Mad Dogs and an English Girl

by Caroline Waterman

  “That’s right,” said Anita nonchalantly,“that’s our car and we’re leaving now.” We grabbed our cases and tumbled down the stairs, stifling giggles, to find Carlos waiting for us in the hall. He relieved us of our cases and we followed him out into the sunshine where Mr. Schwartz sat waiting in the car. He was wearing a floppy straw hat and loose, open-neck shirt patterned with palm trees and the words ‘Miami Beach – Florida’ in huge, gaudy letters. He seemed in excellent spirits and raised his hat to us, grinning cheerfully, the customary cigar protruding from his gold teeth.

  “Well, hi gals!” he yelled. “Now hold it! Hold it there a minute! I want you little ladies in my movie.” So saying, he produced a small cine camera and poked it through the open window.“Okay, action!” he ordered.

  Feeling like film stars, we posed momentarily in the doorway before gliding down the steps as gracefully as we could towards the whirring camera while the pensión staff stared at us in amazement. This was a promising start to the day and put us all in the right mood. We jumped in and sat, one either side of our new-found ‘Daddy’. He put his arms round our necks, puffed happily at his cigar and said, “Okay, Carlos, take her away! Málaga – here we come!”

  As we sped away from Granada, I looked back at the enchanted city and vowed that one day I would return.We climbed high into the mountains, leaving Granada far below, and crossed the wild country that lay between us and the coast, following steep, twisting roads between scrubby bushes, olive groves and high banks studded with cacti and flowering almond trees. The scenery was majestic and beautiful and there was little sign of human life. Once, high above the crags, we saw an eagle circling lazily against the blue. Carlos informed us, cheerfully, that these lonely mountain passes abounded in bandits, thieves, smugglers and other assorted villains. Anita and I were not a little alarmed by this revelation, fearing that the wealthy American could be a prime target should we come across any such stray brigands, but Mr. Schwartz did not share our concern. On the contrary, he found the idea highly amusing. He boasted that his grandfather had tackled fierce Indians in his day and, with such a family background, he wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with the odd Spanish bandit should the need arise. Happily it did not, and the journey was both comfortable and uneventful.

  We entertained our companion with Spanish and English songs and the time passed quickly. At last we caught our first sight of the Mediterranean away in the distance, a shimmering sheet of turquoise blue glimpsed between umbrella pines. As we drove towards Málaga, the temperature rose and the sun felt increasingly hot. With all the windows down, we were caressed by a stream of warm, pine-scented air, intoxicating as wine, filling our lungs with its heady fragrance.

  Málaga was beautiful and exciting with streets of glittering white houses decked with flowers. We drove along a wide boulevard lined on either side with palms. It was thronging with life: people walking, talking, shouting and singing. Dark-eyed little girls dressed like dolls in lacy dresses trotted beside their parents or nursemaids. Lean, brown-limbed boys with bare feet darted among the crowd selling sweets and cigarettes, their faces dirty but smiling, calling out their wares in loud voices. Balloons and flowers were being sold too. On benches under the trees, shabby old men sat around in groups, chatting and spitting. Flocks of girls with red mouths and high stilettos strolled together, arms linked, enjoying the admiration of the youths who stood around watching them. They leaned against trees, smoking and following the girls with their eyes, shouting compliments and mentally undressing them. Then there were old women in black, shuffling along in slippers, fresh-faced young priests, cripples, beggars and blind lottery ticket sellers. Grim civil guards stood sweating in their uniforms and mangy dogs rummaged beneath the benches while numerous carts drawn by skinny mules rattled past.

  Mr. Schwartz’s destination was the Hotel Miramar, a luxurious establishment of impressive size situated, as its name implied, overlooking the sea. We explained that we had to find ourselves some accommodation and that we would meet him later, but Mr. Schwartz was not in agreement. “What’s wrong with this place? Looks okay to me.”

  “Yes, it’s fine for you,” I laughed, “but I’m afraid our budget doesn’t run to luxury hotels.”

  “C’mon, Baby,” he coaxed,“be my guests!”

  I put this suggestion to Anita but she wouldn’t hear of it.“We can’t stay with him”, she protested. “It would put us under an obligation…”

  I explained to Mr. Schwartz that my friend insisted that we should be independent although we really appreciated his kindness. “Aw – C’mon! Tell her she’ll be sleeping in her own bed, not mine,” he laughed.

  Despite this reassurance,Anita remained adamant.

  “Okay,” he shrugged, “you kids are crazy, but if that’s the way you want it – I’ll see you here around five o’clock and we’ll take a trip down town.”

  And so, to my annoyance, we had to leave our friend to settle himself into his sumptuous hotel while we set off down the side streets in search of some grotty guest house.

  The evening sun still had strength as Anita and I leaned over the terrace railings, contemplating the scene below. From our viewpoint, high on a pine-clad hill, we could see the town spread out beneath: the promenade, the narrow streets, the bullring, the Miramar Hotel standing among its palm trees, the boats in the harbour and even an American warship that had docked in Málaga.

  We were in a hilltop café and Mr. Schwartz was sitting at a nearby table drinking black coffee and chewing thoughtfully at his cigar as he watched with amusement the efforts of two U.S. Marines trying to chat us up in their bad Spanish. The town was full of these Marines swaggering around in impeccable white uniforms and pork pie hats. This particular pair were offering us chewing gum and cigarettes and telling us their names. They seemed enormously tall and blonde with their pale eyes and fresh, well-scrubbed faces, gleaming with health. How different from the short, swarthy and decidedly scruffy Andalusians who stood watching them with undisguised interest!

  “Hank,” said one of them, pointing to himself,“and Joe. Savee? Ameegos.”

  Anita giggled and turned her head away. Hank threw back his head and roared with laughter, displaying two rows of perfect, white teeth, like an advertisement for toothpaste.

  “Alright,” I said at last, “forget the Spanish. We can get by in English.”

  “Hey! How about that?” cried Joe.“They speak English!”

  By this time we were all in fits of laughter and Mr. Schwartz was calling to us from his table. “C’mon over here you guys an’ have a drink!”

  We drank vermouth and soda and the boys told us this was their last night in town.Tomorrow they’d be sailing away at crack of dawn.

  “Better enjoy yourselves then, I guess,” advised Mr. Schwartz. “They say there’s a dance tonight at my hotel.”

  The boys brightened at the prospect. “Wanna come with us?” suggested Joe looking hard at Anita. I interpreted their proposal and could see her weakening visibly before the steadfast gaze of those steely blue eyes. I knew her well enough to be sure she would not be able to resist anything as exciting and exotic as a U.S Marine. She lowered her dark lashes and whispered in my ear: “They are handsome, aren’t they?”

  “We’ll be there,” I said.

  “Great!” said Hank.“We’re gonna have a real good time.”

  “Hey, now, wait a minute!” interrupted Mr. Schwartz, taking the cigar from his mouth and wafting it across the table as he spoke, “I’m responsible for these gals y’know. I gotta take good care of them.” He leaned across the table and fixed the boys with a challenging, mock-stern expression.

  “Oh, they won’t come to no harm with us, sir,” Joe assured him.“They’ll be okay with us.”

  Mr. Schwartz reclined once more into his chair and replaced the cigar between his teeth. He looked from one to the other with slightly screwed-up eyes. “Okay,” he drawled, “but mind you guys treat them right. I’m jest warnin’ you.You t
reat these gals right ‘cos they’re my daughters.”

  It was touching to see how Mr. Schwarz had taken such a fatherly interest in our welfare. However, having issued this warning, he did not intervene further in the events of the evening and was conspicuous by his absence in the ballroom of the Hotel Miramar.

  The dance was in full swing when we arrived for our date with Joe and Hank who were waiting for us in the bar. They ordered more drinks and Joe put his arm round Anita who blushed prettily. Conversation between them proved a little difficult so it wasn’t long before they were on the dance floor together where speech wasn’t necessary.

  Hank led me to a table where we sat and talked. He seemed anxious to talk. Perhaps he needed someone like me, a complete stranger, in whom he could confide knowing we would never meet again. He really didn’t like being in the navy, he confessed although perhaps it was better than the army. He missed his family a lot, especially his wife. I was a little surprised to hear he had a wife as he seemed so young.

  “Yeah,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on his gum. “I gotta wife and she’s real pretty.” He tugged at something in one of his pockets and produced a brown leather wallet containing a number of photos. He spread them on the table. They were images of the people, places and things which counted in his life. He introduced them to me in turn: Poppa, Momma, Brother Will, friends from High School, the family dog, and, most important of all, his wife. I saw a laughing girl in a summer dress cuddling a round, blonde baby. The pair of them looked back at me as if they could see me now. Oh dear! I mused, what would they think?

  Hank pointed to the baby.“That’s my son,” he said proudly.

  “He’s lovely,” I remarked and there followed a rather awkward silence. Hank’s youthful face darkened. “I’ve not seen him in six months,” he sighed, “and I sure miss them, Baby, I sure miss them both. It’s real hard.” He took my hand as he said this and squeezed it and I suddenly felt very sorry for him. He looked like a little boy in need of comfort and I could see that it was hard for him to suppress the odd tear. They welled up in his grey eyes and he blinked them back again.

  “You’ll see them again soon,” I reassured him, patting his hand.

  With an effort he pushed aside his home-sickness and it wasn’t too long before he had recovered his spirits.“C’mon! Let’s dance!” he said, getting to his feet.“If you call this dancing.”

  Our companions were disappointed with the band’s Latin-American repertoire which they considered ‘square’ – no jive, no rock, so no chance for theYankees to show off their talents as ‘cool cats’. In view of this, Hank preferred to sit out most of the dances and just talk. He told me about his plans for the future. He had a marvellous career lined up for himself when he left the services. It would bring in loads of money and he would never be unemployed. Such was the nature of his future business that he would always be needed and never, ever out of work. I was intrigued.What could it be? After a few futile guesses I gave up.

  “Undertaker,” he announced, smiling.

  “What did you say?” I queried, thinking I had misheard him over the din of the dance band.

  “Undertaker,” he repeated loudly. “They’ll always need me. Honey, one day I’m gonna be rich.”

  The evening was drawing to a close.The band was playing a slow, lazy number but only a few couples were still on the floor, shuffling languidly around in an alcoholic daze. The four of us were back together at our table having downed our last drinks. Anita and Joe seemed to have got on reasonably well despite their complete lack of verbal communication.

  Hank explained to me that they were going straight back to their ship and had no further use for the odd Spanish pesetas that remained in their pockets, so could we use them? I said jokingly that we could always use money and Hank started emptying his pockets. He placed a pile of pesetas on the table and pushed them in my direction. Joe did the same, piling them in a heap in front of Anita. Unable to understand what we were saying, Anita witnessed these proceedings with increasing horror and confusion.The smile faded from her lips and she tugged urgently at my arm.

  “I don’t understand. What are they saying? What’s going on? Why are they giving us money? I think we should leave at once.”

  “It’s alright,” I chuckled,“just keep out of this.”

  “What do you mean? What are you doing?”

  “Oh, shut up and leave this to me!”

  “But I’m worried.They mustn’t give us money!”

  She looked such a picture of outraged consternation that I couldn’t resist teasing her for a little longer.“It’s alright,” I repeated reassuringly, “they’re just giving us their money and then they’ll walk back with us to our pensión.”

  Anita leapt to her feet. “Do you realize what this means?” she exploded.“You should know what sailors are like! We must get out of here immediately. No! Don’t pick up the money! What are you doing?”

  I ignored her protests and continued to gather up the notes and coins, tucking them into my purse while the two Americans looked on with satisfied smiles, chewing away at their gum. Anita’s face was now white with fear and anger and she seemed on the verge of tears so, in the end, I had to relent and explain the truth.

  It was only later that night when she had recovered from the shock, that she could see the funny side of it. Back in the pensión she suddenly burst out laughing as we were getting ready for bed.

  “That was such an awful moment when they were giving us money! Why didn’t you explain what was happening? I really thought…”

  “I know what you thought,” I said between cleaning my teeth, “it just shows what kind of minds you Spanish have.”

  I climbed into bed and sank down into the cold sheets. It would soon be dawn and I thought about Joe and Hank back on their ship. They would be gone before the sun rose. I closed my eyes and saw again Hank’s fresh, all-American face bending over me as we said goodbye, his grey eyes pleading. “Jest one kiss, Honey, jest one! I aint kissed a gal in a long, long while.”As our lips met for the first and last time I hoped the smiling girl in the summer dress wouldn’t be too shocked. He’s missing you, I wanted to tell her, he loves you and he’s really missing you.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SERENADES AND SHERRY

  “You’d better keep singing or I’ll fall asleep at the wheel!” threatened Carlos as we sped through the dark.The day had been long and we’d left Algeciras late. It was all we could do to keep ourselves awake – let alone Carlos, particularly as the seats in the Cadillac were so soft and comfortable. However, fighting off our drowsiness, Anita and I were taking it in turns to sing, chat and otherwise entertain our driver knowing that our lives depended on it. Thankfully, it was now Anita’s turn as I had just completed my stint with a reluctant rendering of ‘Ten Green Bottles’, ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ and ‘Singing in The Rain’. To my irritation, I noticed that Anita was curled up in her corner and appeared to be snoozing. I nudged her mercilessly into wakefulness.

  “It’s your turn to keep Carlos awake,” I reminded her.

  She yawned, bleary-eyed, and reluctantly eased herself into a more upright position. In a sleepy voice she started to sing a Castilian folk song about jealous millers and farmers yoking their oxen. I sank back gratefully into my corner and closed my eyes, going over in my mind the events of the day.

  I knew that Anita did not feel at all like singing for, apart from her sleepiness, she was engulfed in melancholy at having been parted forever from Mr. Schwartz. Indeed, she had wept copiously as we watched his ferry glide away from the quay at Algeciras and, for the last time, saw his cheerful face under the floppy straw hat.As he receded into the distance, we noticed he was busy with his cine camera recording for posterity our final farewell waves.

  Anita remained rooted to the spot as the ferry disappeared into the blue horizon. Even in the short time she had known him and despite the lack of direct communication between them,Anita had grown very fond of Mr. Schwa
rtz. Had she, I wondered, glimpsed in this kindly older man, a fleeting image of the father she had never known?

  At last, I persuaded her to leave the quay and we went in search of Carlos whom we had left in one of the harbour bars. With Mr. Schwartz’s departure for Tangiers, his duties as chauffeur were ended and it remained only for him to return the Cadillac to Seville where it had been hired. He had offered us a lift to the city provided we were prepared to leave that same night. I, for one, agreed readily for after all, we were becoming quite accustomed to this new, luxurious mode of transport.Anita had some reservations.

  The coastal drive from Málaga that morning had been an unforgettable experience. The road was quiet and lined with fragrant umbrella pines framing glimpses of wide, deserted beaches. Here and there, we passed through picturesque fishing villages with white-washed houses, and little boats lined up neatly along the shore. I longed, at times, to leap out of the car and rush down through the pines and fig trees to explore those inviting sands and immerse myself in the blue water. Never had I seen a coast as beautiful as this and the journey seemed all too short.Algeciras was a colourful little port, teaming with cosmopolitan life. Rising defiantly on the other side of the bay was the great, jagged promontory of Gibraltar, an irritating reminder to the Spaniards that we were still in possession of a small chunk of ‘their’ territory. I found it strange that this barren rock could inspire such primitive tribal emotions.

  Anita pointed to it with an accusing finger. “That’s ours! Why are you British still there?”

  “Because it belongs to us, of course. By right of conquest,” I retaliated, suddenly feeling surprisingly patriotic.

  Anita turned on me angrily.“What do you mean right? You lot have no right to it whatsoever.You can’t deny that’s Spanish land.”

  “Nonsense! That’s the British Lion you see crouching in the water over there. Haven’t you heard of the Treaty of Utrecht?” I teased.