Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  I opened my case and extracted a towel and some clean clothes. I couldn’t be bothered to look for the señores bathroom and decided instead to use the servants’ one which happened conveniently to be opposite my bedroom. I dived under a cool shower – something I had dreamt of during the hot journey – and revelled in its refreshing cascade of water.What bliss: to be cool and clean!

  Back in my room I started to unpack and it was only then that I realised just how exhausted I was. I left the unpacking, kicked off my shoes and sank onto the bed where I lay, damp hair straddled across the pillow, staring up at the little reflections of light playing on the ceiling.Then I closed my eyes, listening to someone singing outside in the street.The next moment I was asleep.

  I was woken three hours later by a gentle tapping on the door. Rosa entered with the promised cup of coffee and handed it to me shyly.

  “The Doctor has left for the clinic,” she said, “and I thought, …that is...” She hesitated.“Yes?” I said encouragingly.

  “I have a little time before cooking supper and I wondered if I could show you some of the city: go for a walk…”

  “I’d love that! I’m dying to see Burgos!”

  She smiled nervously.“I mustn’t be long. Just a short walk.”

  Together we slipped out into the evening sunshine. It was much cooler now and the town was full of people. Indeed, it seemed that the entire population of Burgos had emerged for an evening stroll.

  “I will show you the Espolón,” said Rosa. “That is where everyone walks in the evening.”

  Having been in Spain before, I knew all about the ritual of the paseo, the obligatory evening walk which all self-respecting Spaniards took before their evening meal. It was one of the pleasanter aspects of Spanish life, an opportunity to wear your best clothes and look elegant for a couple of hours and an excuse to meet friends and have the odd drink with them. In most towns there was a favourite place for the paseo. Here, in Burgos, it was obviously the Espolón, a shady, river-side walk, free of traffic and well provided with bars and cafés, their tables and chairs scattered across the paving.

  That evening it was so crowded that we had difficulty moving among the jostling, good-humoured throng. I invited Rosa to a drink and we sat down at one of the tables.There, under the trees sipping ice-cold beer, I was able to observe at leisure my new surroundings and their inhabitants. It was an extraordinary scene that seemed to belong to some bygone age – like being transported back in time, perhaps to a period resembling the British Edwardian era. There were uniformed nursemaids pushing prams accompanied by small girls in stiff, frilly dresses tied with silk sashes, and little boys, their hair newly-brushed and shoes polished, looking uncomfortably clean and tidy in immaculate white shirts. In stark contrast, I had noticed earlier that down on the river bank, barefoot, grubby children dressed in rags were wading in the muddy water.

  Many of the nursemaids were enjoying the attentions of soldiers and I was told later that this was a tradition. Certainly, the nursemaids had plenty of choice because Burgos was a military headquarters and there were soldiers everywhere. They were dishevelled and unkempt as they slouched along looking uncomfortable in uniforms which all seemed several sizes too big for them.Their faces were unshaven and their boots dusty but this did not seem to deter the giggling nursemaids who responded flirtatiously to their advances.

  The other young men and women were all wearing their best clothes, the girls tripping along in high heels, arms linked, pretending unconvincingly that they were unaware of the muttered compliments thrown at them by passing youths.As they floated by, the heady scent of their mingled perfumes wafted towards us.There were married couples strolling along arm in arm, greeting their friends, exchanging jokes, and grannies dressed in black, taking their grandchildren for a walk. Groups of men sat in the cafes smoking, laughing, drinking wine and playing cards.

  The atmosphere was so lively and intoxicating that I felt I could have stayed there all evening but alas, Rosa had to get back to start her cooking. She remained very quiet and shy and conversation with her was difficult. Only once did I manage to shake her defences when I asked her whether she had a boyfriend. She seemed taken aback by this innocent question and her pale face blanched even more. She shook her head and turned away in embarrassment, so I dropped the subject.

  On the way back and after a long silence, she said as we approached the house:“I hope you will be happy here.”

  I replied that from what I had seen of Burgos so far, I thought I would be very happy.

  “No, no, I mean here – in this house.”

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be?” Suddenly I felt uneasy. “Oh, and by the way, wasn’t there another English girl staying here before me?”

  Rosa gave me a strange look. “Yes, there was,” she murmured in a voice so quiet I could barely distinguish her words, “but she didn’t stay very long.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SANTANDER

  It was not easy to teach English to Tomasín. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that it was bordering on the impossible. Firstly, he had no interest whatsoever in learning the language and secondly, it was obvious that his youthful mind was busily occupied with matters altogether unrelated to his studies.

  Breakfast was set for me each morning in the conservatory among the potted plants. Beside my cup of coffee lay a pile of English text books and sitting at the small, round table, waiting for me was my pupil, his long brown legs sprawled out in front of him. He greeted me, as I sat down beside him, with his usual insolent grin, his arms folded in a gesture of defiance. I took a sip of my coffee, thumbed through one of the books and then began optimistically.

  “Today we are going to revise the irregular verbs.Turn to page twelve – we’ll begin with the verbs ‘to be’ and ‘to have’, present tense...”

  “I know them,” interrupted the boy. “I like your hair. Is it natural? Most of the blondes in Spain use bleach.”

  “Please concentrate Tomasín! I want to hear the present tense of ‘to be’. Have you found the right page?”

  “You can tell they bleach it because you can see all the black bits coming through at the roots...”

  “Concentrate! If you know the present tense we’ll go on to the past. We’ll look at it first and then you can say it to me from memory.”

  But he was not listening. He was not even looking at the book. Instead his eyes were firmly fixed on the neckline of my dress.

  “Do you have a novio – a boyfriend?” he enquired plucking thoughtfully at the small black hairs sprouting on his upper lip.

  “We are not here to discuss my private life.You are supposed to be learning English. Now, about these verbs –”

  “I don’t suppose English boys are much good – so cold!” he chuckled, amused at his own observations.“I’ve heard the men are all as cold as ice over there. Not like us!” His chuckles exploded into guffaws.

  I sighed, trying to keep my patience. When his laughter had subsided I took a deep breath and tried again.

  “I am waiting to hear the past tenses of ‘to be’,‘to have’ and ‘to go’. Please begin!”

  “You’ve got a good figure too,” he persisted, popping a piece of bubble gum into his mouth. “Better than the last girl we had. She was too fat round the middle and didn’t have enough – you know — here!” With his hands he described invisible bosoms in the air in front of him and collapsed again in convulsions of mirth nearly causing him to choke on his bubble gum.

  “Look Tomasín, – your father pays me to teach you English and that is what you are going to learn. Do you hear?”

  “English is so boring. I think you could teach me other things!”

  By this time my patience was beginning to wear thin and I was becoming exasperated. If no progress could be made with the boy’s English,Vázquez would think I had been shirking and I might lose my job.While I was wrestling to stop myself from landing a good blow on Tomasín’s head with th
e text book I was holding, he suddenly said:“Do you play Monopoly? I feel like playing a game. Shall I get my Monopoly set?”

  It was a relief to know that once in a while he could revert to being a child and the game he had in mind was, thank goodness, an innocent one.

  “Alright,” I agreed in desperation. “Later you can bring it and we’ll have a game but only when you know these verbs.”

  Tomasín grimaced, blew an enormous bubble from the corner of his mouth and grudgingly turned his attention to the lesson.We struggled on in this way for two hours until the Latin master, Don Federico, arrived to take over. I was glad of the break and it was good to know that I was not the only one whose unenviable task it was to instruct Tomasín.

  Federico was a good-natured, well-built man in his mid forties. He smelt of tobacco and wine and walked with a strange bustling trot. His English was good though a little odd at times and he spoke it at every opportunity. I soon realised that he was an ardent fan of Shakespeare whose works he seemed to have studied in great detail in their original language. I found him a kindly and amusing character and we soon became friends.

  “When we have finished with this young man I take you out for a drink,” he said in English, as Tomasín searched for his Latin books.“I think you could do with one – no?”

  “You can say that again!” I laughed. Tomasín, unable to understand, regarded us suspiciously with screwed-up eyes.

  Walking out into the street in the middle of the day was like entering an oven but even the blazing sun seemed preferable to the gloom of theVázquez house.

  “Let’s go to see!” said Federico.“Let’s go to see this bar!” He knew all the bars in Burgos and when he was not teaching, he could invariably be found in one or other of them. He particularly favoured the less reputable ones lurking in back streets, such as the Bar Paloma which we now entered.At this time of day it was filled exclusively with males with no woman to be seen anywhere.The men were drinking, laughing, swearing, spitting and playing dominoes. They all knew Federico and greeted him jovially, slapping him on the back and grinning at me over their raised glasses. At first I found all this a bit daunting but, after a few such jaunts with him, I had become used to it.As usual he ordered two glasses of white wine, downed his in one gulp and immediately suggested that we should leave. “I show you another place.”

  We threaded our way along the narrow pavement. A donkey brayed as it trotted past pulling a cart filled with vegetables. A few doors down from the Bar Paloma we drank more white wine before progressing to yet another of his haunts. I lost count of how many more we visited that morning but certainly my head was swimming by the time I got back to the house and I prayed fervently that my unseemly state would pass unnoticed in the Vázquez household. I climbed the stairs limply, keeping a firm grip on the banisters and trying to suppress my hiccups. By an act of will power I forced myself to walk steadily into the flat where I was vaguely aware of being greeted by Rosa.

  “Ah señorita, thank goodness you are back.The lunch is ready and today you must hurry.”

  My legs felt as though they were about to buckle under me so I leaned against the wall for a minute. Rosa looked concerned.

  “Are you alright señorita ?You are not ill?”

  “No! no!” I said hurriedly, hoping my speech sounded normal. “I’m fine. It’s just that I’m not used to this heat.”

  Rosa smiled. “Of course, I forgot. Yes, we are having a heat wave.You should not go out at this time of day. Anyway, you must have lunch and then prepare your things.The Señor and Señorito are leaving this afternoon for Santander and you are going with them.You will find it cooler there.”

  We had left Burgos and the Castilian plateau far behind and were climbing high into the mountains. The road was bad and very narrow and Vázquez was not the best of drivers.We bumped along over the pot-holes and I closed my eyes as we negotiated each hairpin bend knowing how dangerously close we were to the edge with no barrier between us and a sheer drop. To make matters worse, ahead of us a bank of low cloud hung menacingly over the road. We entered it and were enveloped in a thick white mist, visibility reduced to nil. Vázquez leaned forward, straining to see the road ahead and guessing wildly at the bends.We slithered round them at a speed which seemed far from safe and I began to feel slightly sick. I turned round to see how Tomasín was reacting but he seemed totally unperturbed, his head buried in a comic.

  So this is it, I thought. A dramatic way to end my short life! Then, suddenly, the mist cleared and I returned to sanity and was even able to appreciate the wild and beautiful mountain scenery. We reached a small whitewashed hostelry, its balcony bedecked with flowers and here we stopped briefly to refresh ourselves. We found a shady patio with a few tables and chairs and sat down to a merienda of hot chocolate and churros, a Spanish delicacy rather like long thin doughnuts, which we dipped in the chocolate.Vázquez’s small, lecherous eyes gazed at me across the table as he sucked noisily at the churros.

  “I hear you were out with Federico Suárez today,” he remarked mopping his mouth with a napkin.

  “That’s right,” I replied calmly, trying not to feel guilty. “We went for a walk before lunch.”

  “You shouldn’t.The man’s an alcoholic.”

  I felt like telling him that it was none of his business what I did with my spare time but thought better of it and said nothing. We got up to go back to the car and Vázquez sidled up to me and placed his hand on my bare arm. “I have to look after you, you know,” he muttered in my ear,“while you’re living in my house.”

  We continued our journey through the long summer afternoon until at last, as evening fell, we wound our way down the mountain slopes towards the coast and the town of Santander.The seafront was lined with colourful flower beds and palm trees spreading their fans against the evening sky. Behind them sparkled the blue-green waters of the Atlantic. Crowds of holidaymakers were taking their paseo, jostling and laughing. I felt the urge to hop out of the car and join them or run across the sands to splash in that inviting water. Vázquez must have read my thoughts for he said:“Tomorrow we shall bathe.”

  The pensión where the rest of the family was staying was a modest but comfortable establishment not far from the beach. Here I was introduced to Doña Constanza,Vázquez’s wife, and his other children, three pretty girls and two small boys of three and four. The children clustered around me, grabbing at the presents I had brought them while the wife fixed me with an icy stare. She was a woman who might have been attractive but for the thick make-up which plastered her face. Her lips were painted to resemble the heart-shaped ‘Hollywood’ mouth fashionable with film stars but, unfortunately in her case, lack of skill had only succeeded in producing a blood-red sneer. Her voice was harsh and loud and her whole manner towards me hostile. Her instant dislike of me, which she made no attempt to hide, was totally reciprocated and I decided to have as little to do with her as possible.

  That night I slept with the younger children and their nursemaid, Josefina, in one enormous room. Josefina was an attractive, rather plump girl with round, rosy cheeks and an infectious laugh. She adored the children and pandered to their every whim, a weakness they were not slow to exploit. The girls were lovely children and I got on well with them, but the two tiny boys were spoilt little monsters, a pair of mini-tyrants constantly pestering and demanding attention. Between them they made quite sure that Josefina did not have a minute’s rest. I felt sorry for her and the following morning I helped her to get them washed, breakfasted and ready for the beach.

  It was a warm, bright day and I was looking forward to having a dip in the sea so I donned my swimsuit, wearing it under my dress in readiness. It was a one-piece swimsuit. I had left my bikini back home in England because I knew that here, in Franco’s Spain, such attire was not allowed. Wearing shorts in the streets was also frowned on and men couldn’t wear swimming trunks – only swimming shorts. I found these petty, prudish rules quite absurd but woe betide anyone who did no
t observe them.

  I set off with Josefina and the children for the beach to join the rest of the family.We found them sitting stiffly on wooden kitchen chairs which looked oddly out of place on the sand. Doña Constanza was surrounded by several of her friends. She embraced the younger children when we arrived but paid no attention to Josefina and me. Of the adults, only Vázquez was dressed for bathing, his large, hairy paunch bulging out over his swimming shorts. He was playing a ball game with Tomasín but they stopped as soon as we arrived and came over to join the group.

  “How about a swim?“ suggested Vázquez.“The water is good this morning: warm and not too rough.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s just what I intend to do.” I pulled off my dress and felt the warm sunshine and gentle sea breeze caressing my limbs. I turned and sawVázquez standing, hands on hips, subjecting me yet again to his devouring gaze and beside him, Tomasín also staring and trying to suppress his sniggers. At the same time I was acutely aware of Doña Constanza’s extreme disapproval. Suddenly I felt very angry.What have I done wrong? I asked myself. It’s not my fault if her husband’s a randy old so-and-so and her son is fast following in his footsteps! I turned away from them aIl and ran down towards the sea as fast as my legs could carry me. I plunged in, wishing the waves could take me away – far, far away from the whole lot of them.

  For a few minutes I enjoyed the luxurious feeling of freedom, bobbing lightly up and down on the waves but this was all too short-lived for soon an ominous splashing behind me told me that I was no longer alone. To my dismay, I saw that both Vázquez and Tomasín had followed me into the water. Was there no escaping them? Tomasín soon joined me, splashing and diving and, when his father was not around, making comments about my legs.Vázquez, never far away, was plunging about like a demented hippopotamus. That lovely, relaxing swim which I had so looked forward to, had been ruined. I left the water and went to play with little Paquito and Miguel, trying to teach them a few English words while we built sand castles. I was well able to understand now why my predecessor, sensible girl, had spent so short a time with this family.