Two Old Fools in Spain Again

by Victoria Twead

  “She’s been as good as gold,” I said, but my eyes were drawn to Joe’s rump, which had just appeared like a full moon, reversing its way out from behind the sofa.

  Roberto and Federico watched in surprise as Joe shuffled out backwards and got to his feet. I held my breath.

  “I found it,” said Joe, passing a toy clown to Emilia. “How was the salsa class?”

  “Good, thank you,” said Roberto and Federico nodded his bald head. “Thank you for looking after Emilia. Same time next week?”

  “Of course,” said Joe, cheerily. “No problem.” He waved to Emilia and hurried to the door, grabbing my arm to steer me out. “Come on, Vicky, we must go.”

  “Thank you again,” said Roberto, as Joe bundled me out of the door.

  “Well, that was a quick exit,” I said.

  Joe was moving so fast I could barely keep up with him.

  “Why are you walking all funny?” I panted when we were halfway down the street, Joe still racing ahead. “Joe! For goodness’ sake, slow down! And you look all sort of lopsided. Why are you walking like that?”

  “Tell you in a minute,” he hissed.

  As Joe unlocked our door, I fired off the other question that was burning in my head.

  “Joe, what did you do with the babypoop?”

  “I wrapped it up in the tissues and then I heard the Boys come in.”

  “You didn’t leave the poop there, behind the sofa?”

  “No...”

  “So where is it now?”

  He rolled his eyes and pulled a face. “That’s why I’m in such a hurry and why I’m walking funny, I was trying to avoid squashing it. I’ve got it here. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I shoved it in my pocket.”

  In El Hoyo, summer extended well into September and October, although daylight hours lessened. The sun was still hot and the skies were usually cloudless. Autumn hadn’t arrived in full and there was no need for winter clothes.

  The Ufarte twins and their older brothers went back to school and we didn’t see so much of them. The whole family spent most of the week in their other house in the city, although Lola often stayed behind in El Hoyo.

  We carried on baby-sitting for the Boys until they finished their salsa dancing course. There were no further mishaps, but one conversation made me smile. As we arrived one evening, we heard Federico scolding his little dog.

  “You are going outside, Copito. The English are coming to watch Emilia while we are out and I don’t want you pooping behind the couch like you always do.”

  Joe and I stared at each other.

  “What? So that was dog poop I picked up from behind the sofa?” Joe hissed.

  I nodded. “Yep, seems like it.”

  “I put dog poop in my pocket?”

  “Probably...”

  As the weeks went by, we’d become quite friendly with Sofía’s boyfriend’s family. Alejandro Senior, the grandfather, was a gentleman, but also a bit of a rascal, as we’d discovered the night of the Grand Opening. As far as we knew, he was still courting Mother and we wondered where that relationship was heading.

  Alejandro Senior was always friendly and polite, but there was a shrewdness behind those eyes that Joe and I recognised. We knew he had built his business up from nothing and it was still thriving despite the terrible recession that had hit Spain.

  Paco invited us round for a quick beer but as usual the evening had developed into another party. I was in the little kitchen with the women, but we could hear the men in the next room shouting their political views.

  Eventually, the topic turned to golf, one of Alejandro Senior’s favourite subjects, although it baffled Paco. Alejandro Senior was sprightly for his age and regularly enjoyed a round of golf with his son Alejandro and grandson, Alejandro Junior.

  “Come out with us for nine holes,” Alejandro Senior said to Joe. “The weather is still good and you will enjoy it! It keeps me young, you know, all that fresh air and exercise.”

  “I haven’t played for years,” Joe said, “and I wasn’t very good then.”

  “Nonsense! It does not matter,” said Alejandro Senior, clapping him on the shoulder. “It is only a bit of fun amongst ourselves. Do you have any clubs?”

  “Well, yes, if I can find them. They’ve been in the garage for years, I’d have to dig them out and I don’t know if they’re any good any more.”

  “Paco, you’ll come, won’t you?” said Alejandro Senior, swivelling in his chair to face Paco. “Forget about work for once and come and play a round of golf with us.”

  “Pah!” said Paco, thumping the table with his fist. “Golf? I’ve no time for golf! It’s September and I have grapes to press and wine to make! I’ve no time for golf!”

  “You should try it,” said Alejandro. “It is very therapeutic.”

  Paco shook his head vehemently. “Count me out,” he said scornfully. “I’ve no time to waste on silly games.”

  “Well, are you going to say yes?” I asked Joe later.

  “I think so, it might be fun,” he answered, a little doubtfully. “That’s if my clubs have survived in the garage all this time.”

  I sensed that he was a little uneasy about the planned outing. It had been a number of years since he last played golf and he probably didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

  We dug out the golf paraphernalia, cleaned the bag, oiled the wheels of the trolley and packed the pockets with new golf balls.

  “Those sticks scrubbed up quite well,” I remarked, “considering how long they’ve been mouldering in the garage.”

  “Clubs. They’re golf clubs.”

  “Whatever.”

  A date had been set and I kept catching him in the garden making practice swings, his hands gripping an imaginary golf club, his eyes focused on some distant point on the mountainside.

  The day arrived and the sky was uncharacteristically dull, with leaden clouds moving in.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said as Alejandro Senior’s flashy Mercedes drew up, all three Alejandros inside. “I think you’re wise to take your waterproof jacket though, it looks like it might rain.”

  Joe stowed his golf stuff in the boot, climbed into the car and they swept away. Waving to him and the three Alejandros, I hoped they’d have a good day. It would do Joe good to get out and do something different.

  I enjoyed my day of solitude and used it for writing and pottering in the garden. Time flew past and I heard Joe’s key in the front door. He entered looking exhausted.

  “How did it go? Did you have a good time?”

  “Hang on, let me put this golf stuff away then I’ll tell you all about it. I’m putting it all back in the garage, I won’t be using it again.”

  Oh dear. That sounded ominous. I made some coffee and waited for Joe to come back in. He returned, hung his jacket on the back of the chair and plonked himself down.

  “Did the weather stay nice for you?” I asked.

  “Yes, a few spots of rain at one time, but nothing much.”

  “What was the course like?”

  “Beautiful. I dread to think how many hundreds of gallons of water they use to keep it so green.”

  Water is a precious commodity in any part of Spain and golf courses are notorious for using copious amounts of it.

  “Well, what happened?” I was getting impatient. “Didn’t you enjoy it? Why won’t you be playing again?”

  Joe took a sip of coffee, then began.

  “Before we started, Alejandro Senior said they always put ten euros on the game, winner takes all. I was fine with that and handed over my ten euros, even though I knew I’d lose. From the first hole, I could see that all three Alejandros were really good, I reckon they spend more time playing golf than they let on. You should see their equipment. All the latest stuff, really expensive clubs. Anyway, I played superbly, couldn’t believe how well I hit that ball, especially with my old clubs. Alejandro Senior claps me on the back and says we should put another ten euros in the pot. The
n we go on to the second hole and I’m still playing like a pro.” He paused, recalling the wonderful shots he’d played.

  “So then what happened?”

  “I got a birdie on the second hole, you know.”

  “Oh, poor thing! Did you hurt it?”

  “Don’t be obtuse. It means I was one under par.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t even going to ask what that meant. “Then what?”

  “They all congratulated me and Alejandro Senior said we should add another ten euros to the pot, just to make things interesting. I didn’t really want to, but the other two Alejandros agreed, so I did. And then everything went pear-shaped...”

  “How?”

  “I couldn’t hit a ball straight after those first two holes. I played like an idiot. All the Alejandros said it was just a bit of bad luck, but I knew my first two holes were a fluke and now I was just playing my usual standard.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “My golf trolley started squeaking as I pulled it along, then one of the wheels went wonky. And every hole I played was worse than the last one. If there was a bunker, my ball landed in it. I even managed to hit a fence. All three Alejandros stood there watching me make a complete hash of every shot... It was awful.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Joe scratched himself and sighed. “The worst hole was the sixth,” he recalled, shaking his head. “I managed to hit my ball into the rough and it bounced off a tree. It took a while to find it, wedged under a root on the ground. Impossible to play, so Alejandro said we’d have to apply the penalty rule.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He said I’d get a one-stroke penalty, but I could pick up the ball and drop it over my shoulder, then play it from there. So I did that.”

  “And?”

  “Well, that’s when a funny thing happened. I dropped the ball and it just vanished. Completely disappeared.”

  “How could it vanish?”

  “I don’t know! We all searched for it, but we couldn’t find it. Honestly, it was a mystery! The grass wasn’t particularly long there and it wasn’t on a slope and there weren’t any roots or holes. We spent ages looking for that ball, but we never found it. Anyway, it meant I had to use a new ball and lost yet another stroke.”

  “Oh well...”

  “It didn’t make much difference, my score was diabolical by then anyway. I won’t be playing again. Apart from making a complete idiot of myself, it cost me thirty euros.”

  “Who won?”

  “Alejandro Senior, of course. He pocketed the 90 euros. No wonder he’s a millionaire.”

  “Well, it’s a pity you don’t want to play again.”

  “Enough, I don’t want to think or talk about golf anymore. What’s for dinner?”

  Unfortunately, not everybody was willing to drop the subject. Whenever we saw Alejandro Senior, he delighted in talking about that golf day again and describing Joe’s unlucky shots in lurid detail. The time Joe’s ball hit the fence, the ball that plopped into the ornamental fountain, the ball that flew backwards and the ball dropped over the shoulder, vanishing into thin air.

  Strangely, I solved the mystery of the disappearing golf ball. When I was tidying up and hanging Joe’s jacket back in the wardrobe, I found something. Nestled in the hood of his waterproof jacket was the golf ball he had dropped over his shoulder. I told Joe, but we didn’t share our knowledge with any of the Alejandros. No doubt we wouldn’t hear the end of it.

  One day, we were invited to see the Alejandros’ grand family home in the village. The invitation came because we had been talking about our chickens and Alejandro (Alejandro Junior’s father) mentioned that they kept a lot of animals at their house in El Hoyo. Would we like to see their house and animals?

  Of course we would!

  8. A Village Secret

  Wild Mushrooms with Eggs

  Alejandro Junior and Sofía led the way, arms entwined, heads close to each other. Paco walked with his childhood friend, Alejandro, deep in conversation. Although I was chatting with Carmen and Alejandro’s wife, I could hear Joe and Alejandro Senior behind us, Alejandro Senior giving Joe some unwanted tips about the best choice of golf club in wet weather conditions on an uphill slope.

  We walked past the village square and eventually came to a halt at the gates and massive walls of their house at the edge of the village. Joe and I had walked past the house many times before and the unseen guard dogs on the other side of the high walls had always barked and snarled a warning. It’s not hard to guess the size of a dog from its bark and the dogs behind these walls, we knew, were big. Alejandro’s wife caught my apprehensive expression.

  “Don’t worry, they’re tied up during the day when we’re here in the village,” she said.

  Alejandro tapped a code into the alarm system, then used two separate keys to unlock the gates. We all trooped in and I looked around.

  The paved yard was big enough to park at least twenty cars. A mountain of firewood was stacked neatly against one of the far walls and, apart from a few large potted plants and a stone-built barbecue, there was little else to catch the eye. A wrought-iron gate, set into the far wall, overlooked what appeared to be tilled land.

  Three huge dogs, part grizzly bear, part wolf, were chained to the wall, barking furiously, lips peeled back, straining to reach us. I felt very sorry for them, they probably didn’t have much of a life. Being permanently isolated and waiting to shred an intruder, was, I thought, not an ideal existence for a dog.

  “Come into the house,” said Alejandro’s wife. “I will show you around.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the house wasn’t ostentatious. I reminded myself that although it belonged to millionaires, it was a village retreat, just one house of many.

  The kitchen was huge, dominated by a massive fireplace so big that a whole family could warm themselves at once. Now I understood why they needed so much firewood. A vast table stood in the middle of the room, big enough to seat 16 people, but the room was homely in spite of its size.

  As Carmen and Sofía had probably seen the house many times before, they didn’t accompany us on the guided tour. Alejandro Senior lit a fat cigar and also stayed behind with them in the kitchen. Paco, Joe and I followed Alejandro Junior, Alejandro and his wife.

  “This is our bedroom and another two bedrooms and the bathroom...” said Alejandro’s wife.

  Joe and I oohed and aahed. The rooms were nice, very Spanish but unremarkable. Each was modestly furnished, the bedrooms with crucifixes on the walls above ornate iron bedsteads, the bathrooms typical of bathrooms anywhere. Alejandro’s wife chattered on while her husband waited patiently. Paco looked bored and stole glances up the corridor.

  When there were no more wardrobes to show off, Alejandro walked to the end of the corridor and tapped at another alarm box on the wall beside a heavy, locked door. A broad grin decorated Paco’s face.

  “Now you will see something!” said Paco.

  Fascinated but puzzled, Joe and I exchanged glances. Alejandro pushed the door open and stepped inside, beckoning us to follow.

  More bedrooms? I wondered. But why should these be locked behind an alarmed door? Alejandro groped for the light switch and an enormous room, the size of a barn, appeared in front of us. It was a bodega. Joe and I gaped at the polished-wood barrels, each neatly labelled stacked up on shelves that rose to the ceiling.

  “My father, Alejandro Senior, started this collection,” said Alejandro waving his arm to take in the room.

  “Wow...” said Joe. Words had failed us both.

  Alejandro fussed with some meters fixed to the wall. “Humidity and temperature adjustments,” he explained.

  In addition to the banks of wine barrels, racks of wine bottles, tilted slightly, lined the walls of the room. By now Paco was laughing at the expression on our faces.

  “English! I bet you did not know this was here in the centre of El Hoyo,” he roared.

  “No,” we said, shaking our heads
in disbelief.

  Paco laughed. “You are honoured! Most of the villagers do not know about this!”

  “There are some very valuable wines here,” said Alejandro. “Rare labels, some very old wines, some wines that do not exist anywhere else.”

  “Are they all valuable?” I asked.

  “No, sometimes we buy them just because we like them. Sit down, I will show you.”

  In the centre of the room was a round, wooden table, with stools pushed under it. Paco sat and we followed suit. Alejandro’s wife excused herself and retreated to the main part of the house.

  “Hmm...” said Alejandro to himself, leaning in to read the labels on the barrels. “This one, I think... You will like this, it is a merry little wine with a hint of cranberry.” He turned the tap and ruby wine spurted into the glass held under it. “And maybe this one... Full-bodied, honest and earthy, a robust and courageous wine.”

  Paco jumped up and took the full glasses from him, plonking them down on the table in front of us. Alejandro was still carefully inspecting each cask.

  “Ah yes,” he said, “this amusing little wine has a bit of a kick... Oh and this one... Underestimated, rather young, but fragrant with a suggestion of almonds...”

  Soon the table-top was covered with an alarming number of filled wine glasses.

  “English!” roared Paco. “Try some! Tell Alejandro and his son what you think.”

  What Joe and I knew about wine could be written on a thumbnail, we either liked a wine or we didn’t and that was the extent of our expertise. This was going to be a challenge.

  “Er, do we taste it and spit it out?” I asked, looking around for a bucket.

  “No, we already know they are good. Taste and enjoy them.”

  “Pah!” said Paco, thumping the table. “This room holds the best wine collection in Andalucía, apart from the wine I make from my own grapes, of course.”

  Joe and I exchanged nervous glances and I picked a glass from the dazzling display in front of us. I sipped as Alejandro hovered on one side and his son on the other.

  “Take a proper taste!” roared Paco. “You cannot make a decision from a sip the size of a raindrop!”