Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  “Freddie,” I began, sipping my wine,“Freddie dear, who is he? I mean who are they?”

  He looked at me in surprise.“Who is who?”

  “Those two young men who came to see you just now.”

  “Oh, them!” Don Federico took a swig of his wine.“That was Paco, Él de La Morena. Is a nice lad. Came with a message from his mother – that’s La Morena, who has the restaurant on the other side of the river. Best restaurant in town. I know her well, for many years, since the war. She was a beautiful woman.” He smiled thoughtfully as he remembered. “When she was young she was so beautiful!Very dark.That is why they call her La Morena. She is like a gypsy!”

  Now I recalled having heard people talk of the BarRestaurante La Morena, and the raven-haired woman who ran it, a widow renowned, apparently, not only for her ravishing beauty but also for the superb quality of her cuisine.

  “So that’s the son of La Morena,” I mused.“No wonder he’s so handsome! But Freddie, how about the other one, the one called Luis?”

  “Oh him,” Federico dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “Oh, that’s just a buddy of Paco’s.” Having spent some time in the States, Federico often used quaint American expressions when he spoke English. “Just a buddy. He wants to learn typing so maybe I teach him.”

  This sounded very promising. I decided to take the bull by the horns and confide in my friend.

  “Freddie, I would like to see him again.”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly as he placed one of the self-rolled cigarettes in his mouth. “Why?” he asked, lighting it. “You like that boy?”

  I nodded.“Yes, I do, and I would like to get to know him.” “I see,” said Federico, smiling indulgently.“Well, that should be not too difficult. I’m giving him his lessons right after yours.”

  Love at first sight indeed! This sort of thing only happened in books and romantic films and in plays like ‘Romeo and Juliet’. It was all absolute nonsense; at least, that is what I had always believed. But now it was happening to me of all people. I, who had always prided myself on being thoroughly practical and down-to-earth. It was so annoying! For here I was in this pathetic state and mine was a very extreme case with the severest symptoms, probably incurable. I could think of nothing but Luis all day long and even at night the torment continued because he monopolised my dreams. I became highly absent-minded and during Tomasín’s lessons, the teacher was now finding it as hard to concentrate as the pupil. I kept thinking about that pale face and those amazing green eyes. It was terrible.

  At first Luis would arrive at Don Federico’s academy for his lesson just as I was leaving and this was agony. However, one day Federico suggested that we should both join him for a quick drink between the lessons. Federico would talk and Luis would listen and I would watch Luis listening to Federico talking. There was little actual communication between Luis and me and I had the impression that he was a very shy person. Nevertheless one day I noticed that he arrived for his lesson ten minutes early. He sat on one of the rickety chairs watching me and I made a great number of typing errors.

  The next time he arrived fifteen minutes early and Don Federico, who was a perceptive person, suddenly made a suggestion.

  “Look, why don’t I give you two lessons together? You could take it in turns to type. It would save me time too.At this hour I am so busy – I have so many people I have to see in the Bar Paloma. Business matters, you understand.Would you mind?”

  “Oh no! I wouldn’t mind,” I said glancing anxiously at Luis.To my delight he smiled and said that would be fine.

  Never had lessons been so blissful. Afterwards we would accompany Don Federico on his lunchtime round of the bars and one day, not long afterwards, came the chance I had been waiting for so impatiently. We were drinking in the Paloma, when Don Federico suddenly looked at his watch.

  “Hombre! You two must excuse me for I have to go to see somebody in the Bar Ávila. It is very important and I am late, so goodbye. I will see you tomorrow.”

  He drained. his glass and trotted out of the bar muttering, “I am late. I am late,” like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. Dearest Federico, I thought to myself, what a good friend I had in him! Now, at last, I was alone with the object of my infatuation.

  “Shall we go somewhere else?” suggested Luis.“It’s very hot in here and I know another place which is not so crowded.”

  We left the Paloma and walked down the street together. I felt flustered and excited and stupidly, could think of nothing to say to him.We entered another bar and sat down at one of the tables. Luis ordered drinks and lit a cigarette. I could see that he too was nervous. I asked him what he did and he told me he was a medical student but his studies had been interrupted by illness. He would soon be taking them up again at Madrid University. I asked him about his family.

  “There are five of us. I live with my three brothers and my mother, near the river at the other end of town.”

  I noticed he did not mention his father but by this time I had learned that it was not tactful to ask people about their fathers, so I said nothing. However, after a short pause he volunteered.

  “My father was a captain in the Republican army.” My worst fears were confirmed as he added, “they killed him at the time of the Civil War.”

  “Th... they?”

  He nodded, grimly stubbing out his cigarette. “When they took control of Burgos.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and looked about him in that characteristic way which had become so familiar to me and to my astonishment, I found I was now doing the same. Fear, it seemed, was infectious.

  Luis stood up. “Let’s sit at that table over there, away from everybody,” he said. We moved to a table in the corner and sat down again.

  “You can’t be too careful,” he explained. “You see, sometimes they go around in plain clothes.You can’t trust anyone.Anyway,” he lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “It was terrible what they did to my father. Soon after they took control of Burgos they called at our house. It was in the daytime and we were having a meal. They grabbed my father and dragged him down into the street. My mother was screaming and we were all crying and then they shot him right there in front of the house, in front of us all and left his body on the pavement. I was very little but I remember it so clearly.”

  I shuddered as I tried to imagine the dreadful scene.

  “I don’t know what to say, Luis.That’s a terrible story.”

  He gave a cynical laugh.“You will hear many such stories and some of them worse than mine. But that’s enough of me. Tell me about yourself.What are you doing here in Spain, anyway?”

  I told him about my job, about the difficult family I was with and the problems of teaching Tomasín. He laughed and I could see that he was gradually unwinding, becoming less tense. I wished that we could go on chatting for ever but it was late and I knew they would be waiting for me at theVázquez house.

  “I’ll have to go,” I said reluctantly,“or I’ll be late.”

  “I’ll walk back with you.”

  At the doorway of the house we said goodbye and I was just about to climb the stairs when suddenly he hurried after me and caught me by the arm.

  “Listen! I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time. Would you… that is, are you… doing anything this evening?”

  “No,” I replied hardly able to believe me ears.

  “Could we meet then?”

  “Why not?” My heart was beating insanely fast.

  “I’ll see you here at eight then. Hasta luego!” I staggered up the stairs in a sort of dream. It was all too good to be true.

  That evening I spent a considerable time on my appearance. Victory was within my grasp and I was going to pull out all the stops. He arrived promptly at the appointed time and we walked to the Espolón. We did not stay there long because he said he didn’t really like the Espolón; it was too noisy and there were too many people. Instead he would show me the Isla where he lived. It was a c
ontinuation of the riverside walk but less popular with the townsfolk as there was a road running alongside it. This didn’t matter too much as the traffic there was negligible, just the odd mule or ox cart.

  For a while we just walked along in silence. Luis was looking nervous again which made me feel the same. At last I asked him if he knew Anita or any of her friends. He shook his head. “I don’t know many people. You see I have been away from Burgos for some time.” He hesitated then went on: “I didn’t want to tell you this but I suppose you will find out anyway.You see, I have been ill: Tuberculosis. In fact I’ve only just come out of the sanatorium. I’m cured now, but I was there two years.Two years! Imagine that! It’s ruined my studies.” I thought to myself, no wonder he looks so pale.

  “I shall feel such a fool when I go back to university. Me – twenty-two among all those teenagers.”

  “A few years don’t make any difference. No one will notice.”

  He looked so depressed that I longed to take his hand, to comfort him, an impulse which I curbed with some difficulty.Then suddenly his mood changed.

  “Let’s go dancing!” he suggested impulsively.

  “Where?”

  “The Sala de Fiestas of course. Haven’t you been there? You’ll like it.”

  I had heard of the Sala de Fiestas. It was the local nightclub, the only one in Burgos and, according to theVázquez family, it did not have a very good reputation. However, I didn’t care where I went so long as I was with Luis, so I agreed.

  The Sala de Fiestas was full of cigarette smoke and bodies swaying hypnotically in the dim light.There were tables round the edge of the dance floor and a small band was playing a cha-cha-cha which seemed to be the most popular dance in Spain.We sat down and Luis ordered gin. I had mine with lemon but he drank his neat and after a few glasses his pale face became quite flushed. I thought: how these Spaniards drink and I am becoming just as bad! What would my parents think? However, alcohol was having a beneficial effect on my companion, who was becoming much more relaxed. We talked about Madrid, a city we both knew and loved and compared notes on the various night spots we had frequented there. He was smiling at me across the table and I felt ecstatically happy, the lustful Vázquez and his gloomy household now quite forgotten. Luis’s soft voice was saying:“Let’s dance!”

  We joined the swaying couples on the dance floor, his arms closed around me, and as we locked together, we were both trembling. I put my cheek against his hot face in a delirium of happiness.

  Unfortunately, Vázquez had now returned from Portugal so my typing lessons had to stop for the moment. I continued to see Luis in the evenings and this made life bearable for my boss was becoming increasingly difficult. Since the bedroom episode, he had been extremely disagreeable, scowling at me morosely while I gave him his lessons.Also, he had not paid me for a month.

  “You are going out too much,” he said one day.“All this going out in the evenings will have to stop as from next week. Tomasín will be at school and you must give him his lessons later. In the day time you will teach me and the younger children.”

  This was a bitter blow but there was nothing I could do about it. At least I would still have Sundays free to see Luis or my other friends. I decided that I had better take advantage of the few remaining free evenings left to me.

  Anita telephoned and complained that I had been neglecting her and the others just lately. I apologised and we arranged to meet that same evening. I felt sorry and a bit guilty about not having seen her for so long for she was a very good friend. I would have to offer some explanation. Damn Puck! I could hardly tell her I was hopelessly, helplessly, stupidly, head-over-heels in love.

  I met Anita and we walked along the crowded Espolón. I noticed that she was looking particularly pretty that evening and was attracting a lot of compliments. She listened to them with the ear of a connoisseur. If the compliment met with her approval, she would smile, if it did not she would mutter ‘sosos’, which, loosely translated, means ‘spineless lot’. If, as was often the case, the compliment was of a dubious nature and came from some randy old man, she would treat it with the contempt it deserved and ignore it completely.This was her reaction when, at that moment, a drunken lecher of advancing years sidled up and muttered in her ear:“I could have ten children with you, Guapa!”

  “Well, you’re certainly popular tonight,” I remarked. I’ve never heard so many piropos.”

  “That’s one I could do without,” she laughed.

  There was a shout from a nearby café table and we saw Marisol, Sergio and Felipe. We joined them and sat for a while drinking coffee. Felipe had a copy of ‘El Ruedo’ spread out on the table and was poring over it, studying the list of matadors and bulls due to fight in Madrid the following Sunday. “Last fight of the season,” he was muttering,“bulls from the best ranches in Spain and the best they can find to fight them are these three lousy matadors. It’s unbelievable.What’s happened to Dominguín?”

  “In South America,” said Sergio.“You should know that.”

  “Do we have to talk about bullfighting?” complained Anita. “It’s so boring and I hate it anyway. It’s cruel.”

  Felipe gave a snort of disgust and returned to his magazine and Sergio resumed his favourite occupation – gazing at Marisol. Poor Sergio! Now I knew just how he felt.Whereas before I had merely found the situation amusing, I now felt nothing but the deepest sympathy for him because his plight was so much worse than mine. At least my affections were not altogether unrequited whereas Sergio’s case seemed hopeless.

  We played a game of cards but I found it difficult to concentrate. I was thinking about Luis and wondering how I could possibly survive, seeing him only once a week. Anita was saying: “Hey! Wake up! What’s the matter?You’re miles away.”

  By this time the others had gone home and there were just the two of us left.

  “Oh, sorry! No, nothing’s the matter.”

  “Fibber! Of course there is. Do you know what I think? I think you’re in love. Don’t be so secretive, tell me who it is! We’re supposed to be friends.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I laughed, trying to sound convincing. “I’m not in love with anyone.”

  “You must think me very stupid. Of course you’re in love.You have all the symptoms. I’d say you’ve got it pretty badly too.There’s no need to be ashamed of it you know, we’re all in love. Sergio is and so am I. I have a novio in Oviedo.We write to each other every day, only…” here a small cloud crossed her face momentarily, “he hasn’t been writing so often lately and his letters are getting cold. I don’t think he loves me any more.”

  “He’s a fool if he doesn’t,” I said.

  “Anyway, we’re talking about you, not me. So who is it? Is it Felipe?”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Sergio then? That’s no good, he’s in love with Marisol and I would have thought that was pretty obvious.”

  “You’re being absurd…”

  “Don Federico?” she persisted teasingly. “He’s much too old for you and he’s already married. Surely it can’t be Gonzalo!”

  “Alright, alright! Since you’re so curious I suppose I’d better tell you.Yes, there is someone but it’s no one you know.”

  Suddenly Anita became serious. Her dark, starry eyes searched my face earnestly.

  “You really do think me stupid, don’t you? Of course I know who it is.You’ve been seen out with him enough times. It’s Luis Martínez, that consumptive medical student who lives somewhere along the Isla.”

  “He’s not consumptive anymore,” I said defensively. Even his illness, horrible as I knew it to be, seemed vaguely romantic, associating it as I did, with geniuses such as Chopin and Keats.

  “That’s as it maybe,” said my friend.“He may be good-looking but he’s still not very healthy and he’s a terrible introvert. Anyway, you’d better forget him straight away because he already has a novia. Everybody knows he’s engaged to the institute gardener’s daughte
r.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  CRISIS

  The long, hot summer days were over and with them went the carefree Sunday excursions with Anita and the others to the river. No more bathing or catching crayfish to cook on wood fires, no more picnicking, no gathering of juicy, sweet mulberries. September had melted into October and everything was different. With the coming of autumn, the Castilian countryside no longer looked bleak and arid. Everywhere there was colour. Red maples and golden poplars shone in the sun against a backdrop of brilliant blue. Behind the little houses nestling among their brown fields, the distant lavender hills now had a slightly misty appearance. Everything was warm and mellow and I loved it.

  My romance with Luis was unfurling and blossoming gently like a flower in the sunshine, watched over and tended by Federico in the role of a benevolent Friar Lawrence. Unwisely, I paid no attention to Anita’s warning. Love being deaf as well as blind, I did not believe in the institute gardener’s daughter. I thrust her out of my mind. In fact I brain-washed myself into believing that she didn’t really exist. Perhaps Anita was playing a mischievous joke on me. Even if this girl were real, I told myself, and there had once been something between her and Luis, she had probably grown tired of waiting for him while he was in the sanatorium and had found someone else. Besides, if he still loved her, why was he with me?

  Meanwhile, life in the Vázquez household was becoming increasingly unpleasant. I still had to keep my door locked and now, to make matters worse, I was not getting paid. I could see that Vázquez was putting on the pressure, probably out of spite at being thwarted in his amorous intentions. The atmosphere was terrible. The final blow fell when he announced that as from the following week, my Sundays would no longer be free. I was to teach the family English when they returned from Mass and also in the afternoon.

  “But this means that I shall have no free time at all!” I protested.

  “Of course you will have free time.You have plenty of time in the afternoons in the week.”