Still my mother hung there, and once again Balthasar rose. The devil seemed to be in him, and he meant to kill the man on the ground. But my mother had given Carlos just enough time to recover; he rolled over, got to his knees, and then, staggeringly, on his feet. He retreated, backed away, seeking the safety of the wall where the stallion could not have manoeuvring room. Still Balthasar followed. By now I was beside my mother, had grasped the reins. Pulling on his mouth might only further inflame him, but there was nothing else to do. Still the stallion kept lunging. I too was off my feet, swinging wildly. Then I managed to get my hand under the halter, and my mother’s strength gave way. The last toss of the stallion’s head threw her sideways, and her hands slipped, and released their hold. She was thrown in a heap against the wall where Carlos cowered.
I don’t remember how many times I was lifted from my feet. But other hands joined mine in trying to control Balthasar. Jaime and Pepe had taken courage at last, and tugged on the other side of the halter. Edwin was there; all his fragile strength added to the others to try to hold the horse, and quiet him. Paco had arrived and managed to overcome the fear he had always shown of the stallion, and he joined us, grasping the first piece of the harness he could lay hands on. Gradually exhaustion took us all, even Balthasar. At last the rearing stopped, the back legs gave a few last savage kicks, and then he was still, still and trembling, continuing to cry his anger and distress, frothing at the mouth, his coat lathered with sweat. We stayed, all five of us, not daring to move, trembling like the horse. I murmured the words my mother used to him, saying them over and over, trying to soothe and calm the animal.
But Pepita, who had early in her life been disciplined to remain quiet and move slowly when around horses, now gave a few unearthly howls. She and Juan were beside my mother’s crumpled body.
Finally, one of the boys moved to open the door of Balthasar’s box, and with great caution and gentleness we began to lead him to it. I kept talking to him all the time, wishing Pepita would stop her howling. But I daren’t raise my voice lest it startle Balthasar. Juan made it worse with his high-pitched screams. A few more times the stallion turned his head towards the place on the other side of the yard where Carlos had propped himself against the wall, and his great bellow rang out again. Paco looked as if he might be about to loose his hold and run. All of us kept as far away as we could from those terrible hind legs, with their power to kill or maim. At last he was in the box. Inside, as always in any stable Andy ran, there was clean water and hay, clean straw underfoot. I did not dare enter with him to secure his head to the ring. Better to leave him alone until the anger had cooled.
With the half-door finally secured, I ran to my mother. Juan knelt beside her, and now he wept with terror, his face streaked with tears. Edwin was bent over her; he could say nothing. His body was racked with spasms of coughing. Carlos had moved away from the wall. He was holding the arm which Balthasar’s hoof had caught, and he was deathly pale. Slowly he came to join the group about my mother.
The side of her head had struck the wall, and blood ran from it as she lay there, unconscious. I knelt down and loosened her stock. Juan’s wild shrieks had turned to sobbing pleas. ‘Granny! ‒ oh, Granny! Mama, is she dead? Why won’t she answer?’ He put out a hand as if to try to shake her into life.
‘Juan ‒ no! Don’t touch her! Granny’s not dead!’ But I was feeling for a pulse. The blood still ran, gushing, as head wounds always do. It had already stained her blouse and jacket. I looked for where I could get help. ‘Paco ‒ bring towels, anything to wrap around her head. And blankets.’ Edwin’s coughing made further help from him impossible. I said to one of the boys, ‘Run for Dr Ramírez. Bring him at once. If he’s not at his house, see if you can find Dr Gordon. He’s staying with the Domecqs. Don Manuel Domecq. Bring him at once.’ I called across the yard to Paco who was about to enter the house. ‘Send Doña Maria Luisa.’
She was beside me in no time. ‘Shall we take her inside?’ she said as we eased a towel under my mother’s head, and held another against the wound. Deftly Maria Luisa tucked the blankets about her body. ‘It’s cold, Carlota. She should be warm.’
‘I don’t dare move her until the doctor has seen her. We’ll need a door ‒ something firm like that, to carry her on.’ I said to Jaime, ‘Tell Serafina to fill hot-water bottles. Edwin, go inside. Take some wine. You must stop coughing. You’ll kill yourself …’ The bright blood still flowed, darkening further the red hair, soaking the towel, and staining the earth.
At last, as we waited, I looked up at Carlos. His arm obviously was broken, and he bit his lips against the pain. He stared down at my mother, and then into my own face. I saw pain, and shock; as his eyes moved from my face to my mother’s, and back again, I thought I read, not concern, not worry, but hatred.
Then he spoke. ‘The animal shall be destroyed.’
I gave the towel I was holding into Maria Luisa’s hand, and I got to my feet. I walked away from the little group, and drew Carlos with me. Then I turned to him. ‘If you do that, I shall take the gun you use on Balthasar, and I will kill you. I swear it!’
He left me. He did not falter at all as he walked from the stable-yard into the first court. His splendid riding jacket from the London tailor was dusty, and the sleeve that covered the arm Balthasar had broken was almost ripped away. Juan looked in bewilderment from his retreating father to the still form on the blood-soaked ground. ‘Papa ‒!’ and then, ‘Granny! ‒ Granny!’
IV
She remained unconscious for a long time. Dr Ramírez supervised her removal, by a borrowed stretcher, to her room after he had cleaned and stitched the wound. Much of the famous red hair had to be cut away. Dr Gordon arrived, full of deference to the local doctor, but clearly interested in the case, and Dr Ramírez welcomed a consultation. Gordon was an old man, a cousin to many of the Gordons who lived in Jerez, and he had come to escape the winter in Edinburgh and to shake off the effects of overwork and ’flu. He had been long retired, but the war, with its enlistment of younger men, had forced him back into practice. He had a special interest in neurology, which was why he had offered himself.
‘Quiet, rest and patience,’ was what he told me. ‘It’s a bad blow, and one never quite knows how severe the injury may be. Now if we had some modern hospital equipment we might take X-rays. There may be a hair-line fracture. But still, such things usually heal themselves …’ He shrugged, a gesture of helplessness. ‘Dr Ramírez tells me there is a good man in Seville.’
The man came from Seville, but there was little he could add to the advice. In her moments of consciousness they tried testing her with little things. Could she see the doctor’s finger? … where? … how far? They put things between her fingers to feel. Was it wool, silk, paper? She answered listlessly, or not at all. The man from Seville waited for a day, but could spare no more time. ‘Bring her to me when she’s able to travel, if you think it’s necessary. These things so often look after themselves. A bad blow, and time and rest heals it …’
We had three nurses, but either Maria Luisa or myself was with her all the time. I remember the gentle snoring of the nurse in the chair about two o’clock in the morning when my mother opened her eyes fully and looked at me. She said, quite distinctly and firmly, ‘Charlie ‒ what about Balthasar? Is he all right?’
‘Perfectly all right. Andy’s been exercising him every day.’
‘Tell Andy I’ll expect him to be in top shape when I get about again.’ And then she closed her eyes and slept.
Andy came to see her the next day when she had a long, lucid spell. I had to order him to get a smile on his face before he entered the room. ‘Everything’s just grand, Lady Pat. Balthasar’s looking a treat. And Half Moon’s in grand shape. Sure, it’ll be a better foal, even, than last time.’
Outside he said to me, with tears unashamedly in his eyes, ‘If I’d been there, it would never have happened. I’d just ridden out to Don Luis’s place to see if everything was all r
ight with Half Moon. God knows what made Don Carlos ‒’
I stopped him. ‘Only God knows. And we’ll leave it that way, Andy.’
He inclined his head towards the closed door. ‘Will she be all right now? I mean ‒ eventually?’ All the household, and therefore the whole town, knew that she slept a great deal, had periods when she seemed barely conscious; and when she was awake she talked, and her speech was rambling and unclear. Then there would be brief and blinding flashes of lucidity, when she demanded to know about Balthasar and Half Moon. ‘Andy will keep watching her, won’t he, Charlie? And what’s the news from home?’
Dr Ramírez came daily, and with his permission, Dr Gordon. The two had struck up a friendship. I thought they almost seemed to enjoy the daily consultations. It gave them a chance to meet and exchange medical gossip. I arranged to have copitas and tapas served in the drawing-room when the consultation was finished, and left them to their medical talk. There were more exciting things to discuss than one injured woman, who would probably be all right. I knew that it had been arranged that when the war was over, Dr Ramírez would visit Edinburgh and see what progress had been made with the treatment of shell-shocked war veterans.
Dr Ramírez had, of course, another patient in our house ‒ Carlos. It had been a multiple fracture of the right arm. Carefully set, it was mending well, Dr Ramírez told me. Carlos was young and healthy. Breaking a few bones did not mean any permanent injury. He was careful to say no more, to make no comment on the reason for the injury. He made not the slightest connection between my mother and Carlos, as if their injuries were totally divorced. He was the soul of tact.
That did not stop the rest of the town from making its own comments. Edwin Fletcher might be as discreet as he pleased, declare to everyone that he had arrived when it was all over and he knew nothing; but Pepe and Jaime had been there, and Paco invented and embellished what he had not actually witnessed. The town seemed to know more than we knew. Rumour was hotter than the truth, and moved more swiftly.
When my mother was pronounced out of danger I received a visit from Don Paulo. Maria Luisa came to my mother’s room to whisper to me that he had come. I should go and tidy my hair, change my blouse, before going down to him. I remember thinking how much in awe I had been of him in the past, and it seemed as if that time had been too long ago. Too much had happened. I neither changed my blouse nor tidied my hair.
‘Is it true,’ he said directly, ‘that she saved my son’s life? There are all kinds of stories, and I can get nothing from Carlos except that the animal threw him. The horse was also responsible for Lady Patricia’s accident. It is dangerous, and should be destroyed.’
‘It is true that Balthasar threw Carlos, who should not, I think, have mounted him. It is true that if my mother had not hung on to the halter and reins, Balthasar was ready to trample Carlos, and could have killed him. It is true that when my mother finally let go she was flung against a wall. But the horse was maddened. No one has ever used spurs and a whip on Balthasar. His flanks were streaming with blood. Carlos actually hit him across the head with the whip. You know the birch twig my mother uses ‒ you’ve seen it. That is merely to guide his steps as they practise, to get the rhythm. Carlos does not say why he mounted Balthasar that morning, and my mother cannot say. It is, as yet, beyond her. We do not excite her with things like that. It would probably be better if it was never mentioned again.’
‘But Carlos was beneath the stallion’s feet, and your mother risked herself?’
‘That is what I saw. So did Edwin Fletcher. Unfortunately, so did Juan. Perhaps even more unfortunately so did the boys, Pepe and Jaime ‒ and Paco. I cannot make bargains with them not to talk. It only increases the talk.’
He nodded. ‘You have asked Carlos yourself?’
I shook my head. ‘I have asked Carlos nothing. He has volunteered nothing. He has not seen my mother since the accident. Even if he asked to see her, I could not, as yet, permit it. She must not be excited.’
‘She will, however, be quite well in time? I mean ‒ there is no permanent damage?’
‘Ask the doctors, Don Paulo. Wait and see, they tell me. Wait and see.’
Against all the traditions of Spanish courtesy I terminated the visit. ‘You must excuse me. I do not like to leave my mother alone too long.’
He nodded. There was just a faintest trace of humility in the formal raising of my hand towards his lips. ‘You will indicate to your mother my profound gratitude. I could not easily have borne the death of my son.’
‘I told you, Don Paulo, we do not speak of such things. Nor will we.’
He bowed and left. He still walked with all the outward pride and arrogance of before, but it occurred to me that for the first time in many years, he was a man with a debt, and the debt was owed to a Blodmore.
V
She recovered; that is, she grew strong again, and was up and able to move about just as before. But she was not the same. The hair they had had to cut away grew back, but in a great swathe of startling white from the temple where the wound had been inflicted. She observed it in the mirror as if it were on another person it grew, and she did not attempt to cover it with the dye she had once used, so that all through her lovely hair, long silver strands appeared. Her lack of concern over it worried me. I would have welcomed a return of the old vanity.
Every one of the characteristics she had displayed before was still there, but in an exaggerated degree. When she talked, she talked far too much. And in between, the spells of silence grew longer. Her span of concentration was short. She would pick up a newspaper, flick its pages, and lay it down. ‘Was there any news from home today, Edwin?’ she would ask. She really meant was there any fresh news from France, any victory she could celebrate. We did not tell her of defeats. Edwin would patiently explain some minor movement on the Western Front only to have the question asked again an hour later. He never gave the slightest indication that he had said it all before. ‘Poor boys,’ she would sigh. ‘Let’s drink to them.’
The drinking also increased, and yet we did not know how, out of compassion, to stop it. Sometimes she complained of bad headaches, and lay in her darkened room for several days. Dr Ramírez called to see her from time to time, and Dr Gordon, who had lingered for the winter in Jerez, became one of the family circle. He had unlimited time to observe her.
‘There has been some permanent damage, but not to the nerves which control the movements. You see, she is still perfectly co-ordinated. But these fits of absent-mindedness I don’t like … Nor the headaches.’
‘She has always been absent-minded.’
‘When it suited her, I think. Now she really forgets. The headaches may be with her for the rest of her life. It’s hard to say how much the brain may heal itself. If you took her to London they might be able to operate, might be able to help her. But neurosurgery …’ He shook his head. ‘We haven’t touched the surface of it yet. One only resorts to that in extreme cases where the patient is on the point of death, or is violent ‒ a danger to others and herself. This is not so with your mother. It is perhaps better to leave well enough alone, and hope that time may yet help her.’
Carlos observed her sullenly one night as she sat in the drawing-room, a decanter of wine by her side, staring into the fire. It was one of the few nights he had spent with the family since the accident. He did not like even to sit at the table with my mother. This night he had drunk more than the usual amount of wine himself.
‘She’s crazy,’ he said. ‘Look at her! She hasn’t bothered to change her dress or brush her hair. Sits there like a drunken old fool, spilling her wine, and she doesn’t hear a word that’s said to her. She’s crazy. There’s talk in the town that all you Blodmores are crazy in one fashion or another. She should be put away. She should be in Nuestra Señora de Mercedes.’
I rose and went over to him, speaking very softly so that she would not hear. ‘Be quiet! No one in this house will ever say such a thing again.’
&
nbsp; ‘But she is crazy. And I don’t like my children being with her. God knows what she might do to them one day. These crazy old women … no one knows what they take into their heads to do.’
‘She is a danger to no one. And I’ll see you in Nuestra Señora de Mercedes before she will go there.’ I straightened, looking down on him, which he didn’t like. ‘You have no pity at all, do you? No remorse. You were the cause ‒’
He cut me short, his voice rising angrily. ‘Enough! I’ve had enough of things being hinted at ‒ things implied. It was something that happened because your mother is a stupid, tiresome, interfering drunken old woman. I would have been perfectly all right on Balthasar if she had not taken it into her head to goad him into a tantrum. After all, he is my horse. He has been, right from the beginning. Don’t tell me he doesn’t know who is his master.’
‘Try riding him again, Carlos. You will find out who is master. If I do not kill you for your vile insults to my mother, Balthasar will surely do it for me. Yes, I’d like to see you try to mount Balthasar again.’
‘You’d like to see me dead, you mean?’
‘Yes!’
He cursed me in Spanish, and left the room. After a long time, Maria Luisa spoke. ‘That was not wise, querida. Words spoken like that are never quite unsaid. Even if you apologise ‒’
‘Apologise! I will never apologise. Why should I? It is the truth, and he knows it.’
‘He will leave you.’
‘I wish he would, but he won’t. He would lose his children. He would lose his hoped for what he may yet have from the Marquesa and his father. He has made a bad marriage, but he must live with it. Unfortunately, so must I …’
Silence fell once more. I moved to the fire and stood staring into it. Things had not seemed quite so bad until anger and passion had forced them to be put into words. Any pretence of affection was over between Carlos and me. Since my mother’s accident I had been sleeping a good deal of the time in her room on a cot bed. The nurses had left, but Maria Luisa and I did not think it wise to leave her alone. She had once risen in the middle of the night, lighted a candle and upset it; the blanket had begun to burn before I had wakened. So I slept there, and on the nights when Maria Luisa took over, I slept in an adjoining room. The house still had plenty of empty rooms. It was one thing we did not lack. At first I had made the excuse of Carlos’s arm still being in plaster to avoid our bed; later I made no excuse at all. We spoke only in the presence of the children and when it was strictly necessary. I had fallen into the trap of so many marriages. I now did things ‘for the children’. I cautioned myself there, as I watched the flames, that they must never be made to bear the burden of that feeling. The guilt was not theirs. It was mine. It had been my mistake, and therefore must be my guilt.
The Summer of the Spanish Woman Page 31
