I turned round to look at him. He was becoming increasingly agitated, his eyes flashing furiously. Mari Paz blushed and covered her face with her hands in embarrassment. I put my hand on Julio’s wrist.“We’re only joking,” I said.
He snatched his hand away like a sulky child and sank back in his seat, staring moodily out of the window.
“Take no notice of him! He’s being stupid,” said Mari Paz.
We arrived at a large house on the outskirts of the town. Eduardo’s father, round and jovial, was at the gate to meet us.
“So this is the English girl we’ve heard so much about? Welcome to Logroño! Come on in, you must be in need of some refreshment after that long journey.”
Meeting his family made me understand why Eduardo was such a likeable person. His home was full of warmth and affection and the family went to enormous pains to make me feel welcome. It was obvious that they were of comfortable means.The house was large and stood on its own surrounded by a blossoming orchard. So pleasant were the members of Eduardo’s family that I persuaded him to postpone our tour of Logroño until the following day, preferring to stay and talk to them. Julio announced that he couldn’t possibly spare any more of his valuable time to be with us that evening as he had several important business letters to write and with this he departed in a huff.
Eduardo’s family was deeply religious as was clear from the abundance of crucifixes, statuettes of Christ displaying His Sacred Heart and paintings of the Virgin which adorned the house. In my white-walled room hung a magnificent reproduction of The Immaculate Conception by Zurbarán. Julio had told me that it was their faith that had sustained them during the numerous crises they had suffered in the course of bringing up Eduardo and, without it, doubtless all of them would have ended up as nervous wrecks.
When I awoke the next morning and pushed back the shutters, a welcome stream of warm sunshine poured into the room.The sky was a cloudless blue and birds were singing in the orchard. Exhilarated, I leaned out of the window, breathing in the fresh, fragrant air, revelling in the warm caress of the strengthening Spanish sun. Suddenly, it felt marvellous to be alive: to be young, healthy and on the threshold of a life which at that moment seemed full of promise.The cold Burgos winter, the agony of losing Luis, the uncertainty of my future, all those depressing things seemed to have melted away, banished by the enchantment of this glorious spring day.Then I heard a shout from below and there was Eduardo’s cheerful face beaming up at me.
“Come on down!” he called.“I’ll show you the garden.” We walked through long, damp grass sprinkled with daffodils, wending our way between fruit trees heavy with clusters of pink and white blossom. In one corner of the garden stood a large kennel with an enormous dog sprawled across its entrance. It rose to its feet as we approached and ambled towards us, languidly wagging its bushy tail.
“I’m sorry about last night,” said Eduardo.“I mean about Julio being so rude and all that silly flirting with my sister. It was unforgivable.”
“It didn’t bother me in the least. I thought it was hilarious.”
“He only did it to make you jealous. He’s never shown the slightest interest in Mari Paz before.”
“I’m really not bothered. Anyway, why shouldn’t he be interested in Mari Paz? She’s a very attractive girl.”
“But it was all an act. He was absolutely furious when he found out you were coming to stay with me and now he’s trying to annoy both of us.”
“Well, we knew he wouldn’t be very pleased, didn’t we?”
“But I didn’t think he’d take it this badly. He must be crazy about you.”
“No! You know what he’s like – full of that awful pride and honour thing you Spanish males are so obsessed with; I’ve seen it all before.”
“How funny you should say that. He’s always telling me how English he’s becoming.”
“Believe me, Eduardo, you couldn’t find anyone less English in the whole wide world.”
Eduardo laughed and bent to pat the dog which had decided to join us on our walk. “Well, I hope Julio’s behaviour won’t spoil your weekend in Logroño,” he said.
“No chance of that! It’s wonderful being here. The weather’s good and I really like your family; and, as I said, I think Julio’s right about Mari Paz. She’s very pretty – both your sisters are – and I bet they’ve got tons of admirers.”
Eduardo nodded. “They have; especially Mari Paz but of course she never encourages them because she’ll never be able to marry.”
“Why ever not?” I asked in amazement.
“Because… because of the curse of this family.” He kicked angrily at a stone.“Because of this damned haemophilia.”
“But you told me girls don’t get it.”
Eduardo raised his eyebrows in surprise.“Didn’t you know? It’s a genetic condition. Females don’t suffer from it but they are the carriers who pass it down to the next generation of males. Neither of my sisters can marry and, for that matter, neither can I. Even If I marry someone who’s normal, I could pass it down to my daughters, who in turn would become carriers.” He gave a bitter laugh.“I suppose I shall have to enter the priesthood!”
“Oh, surely it can’t be that bad! You could still marry if you both agreed not to have children.”
Eduardo shook his head. “For us that’s not an option. We’re Catholics and I couldn’t ask that of any woman.There’s a girl I like. I like her very much but I dare not let myself fall in love with her. I couldn’t offer her a normal life.”
We had reached the end of the orchard and he stood still for a minute staring out across the fields towards the distant mountains. I said nothing. Perhaps I was beginning to understand why he took such risks with his health. He felt he had little to lose as he could only see before him a future of pain and frustration.
After a while he roused himself from his reverie and turned to me with a warm smile.“Never mind! There are other things in life to enjoy – like a good breakfast. Let’s go back to the house, the coffee should be ready by now.”
Julio condescended to join us when we toured the town’s bars later that morning but he was still in a sulk and took pains to ignore me completely, giving all his attention to Mari Paz who by this time was becoming a little bored with him. I was more than surprised therefore, when just before lunch he informed me that his family had invited me for merienda at his house that afternoon. He would call for me at five promptly and I was not to keep him waiting.
“I knew he couldn’t keep it up for much longer!” joked Eduardo over lunch. “And now you’re going to meet his family. That should be interesting.”
On the dot of five Julio called for me. He was still disgruntled and as soon as we were alone together in the street, he grabbed me roughly by the arm and swung me round to face him.
“What do you mean by staying with Eduardo?” he demanded, fuming with indignation. “What are you doing there without consulting me? Why didn’t you say anything about this when I saw you? Are you trying to make me look a fool? What’s been going on behind my back? Is this the way to treat your novio?”
I pulled myself away from him crossly. “This sounds unpleasantly like an inquisition.We’re not novios and I don’t have to answer any of those questions.”
“Because you can’t! Because there’s nothing you can say.You and Eduardo have planned this, haven’t you? To make me look a fool. How do you think it looks for me when everyone knows my noviás staying here in Logroño in another man’s house: in the house of my closest friend? Hombre!”
“I’m not your novia,” I reminded him again gently, trying to keep my patience, “and even if I were, there would be nothing wrong in my staying with Eduardo. He’s my friend as well as yours so stop trying to control my life! He invited me here for the weekend of San José so here I am. End of story.”
He snatched at my arm and pulled me closer to him. “Just remember you’re my niña and let’s have no more of this eccentric behaviour! You give
me nothing but trouble. First I come to Burgos to find you and you’ve moved house; then, the next time I come, you’re not even there. No! You’re roaming around Andalusia flirting with drunken flamenco singers. And now this! It’s unbelievable. You should be more careful. Girls here never do things like that.”
“Have you heard the song Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun? Well, that equally applies to us females.”
“But not to my girl. I don’t like to think of my niña doing such things.”
We had reached the centre of the town and stopped at a small hairdressers. Julio’s mother was a widow who ran the business with her daughters. This much I already knew, but what I was not prepared for was that he had so many sisters. There were six of them and they were all waiting for us at the top of the stairs.They ushered us into their flat which was above the shop and I found myself in a large, dark room with a long table formally set with a white cloth. On it were a number of plates piled high with different kinds of cream cakes and biscuits.
Julio introduced me to his mother, a small, grey-haired woman, considerably older than I had expected, dressed in black with a woollen shawl draped about her shoulders. She greeted me politely and led me to the table, inviting me to sit next to her. One of the sisters brought wine and coffee and the merienda began. It all seemed rather odd, almost surreal. The mother sat at one end of the table and Julio at the other while all the sisters took their places on either side. I studied them with interest. They were all older than Julio – the oldest fast approaching middle-age – and they were all unmarried. Sitting there, very upright in high-backed chairs, all dressed in black, it was like stepping into a scene from one of Lorca’s plays. It soon became obvious, as we conversed, that the one thing that united all these female members of the family was their unquestioning devotion to Julio and, for the first time, I understood the reason for his brash chauvinism and bossiness. As the youngest of seven children and the only son, (so long awaited after six daughters), he had been indulged since birth, adored by his mother and worshipped by his sisters. In his mother’s home and in the absence of his father, he ruled the roost and he was the one who gave the orders as the head of the household.
“Why haven’t you made tea?” he complained.“In London we always drink tea.This is an English girl you are entertaining.”
“Prepare tea, Luisa!” ordered his mother and the sister next to me jumped to her feet. Fortunately, I managed to restrain her, remembering Señorita Alvárez’s undrinkable brew. “Please don’t make any on my account,” I begged.“I’d really much prefer coffee.”
The mother smiled indulgently. “Julio has acquired so many British habits,” she said. “He is always telling me about life in London and it is all so interesting. Of course, we miss him a great deal when he is away, but we realise these journeys are necessary and he has made so many good friends there as well as learning the language so well. Don’t you think he speaks good English?”
“Oh yes,” I agreed,“very good.”
“He has always been so good at languages, but then he is good at most things, is that not so, Julio?” Except business, I thought, and how to treat girls.
“Any friend of Julio’s is more than welcome in this house,” continued the mother. “Please feel free to come whenever you like.”
“My sisters are very musical,” said Julio. “Later they will play their instruments for you.”
“I see you have a talented family,” I said to the mother. “And you run your own business too.That must be hard work.”
One of the sisters opposite patted her mouth with her napkin and said rather timidly,“If you would ever like a shampoo and set, we should be only too pleased to do that for you.”
“Such pretty hair!” remarked the mother, leaning forward to touch my head.“Such a nice colour.”
“Is it… natural?” one of the sisters asked hesitantly.
“Of course it’s natural,” interrupted Julio, helping himself to a cream cake. “English girls are naturally blonde. You should know that. They don’t need all those bleaches and dyes your customers are so fond of.”
I opened my mouth to refute this ludicrous assumption but failed to get a word in edgeways as Julio was off again on his favourite subject.
“You should see the women in London! Beautiful, blonde girls, tall as statues walking down Bond Street: high stilettos, straight seams, slim waists, full skirts – hombre! What elegance!” His eyes rolled ecstatically as he recalled these delectable images. “English women are amazing. Even their queen is beautiful. They’re an incredible people altogether, the British. Thoroughly efficient. That’s what I like about them. Even Hitler couldn’t destroy them. Swept through all the other countries in Europe but he couldn’t beat the British.Why? Because they were efficient! Just a handful of their little Spitfires defeated the entire German Luftwaffe. That’s efficiency for you.That’s what we need here.”
I felt tempted, at this point, to mention the Spanish Armada as I knew from experience that this would bring him rushing back to the defence of his own country. I decided, however, that this would not be tactful in front of the family.
The merienda over, Julio ordered his sisters to entertain me. “Luisa, bring your mouth organ! Dolores, play the accordion for our guest!”
Obediently, they hurried off to find their instruments and we settled down to hear what was obviously a well-rehearsed concert. Again, I experienced that strange feeling of unreality. It was such an odd scene.There we were in that old-fashioned gloomy room, Julio and I sitting either side of his venerable mother, two of his sisters performing in turn in the middle of the room while the others lined up stiffly in a row. Had the sisters been playing the piano rather than a mouth organ, we could have been in a nineteenth century drawing room.
When we eventually left the house to meet up with Eduardo and Mari Paz at the local cinema, Julio seemed in a much better mood. Gone were the sulks and he was even quite jovial.
“When I’m rich,” he said, taking my hand,“when I’m rich and successful, as I soon shall be, my family will not have to slave away in that miserable little hairdressing place. No. I shall provide for them and they will have everything they need. Big house, a car, anything – anything they want.And it will be the same for the girl I choose to marry. Whoever I decide to marry will not want for anything.” He gave my hand a squeeze.“Fur coats, French perfume, jewels; you’ll see!”
“Lucky her!” I said, straightening his ever-crooked tie.
As I hurried through the dark and windy streets of Burgos, I heard someone calling my name. I had decided to walk home from the station instead of taking the Hotel España’s bus as my luggage was light and I needed time to collect my thoughts.This I had not been able to do during the train journey as I had met a family from Madrid who spoke English and were anxious to practise it all the way to Burgos. Now, at last I was alone and my thoughts were of Julio.
What was I to do about him? He refused to accept that we were not novios so how could I convince him without hurting his feelings too much? I was fond of him despite his many eccentricities (which I found rather amusing), but I knew he would never be right for me.
It was during these musings that I heard my name being called from somewhere behind me. I turned, and to my consternation, saw the tall figure of Paco, Él de La Morena striding towards me. This was the last person I wanted to see!
“Haven’t seen you for ages,” he said, catching me up. “Come and have a drink at my bar!”
“I can’t. I’m in a hurry.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
He relieved me of my bag. “Then I’ll walk with you a little way. Girls shouldn’t be out alone at night.”
“Oh no!” I groaned.“Not you too!”
We walked on for a few minutes in silence and then he said:“I hear you’ve been away on holiday in Andalusia.”
“Yes.That was in January. How did you know?”
�
��Federico told me. Luis has gone away too. Did you know that? He’s gone back to study in Madrid.”
I nodded. At the mention of Luis I felt again that sickening ache of misery which I had been trying so hard to suppress and I wished Paco would go away.
“But he came home for the weekend of San José. He’s only just gone back.”
“How… how is he?” I tried not to sound too interested.
“As well as can be expected in the circumstances.” I felt a sudden panic. Could he have suffered a relapse? Terrible visions crossed my mind: visions of Luis lying pale and wasted on his deathbed, coughing blood, perhaps murmuring my name in his fevered sleep. No! Of course not! It would be Maruja’s name he would whisper as he tossed and turned in his delirium.
“What do you mean by ‘as well as can be expected’? What’s wrong with him? Is he ill again?”
Paco raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you’re so concerned. Does it matter to you, then?”
“Of course it matters to me! Has he suffered a relapse?”
Paco gave a humourless laugh. “It’s not his lungs that are the problem this time. It’s his heart.”
“Oh no! I never knew he had a weak heart too. Has he seen a doctor?”
Paco laughed again but this time genuinely. “I don’t think a doctor could help. It’s nothing physical.You know, it’s strange. I’ve just come from seeing him off and just as he got onto the Madrid train, you stepped off it.Where have you been?”
“Logroño.”
“Oh yes, Logroño, of course. Isn’t that where your new boyfriend lives? Someone told me he was from Logroño. Have you had a nice weekend?”
Suddenly his voice was cold and sarcastic and I felt like bursting into tears. All I wanted, now that I knew Luis wasn’t ill, was to get away from Paco but he continued to torment me.
“Luis has not been at all happy.” I heard him say.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought he liked Madrid and enjoyed studying medicine.”
Mad Dogs and an English Girl Page 26
