Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  “Oh no,” I protested,“I couldn’t let him do that. I can manage – honestly!”

  “Nonsense, it will be no trouble to him. Pepe! Pepe!”

  Her son, a brown, smiling lad stepped forward and picked up my bags.The warmth and kindness of these people, whom I hardly knew, seemed to compensate for everything I had experienced at theVázquez house.

  So I set off once more accompanied now by Pepe. His presence was surprisingly reassuring as I still had the uneasy feeling that I might be followed. He chatted to me as we walked along past the convent and the bullring and eventually up the rough, stony road that led to Anita’s house. How cosy and welcoming it looked with its pink tiles and yellow shutters bathed in the mellow autumnal sunshine! I saw Aunt Domi standing in the doorway, looking out for me and I felt as joyful as if I were returning to my own home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PUPILS AND TOURISTS

  The advertisement in the ‘Diario de Burgos’ read: English girl gives private lessons in English at all levels in the comfort and privacy of your own home.

  The day after it appeared the telephone in Anita’s house never stopped ringing. It seemed the whole of Burgos was eager to learn English and I spent a busy few days visiting prospective pupils and arranging a timetable of classes.Although my fees were as modest as I could make them, with reduced rates for groups, I was soon aware that, with such a large number of pupils, I was going to make a tidy sum. My timetable would be tight and I would be working hard, six days a week. But I was elated at the prospect of being totally independent financially and in a position to help Anita’s family who had provided me with a roof over my head. I also had a secret plan to take Anita with me on a trip to the south of Spain after Christmas.

  At first it worried me that I might be taking business from Don Federico but then I remembered him saying he had more pupils wanting to learn English than he could cope with and had had to turn some of them away. Besides, I could now resume my typing lessons and help him with his advanced students as before. Soon after I had leftVázquez I bumped into Federico so I was able to recount to him the momentous events of the last few days. He approved of everything I had done and immediately offered me the use of his academy for teaching groups three afternoons a week. Could anyone ask for better friends?

  My new pupils included four junior doctors from the local hospital, a businessman, the young daughter of an affluent family, several middle-aged single ladies, and a few students. Strangest of all – and much to my surprise – I was summoned by the Capitán General to teach his daughters. He was the Regional Military Governor, a formidable and much-feared man of great importance whose rank and achievements, so I was told, placed him high in Franco’s hierarchy.

  It was therefore with some trepidation that I climbed the steps of his palatial residence, this being the military headquarters for the region known as the Capitanía. On either side of the massive entrance several armed guards stood staring ahead, their weapons glinting in the sun.They reminded me of the frightening stories I had heard of dissidents who had been arrested, taken to this place and never seen again.

  When I reached the top of the steps they barred my way with their rifles and demanded to know my business. I was told to wait while enquiries were made and, after a few tense moments, I was ushered in. Complete with military escort, I mounted yet more flights of steps, arriving eventually at the sumptuous apartments of the Great Man.

  The room was furnished with deep-pile oriental rugs and heavy antique furniture. There were fewer potted plants than in Vázquez’s house, but many more canaries. They seemed to be everywhere, trilling, chirping and hopping about in their numerous cages so that one had the impression of being in some strange aviary. A tabby cat of gigantic size was sitting on the arm of one of the chairs, staring at me suspiciously with unblinking eyes.Another rushed past my legs as I crossed the room.

  Seated at a table, surrounded by canaries, were the two daughters of the Captain General.They were of uncertain age and inclined to plumpness.Their lips and nails were painted a deep red and their hair was bleached an unlikely shade of blonde which contrasted oddly with their olive skins and dark eyes. Smiling, they rose to greet me.

  “Buenos días,” one of them said. “Please sit down. We are so looking forward to learning English.”

  We came to an arrangement about times and fees and, as we were chatting, I felt something furry against my legs. Looking down I observed yet another cat. It slunk out from under the table and I bent to stroke it.This was a mistake, for it turned and hissed at me, bristling with indignation. Having made clear its disapproval, it leapt onto a nearby cupboard from where it was able to study the birds at close quarters. The poor creatures stopped singing and hopped about nervously under its scrutiny.

  “I see you have a lot of cats,” I observed.

  “Yes,” said the younger daughter. She reached down to gather up a passing black Persian and set it on her lap where it crouched grudgingly, ears back, staring angrily into space. “Do you like them? This one is called Tín-tín, aren’t you darling?”

  My sympathy was with the canaries living as they obviously did in constant fear of these ill-intentioned felines.

  “Do they ever catch the canaries?” I ventured to ask.

  The older daughter smiled. “Sometimes,” she said, “sometimes one of the servants leaves a door open and one of them escapes from its cage and then…” she shrugged her shoulders.“Well, what do you expect?”

  It crossed my mind that here was some kind of sinister symbolism.

  “They’re really father’s pets,” she added. “You see, Papá is very fond of cats.”

  Out in the street once more, I looked at my watch and decided I had time to buy some stamps before going back to Anita’s for lunch. I had written a letter to my family and was anxious to get it posted so I walked across to the little tobacconist on the corner of the square where I usually bought stamps.

  Among the people waiting to be served I noticed a couple who stood out from the rest.They were tall and fair with pale, untanned skin and brightly coloured clothes which marked them as aliens among the Spanish customers. As soon as they started trying to explain their requirements to the assistant I knew them to be my fellow-countrymen. They were having some difficulty in making themselves understood so I stepped forward.

  “Can I help?” I asked in English.“Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

  An expression of relief crossed the young man’s face. “Oh thanks! We don’t seem to be getting very far.We just need to know how much the postage is to England.”

  Their letters safely posted, I was invited to join them for a coffee at a nearby café. We chatted and they told me they were Audrey and Peter from Birmingham and they were taking a late holiday. They had decided to break their journey to Madrid and had booked into the Hotel Ávila. “Rather a grotty sort of place,” observed Peter,“but cheap. I suppose it will be OK.”

  As I had no other pupils to interview that day, I offered to show them the sights of Burgos so we arranged to meet later that afternoon.

  On my way back to Anita’s house, I suddenly saw Paco emerging from a bar closely followed by Luis. I felt my heart racing as it always did whenever I set eyes on him for the spell was as powerful as ever.

  “There she is!” laughed Paco,“That independent English miss! We’ve heard all about it you know – from Federico. Fancy walking out onVázquez like that! The old man’s livid; been looking for you all over the place.”

  Luis was smiling.“Yes, It’s caused quite a sensation.The talk of the town!” he affirmed.

  I looked at him and longed to rush into his arms not having seen him for a week which seemed more like a year. We stood gazing at each other while Paco rambled on.

  “I bet you’ve found dozens of pupils already. I should think anyone would want to learn English from a girl like you. I know several friends who might be interested. I was just saying to Luis – everyone wants to
learn English since theYanks set up their bases here…”

  Paco talked and talked but we were not really listening.When at last there was a pause in the flow I said:“Now that I’m my own boss, I shall be taking up my typing lessons again with Federico, starting next week.”

  Luis caught my hand. “Then we shall see each other a lot more, Cariño, because I shall be there too.”

  I sighed happily at this idyllic prospect and Paco groaned.

  “Oh, give it a rest you two! I’ve never seen such a crazy pair. I wonder what will happen when…”

  He stopped suddenly, thinking better of whatever it was he was going to say. Luis threw him a withering glance and he continued in some confusion.“I mean ... I wonder what you will do without her, Luis, when you go back to university…”

  “Sorry,” I interrupted,“I must go. Look at the time! I’m late as it is.”

  “Oh, this British obsession with time!” laughed Paco. I hurried back to Aunt Domi’s lunch, wondering uneasily what Paco was going to say. He obviously knew something I didn’t about Luis; something concerning us which Luis didn’t want me to know. This worrying thought hovered around in my head despite all efforts to banish it.

  “What time do the banks re-open?” asked Peter as we left the cathedral.

  I laughed.“You won’t find them open again today. It’s Saturday. You’ll have to wait till Monday morning.”

  He looked at me in horror.“Hell! We’ve no money to pay the hotel, only enough pesetas to buy petrol and we must be in Madrid by tomorrow evening.What are we going to do?”

  We hurried to the local tourist office where we were told that only first class hotels were authorised to change travellers’ cheques and the Hotel Ávila was definitely not first class. “However,” suggested the clerk, “you could go along to the Hotel España and ask if they would change some money for you as a favour.”

  “Oh, please come with us and explain!” pleaded Audrey who was near to tears. “We don’t speak a word of Spanish and no one understands us. It’s awful.”

  At the Hotel España the receptionist was decidedly cool. No, he was sorry, but it was quite impossible. They could only change cheques for their own clients and not, he affirmed with a sniff of contempt, for those of the Hotel Ávila.

  Dejectedly we walked away from the smart Hotel España, gleaming white and smug on the corner of the Espolón, and made our way down a shabby back street to find the Hotel Ávila, a tatty place which looked as though it had never heard of travellers’ cheques. I was just examining the meagre contents of my purse to see what money I could lend them when Peter was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea.

  “Look! We’ve any amount of French francs. Suppose we were to book a room here for our return journey, leave the equivalent of this amount in francs as security and pay everything in pesetas on our return?”

  I said: “That makes sense – if the hotel agrees. Do they speak English?”

  They both laughed. “You must be joking! Does anyone speak English here?”

  “Not yet,” I grinned,“but I plan to change all that!”

  We walked into the dark, chilly hall and asked for the manager. He emerged, smiling, from his inner sanctum, a tall, good-looking and surprisingly young man with a roving eye. He looked me up and down as I explained my friends’ predicament.

  “Why yes, of course, señorita, that will be quite in order. I’ll make out a receipt for the francs and they can book a room here for their return. No problem. By the way, did anyone tell you that you have nice eyes?”

  The problem resolved, Audrey and Peter retired to their room for a siesta but not before making me promise to meet them again that evening for a drink in the Espolón.

  As usual, the kitchen at Anita’s house was packed with people. A neighbour, Miguel, had come round for a chat together with his wife, Mari and two little girls, Patricia and Isabelita. Cousin Bea had also arrived, out of the blue, with her husband, Jaime, and small daughter, Marta. They were all gathered together for merienda, a snack taken in the early evening to bridge the long gap between lunch at two and supper at around eleven. As I squeezed my way into the warm, smoky little room I saw that Miguel was holding a baguette, poised above the table. He was discussing some political matter with Aunt Domi and thumping the bread on the table with thuds to add emphasis to the points he was making. Aunt Domi responded in shrill tones as she stood by her sizzling frying pan, preparing the evening meal. The children sat on a bench by the table, their ceaseless chatter temporarily silenced as they gave their attention to great hunks of bread filled with slabs of cooking chocolate. Cousin Bea, apparently, had toothache and was not prepared to suffer in silence.With one hand clutching her painful jaw and the other spread across her ample bosom, she sat rocking backwards and forwards sighing and moaning loudly: “Ay! Ay! Ay!”

  Everyone greeted me enthusiastically, eager to know what I had been doing and how many pupils I had collected that day. I was wedged into a corner of the table where Aunt Domi presented me with a large cup of coffee. “Get that inside you!” she ordered, pointing to the cup with her fork. “And some bread. It’s time you fattened up.You foreign girls are as skinny as rakes. Look at the girl! No flesh on her anywhere.”

  “Never mind that!” interrupted Mari. “Let’s hear about her pupils! Where have you been today?”

  “Well,” I said, trying to sound casual, “as from next week, I shall be teaching the two daughters of the Captain General.”

  “You’re joking!” said Miguel. I shook my head, enjoying myself.

  “You’ve been there?” gasped Mari.

  “To the Capitanía?” cried Bea in astonishment, her toothache temporarily forgotten.“Did you see him? Did you see the Captain General? What’s he like?”

  “I didn’t see the Captain General,” I explained when I could get a word in edgeways,“but I know one thing about him. He likes cats.”

  “But you’re surely not going to teach those people?” protested Mari.

  “Why not? Of course I shall teach them, the same as anyone else. I’m not fussy.”

  “Make sure you charge them plenty,” grunted Domi, refilling my cup.

  “I charge everyone the same,” I retorted virtuously. “I intend to conduct my business in a thoroughly British way. As for the daughters, they’re really quite nice.”

  At that moment Anita burst into the room looking flushed and out-of-breath. “It’s Don Tomás!” she gasped rushing over to me. “He’s discovered you’re with us and he’s absolutely furious – says we’ve ‘captured’ you. He’s given us eight days to throw you out and after that he’ll sack me if you’re still in the house.”

  This was terrible news. It really shook me and I felt extremely guilty at having brought trouble to a family who had shown me so much kindness. I knew what I had to do and I got up from the table.

  “I’ll pack at once.You’re not losing your job because of me. I can find a pensión.”

  Anita laughed and pulled me down onto my chair. “Don’t be silly! Just listen to me! I’ve given in my notice. I’ve quit the job. I was going to leave anyway – before you arrived – because I’ve had enough of his groping hands in the dark room when we’re looking at X-rays. Honestly! It’s like wrestling with an octopus in there.All the nurses complain about it.”

  “Yes,” I nodded.“I know what you mean.”

  “Disgusting!” snorted Aunt Domi, jabbing angrily at the contents of her frying pan. “The man’s a lecher and everyone knows it, including his wife.”

  “You’re better off working somewhere else,” added Miguel, “no young girl’s safe with him around.”

  “And in the meantime,” I said, “none of you will be out of pocket because I’m going to earn a lot of money.You’ll have more than enough house-keeping from me, Auntie Domi, and quite a few little luxuries besides.”

  “Bless you, child,” muttered Domi wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.“You’re one of us now: one of the family an
d this is your home for as long as you need it.”

  The waiter at the café in the Espolón knew me and beamed benevolently as I sat down with Audrey and Peter and ordered our drinks. I was busy telling my new friends all about my adventures in Burgos and he was obviously amused and intrigued to hear me speaking my native tongue.

  “I can’t imagine why you want to spend so long in this odd place,” remarked Audrey.“I mean, it’s really rather a strange life for an English girl and it doesn’t sound at all safe. Listen! I have an idea. Why don’t you come home with us? We could pick you up on our way back and it would save you the return fare.”

  “Good idea!” agreed Peter.“You do that.”

  “It’s really kind of you to offer but I can’t leave Burgos yet. My life is here at the moment and I’ve grown quite fond of this funny old town. I’m living with a lovely family now and I’ve lots of pupils lined up. Besides, there’s another reason. I’ve fallen in love with a Spanish student.”

  Audrey’s eyes widened in amazement.“You’ve what?”

  I nodded. “It’s true and I can’t do a thing about it. I’m head over heels. It’s never happened to me before and it’s a pretty awesome experience! There’s no way I could leave him now.”

  Audrey sighed. “I expect you’ll get over it. How old are you? Nineteen? You’ve got plenty of time. One day you’ll be sensible and find a nice, steady Englishman and you’ll marry him and settle down.”

  I smiled at this most unlikely scenario and shook my head. What a ludicrous prediction!

  “We are quite worried about you though,” said Peter,“leaving you in this extraordinary place.”

  “But I like it! How can I convince you? You don’t need to worry. I’m among friends.”

  I was amused at their concern. It was as though they had discovered me, vulnerable and defenceless in the heart of the African bush but I could understand their point of view. Tourism was only just beginning to build up in Spain and this was an unusual place to visit – let alone live in! It was considered primitive, like a Third World country, ruled by a ruthless dictatorship whose victory in the Civil War had been assisted by Nazi Germany. I remembered the difficulty I’d had in persuading my father to endorse my passport application form when I first visited Spain.