The discovery that distrust no longer served her did not make the clock hands move any faster, but it restored to her—even though it was too little, too late—a way of seeing, of relating to others without calculating beforehand all the possible consequences of every word she said, every gesture or movement she made. At fifty-three, she was too old to recover her innocence, but she could still joyfully regain her curiosity.
It was Maribel who began to help her see things in a different way. When she took her on, Sara had not factored in that she would be spending so much time with Maribel, Monday to Friday, chatting, and she felt a little uncomfortable, even ridiculous, when she realized that Maribel thought her new employer rather odd.After all, here was a middle-aged woman living alone in a large, though not huge, house with no dogs, no invalids to care for, and no children, yet she employed Maribel to clean it for four hours a day.The truth was that, from the outset, Sara tried to make as much mess as she could and, more than once, after clearing up and taking her glass or plate to the kitchen, she would go and put it back again. She found it more difficult to get used to leaving towels on the floor when she got out of the bath, but even then she didn’t consider renouncing the sentimental need that compelled her to adopt such luxuriously lazy ways.This inner evolution led to other changes, to small pockets of trust that allowed other people in—first Andrés, then Tamara, and finally Maribel herself.
The west wind got into their bones, and the gloomy sky bore down on the coast, the fields, the houses, daubing everything with a dirty shade of grey-brown. Sara could feel the clouds—although it never actually rained—spread a fine film of water over every surface, on eyelids, in mouths and throats. She had no desire to do anything, and even essential tasks seemed laborious.The palm trees and swimming pools, the whitewashed walls and the bougainvillea, the refreshment stalls on the beach with their palm roofs and the forgotten bicycles all seemed to share the general air of despondency, the discord of the south awakening to a day that seems more fitting to the north.And yet, the day it really did start to rain, Maribel arrived humming a rumba and wearing a smile so broad it barely fit on her face. She placed a strange package on the table, a large round object that she had covered with a plastic bag to protect it from the rain.
“This is for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. It’s a present.”
“A present?” Sara carefully removed the plastic bag and uncovered a wicker basket containing African violets of several different colors—purple, pink, fuchsia, white, blue. “They’re lovely, Maribel! Thank you so much. But I don’t know why—”
“Wait a second,” Maribel interrupted, holding up her hand.Without even taking off her raincoat or putting down her bag, Maribel sat opposite Sara and continued, “You’re not going to believe this! I couldn’t believe it either but something very good has happened and I want to celebrate. You see . . .” She paused, took a deep breath and slowly let it out before she went on: “My grandfather, my father’s father, had some land on the outskirts of town.You know the old road to Chipiona, near the Playa de la Ballena. It’s a big piece of land with good soil, but it’s quite far away, so that’s why nobody’s wanted to farm it since he died. Before, when I was little, it was lovely. My grandfather went there by donkey every day, and he grew potatoes, pumpkins, melons, tomatoes, peppers and carnations—he always grew carnations, and he sold them at a good price. He gave us the ones with snapped stems, so we always had loads of flowers in the house. Well, the thing is, when he died nobody wanted to go on with it. Farming doesn’t pay much, you know, and his children had jobs, and my cousins, well, they didn’t want to farm it either.Anyway, the land just lay there, going to waste.Then at the beginning of the summer a builder from Sanlúcar turned up and said he’d like to take a look at it. He went there a lot, and took people to measure it, and dug some holes to see what was underneath, and then he said he wanted to buy it. He offered fifty million pesetas, can you believe it, for that little piece of land we thought wasn’t worth anything—fifty million! Of course he wants to build on it because it’s near the beach—a little inland, but pretty near, about ten minutes’ walk at the most. And you know how much they’re building round there, they’ve built a whole town in a couple of years.Anyway, I didn’t want to get my hopes up because my dad, God rest his soul, he would have got twelve million, and I thought my mother would keep it and that she wouldn’t give me a penny.Well, yesterday my sister told me that’s not what’s going to happen.We’re going to split my dad’s share between the three of us, because it turns out my grandfather had made a will. I had no idea, but he had, because he got married twice, and when he met my grandmother he was a widower and already had a young son, José, who’s always been like my uncle, like my father’s brother, and a brother to the other two, even though he had a different mother.We’ve never talked about it in my family because he called my grandmother ‘Mama,’ and my grandmother always said he was her eldest son, and everybody was happy. But my grandfather made a will just in case, and it’s all quite clear. He didn’t leave the land at La Ballena, which wasn’t worth much then, to his children but his grandchildren—and not in equal shares, because the will said it had to be divided into four parts, one for each son, and these parts were then divided up amongst their children in equal shares. Just think,” she looked at Sara with wide eyes and a smile that showed all her teeth,“nobody even remembered.”
“So you’ll be getting four million,” Sara said.
“Well, yes. And because my grandfather died years ago, we don’t have to pay any tax or anything. So, what do you think? I’d have given anything to see the look on my mum’s face when the notary told her that no, the papers for the sale couldn’t be signed because the land didn’t belong to her. Anyway, in two weeks’ time we have to sign and they’ll pay us part of the money.We’ll get some more in January next year, and then the last part in March. Isn’t it incredible?”
“No, not incredible, Maribel.” Sara burst out laughing. “It’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you, and for Andrés, of course.What do you think you’ll do with the money?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet. But I’m taking Andrés to Disneyland Paris, that’s for sure, or to the other one in Florida, it’s bigger. Then maybe I’ll get myself a car. I’d have to learn to drive, of course, but that’s no big deal, is it? And, I don’t know, I haven’t had time to think what else.”
Maribel couldn’t have known that Sara had too much time on her hands and too little to think about, but she would soon find out.There were many things she didn’t know about her employer’s past, including the way apparently trivial things, such as plants bought in shops or the rough reddened skin of Maribel’s gesticulating hands, had an effect on her. Then there were more substantial things, such as the glow that surrounded Maribel as she sat in the kitchen that morning, wondering aloud what to do with the money, bewildered by this sudden stroke of luck facing a woman who had spent her whole life waiting for an opportunity. She would never know this, and yet this woman, whom she barely knew, would change the course of her life in a way her grandfather’s will alone would never have done.
That day, Sara thought a lot about Maribel. She went on thinking about her the following day, and the one after that, and the one after that. She realized that the money, which her cleaner had not yet received, was starting to oppress Maribel, to obsess her, prompting her to devise ways of spending it as quickly as possible. Sara knew the feeling—the banknotes burning a hole in your pocket, the churning of your insides when you’ve never had anything before, when luck suddenly fills your hands with a perverse generosity—because with the gift bestowed by good fortune comes the impulse to squander it and nostalgia for the time when your pockets were empty. She was used to taking an interest in others, waiting to see how they reacted, taking care of them, but she had always kept her opinions to herself. She had never been close enough to anyone to try to influence their life.Yet Maribel’s bew
ilderment and anxiety, as she listed ever more foolish choices, totally lost in the deluge of advertisements on TV, moved Sara so deeply that one morning, as she listened to Maribel wondering whether to have electrolysis or buy her son a jet ski, Sara decided to intervene. She reminded herself that she had always thought her cleaner a bright woman, and she wanted Maribel to prove her right.
“Look, Maribel.” She didn’t give Maribel a chance to speak first, as she usually did, or to answer. “Sit down here. Come on, I want to ask you something. Now, let’s see. How much do you save?”
“Me?” said Maribel, confused. “How much do I what?”
“How much do you save? How much of what you earn do you have left over each month?”
“Me?” she repeated, pointing at herself even though there was nobody else there. “Well, nothing. I don’t have a penny left over.”
But Sara had never been one to give up easily, and she’d been expecting this answer.
“But before this summer,” she insisted,“you lived on less money.And you still managed to pay your rent and do your shopping, and you bought Andrés whatever he needed, didn’t you?” Maribel nodded, still looking a little puzzled. “So why do you still spend every last peseta now?”
“Because I bought a TV.”
“Yes, I know. With your July wages. And a deep-fat fryer with your August wages.And a games console, or whatever they’re called, with your September wages.And you’re paying for it all in installments, aren’t you?”
“Not the fryer,” said Maribel, her eyes wide. She was bemused by this interrogation, and her tone was cautious, defensive, as if she wanted to protect herself from Sara.“I bought that in one go because it didn’t cost much.”
“It doesn’t matter. The thing is, you bought it, didn’t you?” Maribel nodded. “But that’s not the point. Buying fewer things, using the ones you’ve already got while they’re still working, not spending money foolishly, keeping the money from the inheritance and adding the money you’ve got left over—that’s saving.”
“What do I want to save for?”
“To buy yourself a flat.”
Maribel was so surprised that her eyebrows practically flew off her face. She stared, open-mouthed, her lips forming a perfect parabola framing her even, white teeth.
“A flat!” she said, almost shouted, at last.“Me? A flat?”
“Yes,” insisted Sara, “you, a flat.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Maribel suddenly seemed to relax and burst out laughing, as if she’d just been told a joke.“With four million pesetas? Do you know how much flats cost around here, with all the holidaymakers who’ll pay anything? I don’t even have enough for a deposit. It’s ridiculous. I’ll go and get changed—I’d better start work.”
“Absolutely not,” said Sara, her firm tone stopping Maribel in her tracks.“You’re going to put on the coffee and get out the coffee cups, then you’re going to sit down here and you’re going to listen to me. Look, Maribel, there are lots of things I don’t understand, but I do know about this. Money’s cheap at the moment. It means that paying a mortgage is easier than ever, because of the interest rate. Do you understand? Interest rates are low right now.Things might change in the future, but you can get fixed-rate mortgages that . . .Anyway, that’s something we’d have to look into.You’ve got four million, and that’s almost half the amount you need, because you wouldn’t need to buy a very big place.Thanks to those four million, you’ll be able to move to a new flat and pay if off every month for not much more than the rent you’re paying now.Think about it.Andrés might say that going to Disneyland is the thing he wants most in the whole world, and he might have got it into his head that he wants a jet ski. Last week he said he wanted a little boat to go out fishing, even though he doesn’t know anything about fishing and doesn’t have the time.Think about him.What would be best for him—to inherit a flat or a couple of photos of Mickey Mouse? And what about you? What would be best for you?You’ve been waxing your legs for fifteen years. Do you really want to spend a fortune on electrolysis? Think, Maribel.You might never get another inheritance, and houses don’t lose their value, quite the opposite, they go up over time.They’re a safer investment than a savings account, and they last forever.And if you don’t have any money left over to buy furniture, well, you can make do with what you have now. And when you finish paying this mortgage, you can get another one. It’s all much easier than it seems, and after all, you’re only thirty, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.You’ve been lucky for once, very lucky. Make the most of it. Listen to me—save the money and buy a flat.Think about it, Maribel. Think carefully.”
Maribel sat down again. For a few seconds, she didn’t move, staring down at her skirt.Then she looked up very slowly. Since she’d known her, Sara had been sure that despite her appearance, her lack of education, her loud voice and laugh, and her unpredictable logic, Maribel was intelligent, and she didn’t disappoint her that morning.
“But I don’t have a regular wage,” she said simply.“Banks won’t give you a mortgage if you don’t have a regular wage.”
“Yes, they will, because you’ve got four million pesetas, and that’s a guarantee. If you stopped paying the mortgage, the bank would get your money, you see. It makes you worthwhile as a customer. Anyway, I can write you a certificate of earnings, and we could have a word with Juan Olmedo. I’ll be seeing him on Saturday at Tamara’s birthday party. She’s invited Andrés, hasn’t she? I’m sure Dr. Olmedo would be happy to write you one too.”
“No, no way!” Maribel sat back suddenly, stirring her coffee so violently that she spilt some of it on the tablecloth.“Believe me, you can’t trust that man.”
“Why not? He seems like a good person, he’s responsible and very generous. I don’t think there are too many men out there who’d be prepared to take on—”
“Yes, I know what you’re going to say,” interrupted Maribel.“I know, and it’s probably true, I’m not saying it isn’t, but there are other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Like some things I know.”
“OK,” Sara snorted.“What things do you know?”
“Look, I don’t like to bad-mouth people because I don’t like it when people say bad things about me and I’ve never hurt anyone. But the other day, that bastard Andrés, my ex, you know? Well, he was making fun of me. I don’t know how he does it, I hardly ever see him but when I do, he always finds some way of needling me.The other day he told me he saw ‘that doctor you work for,’ as he calls him, in Sanlúcar, in a prostitutes’ bar.What do you say to that? That’s how Dr. Olmedo spends his money, all generous and responsible that he is! I mean, really, men are all the same.What are you laughing at? I don’t think it’s funny.”
Sara wasn’t really laughing, but she couldn’t help smiling. She had just realized that Maribel had been thinking, or was still thinking, of seducing Juan Olmedo. It was the only explanation for both her ex-husband’s taunts and Maribel’s acute indignation, an explanation that, above all, provided her with yet more proof that her neighbor was the type of man you could trust. But she resorted to other arguments to justify her reaction.
“Why shouldn’t I laugh, Maribel? Well, really! What did you expect? He’s a young man and he has a difficult life, looking after a mentally disabled person and a little girl all the time, and working too. Besides, he’s new to the area, he doesn’t know anyone, and I imagine he can scarcely find the time to have a beer in peace, let alone to go and meet women. It doesn’t seem all that bad to me.”
“Oh, doesn’t it?” Maribel was unable to formulate a more complex answer, so she expressed her disapproval by going to the sink and attacking the washing-up as if the fate of the universe depended on it.
“Well, no, it doesn’t. I don’t mean that I’m in favor of men going to prostitutes, but life is complicated, you know that.”
Maribel didn’t answer. In the silence that followed, Sara Gómez, who had thought
many times that it was very odd that a doctor should give up a permanent post in a Madrid hospital and move to one in Jerez, now began to wonder what had made Juan Olmedo take this step, as if Maribel’s revelation might somehow be the key to the mystery.The fact was, she did find it difficult to imagine her neighbor in a bar with prostitutes, but she didn’t judge him too harshly for it.As she was absorbed in these thoughts, Maribel turned round from the sink and looked at her for a moment before exclaiming:
“It’s a shame you never got married.You would have made your husband so happy! I mean, you know everything. It’s amazing—everything! You can tell you’ve been lucky in life, you can really tell.”
‘What’s your name?”
‘You know it’s Elia.”
“No, I mean your real name.”
“Ah!” She burst out laughing, showing ugly teeth like a cat’s, a cluster of narrow yellow incisors between two pointed eye teeth. “Well, it’s nearly the same: Aurelia.”
“Good.” Juan Olmedo nodded, thinking to himself that it would be better if this pretty girl didn’t smile during her working hours. “That makes it easier to call you Elia.”
The Wind From the East Page 15