Two Old Fools - Olé!

by Victoria Twead

  At the sound of Joe’s voice, there was a low growl from behind the closed bedroom door, followed by sharp, furious barks.

  “Time to go, I think,” said Joe uneasily as claws scrabbled frantically at the door.

  I looked out of the Ufarte’s window. “It’s starting to rain again,” I sighed. “Better get home before it gets too bad.” I looked back at Joe, but he’d already wisely slipped away, avoiding a confrontation with Fifi. I said goodbye to the twins and followed him out, leaving Fifi to hurl herself at the bedroom door.

  I ran into the house as the rain began to pelt down. “Joe! Batten down the hatches, we’re in for another really wet night, I think.”

  It rained all that night, and the next day, and the next. It rained so hard that Joe and I made a worrying discovery.

  I noticed it first. A small but determined trickle of water meandering down our dining-room wall. Our roof leaked.

  “Well, it’s not too bad,” I said. “We can easily mop that up.”

  But it got worse. Much worse. The trickle turned into a stream, which turned into a minor river that developed tributaries. More leaks appeared in different places in the ceiling. Water dripped and plopped all around us and was collecting in large puddles on the floor. There was nothing we could do except move the furniture aside and keep mopping.

  Catching the drips

  And still it rained. We set out pots, pans and buckets to catch the water, and still it rained. We mopped and laid out every towel we owned, and still it rained. The sky was black with no breaks and the raindrops hammered down. I couldn’t help silently scolding Spike Milligan. One of his Silly Verse for Kids runs like this:

  ‘There are holes in the sky.

  Where the rain gets in.

  But they're ever so small.

  That's why rain is thin.’

  Rain is thin? No. Absolutely not. Our raindrops were huge fat affairs that splatted and soaked as they landed.

  “If this rain doesn’t stop, I’m seriously going to have to think about building an ark,” said Joe, gloomily scratching himself down below.

  “It could be worse. Imagine what it must be like in the Ufarte household. All those kids cooped up inside - the boys not able to go out and play football. The twins underfoot all the time.”

  Joe nodded. “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll all go back down the mountain to their town house. I’m sure they’ll leave tomorrow. The forecast is rain for the foreseeable future.”

  But the Ufartes stayed put. We didn’t see them because it was too wet to venture outside, but I knew they were there. From our window I could just make out the smoke curling from the Ufarte chimney.

  Apart from the constant mopping up, the rain affected not only our mood, but also our British television reception. We had a huge dish on our roof to receive satellite TV but when it rained heavily, the picture fragmented, then dissolved. We could still watch Spanish TV channels, but that didn’t cheer us up either. Especially when they showed the drawing of the Christmas lottery. Joe flicked from channel to channel but the drawing of El Gordo seemed the only option. We hadn’t bought tickets and were not interested, so found other things to divert ourselves instead.

  I noticed that Joe didn’t always concentrate on the book he was reading, sometimes he withdrew into that private world of his, the one he wouldn’t share with me.

  “Joe, what’s worrying you?”

  “Wretched rain! No TV!”

  “No, it’s not that, and you know it. Why won’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just being stupid. It isn’t even worth talking about.” And that was all he would say.

  Paco came up from the city and Joe grimly told him about our leaky roof. Paco shrugged and showed no sympathy at all.

  “Pah!” Paco said, slapping the wall with his hand. “All Spanish roofs leak!”

  They do? We didn’t know that.

  “I have come to check my house, but I am not staying, it is too wet. All the family will come back on Christmas Eve, of course, but we will not stay in the village now, not in this rain.”

  Apart from the Ufartes, it looked as though the village would remain empty until Christmas Eve. Joe’s mood did not improve.

  “I’m tired and I’m fed up,” he said. “There’s nothing on the TV and this rain is never going to stop. I’m sick of staying inside. I wish something would happen, but I know it’s just going to be another day of rain-bloody-rain tomorrow. I’m going to bed.” And he stamped off, leaving me to check the water leaks, lock up, turn the lights off and follow him. I wondered whether it was really just the weather depressing Joe, or something more serious.

  At three o’clock in the morning, we woke in a fright. Somebody was pounding on our front door, ringing the doorbell and shouting, all at the same time. I knew it was three o’clock because I squinted at the bedside clock, and I knew it was still raining because I could hear it hammering on the roof.

  “What the...?”

  “Who on earth is that?”

  “I’d better go and see. It sounds like Juan Ufarte.” Joe threw back the covers and staggered out of bed. He pulled on some clothes and made his way to the front door. The wet weather had made the wooden door swell and I heard him wrench it open. I heard brief words exchanged, then Joe returned.

  “It’s Papa Ufarte, the baby is on its way. Maribel has gone into labour and they need to go down the mountain straight away. They want me to go round and watch the children.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No need. Doesn’t need two of us - the kids’ll be asleep anyway. Granny will wake up in the morning and she can take over then.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I heard the front door slam behind him and remember thinking, Well, Joe, you wanted something to happen. Be careful what you wish for... Then, Oh dear, what about Fifi? before I fell asleep again.

  14 Lollipops

  Mediterranean Roast Chicken

  When I got up the next morning, Joe still hadn’t returned, so I amused myself by checking emails and Facebook messages. My old friend Andy had written again about his surprise Christmas gift to his wife Anna.

  December 23, 2009

  Vicky,

  I thought I had sent you another message, but it appears to have disappeared in the ether. March looks good for us.

  Hoping that’s possible for you? Anna will be so surprised.

  Merry Christmas

  Andrew

  X

  I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock and still Joe hadn’t returned from the Ufartes. I made myself a coffee and quickly answered Andy’s message.

  December 23, 2009

  Hello Andy,

  Can't promise good weather as the mountains are very unpredictable, but March is usually nice. The village will be very quiet as the villagers usually only come up at weekends, but I'm sure we'll be able to amuse ourselves... It’ll be fabulous to see you both.

  Vicky xx

  By ten o’clock I began to feel a little anxious. The rain had eased to a drizzle as I walked down the street to the Ufarte house. I could hear their television blaring on some cartoon channel and the shouts of children’s voices at play. Crouched on the doorstep looking damp and miserable, was Fifi. The door wasn’t locked so I knocked and entered. Fifi slunk in behind me.

  The Ufarte home was a mess. Toys littered the floor and there was scarcely a place to step without treading on something. All the children were still in their pyjamas and, judging by the spilt milk and trail of sugar and cornflakes, somebody had attempted to make breakfast.

  Jorge was bouncing his football against the living-room wall, making the pictures rattle and only just missing the china crucifix.

  Scrap was sitting inches away from the television screen, absorbed in watching Jerry strap dynamite to Tom’s tail. He stopped sucking on his dummy in anticipation, waiting for the big explosion. KerrrrBANG! The dy
namite exploded, leaving poor Tom hairless yet again. “¡Olé!” Scrap shouted, falling over backwards and kicking his legs in the air with glee. Sitting up again, he popped his dummy back into his mouth and resumed sucking, no doubt waiting for Jerry to punish poor Tom again.

  The twins were playing with their Barbie dolls. The entire couch and floor in front of it was set out with all their Barbie accessories. Apart from all the Barbie clothes draped over the cushions and arms of the couch, there was a Barbie car, Barbie pony, Barbie jacuzzi - an entire Barbie world.

  “Tía Veeky!” said Twin #1. “Mama and Papa have gone to the hospital to get our new baby. Tío Joe is looking after us.”

  “Fifi tried to bite Tío Joe again. Tío Joe put Fifi out in the street,” said Twin #2.

  “Poor Fifi,” said Twin #1, sighing. “She has been out in the rain. Mama would never put Fifi out in the rain.”

  The fire had burned low but still flickered. Fifi was huddled in front of it, steaming slightly, drying off. She sneezed, probably seeking sympathy, aware she was being discussed.

  “Poor Fifi, she has caught a very nasty cold. That is because bad Tío Joe shut her out in the rain,” said Twin #2.

  On cue, Fifi sneezed again. It was then that I noticed the armchairs either side of the fire. In one, snored Granny Ufarte, head back, mouth open. In the other, snored Joe, a mirror image of Granny Ufarte: head back, mouth open, both oblivious to the chaos surrounding them. The only difference was that Snap-On was asleep on Joe’s lap, his curly head tucked under Joe’s chin, dribble darkening the front of Joe’s sweater.

  “Joe! Wake up!” I said, shaking his shoulder.

  “Wh...what? I wasn’t asleep,” slurred Joe, opening his eyes and sitting up straight.

  To my surprise, Fifi ignored him. She looked miserable and bedraggled, her coat damp and dull. She’d evidently had a bad night, leaving her with no energy to battle her archenemy.

  “The Ufartes might be back at any minute,” I said. “I think we should tidy up a little before they get here.”

  Joe surveyed the scene. “You’re right,” he said. “It is a bit of a mess. I’ve been up all night. That dratted Fifi went for me as soon as I arrived and made such a bloody noise that all the kids woke up. I tried shutting her in the bedroom, but the kids kept feeling sorry for her and letting her out again. So I threw her out in the street.”

  “Oh dear...”

  “And Snap-On wouldn’t let me put him down. And Jorge’s been throwing that football at the wall for hours. And Scrap’s been watching that same Tom and Jerry DVD all night.”

  “Oh dear,” I said again. “Listen, you stay there and I’ll tidy up. Snap-On won’t let you put him down anyway. It won’t take me long, and I’ll make a coffee when I’ve straightened things up a bit. Looks like you’ve had a hard night.”

  The first thing I did was confiscate Jorge’s football. “I’m sure your Mama doesn’t let you play soccer in the house,” I told him. His sulky silence told me I’d guessed right. I passed him a soccer annual, and he occupied himself by flicking through the pages of that.

  I turned the volume of the TV down, and Scrap didn’t even notice. Jerry was hitting Tom on the head repeatedly with a hammer and Scrap’s head jerked in sympathy with every blow. Dong, dong, dong...

  I confined Barbie World to the couch, resisting the urge to re-live my childhood and play with the twins.

  Finally, I addressed myself to the discarded toys and remaining mess. It took a while to de-cornflake and sweep up, but eventually the place was reasonably tidy.

  “There!” I said to Joe. “That’ll do. I’ll make us a coffee now.”

  But I never made that coffee, because at that moment the Ufarte car screeched to a halt outside. As the engine switched off and the car door slammed, all the Ufarte children rushed to the door. Granny Ufarte stirred in her chair. In front of the fire, Fifi sneezed, but didn’t lift her chin from her paws or open her eyes. Joe stood up, a waking Snap-On in his arms. We watched.

  “Mama! Papa!” squealed the twins.

  The front door opened and Papa Ufarte entered, alone. He looked tired but happy, his face aglow with good news.

  “Where is Mama?” asked Twin #1 hanging onto her father’s sleeve.

  Papa Ufarte put down the shopping bag he was carrying and hugged his daughters, burying his beard in their shiny hair. “Your Mama is fine. She is having a little rest at the hospital. And I have the best news for you all - you have a brand new baby brother!”

  “We have?” asked Twin #2. “Is he in that bag?”

  “No, silly!” answered her father. “In this bag I have treats for you all!”

  Now the boys were more interested and surged round their father, curious to see what he had brought. Papa Ufarte dug into the bag.

  “First, soft-centred chocolates for you, abuela.” Granny Ufarte had woken up and was smiling gummily. “Now, do not get chocolate on those angel costumes you are sewing!” he teased. Then, in a stage whisper, “They are those liqueurs you like so much. You know, the chocolates with the zing in the centre... We are celebrating!”

  Granny Ufarte smiled proudly at her son-in-law, and accepted the box of chocolates with a nod.

  “What about us! What about us!” yelled all the children, jumping up and down. Even Snap-On jigged in Joe’s arms.

  “Have you been good?” he asked, eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling.

  “We have been good! We have been good!” yelled the children.

  “Ah, well then...for the rest of you, I have...(rummage, rummage) LOLLIPOPS!” He grabbed a handful of lollipops and threw them into the air. The children scrambled for them and retreated, licking busily. Joe unwrapped one for Snap-On, who clutched it in his fat little fist. Within seconds, his pink tongue had turned blue.

  “And this is for us,” said Papa Ufarte, delving into the bag for the last time and pulling out a bottle of best brandy.

  “Congratulations,” said Joe, “but you must be tired. We’ll go and leave you in peace.”

  “No, no, I insist!” said Papa Ufarte, pouring a generous measure of brandy into three glasses. Somebody knocked on the door. “Ah, that will be Geronimo! Pass me another glass. I saw him in the square a moment ago and invited him to join us for a little celebratory drink.”

  And so we celebrated the new baby Ufarte’s entrance into the world that wet, pre-Christmas morning. The more I sipped, the more blurred and surreal our surroundings became. I stopped caring that Jorge had found his football and was bouncing it off the wall again. I stopped caring that Barbie World had spread back all over the floor. I didn’t care about the blue stains from Snap-On’s lollipop smeared all over Joe’s sweater. I didn’t hear Jerry pummeling Tom, or Fifi sneezing, or Granny Ufarte chomping on her liqueurs. I was just glad to be alive, in Spain and in the bosom of this warm, wonderful family.

  Much later, Joe and I stumbled home and fell straight back into bed. Mopping up the puddles in the dining room could wait.

  Christmas Eve dawned and the skies remained dark and dismal. Heavy clouds hung low above the mountains, poised to empty their load - but it didn’t actually rain. Sometimes there were breaks between the clouds where the sun tried hard to penetrate. Joe and I took the opportunity to take a walk around the village.

  Everything was wet. The channels at the sides of the road coursed water, the olive and almond trees dripped and the soil was black and soaked. Only the coloured banner proclaiming ‘Feliz Navidad’ strung across the village entrance and the white fairy lights on the trees in the square provided any brightness.

  In spite of the weather, cars packed with villagers were beginning to arrive from the city. Christmas Eve, or Nochebuena, is the most important family gathering of the year. Shops, businesses and restaurants all over Spain shut their doors for Nochebuena allowing families to enjoy the day together. Two important events take place on Nochebuena: the all-important family meal, and Midnight Mass.

  The Christmas Eve meal is never rushed,
and consists of many courses. Typically, starters may be shellfish or prawns in mayonnaise with cold cuts of meat. There may also be soup and another fish dish, perhaps baked bream, lobster, salmon, sea bass or trout. Then comes the traditional roast: either lamb, suckling pig, duck or turkey with truffles.

  Finally, the meal is rounded off with a selection of sweets and cakes, such as marzipan, polvorónes and turrón, a nougat made from sweet almonds. Often the meal doesn’t start until after Midnight Mass. ‘Esta noche es Nochebuena, y no es de dormir’ so the Spanish saying goes, meaning ‘This night is the Good Night, and is not meant for sleeping’.

  Paco and Carmen-Bethina arrived with the whole family, the car stuffed with bags of food. We popped next door briefly to wish them Feliz Navidad, deliver our Christmas presents, and to relay the Ufarte news. Paco was sitting on the doorstep cracking almonds with a hammer, using an old tree stump as an anvil.

  “Pah!” he said, his hammer whacking an unsuspecting almond with such force that the shell splintered and shot in all directions. “The women have banished me from the house. They are preparing for tonight.”

  15 The Procession

  Prawns with Garlic Mayonnaise

  Nougat

  While Paco pounded the living daylights out of the almonds outside, Carmen-Bethina was rushed off her feet preparing the special evening feast inside. She and Sofía were surrounded by bags, utensils, pans, ingredients and all the paraphernalia necessary for the perfect Spanish Nochebuena meal. Saucepans steamed on the hob and a cauldron bubbled on the tripod over the open fire. The kitchen was as hot as Hades and suffused with a million different cooking aromas. Bianca, their over-fed spaniel, sat panting under the kitchen table, poised to gobble up any scrap that was thrown in her direction.

  After the usual rounds of kisses, Carmen-Bethina cleared a small space on the kitchen table, just enough to open their gifts. Little Paco was watching the TV but jumped up when he saw our Christmas parcels. Carmen-Bethina’s plump face was wreathed with smiles as she unwrapped her necklace and other bits and pieces. Sofía liked her necklace too, and Little Paco lost no time finding a dead fly to examine with his new microscope.