“Don’t say anything more!” I begged.“You’re making it worse for both of us. Just go away and don’t say another word.”
“Alright!” he hissed. “I’ll go. But remember this! It’s not over. It’s not over between us and it never will be.”
With this he turned quickly away and disappeared into the swirling snowstorm. For a moment I remained there, rooted to the spot, the snow flakes mingling with my copious tears. I heard the door opening behind me and Anita calling from the house.
“Come on in! You’ll freeze to death. What on earth are you doing standing out there in the cold?” Hastily, I rubbed my face and ran indoors.
“Just look at all that snow!” laughed Anita.“Winter’s here.”
“Yes,” I whispered, glancing back once more at the freezing, empty street before shutting the door,“winter’s here alright.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE CAPTAIN GENERAL
Of all the emotions to which the young and vulnerable are subject, perhaps one of the cruellest is that of disappointed love, particularly when experienced for the first time.At nineteen there has not been time to build around oneself that armour of philosophical stoicism, which, in later life, protects the ego to some extent from painful experiences. Not being sufficiently strong to bear on my own the agony of a broken heart, I confided my troubles in Anita and, for the next few nights, bored her with my sufferings as we lay together in our cramped single bed, I sobbing inconsolably into the pillow. Unfortunately, I did not find in her a very sympathetic listener.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she remarked cheerfully. “I told you right from the start that he was going around with the Institute gardener’s daughter but you wouldn’t listen. If you will go poaching on other people’s territory what do you expect? Oh, do stop crying!You’re making the pillow soggy.”
“But I never really thought he had a novia.”
“Anyway, you’re well rid of him. I can’t imagine what you saw in him in the first place.”
“I love him.”
“You’re mad.”
“ I can’t help it.”
“He has nothing to commend him apart from his looks.”
“How do you know?You don’t know him.”
“Bah! All these good lookers are the same. So vain! They think they can have their way with any girl they fancy. Personally, I don’t care about looks, it’s character that counts.”
“Huh? You’re a fine one to talk! How about that handsome boyfriend of yours?”
“Boyfriend? What boyfriend? I haven’t any boyfriend.”
“Of course you have.The one from Oviedo.”
“Oh him! I gave him up ages ago. His letters were getting so boring. No, I’m fancy free – we both are now and that means we can have some fun when we get to Andalusia.” She laughed merrily at this happy thought and added, full of excitement: “They say the Andalusians are very romantic. So forget that stupid Luis, there are plenty more fish in the sea.”
The snow had melted leaving all the unmade-up roads, including ours, in a terrible condition. Cartwheels and hooves had churned them into a sea of mud and the numerous potholes had formed great puddles everywhere. Negotiating these roads was no easy matter for pedestrians but trial and error, together with the discomfort of teaching English for three hours with wet feet, had taught me to work out the best route into town. This I was now following. The air was icily cold still and a thin, white mist hung over everything, giving a ghostly appearance to the peasants trundling by in their mule-drawn carts, piled high with produce for the market.
As I picked my way round the puddles I was thankful for the warm socks Anita’s brother had lent me. I had only brought summer clothes with me from England, and apart from a few garments purchased locally, was ill-equipped to face the hard, Castilian winter.
However, there were plenty of others far worse off. The grinding poverty ever present in Spain became even more apparent in winter. Ragged children, their small, thin limbs blue with cold ran around in packs, like stray dogs, begging for money. Women and children could frequently be seen scratching through rubbish dumps and hardly a day went by without some poor old woman or cripple knocking on our door.These desperate people knew which households were sympathetic to their plight and would call again and again even though we could not afford to give each more than a few céntimos. The memory of one such woman haunted me for days. She called on a wild, dark night and stood in the doorway, her body bent double with age, one gnarled hand clutching her thin black shawl against the cruel wind, the other fingering a rosary. She didn’t ask for money but just stood there shivering, her lips moving in silent prayer. She no doubt realised that just the sight of her piteous condition would be sufficient to stir our hearts to charity.
My route took me past the bullring, forlorn and deserted at this time of year, its creaking, shabby doors thrown open to reveal the empty arena.The damp sand still bore faint traces of the dramas that had taken place there not so long ago. A group of small boys rushed past me and tumbled into the ring, shouting and playing at being bullfighters.
Hurrying on, I reached the rickety little bridge that had to be crossed with care as there were several planks missing.There, to my surprise, I saw Don Federico puffing away at one of his self-rolled cigarettes and watching a group of labourers who were working among a great pile of stones.
“Why, Freddie, what are you doing here?” I called to him, wondering why he wasn’t in one of his bars.
“They are pulling down the city walls,” he complained grimly indicating the workmen with his cigarette. “Look over there!” He nodded towards the heap of stones. “That used to be part of the city walls and they pull it down for new buildings. They are destroying our heritage. Is terrible.”
I sympathised and told him the same thing was happening all the time in England.
“What is happening to this ancient city? Capital of Castile! Home of the Catholic Kings! So much history violated! Is a disgrace. Come! I cannot bear to see it. Let’s go to see! Why don’t we have a chato? I’m sure you have time.”
I glanced at my watch.“Well, I have time for a quick coffee but I mustn’t be long. I have a class at half past ten.”
It was comforting to come out of the cold into the friendly warmth of the bar and I was glad that I’d bumped into Don Federico as I had several things I wanted to tell him.
“Now, Freddie, I have something to ask you – a favour in fact.”
“Anything! You know I do anything for you.” He spread out his arms to demonstrate his chivalry.
“Then please arrange for me to have my typing lessons at a different time.You see, I don’t want them at the same time as Luis.”
“You don’t?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“No. Definitely not. I don’t want to see him any more.”
“But you are lovers…”
“No we’re not. Not any more.”
“Yes, you are lovers but now you have a lovers’ – how do you call it? ... a lovers’ tiff!” He pronounced the last word with immense satisfaction, triumphant in his knowledge of the English language.
“Not really, it’s just that -”
“Yes, yes,” he insisted, warming to his subject, “what was the reason? Jealousy? Is usually jealousy, is it not? You must beware of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on – Othello,Act three, Scene three.”
“Yes, Freddie, you have a quote for every situation but never mind the reasons.Will you do this for me?”
Federico shrugged his shoulders, rolling his brown, spaniel eyes above his raised glass. “Okay, Baby. If that is what you want. You know I do anything for you.”
As I crossed the main square, I noticed Emilio sheltering under the cloisters. He was huddled in a corner calling out numbers for that day’s lottery draw. “Para hoy! El gordo para hoy!” Emilio was blind and, as with most others like him, managed to scrape a meagre living b
y selling lottery tickets in the street. He was thin, toothless and unshaven and he wore a threadbare, torn coat and battered beret. He went about the streets leaning on the shoulders of his son, an emaciated, deathly-pale youth of around fifteen. Despite their wretched existence, the pair exuded cheerfulness and good nature and I regarded them as friends.
“Emilio!” I called. “Save a few tickets for me before you sell the lot!”
His sightless face lit up at the sound of my voice. “Vaya! It is the English señorita. How are you, señorita? How are you today?”
“As pretty as ever, Papá,” laughed his son who was a cunning master of flattery,“and I think she wants some tickets.”
“This time you will be lucky,” grinned Emilio, tearing off the tickets for me.“You will see.This time you will win the gordo.”
“Yes, you’ve been telling me this for weeks, Emilio, but I’m still waiting for it.”
“But today God will grant you good luck.You will see,” said the boy confidently.“But where are you going on such a cold day, señorita?”
“Well, this morning I’m on my way to the Captain General’s house.”
Their mouths fell open. “Hombre!” exclaimed the boy, his face darkening,“why do you have to go to such a place?”
“Duty,” I replied. “But don’t you worry, my business is not with the Captain General – just his daughters.”
Emilio groped around in the air until his bony hand came in contact with my sleeve. He grabbed my arm, muttering under his breath. “Be careful, señorita, be careful! Some people go there and never come out.”
Having reminded me of this disturbing fact, my friends took their leave and I hurried on realising I was rather late for my class. As I approached the great building it seemed even more forbidding than usual with its armed guards. However, by now they knew who I was and even saluted me as I walked past them, making me feel like a V.I.P. Once inside I knew how to find my way to the special staircase leading to the Captain General’s private apartments, and was soon in the presence of his daughters.
As usual, they greeted me with enthusiasm, even affection, for they always looked forward to their English lessons. I couldn’t help feeling that there was something missing in the lives of these young women despite their obvious wealth and position. Perhaps their father’s rank, importance and notoriety isolated them from the outside world.
We sat down at the round table, surrounded by canaries, and at that moment the sun, unseen for several days, broke through the mist and flooded the room with warmth and light. The birds hopped around in delight, trilling prettily but I noticed that one of the cages was empty.
“Yes,” sighed Magdalena,“it is such a pity. I let it out for just a few minutes to exercise its wings and then Papá came in with the cats and – well, it was all over so quickly.”
Since there was nothing further to be said on this subject, we turned our attention to the lesson I had prepared for them.
“As it will soon be Christmas,” I began, “I think we shall read through chapter ten which will tell you all about the way we celebrate Christmas in England.”
The girls read the lesson in their heavy, Spanish accents and then laboriously translated it. After that, we discussed what they had read.They were fascinated to hear of the strange, pagan habits we indulged in during the Festive Season.
“You mean you hang this plant in the house, this mistletoe, and you kiss under it?” marvelled Elisa.
“Yes, probably has its origins in ancient fertility rites.”
“Díos mío!” They crossed themselves hastily. “How strange! But then,”she added by way of explanation,“you are not Catholics,are you?”
I guessed they were probably forming in their minds a picture of the British as a race of primitive, heathen barbarians still retaining the customs of those rough, Nordic tribes from whom we had sprung.
“Anyway, to continue. It is also a tradition to bring a tree into the house. It must be a coniferous tree like a spruce or fir, and then we decorate it with all sorts of things like coloured lights, presents and glass balls.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elisa. “That is a lovely idea. I have heard of that custom but it’s not popular here.”
“No,” I mused, feeling a sudden tinge of homesickness, “I think that’s one of the things I shall really miss. This is my first Christmas away from my family.”
“But here too we have a good time,” she assured me.“We have a big party on Christmas Eve and another on NewYear’s Eve; but I can understand how you will miss all those strange customs if you are used to them.”
“Never mind,” I said, “my family are sending me a Christmas pudding which I shall cook for my friends here. It will be interesting to see if they like it. Of course, I would love to decorate a tree for them but I haven’t seen one in the shops.”
A cat, which had been asleep on a nearby chair, suddenly woke up, stretched itself, yawned and jumping down, padded across the room towards the door. Two others miraculously appeared from nowhere and did the same.
“I think Papá is home,” said one of the girls. “They always know when he is home.”
I gathered up my books. “And I think it’s time to end this lesson. Please finish all the exercises for next time. We shall have one more class next week but, after Christmas, I’m away for a fortnight. In the meantime, I’ll set you some work to do. Goodbye for now then, and have a really good Christmas!”
“And you,” they chanted.“Pity about the Christmas tree!”
The following day I had my typing lesson alone. Don Federico did not ask any more questions, which was a relief, and in fact said very little as he was obviously feeling unwell. He sneezed several times, his face was flushed and he was shivering. As he sat there with hooded eyes, and head buried in the collar of his overcoat with just a red nose protruding, he reminded me of a sick bird of prey.
“Freddie,” I said, “you look really ill.Why don’t you go home to bed?”
“I am not ill,” he croaked indignantly,“I am never ill. Is just that I have this pain in my stomach. It will go when I have a few chatos.”
“I think you’ve caught ‘flu.”
“Nonsense! I am not a friend of Doña Gripe. I never have ‘flu, never have colds, never have anything like that. I am the most healthy man alive…”
His speech was interrupted by a bout of heavy coughing.
“But you don’t seem healthy now so please go home – to please me?”
“You know I usually do anything to please you,” he coughed, producing a cigarette from his pocket and licking the paper to seal it.There was a pause while he put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.“But this time I cannot. I have another class after this.”
“Is it? —” I felt the colour drain from my face.
Don Federico nodded solemnly.“Your lover.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” I snapped, getting up from the typewriter table.“And we’ll cut short this lesson if you don’t mind for both our sakes. It will give you time to drown those germs of yours in alcohol.”
He gave a hollow smile.“Is a good idea,” he said.
So I left ten minutes early and rushed down the stairs, two at a time, terrified of bumping into Luis and not knowing how I would react if I did. But my fears were unfounded and the only thing I met was a large rat that flew across my path and dived into a hole at the bottom of the stairs.
When I arrived home, Anita ran out of the house to meet me with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. “You’ll never guess what a strange thing happened this morning.” She dragged me into the kitchen which was, as usual, full of people all talking at once. It seemed that half the neighbourhood had gathered there including a good number of children who were jumping up and down in excitement. In the centre of all this was Domi brandishing her frying pan. She poked her fork at me accusingly as I walked in.
“There she is! There’s the cause of it all. Child, you nearly had us all die of fright this morni
ng.”A shriek of laughter went up from the assembled neighbours. Once order was restored she began her strange story.
“Soon after you left this morning the army arrived here. Dozens of soldiers all armed to the teeth.They came in a lorry and hammered at the door. Dios mío! I thought they had come to take us all away.This is the end of us, I said to myself.What has Teo been up to? Then they said they had come at the express orders of the Captain General. Madre mía! We nearly died of fright.”
“Imagine that!” interjected Anita. “We couldn’t understand what was happening but then they asked for you.”
“Yes, you!” Domi pointed her fork at me again. “They said: ‘Do you have an English girl staying here?’ I said yes, and then they said they had something to deliver here for you and they went to fetch it from the truck – and what do you think it was?”
I shook my head.“I haven’t a clue.”
“Why, a tree!”
“Yes, a tree! A tree!” shrieked the children in chorus jumping up and down again.
“A ridiculous tree,” continued Domi, turning her attention to the tortilla in her pan.“It was far too big to bring into the house so I said to leave it in the patio but no, they said they had been ordered by the Captain General to go up the mountain, cut down a tree and make sure it was brought into this house.They must obey orders so that was what they were going to do.They had to chop a bit off the trunk and now it’s in the dining room.” She flashed her black eyes at me in disapproval and jabbed aggressively at the tortilla.
“Come and see! Come and see!” yelled the children tugging at my clothes.
Sure enough, propped up in a corner of the dining room was a beautiful, bushy fir tree, its branches still crisp with frost, filling the room with its alpine fragrance. Near the top, nestling among the lush green needles, was a white envelope bearing my name. Inside was a Christmas card from the daughters of the Captain General. It read: ‘Happy Christmas! We hope this will make you feel more at home!’
Mad Dogs and an English Girl Page 13
