David E Balaam - Columbus Day

"It’s not that – I’m probably not as fit as I should be either."

"Oh, really – I thought you boxed," Vincente replied without any hint of sarcasm.

George looked at him suspiciously. "No," he replied slowly, "never boxed."

"OK, never mind – let's go."

George, still looking puzzled by the question, got into the pickup.

Vincente started the engine and the monster purred. He was obviously proud of his Dodge. "5.7 litre V8 engine. 383 horsepower, 3.42 Axle Ratio, 17" steel all-weather tyres." George realised he was reading a list of memorised specifications.

"It’s a great car . . . err truck. How long have you had it?"

"Nearly eight months." Vincente smiled back.

George was not surprised. It’s still his new toy.

They drove in silence for most of the five minutes to the farmhouse. Vincente knew the way. He had been there before as a friend of the previous owners, and more recently when renovations were being carried out.

"Do you think you can mend the music box, Jorge?"

"I’m not sure. I need to open it up and see what parts can be replaced."

They turned into the drive and Vincente parked close to the front door.

George went in and through the lounge to open the patio sliding doors. "OK, let’s take it through to the patio. I will have more room to work on it there."

The two men manoeuvred the heavy object carefully through the living room and on to the patio floor.

"Bueno." Vincente looked at the view. "I remember this - it is still a good view."

"Did you know Senor and Senora Caldas well?"

"Si, as well as anyone in Calabaza. They have lived here all their lives. They turned in a good olive crop each year as well. Are you going to continue with the olive grove?" Vincente asked with interest.

"I’m not sure. It would be a shame to see it die off if there is a market for them." George had not really considered the fate of the olives, but now Vincente had mentioned it, it was another thing to add to his list of things to do.

"Have you lived here long?" George asked, out of genuine interest.

"We moved here when my wife died, twenty years ago. But that’s a long story."

George got the message – no more questions, but he did register the coincidence in their circumstances.

"Would you like a beer?"

"Ah, Si. Cerveza will be good."

George took two cold bottles of Estrella from the fridge. "Do you prefer a glass or the bottle?"

"Glass, por favor, Jorge. I am too old to drink from a bottle."

George smiled. His thoughts exactly. He poured the cold beers and they sat on the patio.

"Cheers." George raised his glass.

"Salud." Vincente touched glasses and sipped the cool beer.

"This is a good beer. Did you buy it here?"

"Yes. I have not ventured further than the town for shopping yet. I must look for a car soon."

"Ah, you must see Martin the Mechanic. He is good with cars."

"Thank you, but I need a car first before I have it serviced."

"Si, si, but he can also find you a good cheap car. Tell him I send you."

"Thank you. I will look him up. Do you have an address?"

"Just ask anyone in town. They all know him." Vincente said, looking around and into the lounge area.

Vincente smiled, looking at George. "Have you made many changes to the house?"

"Yes, a few." George clicked. He wanted a guided tour. "Would you like to see the rest of the house?"

Vincente was on his feet. "Si, lead the way, Jorge."

In the lounge, George gestured to the kitchen area. "No real changes here just painted the walls, and added a few rugs on the lounge floor." George was walking and talking and heading for the landing to go upstairs when he turned to see Vincente studying the louvre doors to the office.

"Some change here, Jorge?" he said, nodding to the doors.

"Ah, yes, my office. I converted the dining room. Just my computer and work files."

"Si, but why the locks?"

George had been asked the same question by Christopher. "What are you hiding in there dad. Crown Jewels?"

The answer would have to be the same.

"My work is sensitive. I am in software security, and I have an obligation to my clients." George replied, with as much composure as possible.

Vincente seemed unimpressed. "Of course," he said, but sounded unconvinced.

After that Vincente seemed uninterested in the rest of the house, and hardly glanced in each room, just giving a nodded approval before moving on.

Back downstairs, Vincente looked at his watch. "I must collect my grandson from school for lunch. I don’t want to upset my daughter, again. How many children do you have Jorge?"

"Three. Alex, she’s thirty, and then we had twins, Christopher and Bonnie who are twenty-six."

"They must miss you, Jorge."

"Not so much. They moved out some years ago and have their own lives to live now."

"Ah, families should keep together, Jorge. It is different here. Our children look after us in our old age."

They shook hands outside. "Thank you, Vincente for your help. I could not have done that alone."

"Si, it’s OK. Hope to see you soon Jorge. Don’t be a stranger in the bar. Come in for lunch and we can talk some more. Adios, Jorge."

George waved as Vincente manoeuvred the Dodge down the slope to the main road, and wondered why he had not asked him about his wife. George shrugged at the thought and returned to the patio to inspect his new project. The Jukebox.

. . .

Around 10.30 that evening George had a Skype call from Alex. "Hi love. Nice surprise. Everything OK?"

"Yes dad, nothing has to be wrong to call does it?"

"No, but it’s a weekday. I thought you two were early birds."

"We can be when we want to. Anyway, moving on, how are you? Are you eating OK?"

"Yes I am, and yes, and no. Again!"

"Yes and no to what?"

"The same two questions you asked me last week. Am I happy and am I missing home?"

"OK, sorry dad, but we are all concerned about you. There was something else however I wanted to ask." Alex said looking serious.

"OK, what’s that – you two want to come over soon?"

"No . . . yes . . . but I will come back to that. No, what it is, I had a call from a guy asking about you."

George looked alarmed. "What guy. Who was he?" he asked, sounding anxious.

"Dad, wait. I don’t know, he didn’t give his name. He was calling from a secure line so I couldn’t get a call-back number. He asked if I knew what you had done.

What did he mean dad? I was scared and Tom wasn’t home. Why did he call me?"

"Oh darling, I’m so sorry. He’s probably a nutter. Did he say anything else?"