for good.
Encarnita put the book carefully away in the box where she kept her special things, Señorita Carrington’s drawing, the English fairy tales, the poems by Robert Louis Stevenson and Don Quixote.
To her dismay, the Brenans came to the decision that living all year round in Yegen would not be good for Gamel’s health. They began house-hunting. After travelling the length and breadth of Andalucía, looking along the coast and in the hinterland, they bought, in the end, a house in a small pueblo called Churriana, close to the city of Málaga. The winters, there, would be milder than in the Alpujarra. It was a long way from Yegen.
