A Lizard In My Luggage (32 page)

We have survived Christmas, New Year and are now on the last lap. El Nit dels Reis has arrived, an event prized above all others by Mallorcan children. In England we have Father Christmas, but in Mallorca they have Three Kings, the Magi, the wise men from the East, who ride into town at dusk on 5 January, bearing gifts. In recent times Father Christmas has some how directed his sleigh towards Mallorca which poses a problem for local families. Do they celebrate both occasions or hold out with the Three Kings? In rural Mallorca at least overindulging children is frowned upon so Father Christmas finds few takers in the hills.

  The arrival of the Three Kings,
Els Tres Reis
, is handled differently all over the island but up in the mountains it is a very intimate affair with three male volunteers from the village playing the kings Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar, and arriving on horseback, heavily disguised and magnificently attired in Magi dress, with a train of magical creatures and courtiers dancing behind them. Loaded on to a float are presents for every local child. The event is financed by the local
ajuntament
, the town or village council, and is a magical affair. As honorary members of Catalina's village we are invited along and take our seats in the main Square. This is good news for Ollie as he gets to enjoy the generosity of Father Christmas as well as that of
Els Tres Reis
whom Catalina has made sure include him in their distribution of gifts. This year, Catalina's three brothers have agreed to play the kings and they arrive to a great fanfare and screams of excitement from parents and children alike. Ollie, pink cheeked, can hardly contain his pleasure when he sees the cart laden with brightly coloured parcels. Catalina's two little girls are equally ecstatic.

  'Will there be one for you, Ollie?' little Sofia questions in Mallorcan.

  'I hope so,' he mumbles.

  Ramon gives him a hug. 'You've played well at football this year so the kings will be pleased.'

  'Really?' he asks.

  '
Si, si
. The kings are great footballers.'

  Ollie digests this information carefully and looks rather surprised.

  Solemnly, the kings dismount and make their way to the stage in the square while a group of elves following in their wake throw sweets to the expectant crowds. Each king has his name etched on his robe. I notice Catalina's older brother Jordi, playing Balthasar, is having problems with his gold turban which keeps slipping over his eyes while her younger brother Marc, playing Caspar, battles to keep a long brown beard in place on his chin. Stefan, as Melchior, seems to be in good shape and appears to like his silver cape and bejewelled gold crown. As he passes us, Stefan gives a surreptitious wink which we reciprocate. He touches Ollie on the head.

  'Did you see that?' hisses Ollie. 'The king touched me!'

  The event begins. It is chilly but there is no wind and above the stage the sky is laden with stars. Balthasar attempts to make a speech but the microphone is faulty and so we watch him in mime, oblivious to the problem, until a technician runs up to the stage and attempts to rectify things. It finally whines into life and he speaks.

  '
Benvingut
and
Molts d'anys
everyone!'

  There's a huge cheer from the assembled audience and clapping. Caspar sets the ball rolling inviting the children up to the stage, calling out their names one by one from a large gold scroll. As each child approaches the front, I observe Ollie, anticipation and hope etched on his face, listening ever for the sound of his name. Moments later, Caspar looks in our direction and with a smile bellows into the mike, 'Ollie…'

  In a flash, Ollie relinquishes his grip on my hand and sprints to the stage where Melchior, with a stealthy nod in my direction, engages him in conversation. Stefan is a good linguist and so I wonder whether he has decided to address our budding footballer in English. Ollie returns to me clutching a large package.

  'Those Eastern kings are really clever you know,' he confides. 'They can even speak English.'

The phone purrs and then it connects.

  'Ed it's me!'

  'Ah, how are you? How's Mallorca?'

  'All fine.'

  'When are you back in London?'

  'Oh, not for a month or so.'

  'You don't seem too bothered,' he admonishes.

  He's right. I'm rather happy staying here in the mountains away from all the stress and hassle. I decide to change the subject. 'Ed, you didn't answer my last e-mail. Are you OK?'

  He coughs. 'I've been a bit preoccupied I'm afraid.'

  'What? With work?'

  He sniffs. 'Actually I've been seeing rather a lot of Julia the last few weeks.'

  'Ah, the nurse?' I've caught him!

  'Yes,' he says slowly. 'She's very sweet and seems to be able to cope with my neuroses.'

  'Gosh, she must be a saint.'

  'Maybe she is,' he says dryly. 'It's quite nice to meet someone in the flesh, I mean rather than through the Internet.'

  I decide to resist the urge to say, 'You don't say?'

  'So has anything happened?' I ask intrusively.

  'Actually, yes, we have shared an intimate moment.'

  There's a pause on the line. I'm all agog.

  'Well, what was it?' I hiss impatiently.

  'I allowed her to look in my MEK,' he says.

It is 16 January, a crisp night up in Catalina's village where the festivities are taking place. We have been invited to join the party in the
plaça
which always happens the day before Beneides de Sant Antoni, the blessing of animals. Pep, Juana and Angel meet us by the water fountain where they are chatting with Catalina and her father, Paco. Angel rushes over to Ollie and they disappear into the crowd on some mischievous mission or other with the local village children. A huge bonfire blazes in the centre of the square, illuminating the ancient olive tree, the centrepiece of the village, and tables and chairs are set up around the perimeter for the guests. The local
ajuntament fi
nances the celebrations, providing a band, wine and copious amounts of meat for barbequing. It's a wonderfully cosy village affair which, after the wholesale consumption of warming wine, becomes even more entertaining as locals begin singing and telling saucy tales to the gathered guests. Ramon grabs my arm.

  'You know Catalina's aunt, Maria, is bringing her
ximbomba al
ong. Be warned!'

  I have seen one of these bizarre instruments but never watched it in action.

  'That's excellent news! I've been desperate to hear the
ximbomba
played.'

  'You'll be desperate enough!' he taunts. 'Maria sings very risqué songs while she plays. I hope your Mallorcan's not up to it.'

  'Well, I hope you'll translate.'

  'You must be joking! They're far too rude for your ears.'

  'That's very mean,' I pout.

  Juana comes over with Catalina who hands me a huge glass of wine.

  'My aunt's coming, you want to play the
ximbomba?
'

  Ramon quickly joins Alan and Pep, keen not to be involved in the embarrassing spectacle we women are going to make. I see Maria bustling into the square and pulling her prized instrument out of a plastic carrier bag. She gives me a wicked grin and beckons me over.

  'Here, I set it up and you try it.'

  I look at the strange contraption which has a terracotta base rather like a plant pot, and a surface covered in taut goat hide. A long, vertical bamboo cane is inserted in its middle which Maria tells me causes friction and a particular sound.

  'Here, I also have a wet cabbage leaf. You rub this up and down the cane and it make a good noise. Here, I show you.'

  She sits on a chair and with the
ximbomba
held erect between her knees, wraps the cabbage leaf around the cane and begins pushing it up and down. A sound similar to someone blowing a loud raspberry is emitted. People stop to listen and several admiring groups amble over to get a good earful. Someone knocks my arm. It is Pep with a dangerous twinkle in his eye and characteristic
puro
in hand.

  'You know this is an important phallic symbol,' he says solemnly.

  'Oh please…!' I roll my eyes.

  'He pretends to look aggrieved. 'Listen, I can explain the significance.'

  'I'd rather you didn't, thank you.'

  He giggles. 'Come on Maria, let her try!'

  Maria breaks off from her task and gets me to take her place. Rather awkwardly, I take up position and begin rubbing at the cabbage leaf. A loud squawk, more an anguished cry, escapes from the drum and people erupt with laughter.

  'That sounds more like a constipated cow,' yells Pep.

  'You do it then!' I growl at him.

  'Here, hold my cigar,' he instructs before I can object. Then he leaps up and clasps the stick to his chest and begins singing wildly as he plays. This immediately draws an appreciative crowd.

  'He is singing one of the
gloses,'
whispers Maria to me.

  'What's that?'

  'It's a little bawdy tale. This one is very funny about a nun and a…' she doubles up at the words.

  I give her a frustrated nudge. 'A nun and a what??'

  She shakes her head and wipes her eyes. 'Oh! It's too naughty. Mo
lt malament!
'

  Alan and Ramon wander over with wry grins on their faces.

  'Ever the showman,' sighs Alan.

  'He is very funny but his song is a little strong, like a robust cheese,' says Catalina.

  The villagers are captivated by Pep's debut. He finishes his piece, stands up and bows, before passing the
ximbomba
back to Maria. The crowd claps as Pep plucks the
puro
stub from my hand and strolls off towards Aina's bar, the oldest bar in the village.

  'I need a small medicinal whisky,' he murmurs. 'How about you?'

  Alan and Ramon nod and off they go in a pack. Juana has been captivated by her husband's performance and now confers with Maria over what
gloses they
will perform next. Maria decides on her next number and holds forth while a hush falls. As she comes to the end of her tune there's raucous whistling. I lament the fact that my knowledge of Mallorcan can't fathom the naughty nuances of the songs. On second thoughts, maybe it's for the best.

  Juana takes my arm and together we go off to enjoy the barbecue and catch up with local friends. I drain my wine glass and am quickly poured another by Lorenç, who has crept up behind me. I notice he's still wearing his log carting gear. Juana and I fill our plates with sizzling meat and sit at one of the tables. Lorenç, with a plate filled to the brim, joins us.

  'Do you know,' Juana says with starry eyes. 'My husband may have many faults but I can't deny that he's truly brilliant on the
ximbomba
.'

  Aha, that's it! Now I've at last fathomed how Pep won the doughty Juana's heart.