Alberto's Lost Birthday
Page 14
Nodding to him, Alberto popped the whole fruit into his mouth, biting through the sweet skin to the tart pulp. Tino gnawed at the outside until only the bitter centre was left, which he threw into the bushes.
Alberto rang the bell beside a wooden door almost completely hidden behind a cluster of clematis flowers. Far away, a bell tinkled and instantly a dog started barking. Moving a woody vine, he saw an old sign, with the words PAN Y VINO burnt into the strip of hardwood.
‘“Bread and Wine,”’ read Tino.
Alberto looked down at him and shrugged. The boy shrugged back, smiling.
At that moment, the door swung open. Alberto turned and saw a plump woman with white, curly hair smiling at him. She was wearing trousers and a straw hat, and held a pair of gardening gloves in one hand. A wiry, honey-coloured dog squirmed past her legs and, wagging its tail, tentatively sniffed at Alberto.
‘Hello?’ said the woman, looking first at Alberto and then at the boy.
‘Hello!’ said Tino, eyeing the dog with delight.
The old man nodded, suddenly bashful. He took his hat off and held it in front of his chest. ‘Forgive the intrusion at your home,’ he began quietly.
The woman smiled at him and brushed a curl from her face. The dog moved closer to the little boy, sniffing at his feet. Tino grinned and patted the dog’s slim head.
‘Are you Miriam Quintero?’ Alberto asked quietly. He looked at her intently.
‘Goodness,’ she replied, chuckling, ‘it’s been a long time since anyone called me that. Yes, that was my name before I was married.’
Alberto nodded, uncomfortable. He looked down at the boy, who seemed to be holding his breath with excitement.
Turning back to Miriam, he said, ‘I think we may have known each other when we were very young.’
‘Yes?’ replied Miriam curiously.
Alberto nodded again, turning his hat in his hands.
‘My name is Alberto. Alberto Romero.’
Miriam stared at Alberto for a moment, the words sinking in. Then dropping the gloves, she slowly raised her hands to her mouth. Her eyes shone with confusion, and she blinked a number of times. She peered at the old man. Her eyes began to well with tears.
‘Alberto?’ she whispered through her fingers.
Alberto nodded. He could see she had recognized him despite the years. But when he looked at her face, he couldn’t see the girl in the photo. He didn’t know this woman.
Tentatively, Miriam stepped towards Alberto. She placed a hand on either side of his leathery face and gently kissed him on both cheeks. The tears were pouring down her face as she stepped back. The dog wound his way round her legs, eager for attention.
‘We thought you were dead,’ she said, her voice quivering.
Alberto looked at her, wishing he could remember.
Miriam wiped her eyes. ‘And who is this?’ she asked, looking at the boy.
‘This is my grandson, Tino.’
Miriam smiled at the boy, then turned back to Alberto, looking into his face again.
‘Well, you must both come in.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alberto.
With a click of her tongue, she nudged the dog towards the door and he bounded through.
The boy bent down, picked up Miriam’s gloves and handed them to her. She smiled her thanks, then stepped to one side and, once the old man and the boy had crossed into the garden, shut the door behind them.
Alberto looked around. The garden was stunning. Along the house and exterior wall climbed jasmine and passion flower. The trunk of the kumquat tree was sturdy and leant heavily against the wall. Hibiscus, bandera with its Spanish-flag flowers, angel’s trumpet and lilies covered the ground with small stone pathways running through them. Over the entrance to the house hung a spectacular mix of pink and red bougainvillea, and pots of fuchsia lined the steps leading up to the door. The mixture of scents was heady, and Alberto breathed them in deeply.
Miriam led them into the cool house, putting her gloves on a small table by the door. The dog’s claws clicked on the tiled floor as he followed her.
‘Please,’ she said, indicating a large sofa, ‘take a seat while I get us some drinks.’
Alberto and the boy sank into the soft cushions. Looking around, they saw a mix of old and new furniture set around the spacious room. Family photographs hung over the fireplace, and a pair of knitting needles stuck out of a bag by a comfy chair.
‘Apu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember Señora Miriam?’
Alberto turned to the boy, who looked expectantly up at him. Sadly, he shook his head.
‘Oh,’ said Tino quietly.
Alberto rubbed the line of his jaw, his hard fingers rasping against the bristles. ‘I wish I did,’ he said.
When Miriam came through from the kitchen carrying a tray, Alberto stood and helped her put it on the table. She set a glass of sweet fizzy water in front of each of them and placed a bowl of olives in the centre of the table. Then she settled herself in the comfy chair opposite them and picked up her drink.
‘Thank you,’ said Alberto, lifting his glass.
The dog trotted up to the boy and flopped down beside him. Grinning, the child stroked its ears and the dog’s eyes closed with pleasure.
‘I think he likes you,’ said Miriam.
‘What’s his name?’ asked the boy.
‘Vito. Because he’s always been so full of life.’
They all looked down at the dog, who leant against the boy’s leg.
‘I still can’t believe it’s you,’ said Miriam, turning to Alberto. ‘But it seems you don’t remember me.’
Alberto slowly shook his head. ‘I feel that I should, but I can’t. I have lost my memory from those days.’
Miriam frowned. ‘What do you remember?’
‘I was taken to an orphanage, where I spent most of the war. There’s very little before that. This one’ – Alberto nodded and gestured towards his grandson – ‘persuaded me to go looking for my history.’
Miriam smiled kindly at Tino.
‘We went to where the orphanage was, but there was a mean old man there,’ said the boy. ‘Then we met Doña Isabel, and we went to the church. Then Apu saw a bottle of brandy and we went to the vineyard and saw the cellar. Then they said to come here.’
‘Well,’ said Miriam, ‘it sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure!’
The little boy grinned and nodded before gulping down more of his drink.
‘The new owners of Quintero’s gave us your address,’ explained Alberto.
‘Ah,’ said Miriam.
‘Apu,’ said the boy excitedly, ‘don’t forget the photos!’
Alberto opened his bag, which lay by his feet. He took out the photos and handed them to Miriam.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Look at these – so long ago.’ She leafed through them until she got to the one Javier had shown them. Smiling, she turned it to show Alberto.
‘This is when we were very young. This is my brother, Néstor,’ she said, pointing to the teenage boy. ‘And of course this is me, and our mother and father. Do you remember any of us?’
‘No. There’s something there, a glimmer, but it’s not clear.’ He looked at the photo again. ‘Your father looks like a good man.’
Miriam smiled and nodded. ‘He was. A very good man. That vineyard was everything to him. He’d be so sad to know that it had been sold. But he left it to Néstor and my brother was never interested. He’d rather have a beer than a glass of wine.
‘My father’s name was Dante,’ Miriam continued. ‘He passed away not long after this photo was taken. He and your father were very good friends.’
‘My father?’ said Alberto quietly.
‘Yes. You don’t remember him either?’
Alberto shook his head.
‘Oh, Alberto, that’s sad. I remember him a little. He was very kind and clever – a real gentleman.’
‘A gentleman?’
Alberto shrugged. It didn’t matter. It seemed there were no memories to trigger.
‘Did he work for your father?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘In the fields?’
‘Oh no! He was a chemist. He helped develop the wines. My father was quite advanced in employing a scientist, and your father introduced some new ways of testing and processing the wine. It was the two of them that started the brandy production.’
‘And did we live at Quintero’s?’ asked Alberto.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Miriam enthusiastically. ‘You and your father lived in a casita out the back of the main building. You used to come into the house and have meals with us.’
‘And my mother?’ asked Alberto.
‘Oh, Alberto,’ said Miriam gently. ‘I’m afraid I never knew her. Neither did you – she died at your birth.’
Alberto looked down at his clasped hands and sat very still.
Tino regarded his grandfather sadly.
The old man took a deep breath. It seemed there were nuggets of information, important things that he should recall. His father’s character, his mother’s death – these things should be scorched on his memory. Yet here he was, his family and his past within his grasp, and he still couldn’t remember the woman sitting in front of him.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alberto. ‘It’s difficult learning it all as if for the first time.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Miriam sympathetically. She picked up the bowl of olives and held them out to the small boy. He chose the largest one he could see and quickly popped it into his mouth.
Miriam set the bowl back on the table, putting an olive into her own mouth as she leant back in her chair. As he looked up, Alberto saw the olive dribble a fat dollop of oil onto Miriam’s ample chest. Miriam followed Alberto’s gaze and glanced down. A large stain marked her white top. Her face fell.
‘Oh,’ she said in exasperation, ‘can you believe it? This was clean this morning. I’m always doing this.’
Alberto’s eyes darted between the stain and Miriam’s perturbed face. As she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the oil, he watched her face. Then he looked at the stain again.
‘Mimi?’ he said quietly.
Miriam stopped dabbing and turned to him.
‘Mimi,’ said Alberto with more conviction.
Miriam nodded slowly at him.
Alberto stood up and stepped round the table towards her. Miriam stood to face him.
‘Mimi,’ said Alberto hoarsely, ‘my friend.’
Smiling through her tears, Mimi nodded again at Alberto. The old man stood uncomfortably in front of her, before Mimi pulled him to her and they hugged.
The little boy grinned and gave Vito a hug.
Mimi watched the boy climbing up the stone terrace to where Vito waited for him. She tutted and shook her head. ‘Poor child,’ she said.
Alberto had just told her about Juan Carlos’s accident and the boy’s reaction to his father’s situation. The child had slept well and without nightmares both nights they had been away.
‘You must phone your daughter as soon as we get home,’ said Mimi firmly.
Together, Alberto and Mimi strolled along the terraces that led from the back of her house. Gnarled olive trees were spaced evenly along the wide terrace, and their feet sank gently into the soft crust of brown earth.
Tino and the dog scampered up and down the ancient walls. Above them, the hill rose, the terraces petering out to bushes and craggy boulders. The sun was starting to lose its strength, and a gentle breeze swept over them.
Mimi had suggested a walk before dinner. At her insistence, Alberto had agreed they would stay the night. She had a big house, and now that her husband was no longer alive and the children had left, she had more than enough space for them both.
As they walked, they talked of their lives since the war. Alberto avoided talk of their childhood. It felt as if the recognition of Mimi, the little girl who was his best friend as a child, had opened the door a crack. He worried that with a push, the door would fly open and the torrent of memories that flooded out would sink him. For now, he wanted to keep the surge at bay.
Instead, he learnt that Mimi had been lucky enough to go to college and study business. She had hoped Néstor would let her help run Quintero’s after their father died. She had ideas to grow and modernize the business. But her brother had refused, saying there was no need for change – they would carry on as always. He agreed with Franco that a woman’s place was in the home, not at work. Mimi had argued that their father had always been progressive, but Néstor had left all the business affairs to his foreman. Mimi had known the foreman and considered him lazy with little passion for the business.
It was with great difficulty, Mimi told Alberto, that she had walked away from Quintero’s. She took a job in a leather shoe company that made workmen’s boots. It was hard and she’d had to fight for her independence at a time when the government had been against women in the workplace. But she gained the respect of the bosses and they had given her greater responsibility. After years of persuasion, she eventually convinced them to develop fashion shoes. She found a young designer, and thanks to her shrewd business instinct and Franco’s plan to make Spain a modern economy, the shoe company had grown to become the best known in the area.
It was during this time she met her husband. He was an accountant: safe and reliable but with a sharp wit and a big laugh. After the marriage, she continued to work at the shoe company but just one or two days a week. However, when she had her third child, she decided that running the family kept her busy enough.
She had brought up three boys, all of whom had gone to university, and one, she proudly admitted, had become a politician. Her husband had died young, in his fifties. She had never considered remarrying; instead, she put her energy into her garden and her family.
‘I am content, Alberto,’ she said. ‘I have had a wonderful life – and I’m enjoying my older years. And now your arrival – well, I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful surprise.’
‘And I am glad to have found you,’ replied Alberto.
As Mimi fried green peppers in the kitchen, Alberto and his grandson called Rosa. She said that Juan Carlos’s recovery had been remarkable.
The doctors had warned both Juan Carlos and Rosa that the healing process would be long and painful, but the prognosis was excellent.
Alberto could hear the relief in his daughter’s voice. She said her sister, Cristina, would be leaving the next day, and her mother-in-law was spending less time at the hospital. She joked that Juan Carlos had pleaded for his mother to watch her beloved soap operas at home rather than in his hospital room.
The boy was excited to hear about his father’s progress and asked several questions. Then he filled her in on everything he and his grandfather had learnt and talked to his mother at length about Vito and asked if they could get a dog. His mother replied that when things calmed down, they would talk about it. The boy raced off to tell Mimi, Vito bouncing after him, barking.
‘Do you know what you have done?’ asked the old man, smiling down the phone.
‘Oh, Papá, all this has made me realize there’s more to life than worrying about dog hairs. Of course, we’ll have to wait until Juan Carlos is well enough.’
‘Boys and dogs are a good match,’ said Alberto.
‘And how about you? It sounds as if you are having quite an adventure! How does it feel to uncover your history?’
‘It’s unsettling,’ he admitted.
He was going to go on, but Rosa interrupted, ‘Papá?’
‘Yes?’
‘When will you be coming home?’
Alberto could hear Rosa’s ache for her son in her voice. Alberto sighed silently. Mimi had invited them to stay for a few days.
She and Alberto could catch up properly, and the boy and Vito would enjoy each other’s company. He had said it would depend on his daughter. Now, listening to her voice, he knew they had to go back.
‘Tomorrow, Rosa. We’ll come home tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Papá, don’t come if you’re still searching. I wouldn’t want you to cut your trip short.’
‘No, no. I’ve found everything here at Mimi’s,’ said Alberto softly.
Mimi placed the steaming tortilla on the kitchen table. It was thick and golden with flecks of green pepper running through it. Tino took a deep breath, taking in the rich smell of the eggy potato pie.
She handed Alberto a bottle of wine, which he opened, the cork releasing from the neck with a satisfying sound.
While he poured the wine, Mimi served the boy, who sat, distracted by Vito.
‘Vito,’ said Mimi in a reproving tone.
The dog turned his large dark eyes to his mistress, but after one look at her determined face, got up and trotted, defeated, to his bed in the corner of the room.
‘Eat your dinner,’ said the old man to the boy.
‘One moment, Alberto,’ said Mimi firmly. She finished serving herself and sat down. Closing her eyes and clasping her hands together, she dropped her head. The boy squeezed his eyes tight shut, and Alberto lowered his head.
As Mimi said a short grace, even Vito stopped noisily licking himself and lay still. When she had finished, she nodded at the boy, who hungrily tucked into his meal.
Alberto and Mimi sipped the wine. ‘It’s a Quintero,’ said Mimi.
‘I saw,’ said Alberto.
‘It’s from one of our best years, not long before my father died. I have a collection of wines that the vineyard gave me.’
‘Yes, the new owner told me. That was how we found you.’
‘My father always talked so passionately about the wine. He loved every part of the process, and I believe his heart is in every glass.’
Alberto took another sip and nodded. It was very good.
‘So your son-in-law is improving?’ asked Mimi.