33 Epilogue
Time was short, and like robots, we worked through my lists.
Dig out suitcases. Not only did they need digging out, but they needed serious dusting down and airing.
Find decent working clothes. Many of our old clothes didn’t fit anymore or had been attacked by moths, or were just plain inappropriate. Research told me that as Bahrain was a Muslim country, I’d have to wear sleeves at all times, and long skirts or trousers. Joe’s old suits no longer fitted him as his waistline had definitely expanded during our years in Spain. However, Daryna reassured us that tailor-made clothes in Bahrain were inexpensive and plentiful.
Dig out teaching resources. I found a box of lesson plans and resources, but they were yellowed with age and smelled musty. I decided to take the barest minimum, and Joe selected only a book on Calculus for packing.
Find out more about the syllabuses we’ll be teaching. Not easy. Not even Daryna seemed to know. We had no idea how well the students spoke English, or what the standard of education was like. Time would tell.
Find out more about Bahrain. That didn’t take long. The island was tiny, and its main tourist attractions seemed to be the many glitzy shopping malls, and the Tree of Life, an ancient tree that grew miraculously in the desert, quite alone. How it found enough water to survive was a mystery. Joe made a point of reminding me about the Formula 1 racing track yet again.
I also checked the political situation and was relieved to read that Bahrain was an extremely peaceful country, ruled by a King. There was other good news. Although fiercely Muslim, Bahrain was well known for its tolerance. Unlike its close neighbour, Saudi Arabia, women were permitted to drive cars, and even alcohol was freely available for non-Muslims and visitors.
Get haircuts. Joe’s was easy. By now I was an expert with the hair clippers. I treated myself to an appointment at a swanky salon in the city. I couldn’t face Juanita and her fearsome assistant Olga, and I didn’t want to arrive in Bahrain with raven-black caterpillar eyebrows.
Buy travelling crate for Chox and get his paperwork done. Alas, no longer necessary. Sadly, I crossed that one off the list. I spent as much time with him as I could, treasuring each moment, knowing that soon I would only have photographs and memories to remind me of him.
Take cats to pick-up point for journey to Germany. Sandra Marshall from Alstrays had understood the situation immediately and was convinced that finding a home for Chox would not be difficult. He would travel with his mother and sisters to new homes in Germany. The meeting point was to be a Repsol petrol station, at 10.30 in the morning.
I buried my face in Chox’s warm fur, knowing that our time together was over. Some other lucky person would play with him in the future. Other hands would stroke his fur and scratch behind his ears. After this morning, I would never see my beautiful, gentle Choccy-Paws again. The pain in my heart was indescribable.
We successfully lured all the cats into their travelling crates with slices of ham, and firmly secured the boxes. The hand-over at the Repsol garage was swift, intentionally so. Even Joe was abnormally quiet. We turned our backs and drove away leaving our little cat family behind.
Claim the prize for our scratch-card because Spain won the World Cup. We queued at the Carrefour Customer Care counter, winning scratch-card in hand.
“Good morning. We’ve come to claim our prize because Spain won the World Cup,” I said.
“Good morning. May I see the card?”
“We’ve never won anything on a scratch-card before. I think 130 euros is a lovely prize!” Joe handed it to the assistant, smiling. The lady examined the card and turned it over.
“I am sorry,” she said, “But I am afraid you have won nothing.”
“We haven’t? Why not?”
“If you read the small print here, and here, you will see that this is not a winning ticket.” She stabbed at the offending print with a long red fingernail.
Joe snatched the scratch-card back and we both stared at it. The print was too small and too Spanish for us to understand.
“Oh, well,” Joe said at last. “That’s that then.” He tore up the card into little pieces and left it on the counter.
Ask Paco to look after chickens. Joe and I went next door to break the news and ask the favour.
“You are leaving El Hoyo?” Carmen-Bethina repeated.
“You are going where?” asked Paco, gaping at us.
“The Kingdom of Bahrain, in the Middle East.”
“But why?”
“They pay well, and it’s just for one year.”
“¡Madre mía!” said Carmen-Bethina, both hands up to her face, eyes round with astonishment.
“The school will give us an apartment, and pay for our flights, and medical care. And there are no taxes. We’ll be able to save some money.”
“No taxis?”
“Not taxis, no taxes.”
“But the Middle East is a dangerous place!”
“Oh no, not the Kingdom of Bahrain. Bahrain is very peaceful and safe. They never have any trouble there.” Famous last words.
“¡Madre mía! A whole year!”
“So, would you mind looking after the chickens for us? They still lay eggs occasionally.”
“No problem at all. Do not worry about them, and Uncle Felix and I will look after your grapevine.”
“The grapes this year are fantastic, thanks to you. But we won’t be tasting any. They’re not quite ripe and we’ll be gone before they’re ready to eat,” I said.
“Never mind,” said Carmen-Bethina, putting her arm round my shoulder. “The year will go fast. You will taste next year’s grapes.”
Buy enough chicken grain for a year. Joe left me packing and drove off to collect three huge sacks of grain, more than enough for six elderly chickens for a year. Another job ticked off.
Tell our kids, Gin Twins and other friends. Our kids took the news well, accustomed to our globe-trotting adventures. The Gin Twins were surprised. They had already booked flights for their October trip to El Hoyo. We wouldn’t be there, but they decided they’d still come, collecting the keys from Paco when they arrived.
The news spread round the village like influenza, “Have you heard? The English are going to Arabia!” and we were questioned daily.
“What is Arabic food like?” asked Mama Ufarte.
“Will you have to wear a headdress?” asked Lola Ufarte.
“Why do you have to go away?” asked Twin #1.
“Will you come back one day?” said Twin #2.
“Shall I keep all your post for you?” asked Marcia.
“Do they have soccer teams out there?” asked Geronimo.
Make house secure for winter. With the memory of the persistent rains of last winter still fresh in our minds, Joe packed sandbags against our doors. We checked all the windows and locks.
Daryna, the principal of the High School, had been emailing me daily from Bahrain, and her letters were a fascinating glimpse of the life we were about to lead.
Dear Vicky,
You will like Manama - it is spotless and a real desert which is sort of beautiful. Get ready for a sauna though - when you walk out it curls your hair and steams the creases out of your clothes. The sheer aridity of the land, the steaminess of the air and the intensity of the heat make the need for air conditioning an absolute necessity. 15 minutes outside and the body is waning.
Food seems to be quite inexpensive but other things are like Europe - pricey.
I am being told again and again the kids in this school are hard to motivate and lazy - what can we do to light a fire? Your little darlings in the Middle School probably haven't been corrupted yet by the lassitude. It's so much easier to motivate the little ones - stickers, candies, games all work. The older ones want ...... I don't know what. So we have our work cut out for us.
How many more sleeps? Tonight, and tomorrow - and hasta la vista baby!
D.
Suddenly, it was the night before we were leaving, and Joe and I took a drink up to the roof terrace to watch the sun going down behind the mountains. Gradually the sky tinged pink, salmon and coral, a fantasy backdrop for the countless diving swallows. The mountain tops were lit with fiery hues and the distant sea sparkled with orange embers. Then the sun slipped away, and the swallows disappeared to be replaced by flitting bats.
The Ufartes were out in force, swirling, hand-clapping and dancing to Papa Ufarte’s guitar. I saw the twins scampering up the street, Fifi leading the way. Their brothers were absent, probably playing football in the square, but Granny Ufarte was dozing in her customary chair.
When the mosquitos started to bite in earnest, we slipped back indoors. Neither of us had said a word, too lost in our own thoughts.
At 5 o’clock the next morning, Paco’s fist thumped on our front door.
“English! Are you ready? Time to go to the airport!”
We loaded Paco’s Range Rover with our luggage. Carmen-Bethina stood in the street in her bathrobe, curlers in her hair. Bianca wagged her tail and trotted off to sniff lamp-posts.
“Don’t worry about anything,” said Carmen-Bethina, as we hugged goodbye. “The year will fly past and you will soon be back home in El Hoyo. Oh, and have you heard? That no-good Lola Ufarte has run away with one of the workers from The Monstrosity!”
“No! Really? With Nicolas the crane operator, I suppose?”
“No, it was that nice foreman. I heard he left his tools, said nothing to anybody, and just took off!”
“Good heavens!” I said. “Well, I didn’t expect that!”
“And still our Sofía has no husband,” mourned Carmen-Bethina.
“Hey, Sofía may be married by the time we get back!”
“Pah!” said Paco, slamming his fist down hard on the bonnet of the Range Rover. “That would be a miracle! Now we must go, or you will miss the plane!”
It was the 21st August 2010. The Arab Spring, a violent, revolutionary wave of protests and uprisings, was poised to erupt and sweep across the Arab world. Bahrain was destined to make world news headlines and we two old fools were heading right smack-bang into the middle of it.
The story continues in the next book, ‘Two Old Fools on a Camel’.