Two Old Fools - Olé!

by Victoria Twead

  Lola looked at Joe and then at the thongs he was still clutching.

  “Have you been stealing my underwear?” she demanded, raising her pencilled eyebrows.

  “No, I was just...”

  “You naughty man! Never would I have imagined you were the type of man to take ladies’ underwear! ¡Madre mía!”

  “But I...”

  “And why were you peeping through my window? ¡Madre mía! You are a moron!”

  “No, no! I was just...”

  “¡Madre mía! What would your wife say if I told her what I caught you doing?”

  “Vicky? Oh, Vicky knows all about...”

  “She knows? Your wife knows? And she does not mind? ¡Madre mía! You English have very strange customs! Here in Spain it is not acceptable to steal ladies’ underwear. And does she know you are a moron?”

  I’d been listening to the story unfold with my hand over my mouth, and at this point interrupted. “Lola Ufarte called you a moron?”

  Joe shrugged. “Yes, she said I was a moron! She refused to listen to why I was holding those blasted thongs of hers. When I tried to tell her I was putting them back, not stealing them, she just said, ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure you were...’ in a really sarcastic tone.”

  Joe was so indignant, so outraged, that it took all my wifely skills plus a generous medicinal brandy to calm him. As he simmered down, still spluttering and cursing, I checked something.

  “Joe, it’s okay, I don’t think Lola Ufarte called you a ‘moron’. I’ve just looked it up in the Spanish/English dictionary.”

  “She didn’t? What did she call me then?”

  “Well, actually... It wasn’t ‘moron’. I think what Lola probably said was, ‘mirón’, which roughly translates into English as ‘Peeping Tom’. I think she was actually calling you a pervert.”

  “WHAT?”

  It took some considerable time and another large medicinal brandy before I was able to bring Joe back from the stratosphere. I promised to visit Lola and explain, in order to restore Joe’s bruised reputation.

  Enough time had passed since MumCat’s operation, and she was healing nicely. She’d been shut upstairs away from her unruly kittens for her own sake, but we felt she was now sufficiently recovered to be let out. She ran down the stairs, through the kitchen and out of the back door, calling her children.

  Smut, Beauty and Chox were absolutely delighted to see their mum. They mewed their welcome and circled her, leaning into her and rubbing themselves against her sides. They sniffed her surgical stitches while she washed each kitten furiously, catching up on lost washing time. Then she lay on her side and allowed them to feed, her raspy tongue scrubbing their heads as they butted against her. A happy reunion.

  We received another email from Sandra Marshall:

  Hi Vicky and Joe,

  Good news! Kerstin in Germany has found a home for MumCat! The brother of one of the girls who works for the charity in Germany that finds homes for our cats, wants a lovely female cat to be a friend to his male. He is just about to move to a new apartment, where she will be able to go outside if she wants ... no big roads ... only a brook at the end of the garden.

  This sounds perfect so I would like to send her with her girls. What do you think? I definitely think this would be a more secure life for her and she would get all the attention she needs and have her own home.

  Sandra x

  So, thanks to Sandra’s work, MumCat and the girl kittens all had homes waiting, but I still felt unhappy and tense. Until Joe gave up his silly notion of working abroad I couldn’t settle. I honestly didn’t think he’d find a job, but I wanted him to find that out for himself. Then we could wash our hands of the idea and get on with our life in Spain. After all, it was already August, and the school year started in September. It was highly unlikely that any school would offer him the position of Maths or Physics teacher this late. Wasn’t it?

  But life has a way of refusing to pan out the way you expect. The day came when Joe came into the kitchen, his eyes wide.

  32 The End, and a Beginning

  Barbecued Pork with Orange and Ginger

  I put down the plates I was holding and gave Joe my full attention, my heart already filled with dread. Joe scratched himself down below and I knew the news was bad.

  “Vicky, there’s an international school in the Middle East that’s trying to fill a vacancy for a Maths and Physics teacher starting in September. They’ve expressed an interest in me.”

  “Really?” That’s all I could manage.

  “Yep. I’ve had an email from the Principal there. Her name’s Daryna and she’s new to the school, and she says she’s keen to recruit some older teachers as most of the staff are very young and inexperienced.”

  “Really?” My ability to form sentences seemed to have deserted me.

  “Yes. The contract is for one year.”

  “A year? A whole year?”

  Joe nodded. “The pay is pretty good, and they provide the airfare out there and back again. Plus free private medical insurance, and they give you an apartment, and free transport to and from the school. No taxes, either.”

  “Really?” Not only had my powers of speech failed me, but my knees felt weak too. I sat down heavily.

  “She wants me to scan my qualifications and send them in an email to the school office. Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

  “I’m fine.”

  A whole year? Joe would be away for a whole year. No! This was happening too fast.

  “Well, what do you think? Shall I go ahead and submit all the bits and pieces they want?”

  No! You can’t leave me for a year! That’s what I wanted to scream, but instead I spoke calmly. “It’s totally up to you. If you like the look of the job, go ahead.”

  Chox put his front paws on my lap, asking to be picked up. I scooped him up and stroked him absently, scratching his ears and chin the way he loved.

  Joe went back to his computer, leaving me to try and clear my head. What did I want? To stay on my own for a year without Joe? No! Well then, should I stop him going? No. And then I knew the answer, and I hated it. I would have to go, too. I would have to leave everything for a year and go with Joe to the Middle East. He needed me, and I needed him. We were a partnership.

  I put Chox down and walked slowly into the living room where Joe was bent over his computer, typing furiously.

  “Joe, I think I should go with you. It’s only for a year, after all. I think we should lock up the house, and go together.”

  Joe swung round on his chair, and took my hands. His eyes bored into mine, and I could see hope and relief in his.

  “You’ll come too? Have you thought carefully about this?”

  “Yes, like you said before, it’s just a wallet-fattening exercise, it’s not forever, and it would be an amazing experience. We’d just lock up our house for a year. We could take Chox with us, he’s got a passport. You could teach, and I would look after Chox and write.” I hadn’t thought this through properly, but it sounded feasible. “Perhaps they have a part-time teaching vacancy for me? I might consider that, as long as I still have plenty of time to write.”

  “Hold on,” said Joe. “I’ll find out. Daryna’s kindly offered to help me with my application. She knows what the owners of the school are looking for.” He typed quickly and then read his words aloud.

  Dear Daryna,

  It is many years since I have applied for a teaching position and I have consequently struggled to write the letter of application. I therefore heartily welcome your comments and suggestions before I send it. Please know, however, that I have total confidence in my ability to teach and long to get back into the classroom.

  Also, I wonder whether it is worth mentioning that my wife is a fully qualified and experienced English teacher? She is not looking for a teaching position, (she is an author) but could be prevailed upon to help out occasionally, should the need arise, as she was also a substitute teacher for many years.

>   Thank you for your encouragement and I await your thoughts,

  Joe

  “Good. Let’s see what she says. We’ve always liked Dubai, haven’t we? I think teaching in Dubai wouldn’t be too bad at all.” I was doing my best to be as positive as I could.

  “Who said anything about Dubai? This school is in Bahrain.”

  “Is it? I don’t know anything about Bahrain. Where’s that?”

  “It’s next to Saudi Arabia I think... Actually I’m not sure exactly.”

  So I pulled out our huge old Atlas from the bookcase and opened it at the Middle East. After some searching, we found the Kingdom of Bahrain, a tiny teardrop of an island in the Persian Gulf, connected to Saudi Arabia by a causeway.

  “It’s not very big,” I said, peering at the map. Bahrain was just a dot.

  The Middle East, showing tiny Bahrain

  “Ah, but it has a Formula 1 track,” said Joe, happily. “Imagine, we’ll be able to watch the Grand Prix live!”

  “How strictly Muslim is it? I suppose alcohol is illegal?” I would miss Paco’s wine. “And what’s the name of the school?”

  “It’s called the American Specialist School,” said Joe, “in the capital, Manama.”

  “Are you quite sure? American Specialist School? That’s spells ASS! Somebody hasn’t thought that through very carefully!” We both laughed.

  The next 24 hours were a blur of fact-finding. Daryna filled in many gaps by telling us about the school and the apartment we would be given if we were offered jobs. We found out that the students were mostly Arab, and that the school had three separate units: Kindergarten, Middle School and High School.

  I acted superbly, feigning enthusiasm, but really I clung to the hope that Joe wouldn’t get the job, that his age would be against him. I simply couldn’t imagine packing up and working in the Middle East. I hoped that this was all just a flash in the pan and that we’d continue to wake up as usual to ordinary days in El Hoyo. I wanted to hear Uncle Felix’s mule clattering up the street, see the swallows circling overhead, feel the mountain breeze on my face.

  But the die was cast. The next day, job offers arrived. ASS offered Joe a position as Maths and Physics teacher in the High School, and I was offered English in the Middle School. Part-time jobs were not an option. We were asked to print and sign our letters of acceptance, scan them and send them back within 24 hours. I was in a state of shock.

  “We can still change our minds,” Joe said, but the pen was already poised over the contract, ready to sign.

  “No, sign it. If we don’t, we may regret it for ever. Sign.”

  Joe signed with a flourish and passed the pen to me. I gripped it and signed my name with numb fingers. The deed was done.

  Lists, lists, lists. No time to wallow in regrets. No time to write. No time to think too hard about what we were leaving behind. Two weeks to pack up the house, to sort the cats and chickens. Two weeks to tell everybody and prepare for the year ahead.

  To Do

  Dig out suitcases

  Find decent working clothes

  Dig out teaching resources

  Find out more about the syllabuses we’ll be teaching

  Find out more about Bahrain

  Get haircuts

  Buy travelling crate for Chox and get his paperwork done

  Claim the prize for our scratch-card because Spain won the World Cup

  Take cats to pick-up point for journey to Germany

  Ask Paco to look after chickens

  Buy enough chicken grain for a year

  Tell our kids, Gin Twins and other friends

  Make house secure for winter

  Every night I dropped into bed exhausted, both mentally and physically. I felt I was caught in a tsunami propelling me into unfamiliar territory, with no brakes, no turning around. Flocks of butterflies danced permanently in my chest: the fear of the unknown.

  And yet I was excited, too. Coming to live in Spain had been a huge adventure. House swapping, both in the USA and Australia, had been another adventure. But this was probably going to be the biggest adventure of them all.

  And then something else happened that upset me far more than anything else had. It became clear that Choccy-Paws could not share our adventure, would not accompany us to the Middle East.

  The paperwork was complicated, and we would need an import license. Although Bahrain was rabies-free, Chox would have to go into quarantine. Daryna told us that our school-owned apartment in Bahrain was not yet finished, and that, initially, we’d have to live in a hotel. Neither the hotel nor the school allowed pets. The obstacles were too great. We would have to find a home for Chox after all.

  Chox

  We didn’t know anybody prepared to take him for a year. Judith and Mother’s house was already full to overflowing with animals, and none of our Spanish friends liked cats.

  My tears dropped onto Chox as he lay on his back on my lap, his soft paws waving in the air. I tickled his tummy. I couldn’t bear to give him away. But common sense told me that it wouldn’t be fair to leave him all day on his own in an apartment in Bahrain. He’d have no garden, no company, and he’d have to spend time in quarantine as well.

  “I’m sorry, Chox, I’ve let you down,” I whispered into his silky ear. Chox patted my cheek, oblivious.

  33 Epilogue

  Time was short, and like robots, we worked through my lists.

  Dig out suitcases. Not only did they need digging out, but they needed serious dusting down and airing.

  Find decent working clothes. Many of our old clothes didn’t fit anymore or had been attacked by moths, or were just plain inappropriate. Research told me that as Bahrain was a Muslim country, I’d have to wear sleeves at all times, and long skirts or trousers. Joe’s old suits no longer fitted him as his waistline had definitely expanded during our years in Spain. However, Daryna reassured us that tailor-made clothes in Bahrain were inexpensive and plentiful.

  Dig out teaching resources. I found a box of lesson plans and resources, but they were yellowed with age and smelled musty. I decided to take the barest minimum, and Joe selected only a book on Calculus for packing.

  Find out more about the syllabuses we’ll be teaching. Not easy. Not even Daryna seemed to know. We had no idea how well the students spoke English, or what the standard of education was like. Time would tell.

  Find out more about Bahrain. That didn’t take long. The island was tiny, and its main tourist attractions seemed to be the many glitzy shopping malls, and the Tree of Life, an ancient tree that grew miraculously in the desert, quite alone. How it found enough water to survive was a mystery. Joe made a point of reminding me about the Formula 1 racing track yet again.

  I also checked the political situation and was relieved to read that Bahrain was an extremely peaceful country, ruled by a King. There was other good news. Although fiercely Muslim, Bahrain was well known for its tolerance. Unlike its close neighbour, Saudi Arabia, women were permitted to drive cars, and even alcohol was freely available for non-Muslims and visitors.

  Get haircuts. Joe’s was easy. By now I was an expert with the hair clippers. I treated myself to an appointment at a swanky salon in the city. I couldn’t face Juanita and her fearsome assistant Olga, and I didn’t want to arrive in Bahrain with raven-black caterpillar eyebrows.

  Buy travelling crate for Chox and get his paperwork done. Alas, no longer necessary. Sadly, I crossed that one off the list. I spent as much time with him as I could, treasuring each moment, knowing that soon I would only have photographs and memories to remind me of him.

  Take cats to pick-up point for journey to Germany. Sandra Marshall from Alstrays had understood the situation immediately and was convinced that finding a home for Chox would not be difficult. He would travel with his mother and sisters to new homes in Germany. The meeting point was to be a Repsol petrol station, at 10.30 in the morning.

  I buried my face in Chox’s warm fur, knowing that our time together was over. Some othe
r lucky person would play with him in the future. Other hands would stroke his fur and scratch behind his ears. After this morning, I would never see my beautiful, gentle Choccy-Paws again. The pain in my heart was indescribable.

  We successfully lured all the cats into their travelling crates with slices of ham, and firmly secured the boxes. The hand-over at the Repsol garage was swift, intentionally so. Even Joe was abnormally quiet. We turned our backs and drove away leaving our little cat family behind.

  Claim the prize for our scratch-card because Spain won the World Cup. We queued at the Carrefour Customer Care counter, winning scratch-card in hand.

  “Good morning. We’ve come to claim our prize because Spain won the World Cup,” I said.

  “Good morning. May I see the card?”

  “We’ve never won anything on a scratch-card before. I think 130 euros is a lovely prize!” Joe handed it to the assistant, smiling. The lady examined the card and turned it over.

  “I am sorry,” she said, “But I am afraid you have won nothing.”

  “We haven’t? Why not?”

  “If you read the small print here, and here, you will see that this is not a winning ticket.” She stabbed at the offending print with a long red fingernail.

  Joe snatched the scratch-card back and we both stared at it. The print was too small and too Spanish for us to understand.

  “Oh, well,” Joe said at last. “That’s that then.” He tore up the card into little pieces and left it on the counter.

  Ask Paco to look after chickens. Joe and I went next door to break the news and ask the favour.

  “You are leaving El Hoyo?” Carmen-Bethina repeated.

  “You are going where?” asked Paco, gaping at us.

  “The Kingdom of Bahrain, in the Middle East.”

  “But why?”

  “They pay well, and it’s just for one year.”

  “¡Madre mía!” said Carmen-Bethina, both hands up to her face, eyes round with astonishment.