Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  I was not present on this memorable occasion, but according to eye witness accounts, a terrible scene ensued. So incensed was Desmond that the Spanish side of him took full possession of his behaviour and he showered the pair of them with a torrent of angry abuse. She, Anita, the girl of his dreams, was a false goddess! She, his faultless Aphrodite, had at last revealed herself in her true colours. She was nothing but a shameless Jezebel, a treacherous siren who lured men to destruction.As forVíctor, he was a villain, a swine, a snake in the grass, a callous Casanova who stole the hearts of other men’s women. He would pay for his actions. Honour, the honour of Desmond Brocklebank, must be satisfied. He had then made various threatening gestures towardsVíctor who removed his thick spectacles, cleaned them hastily on his hanky and replaced them to assess his rival with clearer vision. Despite his studious and amiable appearance, Víctor’s spirit was as proud and jealous as any self-respecting Spanish male and he was swift to prepare himself for verbal and, if necessary, physical battle. They argued and insulted each other and would indeed have come to blows but for the intervention of Anita and various friends who happened to be passing and came running to her assistance. The angry men were forcibly separated and Anita told Desmond very firmly, that their relationship was at an end.

  “It’s incredible,” I said to Don Federico as I recounted these events to him the morning after they happened.“It’s really amazing how worked up you Spanish get over things like women and honour. In England, if a love affair or something goes wrong, we might become very depressed, but we don’t fly into these awful passions.”

  Federico raised his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing.“Ah” he said, poking his cigarette in my direction,“I know how you call that. Is stiff upper lip! No?”

  “I suppose you could call it that.”

  Federico closed his eyes and nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, you see I know these things.You British have stiff upper lip but that does not mean you do not feel the same like as we do.You too feel jealousy and jealousy turns to hate.Your own poet says: yield up, O Love, thy crown and hearted throne to tyrannous hate! Othello, Act three, Scene three.Your poet speaks much of jealousy.”

  “Yes, of course we feel jealous at times but we don’t make such a song and dance of it.”

  “Othello did.”

  “But Othello was a Moor! Perhaps it’s the Moorish blood that makes Spaniards so jealous.”

  Federico drained his glass. “You want another drink?” he enquired, pointing to my empty one.

  “Another beer, please Federico. This heat is terrible. It makes me so thirsty.”

  “We have one more here and then we go to Paco’s place. I have to speak with La Morena.”

  “I… I’m afraid I can’t come with you. I have to go to the travel agency to book my tickets home.”

  “So soon you are going? It is only July.”

  “My ex-boss,” I explained, “the one I worked for in London, has offered me a job again. It’s a better job with more money. Now that my Spanish is fluent and I can type properly, he wants me to be his new secretary. But I have to go home at once or I shall lose this opportunity. Oh Freddie! I shall miss you so much! You and all my friends – and Burgos. It makes me want to cry when I think about it.”

  “But you will come back?You will come back soon?”

  “Of course.”

  “I too will miss you.Who will roll for me my cigarettes?”

  We laughed and he spread his tobacco and papers on the bar for me. I started to roll him rather lumpy little cigarettes for, despite his patient tuition, I had not yet properly mastered this art.The bar tender laughed when he brought our drinks. “Vaya! Federico, you got her well trained!” he remarked.

  Federico stood watching my efforts in thoughtful silence for some minutes.Then, all of a sudden, he said: “Is funny.You talk to me of Spanish pride and honour but you people also are proud. You are a very proud girl.You know that?”

  “Me? Why do you say that?” I looked up from my task in surprise.

  “Because is true. You suffer a lot but you say nothing. Stiff upper lip! You want something very much but you say no because you are too proud.”

  “Federico, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you have. I have seen your lover the other day. I have seen Luis. He is in Burgos now and he wants to see you. I think you still feel something for him, no?”

  “NO!” I told him emphatically, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

  Federico picked up one of my cigarettes and tapped it on the counter before placing it in his mouth. “But you are lying, aren’t you?” he suggested gently.

  “Yes,” I confessed miserably. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I am. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s too late. I’m going back to England next week.”

  Federico lit the cigarette.“I say no more,” he said, shaking out his match.“Now you tell me the truth I shut up about it.We bury Caesar like you say.”

  The following Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting with Anita in the shade of some scrubby bushes half way up the hill behind the town. We had decided to climb the castillo, where it was quiet and we could enjoy a long, uninterrupted conversation. It would be our last chance of doing so for a long time.That afternoon there was an important bullfight taking place in the dilapidated Plaza de Toros.Víctor, much to his annoyance, was on duty there, ready for any casualties. He resented having to spend two or three hours of his precious Sunday afternoon in this way when he could have been with Anita.

  The grass felt dry and prickly beneath my legs and I was uneasily aware of the fact that there were giant ants crawling around in the vicinity. They were three times the size of English ants and their stings twice as painful. I did not trust them and, from time to time, I felt obliged to get up and inspect the place where I had been sitting. The air was heavy with the scent of wild thyme and cypress and all around grew curious plants that I had never seen before. They had to be extremely hardy, I thought, to withstand both the rigours of those long cruel winters and the scorching heat of summer. It had not rained for weeks and the ground was rock hard, dusty and cracked, yet still they flourished and flowered. I felt sure they would share with me the distinction of being among Desmond’s ‘Hardy Weeds’.

  Below us, the tall towers and spires of the cathedral, the rusty-pink roofs of the houses and the squat belfries of distant churches and monasteries all lay shimmering in the relentless heat, under a dark blue sky. Faintly, from one of the houses at the foot of the hill, the strains of a radio playing Spanish music could be heard. I gazed wistfully at the familiar scene: the great, arid meseta stretching out behind the town, greyish-yellow and treeless like an endless desert, disappearing into the horizon.All this would soon be nothing but a memory.

  “First Teo has to go away and now you,” complained Anita, plucking a piece of grass and nibbling at it. “The house will be so quiet tomorrow. Just Auntie Domi and me.”

  “Never mind, you’ve got Víctor. He’s here all the time and you’re lucky to have such a great boyfriend.”

  “I know. I’m very happy with Víctor but that won’t stop me missing you.You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and we’ve had such adventures together. All that fun in Andalusia! It couldn’t have happened if we hadn’t met.”

  “And I’ve been really happy here. I feel like one of the family now and I’m going to miss you all such a lot.”

  “We’re like sisters. I hope it will always be like this, whatever happens in the future. Oh! Do you have to go so soon?”

  “I have my own family,” I reminded her. “And I haven’t seen my parents for nearly a year.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anita sighed. “You have your own parents. You’re lucky to have them. I wish I had mine.”

  I felt like kicking myself. Why did I have to be so tactless? I would divert our conversation to another subject.

  “Anita, I have a problem and since you’re my sister here in Spain, you must
advise me. Luis is back in Burgos and Federico says he wants to see me. He hasn’t a novia any more and I would like to see him again if only to say goodbye. It would be easy.All I have to do is go round to Paco’s…”

  Anita, who had been lying down, sat up abruptly. “Are you mad? Of course you mustn’t see him. Can’t you see he’s just playing around with your feelings? If he’d been serious about you he would have written to you ages ago. Look what he’s done to the Institute gardener’s daughter! Thrown her aside as though she were an old coat! Callously discarded her after all the time they’d been together. The poor girl’s heart-broken! You can’t be serious. He’s nothing but a playboy.”

  I said nothing but my face betrayed my emotions.

  “I thought you’d finished with him, forgotten him. Look! I pleased you by ending my romance with Desmond and finding someone else. I know you never approved of Desmond and me, now will you please do the same for me? Just forget Luis. He’s no good for you. I know it, so just forget him. Go back and find yourself a nice Englishman!”

  At that point this rather uncomfortable conversation was interrupted by someone calling to us from below and we saw Marisol climbing up towards us and waving.A few feet behind her trudged another figure who, as they drew nearer, proved unsurprisingly, to be Sergio.

  “Hello you two! So there you are. I called at the house and Domi said you were up here.” She turned to me. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Marisol was looking pretty in a sleeveless summer dress. She was holding a small packet wrapped in fancy gift paper. “Catch!” she said, tossing it into my lap. “It’s nothing much, just a small present for you to take back to England. Some cologne, that’s all, so don’t get too excited!”

  Over the last few days I had been overwhelmed with presents from all my pupils and friends: bottles of wine and brandy, sweets, perfume, decorative plates, models of fighting bulls, fans. I was beginning to wonder how I could possibly transport this mountain of gifts to England.

  A few minutes later, we were joined by Sergio looking hot and panting slightly from his recent exertion. He flopped down on the grass beside us and dabbed his forehead with a hanky. “Mother of God! What heat!” he exclaimed.

  “Why, Sergio!” Marisol feigned surprise.“I didn’t realise you’d followed me all the way up here. Did you want to see me about something?”

  “Not really. Just thought I’d come and keep you company and say goodbye to our inglesa.”

  “I’ve had an idea,” I said.“Let’s all go down and have a drink in the town.We’ll find Gonzalo and the others and pick up Víctor and Felipe from the bullring.Then we’ll all have a farewell drink on me.”

  “Done!” said Anita, getting to her feet and brushing the grass and dust from her dress. “Just as long as it isn’t at the Bar La Morena,” she added, giving me a significant nudge.

  As I hurried along the Calle de Santander the following morning, I was vaguely aware of two tall young men passing me from the opposite direction. I didn’t notice who they were as my mind was busy making lists of things still to be sorted out and packed before catching my train to France that afternoon. I had been to the travel agency to collect my tickets and was wondering whether I had made a mistake in not paying the extra for a couchette from Irún to Paris, when I heard an excited voice calling my name. I turned round and saw Paco, sun-tanned and smiling, his vivacious dark eyes seeking me out, as jaunty and good-humoured as ever. I knew who was with him but hardly dared to look, feeling madly excited and terrified at the same time.

  “What luck! We’ve caught you! Federico said you were off to England soon,” said Paco.

  “This afternoon.” My voice was a hoarse whisper.

  Paco caught me firmly by the arm.“Then you must come and have a drink with us. No excuses this time.”

  We started walking towards the Espolón and Luis changed places with Paco and was now walking beside me.

  “I didn’t realise you were going so soon,” he said. “I’ve been wanting so much to see you.”

  The sound of his soft voice caused me to tremble and I forced myself to look at him. I was amazed to see how healthy he was looking. His face was fuller, there was colour in his cheeks and his green eyes were clear and bright beneath the thick, black lashes. Everything I had ever felt for him came flooding back with a vengeance. I could hardly believe I was not dreaming, that I wouldn’t wake up to harsh reality any minute. But this time it was not a fantasy.The phantom Luis had materialised into real flesh and blood. He could be touched without melting into thin air!

  “You… you look so well, Luis,” I stammered wishing my heart would stop its violent pounding. “You look so much better than the last time I saw you.”

  He smiled at me. “You too look well.You look wonderful, as lovely as ever.”

  Flatterer! I thought, mindful of Anita’s words, maybe he is just like the rest of them with empty compliments designed to ensnare females.

  Paco said suddenly: “Look you two! I can’t stop. I’ve just remembered I’ve got to get back to help behind the bar. My mother will be busy with lunches. Forgive me if I leave you but have a good trip and don’t forget us!”

  With these words he hugged me briefly and then disappeared among the throng of people taking their pre-lunch stroll along the Espolón.

  “He’s a good friend,” said Luis.

  “I’m afraid I can’t be long either,” I said truthfully.“I’ve got to get back to finish my packing. I’m catching a train at five.”

  “But you have a little time, surely? Come on! Let’s go for a walk along by the river.There’s so much we have to talk about.”

  We walked for a few minutes in silence, awkwardly, like the first time we had been alone together. We reached the Isla and stopped under the shade of some trees, the same place where we had often lingered in the past. He leaned on the parapet, gazing down into the water which was now flowing at a sluggish pace, fast evaporating in the searing heat.

  “How is Maruja?” I enquired in mock ignorance, but wishing to hear the truth from the horse’s mouth.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for ages. You must know we’ve broken up. After knowing you, I couldn’t go on with Maruja. It would have been dishonest because I no longer felt anything for her.”

  “You’re a Don Juan, just like the rest.”

  Luis looked genuinely surprised. He laughed.“I’ve been called many things – but never that! They all tell me I’m too shy with girls.”

  “So what have you been doing in Madrid, apart from your studies? Have you found a new girlfriend?”

  He shook his head. “There’s a group of us at university, all socialist students – that is nearly all of us although there are some communists and anarchists as well, and we meet in secret. Next term we’re planning a demonstration.We‘ve a lot of support, we’ll bring the whole campus out on the streets. That should shake them!”

  “Oh no, Luis! I don’t believe this! Will you never learn? You mustn’t become a political agitator! They’ll kill you.”

  He laughed.“Yes, they might try.They’ll probably bring out their machine guns to subdue us but it’s worth the risk. I don’t care.”

  “Don’t do it!” I pleaded. “Please don’t! I don’t want anything to happen to you. Listen to me!”

  He turned to look at me.“I love you,” he said softly.

  My head was spinning from a combination of intense heat and emotional turmoil and I had to cling to the parapet to steady myself. “If that’s true,” I responded faintly, “then you will listen to me and you won’t have anything to do with political demonstrations.”

  “My feelings for you are just the same,” he continued, ignoring my entreaties,“and if it weren’t for Julio…”

  “Julio isn’t my novio..We’re just friends.”

  “But you said…”

  “Yes, I know what I said but it was a lie because I felt so hurt about Maruja.”

  I stared at him, wide-eyed,
gripping the parapet and wondering what effect this confession would have, but he just laughed and shook his head, eyes fixed on the ground.“If you were trying to get your own back you certainly succeeded – and I deserved it,” he said.

  “We’ve made ourselves pretty miserable, haven’t we? Anyway, what’s the use? It’s all over now and I’ve got to go home. In a few hours I shall be on the train and goodness knows when I’ll be back in Spain.”

  Luis caught my hand. “Federico hinted to me that there was hope, that you still loved me, and as I told you before, it can never be over between us. Can I write to you? Will you let me do that?”

  I nodded, trying to stay calm. So now I knew what Don Federico was up to with his persistent questioning of my emotions. The trouble was he read too much Shakespeare and obviously fancied himself in that Friar Lawrence rôle! Luis felt around in his pocket and produced an empty cigarette packet and a biro. “Your address,” he said, handing them to me. I wrote it out in block capitals, using the top of the parapet as a table.

  “That’s my home address,” I explained,“and it will always find me, although I may not be there long as I’ll be working in London.”

  I watched him study it carefully, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he sought to decipher the unfamiliar words.

  “Oh, and by the way,” I added, unable to suppress my feelings any longer,“Federico was right.”