continuation of the love story
'Oh! Sal, isn't she lovely, just look at her clothes, and this house, I wonder how much it all costs'?
' A good deal more, than you and I could ever dream of , and I wonder how she gets her money.'
I said.
My sister deplored the cruel remark.
'Sally, you can be so bitchy when you want to, give her a chance, it might be a perfectly innocent friendship. They might simply enjoy each others company, and that is all there is to it'!
Janine was right of course, my father and Maria Capadia, might be just good friends as they say, but with a smile like that, and a body no woman close to fifty had the good grace to have, I doubted it very much. I knew my father. Always impressed by a pretty face was father, and, as Janine said, Maria Capadia was beautiful.
At the pool side our host asked us to excuse her for a few moments whilst she made a telephone call, and as we sat in the late afternoon sun sipping bright Pina Colada's, we could here her muted conversation in the background. She was obviously in earnest conversation with someone, and as it seemed she might be awhile before she could rejoin us .
Janine, and I used the opportunity to examine our options. There was a degree of argument as to approach.
'No ! No! No! Sally, the only way we are ever going to find out', Janine said,
' Is to come straight out with it, ask her outright'!
'Ask her what exactly'? I said becoming increasingly angry by Janine's lack of diplomacy.
'Ask her if they are!, well!
She paused afraid to put the words together, then tried to continue again.
'Ask her!, Ask her if they!.
'Ask her if they are sleeping together'! I blurted out, my patience gone.
'Are you seriously suggesting I ask her that'?
Janine thought for a second or two, shifted in her seat, then gave a wry smile and answered.
'Well Sal, I suppose I am. It is what we came to find out really isn't it? And how romantic if they are'.
I thought it far from romantic. I saw it as little more than philandering. Mother hardly cold in the clay, and here he was, off with another, and probably a gypsy at that, abandoning family and friends, for a fanciful floozy, albeit an extremely rich one. He was supposed to be coming here on holiday! To see the real Spain and look what!
'If you're worried about asking her, Sal, I will'
Janine broke my thoughts
'But really, anything like that might be better coming from you, seeing as how your much more mature than me, she might respect your reason for asking more than if I came out with it'.
She was correct of course, only I, as his eldest daughter, might ask such a delicate question. It would be presumptuous I know, and churlishly rude to a woman, dare I say lady, who so far had been charm itself, but if we were to find out, we surely had to ask, or wait for events to unfurl. The decision was plain to see, we had no time to lose we had to know the truth. That was the easy part. Putting our question into suitable words would be difficult.
'Excuse me Signora, but are you sleeping with my father'?
Somehow seemed hardly appropriate.
Janine was to save the day.
Maria Capadia had returned with some exciting news. We would be able to meet with our father the very next evening in Malaga. Tomorrow, was the start of the feria, and we were welcome to join her and friends for the festival. Our father would be there later on that evening, and would love to see us.
It was no more than I would have expected, the very cheek of it. We were after all his daughters! We had a right to see him after all this time. She had to have sensed my indignation. The expression on my face would have told all I was thinking.
Maria Capadia, remained as cool as ever, offering us another drink. Coffee if we liked it, or perhaps some brandy and coffee, it was our choice. Before I could speak Janine had plumped for the brandy and coffee, and as we waited for it to come, Maria Capadia took us through the itinerary for the morrow explaining as briefly as possible, the origins and traditions of the Feria.
'Visitors come to the festival for many reasons but in the end do not find what they are looking for'.
Janine and I were baffled, and it showed . Maria Capadia gave us the benefit of her amazing command of the social history of that part of Spain.
'Feria is essentially a festival, with bullfights. In years gone by, it was the custom of the breeders of fighting bulls to ride into town once year, to offer their beasts in the Corrida. That tradition, has largely been superseded, by the need for people to socialise, to dress in the traditional costume, to meet with friends, to have a good time. A large part of the central theme remains. The Plaza De Torres, is still a place to be seen, but the heart and soul of the Feria is changing.
At the fringe of the festival, in the bars and cafe's, Maleguenians, find what many believe to be the hidden reason for the existence of the Feria. They take the theme of social grace to their hearts'.
Sensing our confusion, she went on to explain.
'To the outsider, Feria is synonymous with a Festival of joy, food and drink and a great deal of Ole! They come therefore, seeking the wrong thing and leave disappointed, that the gaiety of the first day is not sustained throughout the week. With that outlook, they will miss the essential part of what Malaga and her Feria are about. Instead of seeking hurrah, they should seek Soledat. Seek with all their hearts, the nostalgic longing for and meeting with loved ones. Find if they can a beautiful solitude in the company of friends once lost yet found again. Tomorrow, I will take you to see for yourself, the vibrant heart of this city. Take you to feel, the nostalgia of meeting with old friends. Tomorrow, I will take you to see your father'.
Before I could stop her Janine had taken matters further than I would have wished.
'Signora Capadia', she said,
' If you don't mind me asking, exactly what is your relationship with my father'?
There was an awful moment of silence, which seemed to stretch on and on and on, whilst I waited for the explosion.
That it never came, says something I suppose, for the natural poise of our host, and personified in my estimation, the natural elegance and sophistication of the woman.
If she was taken aback by my sisters question, she did not show it. She had enough composure, to smile, then almost laugh with her brilliant eyes, which sparkled in the evening light, before she answered. Her manner, was firm yet not aggressive, as she answered with a few well chosen, and devastating words, that left both of us bereft of answers.
' As for your father's relationship with me, I suggest you ask him for yourself. I would not presume to speak for him. As for myself, I say to you',
She paused for a few seconds to establish, that she had our undivided attention, then in a deliberate and measured tone she answered.
'Mind your own damn business'.
And that was that! Finitio! No further discussion!.
We had well and truly been put in our place Janine and I, like two naughty children.
No histrionics, no melodrama, just a clear statement of fact. Her relationship with my father was not for discussion. Not now;or ever. Irrespective of the fact that we were his daughters, and felt we had a right to know what he was up to. Maria Capadia would not discuss what she considered a private matter. The fact that they might be lovers, was neither here or there, as she said, we could ask our father or mind our own business.
And we did just that Janine and I , anxious not to offend her gracious hospitality with unwarranted suggestions of impropriety. After all as Janine pointed out, they might have been just good friends. We were about to find out.
Maria Capadia took us my sister and I, that very evening in a horse drawn landau, to Cafe Brocante, where, after introducing us to her circle of friends as the daughters of Signor Tomasin, she invited us to enjoin with them in celebrating the opening of the Feria.
We assembled with Maria Capadia's group of friends and forty thousand other Malaguenians, infront of the council Offices. There Herminia Fernandez, the Mayor stood stoically on the balcony and declared with as much solemnity that she could muster, and in the face of an uncharacteristic rainstorm, the ' Comienza La Gran Fiesta' . This was accompanied by the most spectacular Fireworks display Janine and I had ever seen, despite the rain. And then, later on, Maria Capadia took us once again to the Cafe Brocante, where we had dinner with her circle of very close friends, and came to appreciate as we listened intently to the stories of years gone by, something of the social genre that had welcomed our father to it's heart.
Every one knew him. Every one loved his approach to life. Loved his style, his romance, his interpretation of the ' Le arte de la Flamenca'.
Janine and I looked at one another in sheer disbelief at what we were hearing.
'They're pulling our leg surely Sal. It just can't be. I know he was keen on the music, but they're talking about him as if he were a maestro'.
'Just being kind I think you'll find ',
Was all I could say.
''They most certainly are not being kind, not these people. The music is in their blood.
You will find no more expertise in any audience throughout the whole of Spain. If your father couldn't do the music justice, they would have no truck with him' !
The speaker was a man we had noticed earlier that evening on the fringes of Signora Capadia's entourage. A man who kept popping up now and then, in a somewhat shadowy presence, there constantly, yet not quite in with the rest of the circle. Evasive to a degree, yet clearly a confident of Maria Capadia, for she would periodically throughout the evening take him aside where they would consult one to the other presumedly we thought concerning arrangements for the morrow, when real festivities would begin.
At first, Janine and I saw him as a voyeur, attracted to women on their own, but gradually, as we saw the respect with which Maria Capadia treated him, our guarded aversion to his presence, gave way to a natural inquisitiveness.
He was a man of some two score years and ten, with a rugged swarthy handsome face, that foretold of his Romany ancestry. His hair, thick as briar scrub had faded prematurely from the 'black as night' sartorial crop of youth, to the silver fox grizzle of middle age. And far from blighting his natural good looks, it served to give him the elegance of a faded Hollywood star.
I confess, that had I been ten years older, I would have found him irresistible to the least, and fully understood, with a degree of pleasure the way Maria Capadia attended to his needs. Perhaps, this other man! I use the term advisedly! Was another of her conquests, and we had little heed of her relationship with our father. After all, as Janine said, they might be just good friends.
It was Maria herself, who eventually made the introduction we so eagerly awaited.
'Let me introduce you to Signor Luigi Marras , of Cordoba. The finest teacher I know of La Guitarra De Flamenca in the whole of Spain. He has to be, for it was he who taught your father to play'.
She paused for a second, as if collecting her thoughts, then having found the most suitable words, she went on,
'Shall we say correctly'.
Signor Marras smiled politely at us, put his arms around Maria , gave her a kiss, then qualified her statement.
'I did nothing more than polish a gifted technique. The spirit was always evident, the love always there, and you my dear Maria, knew it, that's why he fascinated you so. That 's just why you started to dance again, tell me I'm wrong if you dare'.
That she did not dare only served to deepen the mystery further, and we sought answers, from Signor Marras.
Janine called for drinks, and as we waited for them to be served Signor Marras, began to explain.
'You , like others, are wondering as to the exact relationship between your father and Signora Capadia. At the outset, let me say, that if I was sure, which indeed I am not, I would divulge, neither to your good selves or anyone. I value both your father's regard and that of Maria Capadia too much to speculate. Safe to say however, if you spend the weekend with us, you may judge for yourselves'.
And we did just that, kept our questions to ourselves for fear of further rebuff. Father had clearly found something that interested him. I was sure I knew, yet felt unable to put my thoughts into suitable words without the impression of 'carnal' desire weighing heavily in my mind. As soon as I had chance, I intended to risk my fathers' wrath and ask him outright
Janine was less than sure after we'd seen Maria's reaction.
'Maybe Sal,we might be better to leave things lie as they are, just for the moment. Sooner or later, we'll find out. In any case, even at the worst, she seems very respectable to me, not the least like a! Like a!
She paused, searched for the words she required and failed.
'Tart' ? I said vehemently,
'Is that what your looking for' ? Do you think she is a Tart? Honestly Janine, tell me now, do you think she is a Tart'?
Janine giggled then broke into laughter,
'Oh! Sal your so bloody serious at times, loosen up, we're on holiday' ,
Short story by lastromantichero
Read 544 times
Written on 2006-05-01 at 08:12
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The Last Soleares by M.A.Meddings part two
Janine, was in a state of abject admiration, signalling her regard for our host in whispered asides as we followed in muted enchantment.'Oh! Sal, isn't she lovely, just look at her clothes, and this house, I wonder how much it all costs'?
' A good deal more, than you and I could ever dream of , and I wonder how she gets her money.'
I said.
My sister deplored the cruel remark.
'Sally, you can be so bitchy when you want to, give her a chance, it might be a perfectly innocent friendship. They might simply enjoy each others company, and that is all there is to it'!
Janine was right of course, my father and Maria Capadia, might be just good friends as they say, but with a smile like that, and a body no woman close to fifty had the good grace to have, I doubted it very much. I knew my father. Always impressed by a pretty face was father, and, as Janine said, Maria Capadia was beautiful.
At the pool side our host asked us to excuse her for a few moments whilst she made a telephone call, and as we sat in the late afternoon sun sipping bright Pina Colada's, we could here her muted conversation in the background. She was obviously in earnest conversation with someone, and as it seemed she might be awhile before she could rejoin us .
Janine, and I used the opportunity to examine our options. There was a degree of argument as to approach.
'No ! No! No! Sally, the only way we are ever going to find out', Janine said,
' Is to come straight out with it, ask her outright'!
'Ask her what exactly'? I said becoming increasingly angry by Janine's lack of diplomacy.
'Ask her if they are!, well!
She paused afraid to put the words together, then tried to continue again.
'Ask her!, Ask her if they!.
'Ask her if they are sleeping together'! I blurted out, my patience gone.
'Are you seriously suggesting I ask her that'?
Janine thought for a second or two, shifted in her seat, then gave a wry smile and answered.
'Well Sal, I suppose I am. It is what we came to find out really isn't it? And how romantic if they are'.
I thought it far from romantic. I saw it as little more than philandering. Mother hardly cold in the clay, and here he was, off with another, and probably a gypsy at that, abandoning family and friends, for a fanciful floozy, albeit an extremely rich one. He was supposed to be coming here on holiday! To see the real Spain and look what!
'If you're worried about asking her, Sal, I will'
Janine broke my thoughts
'But really, anything like that might be better coming from you, seeing as how your much more mature than me, she might respect your reason for asking more than if I came out with it'.
She was correct of course, only I, as his eldest daughter, might ask such a delicate question. It would be presumptuous I know, and churlishly rude to a woman, dare I say lady, who so far had been charm itself, but if we were to find out, we surely had to ask, or wait for events to unfurl. The decision was plain to see, we had no time to lose we had to know the truth. That was the easy part. Putting our question into suitable words would be difficult.
'Excuse me Signora, but are you sleeping with my father'?
Somehow seemed hardly appropriate.
Janine was to save the day.
Maria Capadia had returned with some exciting news. We would be able to meet with our father the very next evening in Malaga. Tomorrow, was the start of the feria, and we were welcome to join her and friends for the festival. Our father would be there later on that evening, and would love to see us.
It was no more than I would have expected, the very cheek of it. We were after all his daughters! We had a right to see him after all this time. She had to have sensed my indignation. The expression on my face would have told all I was thinking.
Maria Capadia, remained as cool as ever, offering us another drink. Coffee if we liked it, or perhaps some brandy and coffee, it was our choice. Before I could speak Janine had plumped for the brandy and coffee, and as we waited for it to come, Maria Capadia took us through the itinerary for the morrow explaining as briefly as possible, the origins and traditions of the Feria.
'Visitors come to the festival for many reasons but in the end do not find what they are looking for'.
Janine and I were baffled, and it showed . Maria Capadia gave us the benefit of her amazing command of the social history of that part of Spain.
'Feria is essentially a festival, with bullfights. In years gone by, it was the custom of the breeders of fighting bulls to ride into town once year, to offer their beasts in the Corrida. That tradition, has largely been superseded, by the need for people to socialise, to dress in the traditional costume, to meet with friends, to have a good time. A large part of the central theme remains. The Plaza De Torres, is still a place to be seen, but the heart and soul of the Feria is changing.
At the fringe of the festival, in the bars and cafe's, Maleguenians, find what many believe to be the hidden reason for the existence of the Feria. They take the theme of social grace to their hearts'.
Sensing our confusion, she went on to explain.
'To the outsider, Feria is synonymous with a Festival of joy, food and drink and a great deal of Ole! They come therefore, seeking the wrong thing and leave disappointed, that the gaiety of the first day is not sustained throughout the week. With that outlook, they will miss the essential part of what Malaga and her Feria are about. Instead of seeking hurrah, they should seek Soledat. Seek with all their hearts, the nostalgic longing for and meeting with loved ones. Find if they can a beautiful solitude in the company of friends once lost yet found again. Tomorrow, I will take you to see for yourself, the vibrant heart of this city. Take you to feel, the nostalgia of meeting with old friends. Tomorrow, I will take you to see your father'.
Before I could stop her Janine had taken matters further than I would have wished.
'Signora Capadia', she said,
' If you don't mind me asking, exactly what is your relationship with my father'?
There was an awful moment of silence, which seemed to stretch on and on and on, whilst I waited for the explosion.
That it never came, says something I suppose, for the natural poise of our host, and personified in my estimation, the natural elegance and sophistication of the woman.
If she was taken aback by my sisters question, she did not show it. She had enough composure, to smile, then almost laugh with her brilliant eyes, which sparkled in the evening light, before she answered. Her manner, was firm yet not aggressive, as she answered with a few well chosen, and devastating words, that left both of us bereft of answers.
' As for your father's relationship with me, I suggest you ask him for yourself. I would not presume to speak for him. As for myself, I say to you',
She paused for a few seconds to establish, that she had our undivided attention, then in a deliberate and measured tone she answered.
'Mind your own damn business'.
And that was that! Finitio! No further discussion!.
We had well and truly been put in our place Janine and I, like two naughty children.
No histrionics, no melodrama, just a clear statement of fact. Her relationship with my father was not for discussion. Not now;or ever. Irrespective of the fact that we were his daughters, and felt we had a right to know what he was up to. Maria Capadia would not discuss what she considered a private matter. The fact that they might be lovers, was neither here or there, as she said, we could ask our father or mind our own business.
And we did just that Janine and I , anxious not to offend her gracious hospitality with unwarranted suggestions of impropriety. After all as Janine pointed out, they might have been just good friends. We were about to find out.
Maria Capadia took us my sister and I, that very evening in a horse drawn landau, to Cafe Brocante, where, after introducing us to her circle of friends as the daughters of Signor Tomasin, she invited us to enjoin with them in celebrating the opening of the Feria.
We assembled with Maria Capadia's group of friends and forty thousand other Malaguenians, infront of the council Offices. There Herminia Fernandez, the Mayor stood stoically on the balcony and declared with as much solemnity that she could muster, and in the face of an uncharacteristic rainstorm, the ' Comienza La Gran Fiesta' . This was accompanied by the most spectacular Fireworks display Janine and I had ever seen, despite the rain. And then, later on, Maria Capadia took us once again to the Cafe Brocante, where we had dinner with her circle of very close friends, and came to appreciate as we listened intently to the stories of years gone by, something of the social genre that had welcomed our father to it's heart.
Every one knew him. Every one loved his approach to life. Loved his style, his romance, his interpretation of the ' Le arte de la Flamenca'.
Janine and I looked at one another in sheer disbelief at what we were hearing.
'They're pulling our leg surely Sal. It just can't be. I know he was keen on the music, but they're talking about him as if he were a maestro'.
'Just being kind I think you'll find ',
Was all I could say.
''They most certainly are not being kind, not these people. The music is in their blood.
You will find no more expertise in any audience throughout the whole of Spain. If your father couldn't do the music justice, they would have no truck with him' !
The speaker was a man we had noticed earlier that evening on the fringes of Signora Capadia's entourage. A man who kept popping up now and then, in a somewhat shadowy presence, there constantly, yet not quite in with the rest of the circle. Evasive to a degree, yet clearly a confident of Maria Capadia, for she would periodically throughout the evening take him aside where they would consult one to the other presumedly we thought concerning arrangements for the morrow, when real festivities would begin.
At first, Janine and I saw him as a voyeur, attracted to women on their own, but gradually, as we saw the respect with which Maria Capadia treated him, our guarded aversion to his presence, gave way to a natural inquisitiveness.
He was a man of some two score years and ten, with a rugged swarthy handsome face, that foretold of his Romany ancestry. His hair, thick as briar scrub had faded prematurely from the 'black as night' sartorial crop of youth, to the silver fox grizzle of middle age. And far from blighting his natural good looks, it served to give him the elegance of a faded Hollywood star.
I confess, that had I been ten years older, I would have found him irresistible to the least, and fully understood, with a degree of pleasure the way Maria Capadia attended to his needs. Perhaps, this other man! I use the term advisedly! Was another of her conquests, and we had little heed of her relationship with our father. After all, as Janine said, they might be just good friends.
It was Maria herself, who eventually made the introduction we so eagerly awaited.
'Let me introduce you to Signor Luigi Marras , of Cordoba. The finest teacher I know of La Guitarra De Flamenca in the whole of Spain. He has to be, for it was he who taught your father to play'.
She paused for a second, as if collecting her thoughts, then having found the most suitable words, she went on,
'Shall we say correctly'.
Signor Marras smiled politely at us, put his arms around Maria , gave her a kiss, then qualified her statement.
'I did nothing more than polish a gifted technique. The spirit was always evident, the love always there, and you my dear Maria, knew it, that's why he fascinated you so. That 's just why you started to dance again, tell me I'm wrong if you dare'.
That she did not dare only served to deepen the mystery further, and we sought answers, from Signor Marras.
Janine called for drinks, and as we waited for them to be served Signor Marras, began to explain.
'You , like others, are wondering as to the exact relationship between your father and Signora Capadia. At the outset, let me say, that if I was sure, which indeed I am not, I would divulge, neither to your good selves or anyone. I value both your father's regard and that of Maria Capadia too much to speculate. Safe to say however, if you spend the weekend with us, you may judge for yourselves'.
And we did just that, kept our questions to ourselves for fear of further rebuff. Father had clearly found something that interested him. I was sure I knew, yet felt unable to put my thoughts into suitable words without the impression of 'carnal' desire weighing heavily in my mind. As soon as I had chance, I intended to risk my fathers' wrath and ask him outright
Janine was less than sure after we'd seen Maria's reaction.
'Maybe Sal,we might be better to leave things lie as they are, just for the moment. Sooner or later, we'll find out. In any case, even at the worst, she seems very respectable to me, not the least like a! Like a!
She paused, searched for the words she required and failed.
'Tart' ? I said vehemently,
'Is that what your looking for' ? Do you think she is a Tart? Honestly Janine, tell me now, do you think she is a Tart'?
Janine giggled then broke into laughter,
'Oh! Sal your so bloody serious at times, loosen up, we're on holiday' ,
Short story by lastromantichero
Read 544 times
Written on 2006-05-01 at 08:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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