by Jenny Twist
“She already had them,” Samantha said with a smug smile, “from when we go to France. She keeps a load of them in her dressing table drawer.”
“Blimey,” said Rupert, and closed his eyes. Samantha watched him for a while. His face was white and strained. Then she turned away to look out of the window at the world below, impossibly far away, rising now towards the mountains.
****
Heather’s friend, Johan, met them in the bar at Orgiva. He hadn’t changed much in the nearly twenty years that had passed since she had last seen him. His hair was perhaps a bit more white than grey and he may have had a few more wrinkles but otherwise he looked the same – tall, lean and fit. How old must he be now? Heather wondered. In his sixties at least. Maybe in his seventies. And then she thought, It’s us who’ve changed.
“Heather!” Johan took her in his arms and gave her the traditional Spanish kiss, one on each cheek. Heather beamed back at him.
“You look amazing! So slim and shapely. You could be a model. I can hardly believe you’re the same person.”
Heather looked down at herself with evident satisfaction. She could hardly remember what it had been like to have been so fat. “I never put the weight back on,” she said. “Not even when I had Rupert.”
She looked across at her son, who came forward with his hand outstretched. Johan gave a start and stepped back a pace, his face registering shock.
“It’s all right,” Heather said. “He looks like him, but he doesn’t have the same – er -propensities.” She gave an uncharacteristically nervous laugh. “This is Rupert.”
Johan recovered himself very quickly and smiled at the boy. For a moment there he had thought it really was him, the Mantequero – back from the dead – but he could see now that it could not be the same person. For a start, the boy was much younger. The man he remembered had been a fully-grown adult. The boy was tall, but not as tall as the Mantequero, who had been the same height as Johan himself. The boy had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” he said and Johan immediately warmed to him. So polite. So unusual in the young people of today. He ignored the proffered hand and gave him the full Andalusian hug and double kiss. Rupert looked startled but didn’t flinch away.
Then Johan greeted the others. He told Alison she hadn’t changed a bit, then turned his charm on Patsy. “And I can’t believe this is the little girl who came here to see her Auntie’s grave. You have grown into such a beauty.”
He felt another twinge of anxiety when he saw Samantha. She was undeniably fat. Not so fat as Heather had been, but nevertheless . . . He sincerely hoped the boy didn’t take after his father.
“He doesn’t take after his father,” Alison whispered, as if reading his thought. “They’ve been going out together for months now. If he took after his father she wouldn’t still be fat.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Johan whispered back. “It just took me by surprise.”
Alison laughed at him and called over the waiter.
“Well,” said Johan, standing up and wiping his lips, “if we’re going to get to Caserones while the bar is still open we ought to go now. We can stop off at the ranch on the way and drop your luggage off. I’ve given you the big villa by the pool. It’s got three bedrooms.”
“Great,” Heather said, hauling Alison out of her seat. She was still a bit shell-shocked from the drive up the mountain. Of all of them, she was the only one who was afraid of heights. Samantha thought this was rather amusing, since in every other respect she would have said that Mrs Winton was the most practical of the lot.
She leaned over towards Patsy. “How did she manage when she brought you here to see your Auntie’s grave?” Patsy watched as Alison allowed herself to be led reluctantly to the car. “If I remember correctly, we hired a taxi and she sat in the back with me and didn’t look out of the window.” She grinned. “I think she may have gibbered slightly.”
Samantha returned her smile and then went over to Rupert.
“Are you all right?” she whispered. “You look awful.” His face had paled so much it had a greenish-grey tinge. “Are you feeling sick?”
“No. Well, yes, but it’s nothing physical.” Samantha looked at him sympathetically. “It must be awful, coming to confront your father now you know what he was.”
“What he is,” Rupert said, taking her by the arm and swinging her to face away from the others, who were just getting into the car. “Sam, I can hear him. Now we’ve got closer. I can hear him calling me. And I’m still awake!” His voice rose on the last few words and Samantha shushed him, shooting an anxious glance at the others.
“Oh, shit,” she said.
****
It was lunchtime and Rafa’s bar was crowded. Alison strained to look over the heads of the diners but she couldn’t see Rafa, only two young men dashing between the tables, serving steaming dishes and chatting merrily with the customers. She couldn’t immediately see any spare seats, but one of the waiters came over and directed her to a table in the corner. It was only intended for four, but he managed to squeeze in another two chairs, and they all sat down.
“I was looking for Rafa,” Alison said. The young man grinned at her, his teeth shockingly white against his tanned skin. “I’m Rafa,” he said. For a moment she was nonplussed and then she realised this must be Rafa’s son.
“No, I meant your father.” The boy frowned. “I am so sorry,” he said, “but my father is down the mountain buying fish.”
Alison’s face fell. “Oh dear,” she said. “When will he be back?”
The boy glanced at the clock on the wall and shrugged. “I don’t know. An hour, maybe.”
Johan clapped his hands together. “Just nicely in time for us to have lunch while we wait.” He beamed at the assembled company and smiled up at the waiter. “What have we got for the menu del día?”
Rafa came in nearly two hours later. By then everyone except Rupert was stuffed, having eaten large bowls of gazpacho with crusty bread, followed by paella, followed by crème caramels – the whole washed down with copious glasses of wine. Rupert and Samantha had been allowed tinto de verano, red wine mixed with lemonade, and were both feeling a little drunk, particularly Rupert, who had eaten hardly anything.
The waiter ran over to his father and began to gesticulate in the direction of their table.
Rafa looked over and his face lit up as he saw Heather and Alison, both of whom were waving enthusiastically. He hurried across, wiping his hands on his trousers as he came.
“Alison!” He shouted, as she and Heather both stood up at once, nearly upsetting the table. There was a flurry of hugging and kissing of cheeks, then he turned to be introduced to the others, saw Rupert and gasped with shock, backing away from them and making the sign of the evil eye.
The noisy conversation in the bar ceased as abruptly as if someone had pulled a switch, and all eyes turned to Rafa, who had backed up into a corner and was shaking with fear, still making the sign of the evil eye, his finger trembling as it pointed at Rupert.
Rupert had stood up and was looking round wildly, as if he were seeking an avenue of escape. Slowly, as if they were all being pulled by the same string, the eyes of the customers swung round to Rupert and the crowd drew in a collective sharp breath.
Samantha and Heather both moved protectively in front of him, and Alison went across to Rafa.
“It’s not him,” she said. “It just looks like him. You know it can’t be him. You killed him, didn’t you? You killed him yourself. You and the others. I was there. I saw.” She turned to look back at Rupert. “Look at him! He is just a boy. You can see he is not the same.”
Rafa looked at her, his eyes staring so wide that the whites showed all the way round. He reminded Alison of a frightened horse. When he spoke it was in a gruff whisper. “What is he?”
“He is Heather’s son. He is called Rupert.” Rafa gave her a searching look and then turned his attention back to Rupert.
&
nbsp; Everyone stopped breathing for a heartbeat and the scene froze in Samantha’s memory, like a still from a film. The huge man cowering in the corner, his hands raised in the sign of the evil eye, Mrs Winton looking up at him pleadingly, the waiters halted in mid-serve, their trays suspended above their heads, the customers staring in horror and disbelief at the boy beside her – and Rupert himself, trembling like a young deer, backed against the wall with his hands flat out behind him.
Then time sped up again. Rafa slumped down, his sons put down their trays and ran towards him, the customers began talking again, mainly in whispers, with many glances and gesticulations towards Rupert. Samantha heard the word ‘mantequero’ repeated many times.
“Come on, Papá.” The young Rafa helped his father to his feet and sat him at a nearby table, the other men moving their chairs aside to make space. The other boy had rushed over carrying a flagon and poured his father a large glass. Rafa knocked it back in one gulp and smacked the glass back down on the table. The boy filled it again.
“Rafa.” Alison had followed him to the table and now squatted in front of him so their eyes were level. “We need your help. I need you to tell me something.”
Rafa turned his eyes towards her but said nothing, merely taking another deep draught of the spirit.
“I have to know whether you did kill him properly. Did you stake him and cut off his head?”
Rafa put his glass back down on the table, put his head in his hands and groaned.
“Aah, no. No I could not. I staked him, yes. And it was so hard. All the time he was looking at me. His face – he had such a beautiful face – and so sad. It broke my heart. I cannot tell you how hard it was. As I hammered in the stake, he shuddered and he opened his eyes and he spoke.”
Alison was listening with horrid fascination, unable to take her eyes off the old man.
“He said. . .” Rafa made another grab for his glass and drained it. His son silently refilled it. “He said, ‘I have never hurt you or yours, Rafa.’ He knew my name! He begged me to spare him, but I kept on hammering until the black blood came gushing out and he laid still. I went to get my scythe, but when I looked back, his eyes were open again, pleading with me. I couldn’t do it, Alison.”
“So what did you do?” Alison asked quietly.
“I left him there, God forgive me. I left him there and ran all the way home. I told myself I would return. That I would go back the next day and cut off his head. But I couldn’t do it. I returned before dawn and I covered him with stones. He was still just lying there and he did not move. I told myself he was truly dead. That I did not need to do more. And I covered him so the vultures would not tear his face. And then I went home and I have never been there since.”
“Rafa, can you remember where it is? Can you take us there?”
Alison’s face was very close to Rafa’s, her eyes searching his.
He moaned and drank some more.
Johan got up from his seat and came over to join them. “Come on Rafa,” he said. “If you drink any more you won’t be able to take anyone anywhere. Come on, lad.” He clapped Rafa on the shoulder and the old man looked up in surprise.
“We will all go together. You and me, and the women and Rupert.”
“And I.” Rafa’s son spoke up. “If my father goes into danger, so do I.”
“And I.” The other boy stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother.
There was a general roar of approval from the clientele, all of whom were shouting their intention to come along.
“Oh bloody hell,” said Johan. “It’s going to be a bloody circus like the last time.”
V
For the next hour or so the bar was filled with bustle as villagers rushed in and out, fetching ancient weapons, calling for friends, shouting instructions. Heather, Alison and Johan were sitting in intense conversation, heads close together. Patsy had gone off to the bar and was chatting to Rafa’s daughter, accompanied by much hand-waving and laughter. Samantha sat watching all this through half-closed eyes. The long journey, begun in the early hours, followed by the heavy lunch, and then the adrenaline reaction after the frightening encounter with Rafa, had made her sleepy.
Nobody noticed that Rupert had disappeared.
****
Come to me. Come to me, my son. Ignacio, come to me. The voice was melodious, alluring.
Rupert was struggling up the mountain in a kind of trance, following goat paths and streams. He had to reach his father. The ground was covered with a riot of wild flowers which hid treacherous pot-holes, stinging plants and scratchy twigs. He had pulled his socks up over his trouser-bottoms and carried on regardless, following the call. He was near now. He could tell.
****
It was beginning to get dark by the time the villagers declared themselves ready. They were fairly bristling with weapons – sticks, knives and farm implements; along with the occasional ancient gun. “They hide them in the walls,” Johan said, leaning forward and startling Samantha into consciousness. She looked around her in a sudden panic. “Where’s Rupert?” she demanded.
“Oh bloody hell,” said Johan.
Rafa, now completely recovered from his earlier fright, had climbed upon the bar and adopted a dramatic pose, clearly as a prelude to a speech.
“No time,” Johan called. “The boy has disappeared. We must find him before he finds his father.”
The villagers looked at each other in consternation, then all rushed out of the bar at once, causing a jam as they all tried to get through the narrow doorway at the same time.
By the time Johan and the women finally got out, the first villagers were well on their way, brandishing their weapons and singing as they went. “Do they know where they’re going?” Johan asked. “No, but I do,” Rafa said and, taking a different and more difficult path, he led the way.
****
The grave was marked with a stone cairn, exactly like many others Rupert had passed, left by shepherds and hikers to mark the way. This was different in that it was away from the main paths, hidden under an overhang on the cliff face. Within the overhang was a small cave and he couldn’t resist a quick peep inside even though his father was calling him more urgently now. Quick, boy. Let me out. There is not much time. They are on their way.
It had been lived in once, a long time ago. There were blankets and a makeshift fireplace. A tiny trickle of water ran down the wall in one corner and collected in an earthenware bowl, overflowing now and running down a crack to the cave entrance. There were other things. A few tools and implements, a large hat, a leather sack, black with age. He picked it up and sniffed it. It reminded him of something. Something delicious. Absent-mindedly he slung it over his shoulder and got on with the task of removing the stones.
Further down the mountain Johan’s little band was beginning to fret as the sun went down. They had not thought to provide themselves with torches, since they had set off for the village in the middle of the day. Then Rafa pulled out a heavy duty iron lantern and winked at them. Perfect, Johan thought. It doubles as a very effective weapon.
Rafa’s boys stood close behind their father, grinning, each holding a similar lantern and clutching wicked-looking knives. Rafa himself had a hammer and an enormous axe sticking through his belt. Johan shuddered when he realised what they were for.
“Come on,” said Rafa, “Not far now.”
The mountain dropped down below them and far away Johan could see the lights of the little village coming on one by one as the sun disappeared behind the peaks. There was no sign of the other villagers.
****
He cast the last stone aside and looked down upon the face of his father. It was exactly the same as in the dream – the face he saw himself in the mirror every morning, but subtly changed – more mature, more beautiful.
As he looked the eyes snapped open and he smiled. “Ignacio,” he said. “You have come at last. I have waited many years to see your face. Quickly now. You must set me free.”
> Rupert looked down at the vicious-looking spike sticking out of his father’s chest and felt sick. He grabbed it and pulled, but nothing happened. He stood astride the grave, legs apart, wiped his hands on his trousers and gripped it again. Even straining with all his might he couldn’t move it. He cast around, looking for something to give him leverage. There was a large rock nearby with a concave edge. He set it against the stake and pushed. It shifted very slightly. “Sorry father,” he said as he saw his father’s grimace of pain. “Never mind, boy. Keep going. They are nearly here.”
Rupert thought he heard a rustling in the grass just below and redoubled his efforts.
On the next push the stake slid sideways, making a nasty, sucking noise. Ignacio screamed. Rupert stopped, horrified. “Go on, go on,” said his father.
He grasped the stake and this time it pulled clear. Thick pools of black blood seeped out of the wound it left behind. Rupert burst into tears and bent down over his father.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It is all right. It is good. I am free. See!” And Ignacio leapt to his feet, flinging his arms wide and turning his face to face the sunset. The red light reflected in his eyes, giving him a demonic look, and suddenly Rupert felt a terrible chill. What had he done? This was the man who had nearly killed his mother. Who had killed God knows how many others, and he had just released him.
“Rupert!”
It was his mother’s voice. He saw her silhouette as she topped the nearest ridge. “Oh my God, what have you done?”
Ignacio began to laugh. It was a rich, deep laugh and it echoed around the nearby peaks. “So, you return to me, my love? Did you hunger for my kisses? And what is this?” Samantha had followed Heather and, ignoring Ignacio completely, she ran to Rupert, who caught her and held her to him.
