Two Old Fools - Olé!

by Victoria Twead

  At that precise moment, Papa Ufarte leaned into the minibus and switched off the music. Joe’s shout echoed round the valley. Ten heads lifted to see Joe and I leaning unashamedly over our balcony wall, the binoculars still glued to Joe’s eyes and trained down to watch the activity.

  Ten mouths gaped up at us. Even Granny Ufarte opened her eyes for a full fifteen seconds before sinking back into slumber.

  Joe guiltily dropped the binoculars from his eyes. I struggled to compose myself.

  “Er... Buenos días,” I called down, and was alarmed to hear my voice coming out as a croak. “Do you need any help?”

  The two little fairies lost interest and went back to their dolls and make-believe world. The older boy drummed his football against our front door, making me wonder if even a tiny scrap of varnish would remain. His little brother, Scrap, tried in vain to intercept the ball, teeth clamped onto the dummy in his mouth. The Fish Man and workers resumed unloading, lifting out dressers and chests and setting them down in the dusty street. Granny Ufarte slept on, and the temptress was still in the house. Only Papa and Mama Ufarte and the babe continued staring, faces uplifted. The babe pointed a fat finger up at us in wonder. Mama Ufarte’s pretty face broke into a smile of recognition.

  “Ah, you must be the English!” she said.

  Joe and I nodded in unison, a double-act.

  “If you need anything, just ask,” I said, face still glowing red with shame. Nobody likes to be caught spying.

  “Gracias,” said Papa Ufarte. “Thank you, we most certainly will.”

  We waved and backed away from the balcony wall, out of sight, ashamed and embarrassed. We weren’t to know that we had yet to meet the last, and smallest member of the family, the one that was going to give us more problems than all the others combined.

  If we’d continued watching, we’d have seen what was to prove Joe’s nemesis being carried into the house next door. Blissfully ignorant, we returned to our kitchen and made more coffee.

  “Well!” I said excitedly. “How embarrassing that they caught us staring down at them! But what a family!”

  “Goodbye peace and quiet,” said Joe, shaking his head miserably.

  “But weren’t those twin girls just beautiful in their fairy costumes? I bet even their parents have a job telling them apart.”

  “Hmm... I think our life is about to change,” muttered Joe darkly.

  “Oh, don’t be silly! They’re just a lively young family. Except for Granny Ufarte, of course. I don’t think she’ll be very lively by the looks of her, poor dear.”

  “How do you know they’re called ‘Ufarte’?”

  “Well, I don’t, but that was written on the side of the truck. I’m just assuming they’re all Ufartes, even the Fish Man. You know how Spanish families stick together and help each other out.”

  “You mark my words,’ said Joe, tapping the teaspoon against his cup. “Things around here are going to change. Dramatically.”

  I ignored him and prattled on. “And weren’t the two little boys gorgeous? It’ll be nice for Little Paco next door to have some more friends to play with.”

  From the kitchen we could hear the muffled thud of the football hitting our wall in an endless, rhythmic tattoo.

  “Soccer crazy,” said Joe.

  “You’re over-reacting as usual. They live next door, not in our house! And they’re probably just weekenders like most of the other villagers. They won’t affect us. We’ll probably hardly see them.”

  My last words were drowned out by a hammering on the front door. Joe dropped the teaspoon with a clatter, and for a few seconds our eyes met.

  “I’ll go,” I said at last.

  Standing on the doorstep was almost the entire Ufarte clan. Only Granny and the seductress were missing. And, of course, the smallest, hairiest member of the Ufarte family who we had yet to meet. I gaped for a second, collected myself and smiled. I hope I looked welcoming, but I suspect I looked a little shell-shocked.

  “¡Hola! Do come in...” I said, but the fairy twins, the oldest boy and Scrap already had. Over my shoulder I saw them cantering toward the kitchen as though they already knew the way. Papa and Mama Ufarte, still holding their youngest, stayed on the doorstep.

  Mama Ufarte bent forward, babe leaning out of the way, and planted kisses on both my cheeks, Spanish style.

  “My name is Maribel,” she said. She gazed fondly at the baby in her arms and ruffled his curly hair with her free hand. “This little boy is Sergio.” The toddler solemnly stared at me, examining every wrinkle on my face. Maribel half turned, indicating her husband. “And this is my husband, Juan.”

  Juan stepped forward for the kissing ritual, his beard lightly brushing my face.

  “Enchanted,” he said. I flushed as I caught myself wishing I was a few decades younger.

  “Er, I’m Vicky. I must say - you have a lovely family. Please, come in and meet my husband, Joe.”

  “Later, Veeky,” said Juan, in his deep, golden voice. “We have just brought the children to you. We will go down the mountain and do some shopping. The children will stay with you. We have heard you like children.”

  “Oh yes, we love children, but...”

  “They are very good children,” smiled Maribel. Even in this moment of confusion I was struck by her typical Spanish comeliness. Her black hair gleamed with health and her skin was the colour of dark honey. She had the grace of a dancer as she disentangled little Sergio’s arms from her neck and peeled him off her hip. She held him out to me and I instinctively took him. Sergio wound his fat little arms round my neck, his legs round my waist, and studied my face at close quarters.

  “Abuela is taking a siesta in her chair in the shade. She won’t wake until we get back. And she will guard the furniture that is still in the street.” Maribel pointed. I could see Granny Ufarte’s armchair parked beside the mound of furniture. “Grandmother sleeps a lot.”

  “But...”

  “We are very lucky to have such fine neighbours. Everybody in the village says you are very good people,” said Maribel, and Juan nodded in agreement. “We will see you later, when we have finished our shopping.”

  Juan nodded again, and walked away down the street. Maribel blew an airy kiss to little Sergio and followed her husband.

  “But...” I tried, but got no further, partly because I was lost for words, and partly because little Sergio had pushed a fat, grubby finger into my mouth.

  “Well!” I said to Sergio, extracting his finger. “Let’s see what’s happening in the kitchen. Let’s go and find your brothers and sisters.”

  I heard the activity long before I reached the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, my eyes swept the scene before me. The fairy twins were cross-legged on the floor, Joe squatting with them. Cupboard doors hung open, and most of my saucepans and wooden spoons were already spread all over the tiles. My heart sank. Where was the orderly kitchen I had left just moments before?

  “Um, we were just playing Cooking,” said Joe, looking up at me a little guiltily. The fairies didn’t look up, they were far too busy.

  “And the boys?” I asked. I was feeling a little weak.

  “Outside. In the garden.”

  The bang-bang-thud of the football as it ricocheted off the walls and my cherished raised flowerbeds and plant pots made me wince.

  “Would you believe it? Their parents have gone shopping,” I said in English. “And left all the kids with us...”

  “I know,” said Joe, beating an imaginary cake mix with my silver soup ladle. “The kids told me.”

  “It’s a bit of a cheek, though, isn’t it?’ I said, removing little Sergio’s chubby finger from my ear. “I guess that young lady went shopping, too. You’d have thought she’d stay behind and watch the kids.”

  Not a lot we can do about it,” Joe shrugged. “Anyway, it’s nice to have little kids around, I suppose. Didn’t I tell you things were going to change?”

  I sat down with Sergio on my lap and
watched the fairies playing. They were totally immersed in their game. Fairy #1 cracked an imaginary egg into a bowl, while Fairy #2 stirred.

  “We’re making bizcocho,” announced Fairy #1, glancing up.

  “Like Mama’s,” said Fairy #2.

  “You can have some when it’s ready.”

  “But only when it’s cooled down.”

  “Or you’ll get a sore tummy.”

  “Because it’s not good for you to eat warm cake.”

  “But if you’re good...” Fairy #1 wagged her finger at Joe and me, “you can lick out the bowl.”

  “But only if you’re very good.”

  “And you must save some for Sergio.”

  In spite of myself, I was enchanted. These little girls were repeating word for word what they’d heard their Mama say a thousand times as she baked.

  “Well, you’re both doing a grand job!” said Joe, getting up and stretching. “I can’t wait to taste it when it’s ready.”

  I stood up and unwound Sergio’s arms from my neck and stooped to place him on the floor beside his sisters. Sergio screwed his face up, sucked in an enormous breath of air, opened his mouth wide and howled.

  “You cannot put our little brother down,” said Fairy #1 crossly.

  “He does not like it,” said Fairy #2, shaking her head.

  “Can’t he walk?” I asked, hurriedly gathering Sergio up again as he took a long, deep breath for the next howl. Aloft again, Sergio’s bawls instantly ceased.

  “Yes, he can walk,” said Fairy #1, stirring energetically with my best egg whisk before waving her magic wand.

  “But he does not like it,” said Fairy #2, busily pushing back a curtain of hair from her eyes.

  “He screams when he is put down.”

  “So Mama always carries him.”

  “Hmm...” I said grimly. “So I see.”

  Sergio, restored on my lap, amused himself by fiddling with my hair.

  “I shall call you Snap-On,” I told him in English. Snap-On stared back at me and thoughtfully stuck his finger up my nose.

  “He’s like a growth,” muttered Joe in English. “I think the only way you can remove him is surgically.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Fairy #1 suspiciously.

  “We do not understand what you are saying,” said Fairy #2.

  “Oh, we were just saying what a big family you are,” said Joe, in Spanish.

  “Yes,” I chimed in. “There’s your Papa, Mama, your abuela, big brother...”

  “Jorge...” said Fairy #1.

  “And your little brother...”

  “Scrap,” mouthed Joe.

  “Carlos,” corrected Fairy #2, frowning at Joe.

  “Then there’s little Sergio here...”

  “Snap-On,” said Joe, taking a risk.

  Snap-On stopped exploring my nose for a moment, sensing he was the centre of attention.

  “And the new baby,” said Fairy #1.

  “In Mama’s tummy,” explained Fairy #2, patting her own little flat one.

  Joe and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Another on the way?

  “And Tía Lola, though she doesn’t live with us all the time.”

  “Ah, Tía Lola. Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “Tía Lola has loads of boyfriends.”

  “I’m sure she does...” said Joe, dryly.

  “And don’t forget Fifi!” said Fairy #2.

  “Oh no, you mustn’t forget Fifi!” The fairies were adamant, even stopping their cooking to ensure we didn’t forget Fifi.

  “Fifi? Who is Fifi? Where is she?” I asked. “Is she another sister?”

  The fairies rolled their eyes and shook their heads and wings in unison but an explanation was not forthcoming. I was about to question them further when it suddenly dawned on me that the bang-bang-thud of the football outside had stopped. Anybody who has been a mother, or in charge of children, will relate to this - when children go quiet, alarm bells ring. There is usually trouble afoot. And there was.

  Not a sound came from the boys in the garden, no voices, no football being kicked.

  “Quick, Joe, take Snap-On.” I hissed. “There’s something not quite right in the garden. I’d better get out there and take a look.”

  3 An Expedition

  Baked Baby Lettuce

  I thrust the toddler at Joe. Startled, Joe took him. Snap-On’s gripping instincts kicked in, and, like a spider monkey, he curled his fat little legs and arms around Joe. The fairies were not concerned, and continued with their baking session on the floor.

  I hurried into the garden, very aware of the devastation the Ufarte boys’ football had already caused. I averted my eyes from the ruined geraniums with their scarlet petals littering the patio like confetti. I didn’t allow myself to focus on the flattened shrubs, some with limbs snapped at crazy angles like broken arms. I was searching for the boys.

  And then I saw them. They stood with their backs to me, side by side, Jorge’s arm around his little brother’s shoulders. Both were staring into the chicken coop with huge interest. Ah, I thought. They’re fascinated by the chickens! How sweet! I smiled fondly and tiptoed up behind them, not wanting to disturb their rapt concentration.

  “They will come out any second, Carlos! Are you ready? Do it like I showed you!” Jorge was speaking in a stage whisper.

  On cue, Atilla the Hen, always the leader of the pack, strutted out from behind the hen-house wall, closely followed by Regalo, Ginger and ’Ello Vera.

  “Uno, dos, NOW!” hissed Jorge, fairly dancing with excitement.

  Scrap obeyed. A powerful stream of water shot out, soaking the unsuspecting hens. “BAWKKKK!” The chickens squawked with indignation, and, dripping and flapping, hurtled back behind the hen-house wall, out of sight and out of range.

  The hose! I hadn’t noticed the hose which I’d foolishly left lying around, complete with its irresistible gun and trigger. I’d left it on the ‘Sprinkle’ setting to water my precious plants, but of course the little baboons had twisted the nozzle to ‘Jet’.

  “No!” I said firmly, making the boys jump and interrupting their glee. “No! That’s not nice! You are NOT allowed to shoot the chickens!”

  Jorge had the grace to look a little guilty. He picked up the football and bounced it self-consciously, avoiding my eyes. Scrap, however, was not going to relinquish his weapon without a fight.

  “Give me the hose,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “No!” said Scrap round his dummy, his face a mask of determination.

  “Well, then I’ll have to take it from you.”

  “No!”

  Scrap aimed a kick at my ankle, which connected accurately and painfully. Hopping, I tried to pry the gun out of the infant’s surprisingly vice-like grip. But that was my mistake. I prefer to think Scrap didn’t aim at me purposely, but in the effort to hang onto the gun, he pulled it into his chest with both hands, and squeezed the trigger. The jet of water that shot out absolutely drenched me.

  Jorge stopped bouncing the football and gaped as I wrestled the gun off his little brother. I won, of course, but at a cost. I was soaked to the skin while Scrap remained bone dry.

  Seething, I wound up the hose and locked it in the workshop. I left the boys to destroy what was left of my beloved flowers and dripped my way back indoors.

  The kitchen was a scene of calm domesticity. The fairies were serving Joe and Snap-On with imaginary cake and invisible hot chocolate.

  Joe looked up. “Good gracious!” he said. “I didn’t realise it was raining.”

  I gave him one of my Looks. “Right,” I said, stepping over bowls and saucepans and drying myself with a hand-towel. “Give me Snap-On and I’ll look after the twins. You take those two urchins to the square to kick their football around. And don’t come back until they’re exhausted.”

  “But it’s raining...”

  “It is not raining.”

  Joe stared at me for a second. His eyebrows may h
ave flicked in surprise, but he had the good sense not to ask questions or argue.

  “Soccer in the square? Right! Sounds good.”

  I reclaimed Snap-On and Joe departed with the two boys. I was beginning to calm down. I adjusted Snap-On on my damp hip and looked down at the playing girls. This was going to be a good deal easier than entertaining their brothers.

  “That’s a lovely game you’re playing,” I said.

  Simultaneously, both fairies pushed the kitchen paraphernalia away and got to their feet.

  “We don’t want to play Cooking anymore,” said Fairy #1.

  “Because it’s no fun without Tío Joe,” said Fairy #2.

  “Tío Joe talks funny...”

  “But we still understand him.”

  “And he’s very good at playing Cooking.”

  “And he tastes everything.”

  So! Uncle Joe had scored a hit with the fairies? I tried not to feel resentful. There he was playing gentle games with the little girls while I’d been outside, wrestling with the devil’s spawn, and getting soaked for my efforts. I gently drew Snap-On’s finger out of my left nostril and wracked my brains, trying to think of an amazing game that would both entertain the fairies and raise my own status.

  “Let’s go on a Nature Walk,” I said, sounding more enthusiastic than I felt.

  “Where?” Fairy #1 narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “Oh, out in the garden... Maybe round the village?”

  “What will we see?” asked Fairy #2.

  I had no idea. “Oh, that’s part of the adventure!” I said. “We could see anything!”

  “Sabre-toothed tigers?”

  “Um, probably not...” The scathing look the fairies aimed at me told me I was probably going to be a huge disappointment to them, not a patch on Uncle Joe.

  “Tío Joe said there are sabre-toothed tigers in the woods behind the cemetery,” challenged Fairy #1.

  “He did?’ I narrowed my eyes. Uncle Joe is going to pay for that!

  “Can we take some nets and traps and things?”

  “And some meat, just in case we see a sabre-toothed tiger?”

  “Excellent idea,” I said warmly. With my spare hand, I opened the fridge and took out the steak I was going to grill for Joe’s dinner. The fairies brightened and started looking for other essential Nature Walk equipment. Together, we rummaged in the workshop to see what we could find. The result was: