Free Two Old Fools in Spain Again by Victoria Twead Page B

Junior translated.
    “Good! Good!” nodded Alejandro. “Joe? I take it you agree with Vicky.”
    “Oh, definitely,” said Joe. “What she said.”
    At last the glasses were empty and Joe and I staggered out of Alejandro’s bodega. We’d spent half an hour tasting wine and I don’t believe Alejandro, Alejandro Junior or Paco had touched a single drop. Back in the kitchen, Alejandro Senior rose to meet us.
    “Do you want to see the animals?” he asked.
    “Yesh please,” we said.
    Alejandro Senior led us past the three snarling monsters and through another gate to a field. Vegetables grew in neat rows and a worker was hoeing the soil. I had my camera with me and snapped it all. We skirted the cultivated land, heading for the barn at the end. Tethered to a fence was a young horse, pawing the ground with one front hoof.
    “He’s not broken in yet,” said Alejandro Senior approaching him confidently.
    The colt’s nostrils flared and his eyes rolled in warning, showing their whites. Alejandro Senior patted his neck and the horse stood still, accepting the attention but not enjoying it, still fearful. I fumbled with the camera, snapping pictures.
    Just then, Joe sneezed. The young horse, startled, swung round and aimed a kick at Alejandro Senior. Alejandro Senior skipped back and aimed a kick at the front end of the horse.
    Very rarely, one takes a photo that one knows is extraordinary and I knew I had just accomplished that by accident. The old man and the young horse formed a perfect circle, each aiming a kick at the other. The backdrop of rolling mountains, the field and the blue sky, contributed to what I was convinced would be an exceptional photo.
    “Wait until you see this photo,” I said to Joe. “I think it’s a bit special.”
    I didn’t enjoy the animal tour, although I tried hard to hide it. All the animals were provided with food and water but I silently deplored their living conditions. In one shed white rabbits were being reared for the pot. There was a huge white buck in one tiny cage and mothers with their babies in other equally small cages. I don’t think eating rabbit meat is wrong, but I do believe that every animal deserves a decent quality of life.
    The chicken shed was no better. The hens were housed in small cages and had no opportunity to stretch their wings or scratch the ground. The shed was artificially lit and Alejandro Senior explained that the lights were left on to fool the chickens into thinking it was still daylight so they would lay more eggs.
    After seeing terrified quails scattering in the last shed, I was ready to go home. We thanked our hosts and left soon after, heads still befuddled by the wine-tasting session.
    “You certainly waxed lyrical in the bodega,” Joe said.
    “Well, you weren’t much help with your ‘I agree with Vicky.’ Couldn’t you come up with anything better?”
    “You seemed to be doing fine all by yourself.”
    Halfway home, I remembered the photo I’d taken. I stopped and scrolled through the day’s photos, searching for it. And it was superb, even on the camera’s little digital display. I couldn’t wait to see it full-size.
    “Here, let’s have a look,” said Joe grabbing the camera. “Where is it?”
    “Click the button on the left and scroll through. It’s quite near the end.”
    “I can’t see any photos.”
    “Which button did you press?”
    “This one.”
    I craned forward to see which button he was indicating. It was clearly marked, although the print was tiny. ‘Eliminar todas’ .
    “You’re joking?”
    “No, why?”
    “You’ve just deleted all the photos I took today.”
    “Oh.”
    I had lost my masterpiece and all the photos stored in the camera. We would have to rely on our wine-blurred memories to recapture that remarkable day.

    One evening in October, much to my surprise, Joe answered the phone when it rang. He didn’t call me, so I didn’t bother to listen. He came back into the kitchen scratching