13 Rain
In Andalucía, winter is the wet season. Farmers relax, no longer needing to water their thirsty olive, almond and citrus trees. So when it began to rain heavily that December, nobody was surprised. But that year, it started well before Christmas and didn’t stop. The sky turned black and poured torrents down to earth, hour after hour, day after day. It rained so hard that decades-dry river beds transformed into raging rapids. Rain bounced off the corrugated asbestos roofs, producing a drumming sound that continued indefinitely. Gutters poured into streets below, creating fast-flowing streams coursing past people’s front doors. Even the builders working on The Monstrosity gave up, laid down their tools and went home.
But the wet weather didn’t dampen the Ufarte twins’ excitement about the coming Christmas celebrations, even though Christmas was a couple of weeks away. One day, when the rain had temporarily eased, we had a visit from two identical fluffy pink bunnies. They sat in our kitchen, paws wrapped around mugs of hot chocolate.
The Nativity by Twin #2
“We are going to be in the Christmas Procession!” said Pink Bunny #1, dark eyes huge over her mug of chocolate.
“Our abuela is making our costumes now!” said Bunny #2, her long ears flopping in excitement.
“How lovely!” I said. “What are you going to dress up as?”
The bunnies looked at each other conspiratorially, then, “It’s a secret!” they chorused.
“And are your brothers going to be in the Procession too?” asked Joe, amused.
“Oh yes,” said Pink Bunny #1.
“Everybody is going to be in it. The priest will be in the front, then everybody behind,” explained Pink Bunny #2.
“Except our abuela,” said Pink Bunny #1.
“But she’ll be watching,” said Pink Bunny #2.
“Our brothers are going to be shepherds...”
“...with real sheep!”
This was clearly a Christmas Procession not to be missed. I tried to imagine a flock of sheep processing with the villagers on Christmas Eve. I hoped it wouldn’t rain on their parade.
“You can be in the Procession if you like,” said Pink Bunny #1 generously.
“Well, perhaps we’ll just watch,” I said, “like your abuela. But we’ll make very sure we don’t miss it.” I spoke the truth. “Now, tell me, have you decorated your house ready for Christmas?”
“Oh yes! Come and see our Belén!” the pink bunnies squealed. “It’s beautiful!”
Christmas was celebrated very differently in Spain. It was certainly not the huge commercial event that we saw in the UK, where Christmas decorations appeared as soon as Halloween was over, if not before. Decorations in the Spanish home consisted mainly of a Belén, or miniature nativity scene. These tiny, intricate displays were carefully constructed and depicted the baby Jesus surrounded by Mary, Joseph, shepherds and cattle.
“Well, we’d like to,” I said, looking down at the excited upturned bunny faces. “But we don’t want to disturb your family.”
“Papa has gone down the mountain,” said Pink Bunny #1.
“And Mama is taking a siesta with Sergio,” said Pink Bunny #2.
“And your other brothers?”
“Jorge and Carlos are playing soccer somewhere,” said Pink Bunny #2 rolling her eyes.
“And where is Fifi?” asked Joe casually.
“Fifi is in the bedroom with Mama and Sergio. Will you come and see our Belén? Pleeease?”
“Of course we will, we’d love to see it,” I answered.
The little pink rabbits hopped off their chairs and dragged us by the hands down the street to their house. I looked up at the sky, willing those black rain clouds to go away and leave our village alone.
In the Ufarte cottage, the kitchen and living room were one room. Now it was empty, apart from Granny Ufarte snoring in her chair beside the fire. Her mouth had fallen open, revealing pink, toothless gums. On her knees was a heap of sewing; yards of shiny white fabric and pieces of tinsel that twinkled in the firelight. It didn’t take the Brain of Spain to guess that the Ufarte twins would be dressing up as angels for the forthcoming Christmas procession.
The Belén was charming, as we knew it would be. The Ufartes had sprinkled sand into a tray and set up a tiny cardboard stable surrounded by a fence made of twigs. There was a Mary, a Joseph, a tiny baby Jesus asleep in a thimble, three kings, some shepherds with cotton-ball sheep and an angel. Little plastic townsfolk stood in a cluster. Tethered to the twig fence were a couple of donkeys, a camel, two cows and a dinosaur.
“Carlos put that there,” said Pink Bunny #1 crossly, wrinkling her nose in disgust, pointing an accusing finger at the dinosaur.
“And Jorge put him there,” pouted Pink Bunny #2, pointing at one little figure. I leaned over to inspect the townsfolk more closely. Amongst them stood a little plastic soccer player in full Barcelona colours.
“We don’t like them at all - but Papa said we should leave them.”
“Well, we think your Belén is beautiful,” said Joe, smiling.
At the sound of Joe’s voice, there was a low growl from behind the closed bedroom door, followed by sharp, furious barks.
“Time to go, I think,” said Joe uneasily as claws scrabbled frantically at the door.
I looked out of the Ufarte’s window. “It’s starting to rain again,” I sighed. “Better get home before it gets too bad.” I looked back at Joe, but he’d already wisely slipped away, avoiding a confrontation with Fifi. I said goodbye to the twins and followed him out, leaving Fifi to hurl herself at the bedroom door.
I ran into the house as the rain began to pelt down. “Joe! Batten down the hatches, we’re in for another really wet night, I think.”
It rained all that night, and the next day, and the next. It rained so hard that Joe and I made a worrying discovery.
I noticed it first. A small but determined trickle of water meandering down our dining-room wall. Our roof leaked.
“Well, it’s not too bad,” I said. “We can easily mop that up.”
But it got worse. Much worse. The trickle turned into a stream, which turned into a minor river that developed tributaries. More leaks appeared in different places in the ceiling. Water dripped and plopped all around us and was collecting in large puddles on the floor. There was nothing we could do except move the furniture aside and keep mopping.
Catching the drips
And still it rained. We set out pots, pans and buckets to catch the water, and still it rained. We mopped and laid out every towel we owned, and still it rained. The sky was black with no breaks and the raindrops hammered down. I couldn’t help silently scolding Spike Milligan. One of his Silly Verse for Kids runs like this:
‘There are holes in the sky.
Where the rain gets in.
But they're ever so small.
That's why rain is thin.’
Rain is thin? No. Absolutely not. Our raindrops were huge fat affairs that splatted and soaked as they landed.
“If this rain doesn’t stop, I’m seriously going to have to think about building an ark,” said Joe, gloomily scratching himself down below.
“It could be worse. Imagine what it must be like in the Ufarte household. All those kids cooped up inside - the boys not able to go out and play football. The twins underfoot all the time.”
Joe nodded. “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll all go back down the mountain to their town house. I’m sure they’ll leave tomorrow. The forecast is rain for the foreseeable future.”
But the Ufartes stayed put. We didn’t see them because it was too wet to venture outside, but I knew they were there. From our window I could just make out the smoke curling from the Ufarte chimney.
Apart from the constant mopping up, the rain affected not only our mood, but also our British television reception. We had a huge dish on our roof to receive satellite TV but when it rained heavily, the picture fragmented, then dissolved. We could still watch Spanish TV channels, but that didn’t cheer us up either. Especially when they showed the drawing of the Christmas lottery. Joe flicked from channel to channel but the drawing of El Gordo seemed the only option. We hadn’t bought tickets and were not interested, so found other things to divert ourselves instead.
I noticed that Joe didn’t always concentrate on the book he was reading, sometimes he withdrew into that private world of his, the one he wouldn’t share with me.
“Joe, what’s worrying you?”
“Wretched rain! No TV!”
“No, it’s not that, and you know it. Why won’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just being stupid. It isn’t even worth talking about.” And that was all he would say.
Paco came up from the city and Joe grimly told him about our leaky roof. Paco shrugged and showed no sympathy at all.
“Pah!” Paco said, slapping the wall with his hand. “All Spanish roofs leak!”
They do? We didn’t know that.
“I have come to check my house, but I am not staying, it is too wet. All the family will come back on Christmas Eve, of course, but we will not stay in the village now, not in this rain.”
Apart from the Ufartes, it looked as though the village would remain empty until Christmas Eve. Joe’s mood did not improve.
“I’m tired and I’m fed up,” he said. “There’s nothing on the TV and this rain is never going to stop. I’m sick of staying inside. I wish something would happen, but I know it’s just going to be another day of rain-bloody-rain tomorrow. I’m going to bed.” And he stamped off, leaving me to check the water leaks, lock up, turn the lights off and follow him. I wondered whether it was really just the weather depressing Joe, or something more serious.
At three o’clock in the morning, we woke in a fright. Somebody was pounding on our front door, ringing the doorbell and shouting, all at the same time. I knew it was three o’clock because I squinted at the bedside clock, and I knew it was still raining because I could hear it hammering on the roof.
“What the...?”
“Who on earth is that?”
“I’d better go and see. It sounds like Juan Ufarte.” Joe threw back the covers and staggered out of bed. He pulled on some clothes and made his way to the front door. The wet weather had made the wooden door swell and I heard him wrench it open. I heard brief words exchanged, then Joe returned.
“It’s Papa Ufarte, the baby is on its way. Maribel has gone into labour and they need to go down the mountain straight away. They want me to go round and watch the children.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No need. Doesn’t need two of us - the kids’ll be asleep anyway. Granny will wake up in the morning and she can take over then.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
I heard the front door slam behind him and remember thinking, Well, Joe, you wanted something to happen. Be careful what you wish for... Then, Oh dear, what about Fifi? before I fell asleep again.