6 The Monstrosity

Mackerel Fillets in Garlic and Paprika

 

The cats and wildlife were not the only nest-builders. The Ufarte family next door had begun renovations, and the drilling, mixing and hammering became a constant background noise as they refurbished their little house. Unlike the other villagers who usually came to El Hoyo just for weekends, the Ufarte family arrived randomly, stayed a few days, then vanished again. And they rarely came alone. If the Ufarte minibus drew up, it was usually tailed by several other cars filled with friends, family members, tool boxes, cement mixers and tile cutters.

And the Ufarte noise didn’t cease at nightfall. As bats swooped overhead, Papa Ufarte, seated on their doorstep, dreamily strummed his guitar. Sometimes the visitors brought guitars, too, and washed our street with sultry Spanish music and applause. Mama Ufarte would rise to her feet and sway her hips, carried away by the rhythm of the music. If Lola was there, they’d dance side by side. Tossing back their black hair, they entered a kind of trance, feet tapping, hands clapping, bodies sinuous and graceful. Friends and relations joined in, until the street was a mass of whirling, clapping and foot-tapping Flamenco.

Sometimes Geronimo joined the party, but I never saw him dance. He would remain seated, staring longingly at Lola, hooded eyes following her every move, one finger lightly stroking the side of his beer bottle.

In the bungalow on the plot of land behind our house, the newlyweds, Federico and Roberto, were also nest-building. The year before, their plot of land had been our orchard, but, reluctantly, we’d had two bungalows built on it. One of these was purchased by Federico and Roberto: The Boys. They moved in, but before long, we saw architects with clip-boards taking measurements. Soon after, a gang of Romanian workmen arrived and The Boys’ bungalow began to grow upwards. In weeks it gained another level and finally a roof terrace. It was a bungalow no more.

One Saturday, we were sitting in Paco and Carmen-Bethina’s little kitchen. We’d been invited to sample Paco’s latest batch of home-made wine, which, as every year, Paco insisted was unquestionably the best batch yet. Joe complimented Paco on its clarity and fruitiness, then launched into his favourite topic of the moment.

“Building, building!” said Joe. “If it’s not the Ufartes on one side of us, then it’s The Boys on the other.”

“Oh, you do not like the noise?” asked Carmen-Bethina sympathetically.

“It’s not the noise that bothers me, it’s their new roof terrace,” growled Joe, forgetting his manners and irritably scratching himself down below. “Federico and Roberto can see right down into our garden now. We’ve lost all our privacy.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You know the Spanish aren’t like us crazy English - they don’t sit out in the sun. I bet they’ll hardly ever use their roof terrace, especially as they’re building a swimming pool in their garden. And the grapevine gives us a lot of privacy in the summer.”

Carmen-Bethina nodded.

“Pah!” shouted Paco, thumping the table with his clenched fist and making me jump. “Never mind Federico and Roberto and their roof terrace! What about the new apartments?”

“¡Claro!” said Carmen-Bethina. “Yes, what about the new apartments!”

“What new apartments?” we asked.

Paco leaned forward. “You know the olive grove below? Near the dry river bed? Well! The Mayor may give permission for a block of apartments to be built!” Paco leaned back in his chair, enjoying our reaction. “The building will be four floors high, 27 apartments!”

Joe and I gaped.

“An apartment block? Here in the village? What is the Mayor thinking of?” Joe asked. “That wouldn’t fit in with the village at all!”

“It will be a monstrosity!” Paco slammed the bottle down hard on the table, making the red wine slosh in our glasses.

“¡Claro! Una monstruosidad.” All Carmen-Bethina’s chins wobbled in agreement.

“You mark my words,” said Paco darkly. “The Mayor will soon have a fine new house built for himself...” He refilled our glasses as we thought about that. We’d heard rumours of village Mayors receiving favours in exchange for building permits. Was that really happening in El Hoyo?

“I don’t think it will really happen,” I said. “Who is going to buy an apartment in El Hoyo? The village doesn’t even have a proper bar or shop.”

“Well, the next time I see the Mayor, I shall give him a piece of my mind. I’ll tell him what I think of that crazy idea!” said Joe. “An apartment block in El Hoyo? Whatever next!”

“Now, about your grapevine,” said Paco, changing the subject. “You must use this sulphur I have brought for you. It will stop the mildew.” He pointed to an evil-looking sack of yellow powder leaning in a corner. “You will need a ‘puffer’. Every 12 days you must puff the sulphur up into the new shoots and leaves of the grapevine. Do as I tell you, and in September, your grapes will be good, perhaps nearly as good as mine.”

Joe and Paco discussed the ‘puffer’ at length. Apparently it resembled the bellows we used for our fire, but had a long nose with a bowl on the end. Sulphur was placed into the bowl, and the bellows action puffed doses of sulphur up into the grapevine.

“Be careful,” said Paco. “Sulphur is nasty stuff. Don’t let it get into your eyes, it will sting.”

We took the sack of sulphur with us when we left. Outside, some of the Ufarte children and their cousins were playing in the street. Scrap kicked at an empty can, and the twins, dressed as nurses, were immersed in a game of medical make-believe. Papa Ufarte sat on his doorstep, idly twanging his guitar while Granny Ufarte slept in her arm-chair in the shade, oblivious to the ministrations of the miniature nurses intent on taking her blood pressure. The wicked Fifi sat on Granny Ufarte’s lap, watching the nurses from under her fringe.

“Tía Veeky! How is Francisco?” called Nurse #1.

“Oh, he’s very well,” I said. “He’s having a good sleep. He’s really enjoying being a chrysalis. One day he’ll climb out of his chrysalis case, unfold his wings and turn into a beautiful butterfly.” Satisfied, the nurses turned back to attending to their comatose grandmother.

“Quick!” hissed Joe. “Get inside before Fifi sees me.”

At the sound of Joe’s voice, Fifi’s head reared up. She leapt to the ground but we bolted into our house and slammed the door before she could reach us.

We were planning to go down the mountain to replenish our pantry that afternoon, so I added ‘sulphur puffer’ to our shopping list. The shopping trip was uneventful - until our return. In a lay-by on the mountain road, just before the turn-off down to El Hoyo, workmen were putting the finishing touches to a massive new billboard. It was an artist’s impression of a new block of apartments.

Joe stopped the jeep so we could study it carefully. A photograph had been taken of the village, upon which the planned apartment block had been superimposed, providing a clear picture of what the village would look like in the future. The apartment block stood, four levels high, as Paco had said, looming malevolently over the ancient white houses like an ugly, evil giant.

“It’s awful,” Joe said at last. “Paco was right. It’s a monstrosity.”

I agreed wholeheartedly, and from that moment on, whenever we mentioned that building, we referred to it as The Monstrosity.

Apart from the sheer size of it, the architect, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that the building should be painted an unpleasant shade of yellow, making it even more conspicuous against the traditional white-washed cottages. The billboard shocked us to the core and we drove the short distance home in silence.

It was still light when we returned home. The evenings had lengthened and were noticeably warmer. Joe unpacked and assembled our sulphur ‘puffer’ purchase while I made coffee.

“Might as well give the vine its first dose tonight,” said Joe, but I wasn’t really listening. I had picked up Francisco’s jam jar and was peering into its depths. Francisco the chrysalis, quite frankly, didn’t look at all healthy. Where the pupa case had previously looked fat and shiny, now it was dull and powdery. I’m no expert, but I would have pronounced that chrysalis sick. I shook the jar gently, and to my horror, Francisco disintegrated.

“Oh no!” I groaned, turning to Joe. “Look at Francisco... He’s fallen to pieces. What on earth am I going to tell the twins? They’re going to need all their nursing skills to cure this!” I looked at Joe, expecting him to reply, and nearly dropped the jam jar. Joe was standing beside me, stark naked, brandishing the sulphur ‘puffer’.

“What ARE you doing?” I asked in surprise.

“I’m going to puff the grapevine,” he said. “Paco said the sulphur is nasty stuff. This way I won’t get any on my clothes, and I’ll take a shower straight afterwards. And these,” he said, fishing out a pair of safety goggles from a drawer and pulling them on, “will protect my eyes.”

I roared with laughter. “You look ridiculous!” I said. “Stark naked apart from a pair of goggles!”

Joe shrugged and marched purposefully out of the door into the garden.

I have a theory that life is peppered with ‘cringe moments’. Incidents that, when recalled, causes one’s face to flush hot with embarrassment as one relives them. I was about to add yet another ‘cringe moment’ to my list.

But for now, I reluctantly accepted Joe’s reasoning and closed the kitchen door behind his naked rump. I wanted to stop the evil sulphur blowing back into the house, and the telephone was ringing.