Chapter 18

He had taken to scavenging the countryside for food wild fruit, roots - anything he could find. He had to be careful, because they could shoot you if they found you on the lord's land. He kept, as much as possible, to the uncultivated places. And he set traps for small animals. Sometimes he caught a rabbit or a hare and took it home to his mother. She gave him a tight, worried look, but she never asked where he got it from. It was meat for the pot and not to be scorned.

Then one day he found the tracks of the wild boar. It had been raining and the ground was soft. They had come further down the mountain than usual. He could see their tracks coming down and going back up, and he could see where they had stopped at a particular tree. It looked like they had stopped there many times. The ground was beaten down and the tree bark was roughened and damaged, as if they had rubbed themselves against it.

If you dug a pit here, he mused to himself, you would very likely catch one.

He thought about it for a few days, and then he got up very early, before the dawn, took his father's mattock from the rack outside the house, and made his way to the tree of the wild boar.

It was much harder than he thought it would be. The ground was only soft for a little way down and then it got like iron. He dug all day, until his shoulders were on fire and his back was one slow dull pain, and then he stood back and looked at the pit. It was still not as deep as he would have liked, but the light was going and he was exhausted.

I can always, he thought, come back and deepen it tomorrow if it doesn't catch anything.

And he covered the top with a mesh of branches and laid grasses on top of that. He surveyed his work carefully. It was a good job. If you didn't know, you would never suspect there was a pit underneath. He smiled to himself.

It was then he realised he couldn't find the mattock. It was full dark now and impossible to search properly. He decided to come back in the morning to check the trap and retrieve it then.

Unfortunately, the next day, his mother decided it was the right time to harvest the olives, and the whole family was pressed into service. Guillermo spent the day in an agony of frustration, wondering if there was a wild boar right this moment caught in his trap and making attempts to escape. But there was no help for it. He would have to wait till the end of the day and hope the boar would still be there.

At last, the final tree was shaken, the last nets gathered up and the sacks tied up. Guillermo hoisted a sack onto his aching shoulders and wished, not for the first time, that his family could afford a mule.

He went with his brothers to the house of Salva L¨®pez, who would press the olives in exchange for some of the oil.

"You're doing an awful lot of groaning and panting," one of his brothers said. "Can't you take a bit of hard work?"

Guillermo grunted and heaved the sack into a more comfortable position on his back. He decided not to tell anyone about the trap until he caught something. Then they would see how hard he could work. Wait until he came home with a wild boar. He would be a hero.

It was full dark by the time they got back to the house. The square was full of people and something was clearly going on. Guillermo stretched up on tiptoes to see over his brother's shoulder, but he couldn't tell what was happening until they came right into the square.

José Goatherd was sitting on the steps of the church. His right leg was bandaged up and propped on a stool, and he was waving a mattock. "When I find the owner of this mattock, I will kill him," he shouted. "Look at this!" He pointed to his leg. "And my best goat, my little Rosita, who gives the sweetest milk." He stopped and shook his head dramatically. "She may never walk again." He swept the crowd with mad, vehement eyes. "What kind of a monster digs a trap to cripple an innocent man and take away his living? Answer me that!"

Guillermo held his breath in horror. He felt his bowels turn to water and only held himself upright by an enormous effort.

One by one the villagers were coming up to José and looking at the mattock. They shook their heads doubtfully. One mattock looks pretty much like any other. Guillermo's father was standing at the door of the shop, watching the crowds with his usual puzzled smile. Guillermo felt a stab of hatred for him. If he looked after his family properly, Guillermo would never have got into this mess in the first place.

Suddenly the crowd fell silent. Rosalba had appeared at the door of her shop and was making her way across the square to José Goatherd. Guillermo watched in despair. Rosalba would know. Rosalba knew everything. He began to tremble.

Rosalba took the mattock from José Goatherd and turned it carefully in her hand. "Why," she declared, "it is the mattock of José Garccia Fernandez."

A gasp came up from the crowd and all the faces turned collectively to look at Guillermo's father, who continued to smile, looking more puzzled than ever.

Rosalba walked across to him, still holding the mattock. "You should be more careful with your tools, José Garccia Fernandez," she said, "Many times I have told you not to leave your tools out on display where any thief can take them. Now look what has happened!"

José began to frown. He had no recollection of Rosalba ever mentioning his tools before, but of course she must have done and he must have forgotten.

Guillermo's mother had come to the door of the shop. She was white with fear and looked across the square, her eyes seeking nervously. When she saw Guillermo, her eyes widened and he thought miserably, She knows. My mother knows and Rosalba knows and soon the whole village will know.

But Rosalba said nothing more. She handed José his mattock and walked triumphantly back to her shop. The crowd shuffled its feet and muttered in the anti-climax.

Dimly, Guillermo grasped that he had possibly been spared. That maybe no-one would say anything and the dreadful affair could be forgotten.

Except, of course, that Rosalba knew. Rosalba would always know.

* * * *

"GUILLERMO GARC?A FERN?NDEZ!!"

He gave a great start. There was Rosalba standing in front of him, as if she had been conjured up by his thoughts. He stared at her in horror.

"I have come," she said, seating herself majestically on the visitor's chair in front of the desk, "to discuss the wedding of Domingo Garccia Guerrero and..."She paused, furious to discover that, for the first time in her life, she did not know somebody's full name, "his angel," she finished triumphantly.

Guillermo looked at her with complete incomprehension. He had been so engrossed in his recollections that it took a moment to re-orientate himself. But as she went on, he relaxed. Naturally, as the most important man in the village and as the person who had brought the foreign woman to the village in the first place, it was only right and proper that he should stand in the place of her father at the wedding.

He listened and nodded as Rosalba explained the details.

"Quite so, quite so," he said several times. And when, eventually Rosalba rose from her chair and took her leave, he felt an enormous and inexpressible relief.

Just as she reached the door, Rosalba turned. She gave a sweeping look around the room and declared, "That desk is too big for this room. You need a bigger office."

"Of course," he thought, as she closed the door behind her, "A bigger office. That's what I need."