Leaving Espinosa

Yesterday afternoon Montse and Manolo went out, to Montse´s sister´s in another town, but not before Montse had prepared the midday meal. Maite served. First ensalada rusa, a relative of potato salad but with peas and sliced green olives and tuna and lots of mayonnaise. Next rabo de vaca or cow´s tail. Maite put three chunks of round tailbones on my plate and then ladled the inevitable (I´m not complaining) sauce over top (tomato, olive oil, onion….). I used my fork to scrape the meat from the troughs in the bone, and then discovered that cow tail tastes remarkably like an excellent pot roast. Last came a welcome reappearance of the torrijas. I took my time eating, pausing often to talk to Maite and Sergio, or to watch an exchange in the tennis match on the kitchen tv (Fedrerer and Nadal). By the time I got to the dessert Sergio was long gone, having returned to the living room with Sara to watch the match on the big television.

Afterwards I washed up in the bathroom, used a tissue to blow my nose, and then cast about for a trash can—and then remembered there are none in this house. There´s a small one out in the garage, and at meal times Montse keeps a white plastic grocery bag on the counter in the kitchen to scrap plates into; but once she has finished cleaning up—which she does right after the meal, and meticulously, wiping down every surface several times and even the stove hood—that bag disappears. As a result of the lack of trash receptacles, I´ve at times been relegated to stashing my used dental floss and tissues in my room until I can get out to the garage.

I returned to the kitchen and helped Maite clean up—something Montse would not allow me to do. We talked about cooking and who does it. She, Maite does not; that´s Sergio´s job. Montse, according to Maite, is, however, like the mothers in old American movies, smiling and cooking and cleaning. This was said with mocking affection. I would add that Montse has more of an edge than June Cleaver.

Everyone in the family does seem to have a clear role, and there seems no debate, and certainly no resentment, concerning these roles. The household functions smoothly, happily. Even when some sort of trouble intrudes, no one appears to be truly upset. A couple days ago I was standing in the kitchen with Manolo and Maite when Montse called out from the patio, where she was taking laundry down from the line. She had discovered Manolo´s cellphone in his pants pocket. Her tone indicated this was quite a good joke, and Maite appeared to agree. But Manolo slapped his forehead in exasperation. A moment later Montse, standing in the hall, reached a hand into the kitchen and deposited the well-washed cellphone on the counter. Then she followed it into the room.

Manolo said something, sharply, about how many times he had told her to check his pockets (apparently he had lost more than one phone in this manner). Montse, not the least bit cowed, made some sort of smart-alecky retort. Manolo raised a hand, pretending as if to strike her. Montse and Maite both laughed, and then Montse struck him hard on the chest with the back of her hand. Manolo blustered some more but almost if not quite seemed to appreciate the humor in his loss. Maite went into the other room and came back with a small box full of retired cell phones. Manolo grumblingly chose a replacement, while Montse and Maite made no effort to suppress their amusement.

After dinner last night we watched a soccer match (actually before, during, and after—Atletico Madrid vs Barcelona), then a movie with Tommy Lee Jones and Ashley Judd. I had Sara for a time, and I spoke to her in a steady stream of English, to everyone´s approval. When the movie was over I stood up to say good night, and Maite told me we would leave for Burgos at 10:30 the next morning. In an effort at humor—an effort I´ve made a number of times this week, though not yet successfully—I said something to the effect, “Tomorrow I get up more soon than other times” (I´ve been sleeping in). I smiled to indicate I had made a witticism. Maite smiled politely in return, but without conviction.

Yesterday was rather long and dreary, the rain keeping me inside much of the day. I´m ready to go and start walking, but it will be with some reluctance that I leave Espinosa this morning and Manolo and Montse and Maite and Sergio and Sara.