3 An Expedition
I thrust the toddler at Joe. Startled, Joe took him. Snap-On’s gripping instincts kicked in, and, like a spider monkey, he curled his fat little legs and arms around Joe. The fairies were not concerned, and continued with their baking session on the floor.
I hurried into the garden, very aware of the devastation the Ufarte boys’ football had already caused. I averted my eyes from the ruined geraniums with their scarlet petals littering the patio like confetti. I didn’t allow myself to focus on the flattened shrubs, some with limbs snapped at crazy angles like broken arms. I was searching for the boys.
And then I saw them. They stood with their backs to me, side by side, Jorge’s arm around his little brother’s shoulders. Both were staring into the chicken coop with huge interest. Ah, I thought. They’re fascinated by the chickens! How sweet! I smiled fondly and tiptoed up behind them, not wanting to disturb their rapt concentration.
“They will come out any second, Carlos! Are you ready? Do it like I showed you!” Jorge was speaking in a stage whisper.
On cue, Atilla the Hen, always the leader of the pack, strutted out from behind the hen-house wall, closely followed by Regalo, Ginger and ’Ello Vera.
“Uno, dos, NOW!” hissed Jorge, fairly dancing with excitement.
Scrap obeyed. A powerful stream of water shot out, soaking the unsuspecting hens. “BAWKKKK!” The chickens squawked with indignation, and, dripping and flapping, hurtled back behind the hen-house wall, out of sight and out of range.
The hose! I hadn’t noticed the hose which I’d foolishly left lying around, complete with its irresistible gun and trigger. I’d left it on the ‘Sprinkle’ setting to water my precious plants, but of course the little baboons had twisted the nozzle to ‘Jet’.
“No!” I said firmly, making the boys jump and interrupting their glee. “No! That’s not nice! You are NOT allowed to shoot the chickens!”
Jorge had the grace to look a little guilty. He picked up the football and bounced it self-consciously, avoiding my eyes. Scrap, however, was not going to relinquish his weapon without a fight.
“Give me the hose,” I said, holding out my hand.
“No!” said Scrap round his dummy, his face a mask of determination.
“Well, then I’ll have to take it from you.”
“No!”
Scrap aimed a kick at my ankle, which connected accurately and painfully. Hopping, I tried to pry the gun out of the infant’s surprisingly vice-like grip. But that was my mistake. I prefer to think Scrap didn’t aim at me purposely, but in the effort to hang onto the gun, he pulled it into his chest with both hands, and squeezed the trigger. The jet of water that shot out absolutely drenched me.
Jorge stopped bouncing the football and gaped as I wrestled the gun off his little brother. I won, of course, but at a cost. I was soaked to the skin while Scrap remained bone dry.
Seething, I wound up the hose and locked it in the workshop. I left the boys to destroy what was left of my beloved flowers and dripped my way back indoors.
The kitchen was a scene of calm domesticity. The fairies were serving Joe and Snap-On with imaginary cake and invisible hot chocolate.
Joe looked up. “Good gracious!” he said. “I didn’t realise it was raining.”
I gave him one of my Looks. “Right,” I said, stepping over bowls and saucepans and drying myself with a hand-towel. “Give me Snap-On and I’ll look after the twins. You take those two urchins to the square to kick their football around. And don’t come back until they’re exhausted.”
“But it’s raining...”
“It is not raining.”
Joe stared at me for a second. His eyebrows may have flicked in surprise, but he had the good sense not to ask questions or argue.
“Soccer in the square? Right! Sounds good.”
I reclaimed Snap-On and Joe departed with the two boys. I was beginning to calm down. I adjusted Snap-On on my damp hip and looked down at the playing girls. This was going to be a good deal easier than entertaining their brothers.
“That’s a lovely game you’re playing,” I said.
Simultaneously, both fairies pushed the kitchen paraphernalia away and got to their feet.
“We don’t want to play Cooking anymore,” said Fairy #1.
“Because it’s no fun without Tío Joe,” said Fairy #2.
“Tío Joe talks funny...”
“But we still understand him.”
“And he’s very good at playing Cooking.”
“And he tastes everything.”
So! Uncle Joe had scored a hit with the fairies? I tried not to feel resentful. There he was playing gentle games with the little girls while I’d been outside, wrestling with the devil’s spawn, and getting soaked for my efforts. I gently drew Snap-On’s finger out of my left nostril and wracked my brains, trying to think of an amazing game that would both entertain the fairies and raise my own status.
“Let’s go on a Nature Walk,” I said, sounding more enthusiastic than I felt.
“Where?” Fairy #1 narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Oh, out in the garden... Maybe round the village?”
“What will we see?” asked Fairy #2.
I had no idea. “Oh, that’s part of the adventure!” I said. “We could see anything!”
“Sabre-toothed tigers?”
“Um, probably not...” The scathing look the fairies aimed at me told me I was probably going to be a huge disappointment to them, not a patch on Uncle Joe.
“Tío Joe said there are sabre-toothed tigers in the woods behind the cemetery,” challenged Fairy #1.
“He did?’ I narrowed my eyes. Uncle Joe is going to pay for that!
“Can we take some nets and traps and things?”
“And some meat, just in case we see a sabre-toothed tiger?”
“Excellent idea,” I said warmly. With my spare hand, I opened the fridge and took out the steak I was going to grill for Joe’s dinner. The fairies brightened and started looking for other essential Nature Walk equipment. Together, we rummaged in the workshop to see what we could find. The result was:
A tennis racquet (for catching flying creatures)
Bucket and spade (for digging out underground creatures)
An old walking stick (in case we needed to rescue a lost lamb)
A long piece of string (to lead the tiger home)
A jam jar (for any other creatures)
Armed with Joe’s steak (in case we encountered a sabre-toothed tiger), the expedition was ready.
“Tía Veeky, can Fifi come with us?” asked Fairy #1, gazing up at me with dark, soulful eyes.
“Fifi likes Nature Walks,” said Fairy #2.
“Er, where is Fifi?” I asked.
“Fifi is outside, with our abuela.”
“Oh! I didn’t see her. Well, why not? Yes, Fifi can come.”
The fairies skipped ahead of me, out of the front door, and into the street. I hurried behind as best as I could, laden with Snap-On and most of the Nature Walk equipment. I was very much looking forward to meeting Fifi. Perhaps she would help me carry some of the stuff.
“Fifi! Fifi! ¡Vamos! We’re going for a Nature Walk to see sabre-toothed tigers!” The fairies were very excited, their pink shoes barely touching the dusty street as they ran to Granny Ufarte amidst the heap of furniture.
Granny Ufarte slumbered on in her armchair, mouth working, head lolled to one side, oblivious to the world. But the mound of untidy grey wool on her lap suddenly wriggled and sat up.
So this was Fifi! A tiny Yorkshire terrier, teacup size, I believe they’re called. She jumped off Granny Ufarte’s lap, shook herself in a blur of silver and danced after the fairies who were already heading for the woods behind the cemetery.
Fifi
I once watched a Spanish television show where people in the street were asked which month of the year was their favourite. Most agreed, April, and I wouldn’t argue. The sun is warm, but not fierce, and the mountainsides are lush with new grass and wild flowers. As though an artist has flicked paint randomly over the landscape, splashes of crazy colour dot the hillsides. The wild figs unfurl tender leaves, and the olive trees stand knee deep in poppies, providing a stage for every bird to sing for a mate.
April is when the sneaky cuckoo arrives in the valley. The first carpenter bees appear, blundering blindly, noisy as little jet engines as they search for a home. The first swallows arrive from Africa, performing aerobatics against a vivid blue sky. At twilight, foxes and ibex call, their unearthly cries echoing around the valley.
But today I didn’t appreciate the beautiful April day. I was far too intent upon catching up with the Ufarte fairies and Fifi, already far ahead.
“I wish you would walk,” I said crossly to Snap-On who seemed to get heavier every second. Balancing him, the bucket and spade, the tennis racquet and the walking stick wasn’t easy. I glanced across at the little patch of cultivated land where Uncle Felix grew neat lines of baby lettuce. The new green leaves contrasted vividly against the freshly watered black soil.
The fairies’ footfalls on the street ahead suddenly softened as the ground beneath their feet changed from hard road to old pine needles. I followed them into the wood.
Exchanging the bright sunlight for the soft dappled shade of the pine trees, I sat down on a fallen log. I inhaled a deep breath of the scented air and little Snap-On aped me, drawing in a big breath and letting it out with an exaggerated sigh. I noticed the needles at the tip of each branch were lime green with new growth.
“Tía Veeky, we can’t find any Nature!” called a fairy.
“We’ve looked everywhere, there’s no Nature anywhere!”
“Well, keep looking! I’ve got the meat ready here in case you see the sabre-toothed tiger.” I was enjoying the rest too much to follow them farther into the wood. They would be perfectly safe. There were few people in the village, and El Hoyo was the safest place we’d ever lived in.
All too soon, the fairies were weary of tramping through the wood and reappeared, looking bedraggled, leaves and twigs caught in their clothes and wings. I noticed one fairy had torn a hole in her pink tights. Fifi bounded out of a bush and sat panting at my feet, her pink tongue quivering. I scratched her behind the ears, and she rolled onto her back hoping for a tummy tickle.
“Fifi likes you,” said Fairy #1.
“And she doesn’t like everyone...” said Fairy #2. A tiny alarm bell rang in my head, but why should a comment like that sound like a warning?
“Anyway, we couldn’t find the sabre-toothed tiger,” went on Fairy #1. “And we looked everywhere!”
“This wood hasn’t got any Nature in it,” announced Fairy #2, hands on her hips.
“You said we’d find lots of Nature!” said Fairy #1.
“Now, come on, this wood is full of wonderful things,” I said, putting on my teacher hat. “You just have to know where to look.” I stood up and pointed at a pine branch. “It’s spring! Look how green the pine needles are. And all the new buds are opening on this bush.” I twisted the branch down. Snap-On seized it and stuffed it into his mouth.
I removed it and tried again. “Listen to the birds singing! They’ll be making their nests and laying eggs now.”
The fairies looked unimpressed.
“What about the sabre-toothed tiger?” accused Fairy #1.
“What about the sabre-toothed tiger?” echoed Fairy #2, sticking her magic wand into a hole in the fallen log.
“Well, I suppose he must have gone out for the day,” I answered, and gave up.
Suddenly, one of the fairies squealed, startling Fifi who jumped to her feet.
“Oh! Oh! Look what I have found!”
“Oh!” sighed Fairy #2 (or was it Fairy #1?) her hands clasped under her chin in rapture.
There was a bush sprouting out from under the log I was sitting on. Creeping across one of the leaves, almost the same colour as the leaf itself, was a caterpillar. It looked suspiciously like a cabbage-white, the kind I declared war on back in England.
“Oh! I found some Nature!” sighed Fairy #1.
“Clever girl,” I said. “Now, that is the best caterpillar I’ve ever seen!”
“Is it? Better than all the caterpillars you have ever seen?”
“Much better!”
“We will keep him,” she said. “His name will be Francisco.”
So we picked some leaves and stuffed them into the jam jar, and gently placed Francisco in, too. Then we collected all our equipment and wandered out of the wood. Fifi scampered behind, stopping to snuffle at every rock and tree.
“I do not think Mama will like Francisco,” said Fairy #1 sadly.
“Mama does not like things with many legs,” agreed Fairy #2.
“We’ll worry about that later,” I said. “Come on, let’s see what Tío Joe and your brothers are doing...”