Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  “Ay! Ay! Ay!” she exclaimed. “You two girls have all the luck! Devoted admirers travelling from all corners of Spain to be with you! But how about me? Jacinto just sits pretty and I’m the one who has to do all the running: all the way from France too!”

  “And that’s good news,” I remarked. “If it weren’t that way round, we’d never get the chance to see you.”

  Margarita grinned and poured me a generous glass of anís.

  Anita stretched herself and yawned. “I think it’s time I started looking for a job. In fact, I could have had one last week. I forgot to tell you I met old Vázquez in the street and he offered to take me back; said he couldn’t manage without me.”

  “I take it you didn’t agree?” I ventured.

  “Agree? Wild horses wouldn’t drag me back within reach of those groping hands!”

  The following Sunday brought a change in the weather. The morning was bright and sunny although there was still a keen wind.Anita had left the house in the small hours to meet Desmond off the train and I hadn’t seen her since.

  As I entered the Plaza Mayor on my way to find Julio, I came across blind Emilio standing on his usual corner, a string of lottery tickets pinned to his ragged coat. He was leaning against the wall, his haggard, sightless face raised to receive the unfamiliar warmth of the February sun. I saw that he was alone and, without his son to inform him, was unaware of my approach.

  He started when I touched his arm.“Emilio!” I said.“Hello, it’s me. I’ve come for my ticket.”

  His face broke into a delighted smile. “The English señorita!” He fumbled to tear off one of the tickets. “Buenos días, buenos días, how are you today? Are you happy?”

  “Why, yes,” I replied in some surprise.

  “That is good.” He clasped my hand as I gave him the money. “My son tells me that the English señorita has not been looking very happy just lately.”

  “I’m fine, really. But how about you? Are you well?” “I am the better for seeing you. Did you hear what I said? Seeing you! Of course, I cannot see you but I hear your voice and that is sufficient. I know you have a kind heart and God will grant you a happy life.”

  “Where’s your son today?”

  The smile faded from his gaunt face. “He cannot come out today. He is too ill.”

  “That’s bad news,” I said, putting my arm round him.“And I’m sorry. Is it the cough?”

  Emilio nodded gravely and I felt worried. Judging from the boy’s pallor and emaciated appearance together with his constant dry cough, I suspected he might be suffering from tuberculosis. It was frightening to realise just how prevalent this dreadful disease still was in Spain.

  “I must go,” I said.“I have to meet a friend but give my love to Paco and wish him better for me.”

  My meeting with Emilio had delayed me and when I arrived at the café where I had arranged to meet Julio, I found him already there, pacing to and fro impatiently. When he saw me he darted forward, grabbing me by the arm.

  “You’re late!” he snapped, glancing pointedly at his watch. “More than ten minutes late. In London you would have arrived on time.You are getting into such bad Spanish habits.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just that I met a friend on the way...”

  “Excuses! Well, never mind, the important thing is that you are here and not in Andalusia or Galicia or Cataluña or wherever.”

  “Stop nagging!” I laughed, pushing him towards the café. “I can’t think why you resent me having a holiday. It was fantastic.We had so many adventures.”

  “What kind of adventures?” a note of suspicion crept into his voice.

  “Well, we met a rich American who took us half way round Andalusia in his posh car. Then we were serenaded in Jerez by a drunken flamenco singer; oh! – and in Seville, two men came to blows over Anita and nearly killed each other.”

  Julio ran his fingers through his unruly hair and rolled his eyes in despair.“I knew it! I knew you’d get up to that sort of thing the minute you were out of my sight. I should appoint a permanent guard to keep an eye on you all the time when I’m away.”

  “Why?”

  He caught my hand under the table and crushed it painfully. “Because you are my English niña!” he hissed between clenched teeth. “And I’m responsible for you while you’re in Spain. I promised your mother I would look after you, see that you came to no harm, and what happens? The minute my back is turned you are off on some crazy escapade.”

  I straightened his crooked tie. “Stop being so stuffy and old-fashioned! I would have thought having lived in England, you would have known better. We British girls are completely emancipated and we don’t need chaperons, thank you.We’re quite capable of looking after ourselves.”

  Julio turned his attention to his coffee cup, stirring it sulkily and frowning.

  “How’s the business going?” I asked, keen to steer the conversation away from the subject of my independence.

  At the mention of his business he brightened, pulling from the inside pocket of his jacket, a wad of crumpled papers which he spread across the table.They appeared to be scribbled lists of names and addresses.

  “Look!” he said, thumbing through them, “These are all the contacts I have made since I last saw you, all the people who are interested in my project. It is very encouraging. Everything is going according to plan.This time I shall be successful. My bank manager has been very helpful. He understands my position; sees all the possibilities.Yes, this is going to be a success and you will be pleased that you are my niña. All your friends will be jealous that you are the novia of Julio Rivera.”

  He looked so earnest and excited – like a child talking about a new toy, that I could not stop myself from laughing and ended up choking over my coffee. Julio stopped talking and stared at me, disconcerted and surprised.“Why are you laughing?You are always laughing at me.Why don’t you take these matters seriously?”

  I controlled my laughter with some difficulty.“Oh, but I do,” I assured him soothingly. “Of course I do and I’m pleased your project’s going well.”

  “Well? That’s an understatement.You’d be amazed if you fully realised what I’m undertaking, if you understood what it all implies. I’m planning to start manufacturing in the very near future: first in Logroño and later in Madrid. Everything has been worked out on a sound financial basis.This time I can’t go wrong.”

  After listening for another half hour about his business, I suggested we went for a walk during which I managed to move the conversation on to Eduardo.

  “How is he? I haven’t seen him in ages. He usually calls when he’s passing through Burgos.”

  “The idiot’s put himself in hospital again. It was just before Christmas and he was playing football. Can you imagine? Playing football? Just asking for trouble. Anyway, he fell over and sprained something and that put him in hospital for weeks. In fact, he’s only just come out. His family were beside themselves with worry.”

  “If only he’d be more careful,” I sighed.“Poor Eduardo!”

  “Poor Eduardo! Poor Eduardo! That’s what everyone says but he’s no one but himself to blame. He hasn’t a scrap of common sense and just goes around pretending he’s normal and making life impossible for everyone else. I’ve no patience with him. I’m fed to the teeth with him.”

  “You’re always so harsh. Why don’t you try to see things from his point of view? How would you like it if you had a horrible condition like that and you knew there was no cure and it restricted your life all the time? I bet you’d feel like rebelling: feel like saying to hell with all this, I’ll do what I want to do and hope for the best.”

  “Bah! You’re always defending him. Nothing can alter the fact that he’s a fool and always has been. He’ll end up killing himself sooner or later.”

  We stopped at the cinema and tried to get tickets for the evening showing but they had sold out. I suggested the Sala de Fiestas instead but Julio said he didn’t like dancing.
“I don’t need any artificial entertainment when I’m with my niña,” he said.

  I saw Anita and Desmond once that day, walking in the Espolón. They were so engrossed in conversation that they didn’t even notice us and I let them pass by with some relief.

  Night fell and Julio said he was feeling hungry and that he planned to take me for a meal, a really good meal as befitted his role as a successful businessman.

  “I’ve been making a few enquiries,” he said.“And I understand there are several good eating places round here but the best one, so I’ve been told, is across the river there. Now, what did they say its name was? Let me think! … La Gitana? No, that’s not right. It was something odd – like the name of a woman. La… La… La Morena! That’s it! Restaurante La Morena.We’ll go there.”

  I felt a chill down my spine. Paco’s mother’s place! Paco, Luis’s best friend, would be there.

  “No,” I protested, “honestly, Julio, it’s not that good. I hear it’s not as good as it was.”

  “Nonsense! I’ve heard excellent reports of it. It’s got a fine reputation and they say La Morena is a first class cook.The man at the station was telling me all about it.Yes, I’ve made up my mind. We’ll go there.”

  “But I’m not all that hungry,” I lied in desperation, inwardly cursing the good reputation of Paco’s establishment.“I couldn’t do justice to one of their enormous meals. All this heavy Castilian cooking is ruining my figure as it is. If only we were back in London! How I long for one of those simple meals we used to have at Lyon’s Corner House!”

  To my relief, the mention of London had the desired effect. “Ah yes! London!” his eyes glazed with nostalgia. “Steak and kidney pudding with two veg. Fish and chips!”

  “Apple pie and custard?” I suggested. “Roast beef and Yorkshire pud?”

  He turned to look at me, eyes softening with affection. “Of course, there’s nothing here that can compare with British cookery. Nothing here compares with London.Take transport, for example…”

  “I have an idea!” I interrupted brightly.“Why don’t we try the Hotel España? They serve international cuisine because all the foreigners go there – you know, business men, those sort of people.” Happily, Julio readily agreed.

  Our dinner at the Hotel España was excellent and so was the wine. Julio ordered Rioja which came from his native region and was, according to him, the only wine worth drinking. He consumed it in considerable quantity and I knew, from experience, what effect it would have on him and prepared myself for the struggle that lay ahead.

  “I shall walk with you back to your house before I catch my train,” he informed me ominously as he fixed me with a steady gaze across the table, his dark eyes narrowing, seething with unconcealed desire. After what seemed an age, he turned away and clapped his hands in an imperious manner. “Waiter!” he called. “Bring the bill!”

  The streets were quiet and dark as we walked back towards Anita’s house. Suddenly, but predictably, he pushed me into a doorway in his usual caveman style, smothering me with fierce kisses with never a pause for breath and crushing me against the wall in a passionate, suffocating embrace. I struggled to free myself, wondering what his feelings for me really were for in all the time we had known each other he had never once told me he loved me.

  “Julio!” I choked, gasping for breath,“You had better stop this! You know what it’s like here. If a policeman were to walk by right now, he’d have us both arrested for immoral behaviour.”

  He stared at me in surprise.“What’s the matter?” he demanded breathlessly,“you weren’t like this in London.Are you turning into a Spanish prude? All this talk of policemen!You didn’t worry about policemen in London.You didn’t worry about policemen in Hyde Park!”

  “Because everything’s different back home. Have you forgotten this is a Police State with some very funny ideas?You can get arrested for the slightest thing: like kissing in public or wearing a bikini.”

  “You wait till I get you back to London!” he hissed.“I’ll show you how a Spaniard can make love!”

  “Oh, I see. So you’re a Spaniard when you’re a lover but an Englishman when it comes to setting up a business. Is that right?”

  “You’re making fun of me again.”

  At that moment there was the sound of voices and I made a further effort to disentangle myself, but to no avail. A group of chattering youngsters passed our doorway and, to my horror, I realised they were my group of friends. I hoped they wouldn’t notice us but then I heard Mari Carmen’s voice, high and piercing. “Hola! I thought it was you.What are you doing? Come and join us!”

  Julio released me hastily and straightened his tartan tie while I smoothed down my dishevelled hair, trying not to look too embarrassed. “Oh, hello you lot,” I smiled awkwardly. “This is a friend of mine, Julio.”

  Julio shook hands with them curtly, muttering mucho gusto and looking thoroughly annoyed at being disturbed.

  “Come and have a drink with us!” invited Felipe. “That’s if you’re not in a hurry.”

  “Or have better things to do!” added Mari Carmen with a facetious titter.

  “I’m on my way home,” I replied in some confusion, “and Julio has to catch a train so we’d better say no.”

  “Never mind,” said Mari Carmen. “We’ll walk back with you and you can tell us all about that fabulous Andalusian holiday of yours.”

  Julio glared at them angrily then he looked at his watch and said:“I’d better leave you here or I shall miss my train. Adios. I shall be in touch.”

  He turned and walked briskly away. “Julio!” I called after him but he ignored me and disappeared round the corner.

  “Well! well!” giggled Mari Carmen. “You foreign girls certainly ring the changes! First that boy Luis, then the one we met in the Sala de Fiestas and now this one! I wish we Spanish girls were as enterprising!”

  The little automotor gave a tuneful hoot as it swung round between the rocks, following the twisting River Ebro through a mountainous landscape, spring-like and beautiful, spangled with blossoming almond and apricot. Coming down into the Ebro Valley from the bleak meseta was like entering a different world. It was well worth the troublesome journey: catching first the Irún express as far as Miranda de Ebro where I had to endure a two hour wait in the cold before boarding the automotor, a fast new diesel train carrying second class only. It was the weekend of San José, a public holiday, and I was on my way to Logroño at the invitation of Eduardo.

  Only a day or so after Julio’s visit, I received a letter from Eduardo. It was a cheerful, chatty letter, with never a mention of his recent spell in hospital. He urged me to take up the invitation he had offered me the previous autumn to stay with him in Logroño for a long weekend. He wrote: ‘My family’s anxious to meet you and you are very welcome to stay at our house. How about next weekend which is San José? It would be a great opportunity and I can’t wait to see Julio’s face when you arrive! I shan’t say a thing about it until the last minute. I know he regards you as his personal property and it will be really funny to see his reaction. Do say you can come!’

  I knew his mischievous proposal had quite a lot to do with getting even with his friend for various past grievances, but I enjoyed Eduardo’s company and welcomed the chance to see Logroño so I wrote back at once, accepting. After all, if Julio had wanted me to stay with him, he could equally well have invited me.

  I looked out of the window. The bright sunshine, which had flooded the carriage all afternoon, mellowed as evening approached and soon a fiery sky blazed behind the peaks, turning the river a shimmering red. Entranced, I watched the colours fade as the sky darkened, till all that was left of the sunset were a few fluffy, pink clouds floating across the mountains and the river changed again, to a snaking streak of silver. As night enveloped us, the twinkling lights of Logroño came into sight, nestling in the valley.

  Julio, Eduardo and Eduardo’s sister were waiting for me at the station. Eduardo was smili
ng cheerfully, but I noticed that he looked a little pale, and as he walked over to greet me, he appeared to be limping slightly. He relieved me of my suitcase and introduced me to his sister, Mari Paz. She was a slight girl with a pretty, round face and a smile just like her brother’s. She embraced me warmly, giving me the traditional kiss on both cheeks.

  Julio did not welcome me. He was standing slightly apart, arms folded and frowning, with a face of thunder.

  “Hello Julio!” I said, waving to him. “Isn’t this nice? I never thought I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

  Julio muttered something inaudible and Eduardo gave me a wink.“Come on!” he said.“My car’s here. I’ll drive you straight to our house, you can drop your things off there and then there’ll be time for us to show you a bit of the town before supper.”

  We piled into Eduardo’s tiny car. Julio opened the rear door for Mari Paz and then climbed in beside her while I sat in the front next to Eduardo.

  “Did you know Eduardo had such a beautiful sister?” asked Julio, putting his arm round her.

  I glanced at Eduardo and saw that it was all he could do to stifle his laughter. “I’ve another one equally guapa at home but she couldn’t come. She’s helping with the cooking,” he said.

  “When it comes to real beauty,” said Julio, “there are few girls who can match Mari Paz.”

  “Well, thank you, Julio,” said the girl, sounding surprised. “It’s nice of you to say that but I think you must be joking.”

  “I am not,” he said, his voice deadly serious, “I have travelled widely, as you know, and I know a beautiful girl when I see one.”

  “Julio!” laughed Mari Paz.“What is the matter with you? Have you been drinking?”

  “Too much Rioja, that’s what it is,” said Eduardo with another wink.“It always turns him into a Don Juan.”

  Julio leaned forward angrily. “Don’t be ridiculous! You think I don’t mean what I say? I never say anything I don’t mean and if I say Mari Paz is beautiful then that is exactly what I mean. Mari Paz is beautiful. Do you all hear me?”