2004 - Dandelion Soup (21 page)

There were no inside lavatories in the lodging house at all, just chamber pots beneath the beds. Even in France, which was barely civilized, there had been inside lavatories. Disgusting though they had been, at least they hadn’t had to go outside. Here they had to cross a courtyard at the back of the house to get to the lavatory and the bathhouse. She vaguely remembered Father Daley telling them where it was last night.

She crossed the courtyard quickly. The pains in her stomach were gripping now and there was no time to hang around.

She stepped gingerly into the open-sided stable. An ancient donkey eyed her nervously then edged towards her, baring a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Hastily she opened the door to the lavatory and went inside. She shuddered. Lavatory! It was nothing more than a privy! There wasn’t even any newspaper on a nail.

Ten minutes later she edged past the donkey and climbed the stairs to the bathhouse above the stable. There was a notice on the door, PEUGRO! SE PROHIBE LA ENTRADA. Ha! It must be Spanish for bathroom. Miss Drew went into the room, closed the door and drew the rusty bolt across.

She looked dubiously down at the bath. It didn’t look as if it had been used in years. It just showed that the Spaniards weren’t too particular where hygiene was concerned. She took out a cloth from her wash bag and a small bottle of disinfectant and spent a good five minutes wiping the thick layers of dust and grime from the bath.

With difficulty she turned on the taps. There was a noisy gurgling sound and then a rush of rust-coloured water spluttered into the ancient bath. The last time Miss Drew had seen a bath like this a horse had been drinking out of it in a field.

There was no hot water but it was tepid to the touch and she’d never minded a cold bath. A little privation was good for the soul. After a few minutes the water ran clear and Miss Drew fitted the plug into the hole.

She undressed, sprinkled some lavender bath salts into the water and waited for the bathtub to fill. When it was ready she stepped gingerly over the side of the high-sided bath into the water.

Miss Drew sighed, closed her eyes, and settled back for a good long soak. She didn’t think much of Spanish plumbing; there were all kinds of groaning and creaking noises coming from the pipes. Downstairs in the stable the old donkey began to bray plaintively.

This pilgrimage really wasn’t as she’d imagined it at all. The journey on the boat hadn’t been too bad, she supposed; at least the food had been plain and plentiful. But as soon as they’d landed in Spain things had gone from bad to worse. She blushed at the thought of that terrible ride in the cart with the filthy old thing with the wandering hands. Then the food last night! It was disgusting. Octopus! And fancy Miss Carmichael having her things stolen from under their very noses! This town was probably full of cutthroats and robbers. They could be murdered in their beds or worse.

Miss Drew opened her eyes and stared hard at the bath taps. They were most definitely lopsided. Spanish builders obviously hadn’t got the hang of a spirit level; they were as useless as the cooks. Five minutes more and then she’d get out, get dressed and go down to breakfast, though God only knew what horrors-were in store for her there.

Carlos Emanuel ate a hurried breakfast of fresh bread and drank a bowl of particularly good coffee. Seftora Hipola gave him elaborate directions on how to find the early bus that would take him to Los Olivares and the name of a man there who would take him in a cart to the monastery of Santa Eulalia. Señor Emanuel paid for his night’s lodging and left thankfully.

He walked briskly along Pig Lane and made his way back down towards the port; where a dilapidated old bus was parked alongside the cannery. He weaved his way through the market stalls towards it. As he was passing a fish stall he noticed the girl from the lodging house. She was standing at the back of the stall as though she was hiding from someone.

She really was a very beautiful-looking girl. Then he saw the older woman; she was coming out of a shop carrying a bulging knapsack. He was startled by the expression on her face. Last night she had looked positively downtrodden and miserable and yet now she looked quite radiant. She could barely keep the smile off her face. The pretty girl stepped cautiously out from behind the stall and then the two women linked arms and hurried away, giggling together like two schoolgirls up to no good.

He hurried across to the bus. The folk in these parts were an odd, whimsical lot. The sooner he got to Santa Eulalia the better, then he would be on his way south again with the monk safely in tow, and not a moment too soon as far as he was concerned.

Father Daley was waiting in the lobby when Miss Carmichael came downstairs just as Padraig came hurrying in through the door, breathless and excited.

“Good morning, Miss Carmichael. A good night’s sleep, I trust? Ah, Padraig, there you are, have you been out exploring?”

“Yes, Father. I found an old church and a statue of a naked boy and I saw the Old Pilgrim but he got away before I could speak to him.”

Miss Carmichael gave Padraig a withering glance. It made her feel tired and irritable just looking at him.

“Great stuff, Padraig,” Father Daley said with a smile. “You must tell me all about it over breakfast. Now, I’ve just spoken to señora Hipola, and she has very kindly laid out breakfast in the courtyard as it’s such a beautiful morning.”

Miss Carmichael’s heart sank. She thought of flies and bugs and the smell of donkey muck.

“Where is Miss Drew, by the way?” Father Daley enquired.

“I don’t know. I heard the church bells ringing earlier so maybe she’s gone to mass,” said Miss Carmichael, who was a little aggrieved that Miss Drew had gone out without telling her.

“Doubtless shell join us in a while,” Father Daley replied cheerfully.

Señora Hipola had set up a table and chairs in the courtyard beneath a canopy of vines. In the far corner, a washing line was strung between two trees. On the line a wedding dress blew gently in the breeze. Padraig stared at the dress in amazement. It was huge. Gi-normous. Bloody massive. It was the biggest dress he’d ever clapped his eyes on in all his life.

“Blimey,” he said, pointing to the dress and giggling, “you could fit the bride and a half-dozen bridesmaids in there and still have room to dance a jig!”

“Don’t be so rude, Padraig. It’s beautiful material; it looks like Irish lace to me.”

The breakfast table was covered with a bright blue and yellow checked oilcloth and set upon it was a basket full of golden bread rolls and a large red coffee pot.

“Shall I play mother?” Father Daley said.

He poured coffee and milk into large white bowls and handed them to Padraig and Miss Carmichael.

Miss Carmichael sipped her drink and winced. The coffee was really quite good but there were no handles on the cups and it was like drinking out of a chamber pot; it was enough to turn a decent person’s stomach.

It was a beautiful morning, though, and she had to admit that she’d had one of the best night’s sleep she’d had in years. She had not been troubled by too many bad dreams and she felt an enormous uplifting of her spirits.

Padraig helped himself to bread and munched away happily. Miss Carmichael declined anything to eat.

Padraig thought the courtyard was a very pretty place to eat breakfast. Birds flew down and perched in the lemon tree and sang gaily. Way above their heads the sky turned a deeper shade of blue and the sun warmed their faces.

“Who is this Old Pilgrim fellow you were talking about, Padraig?”

“Ah, just an old feller who roams about all over Spain wearing funny clothes. Mr Leary said he was maybe an axe murderer or a defrocked priest. Mr Leary was dead keen to meet him because he knows all sorts about history and that.”

Father Daley raised his eyebrows.

“He doesn’t sound the sort of man you should be speaking to, Padraig.”

“He looked harmless enough to me.”

“The devil himself would look harmless to you, no doubt,” muttered Nancy Carmichael.

“Anyhow, how about we make a plan for today? How about we do a bit of sightseeing, maybe have a meal out in the town? They say the sardines down at the port are wonderful. Miss Carmichael, I know, loves sardines.”

“Only Irish sardines, Father.”

Father Daley laughed.

Miss Carmichael bristled and blushed.

“Miss Carmichael, the sardines we eat in Ireland have probably been fished in the waters round here, canned here and then shipped to Ireland. Instead of eating them from a tin, we have a chance to eat ones caught fresh today.”

Miss Carmichael was not convinced, but she did allow herself a half smile. Padraig thought she looked quite nice when she smiled. He noticed that her nose, which was usually white and pinched, was peppered now with freckles, as if someone had got into her room at night and dappled her nose with a fine brush.

The donkey began to bray loudly over in the stable.

“It sounds as if something is spooking him,” Padraig said.

“How do you mean, Padraig?”

“They pick up things animals, like they have an extra sense.”

“Go on,” Father Daley encouraged him.

Miss Carmichael raised her eyebrows.

“We had a dog, a black and white collie called Sequana.”

“What sort of a name is that for a dog?” Miss Carmichael said, turning up her nose.

“I think it’s a lovely name; it’s the Latin word for the Seine.”

“What do they call the insane?”

“The Seine is the river that runs through Paris. Sequana was the goddess of the river.”

“Heathen nonsense,” said Miss Carmichael.

“Anyhow, Sequana took to her bed, wouldn’t eat her breakfast even though she was a greedy beggar; she knew, you see, that something awful was going to happen.”

“Don’t be so silly, Padraig,” Miss Carmichael said with irritation.

“It was true, though, because that was the day she died.”

“The dog?” asked Father Daley.

“No,” said Padraig. “They took Sequana away while I was at the funeral and put a bullet through her head.”

Miss Carmichael didn’t like dogs. They licked their own behinds and rooted up your skirt and tried to do unthinkable things to your leg.

Miss Carmichael sipped her coffee and wondered where on earth Miss Drew had got to.

Padraig went on.

“The clock had just chimed eleven when Sequana started howling…She’d only gone round the corner for a loaf of bread.”

“What is this nonsense about?” Miss Carmichael asked.

The birds held their song.

The wedding dress flapped like a schooner with the wind in its sails.

“She was knocked down by a lorry and killed.”

“Who was, Padraig?”

“My mammy,” he said quietly.

Miss Carmichael sucked in her breath.

Father Daley put a hand on top of Padraig’s.

“It was in the newspapers and everything. It was two days before they realized who she was and came and found me and the dog.”

Father Daley looked hard at Padraig. Dear God. The poor little mite.

A smattering of dust drifted down into the stable from the room above. The donkey sneezed.

Suddenly there was a noise. First a rustle and then an enormous cracking sound as though a huge tree had been felled and was falling close by.

The donkey stamped its hooves.

Sefiora Hipola appeared in the kitchen doorway looking agitated.

It all happened in a split second, but afterwards it seemed to Padraig like slow motion.

“
Dios mio!
” yelled Señora Hipola, and made the sign of the cross.

Suddenly claw legs slipped through the ceiling above the donkey’s head.

The breakfasting pilgrims stared in frozen fascination.

There was a muffled scream.

The donkey bucked.

“What the fuck?” said Father Daley.

Miss Carmichael opened and shut her mouth like a frog after flies.

Then came the sound of rushing water and the smell of lavender.

The donkey disappeared beneath a deluge of water.

Then the bath and Miss Drew descended into the stable like an apparition in a Christmas pantomime.

But there was no laughter or clapping.

A cloud of dust blotted out the stable and the donkey. Señora Hipola was hissing and spitting.

“
Imbecil! Dios mio!
”

The donkey was roaring.

Miss Carmichael was trembling violently and slopping coffee all down her clothes. A brown stain widened across her white high-necked blouse.

Señora Hipola was pawing the ground with her foot like a mad bull.

The donkey was kicking his hard heels against the wood of the stable.

Padraig was hot on Father Daley’s heels across the courtyard.

Dust settling like dirty snow.

Señora Hipola trying to quieten the donkey.

Padraig on tiptoe looking over into the stable.

Miss Drew with a face like a startled corpse.

The bath rocking like a fairground swingboat without the ropes.

“Cover your eyes, Padraig! Someone run for a doctor.”

Padraig kept his eyes wide open. He gawped at Miss Drew in wonder.

There was another loud cracking sound and more plaster falling, and then something else fell through the broken ceiling and landed with a clatter beside the bath.

It was an ancient chest, like a treasure chest.

Father Daley stared at the ancient chest that lay in the straw.

Padraig couldn’t take his eyes off Miss Drew’s chest. Miss Drew’s titties were as pink and soft as a puppy’s belly. There was a bird’s nest in her lap, but sadly no eggs.

The Old Pilgrim took his breakfast in the Café Cristobal down on the quayside. The British boat was still berthed and would sail again in the early afternoon. He remembered vividly stepping down off the boat that first time years ago. He was a young man then, a reckless man whom he hardly recognized now. Then he had been an ill and broken man, his nerves shot to pieces, a desperate man on the run with a trail of misery left in hiswake.

He’d boarded the boat in England without any concern as to where it would take him. All he’d wanted was to escape from the past.