Domingo's Angel

Chapter 8

Angela stared at herself in the mirror, transfixed, as Rosalba combed her hair deftly up on top of her head in Grecian style, pinning as she went, then carefully placed an ornate high comb at the top and attached the black lace mantilla. The black lace framed her pale face, giving her an ethereal look.

Rosalba stood back and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction.

"But it's beautiful, Rosalba!" exclaimed Angela. "I have never seen such a lovely thing."

Rosalba nodded. "My grandmother made the lace." she said, and, as Angela began to stand up, "Wait! There is a shawl."

She fetched out a shawl, of the same exquisite pattern and Angela took it and began to put it around her shoulders.

"No, not like that!"

Rosalba took it back and tied it around Angela's waist.

"There you are!"

Angela turned back to look at herself in the mirror. What she saw was a beautiful Spanish girl in flamenco dress.

"How did you do that?" she asked, an expression of wonder on her face. "I can't believe that's me."

Rosalba gave a satisfied nod.

"I would like them back after the feria," she said. "My grandmother made them."

"Of course," said Angela. "How kind you are!"

Rosalba gave her a stern look. "Now get along to the feria. I want to see you dance the Sevillana."

Angela hurried downstairs, noticing as she did so, that Rosalba's back yard seemed to overflow into the street behind, much of which was taken up by an enormous chicken run.

As she came out of the shop, faces turned to watch her, especially those of the men.

Domingo, leaning comfortably at the bar, turned to see her, raised one eyebrow, and waved gaily.

"She's not bad-looking, your Angel," said Salva, "once you get used to the strange colours."

* * * *

The sun rose in the sky and the day got hotter and hotter.

The young men came riding into the square on an assortment of horses, mules and donkeys, each reaching down to pluck a young girl from the crowd and seat her behind him, side-saddle, as was respectable. The girls leaned forward, clasping the men round the chest and clinging on tight, their bright party dresses billowing out in the wind of their passage. One of the horses came riding directly towards Angela and she shrank back in alarm, stepping behind Domingo and peering fearfully over his shoulder. But the young man, if he had any intention of snatching her up, changed his mind and seized one of the village girls, who giggled and then smiled regally at the assembly as they rode out of the other end of the square.

The bar began to serve paella but Angela was not hungry. She glanced again at the group of girls fussing over the baby and for a moment wished she were somewhere else. What was she doing here, in a strange land?But when she looked across at Domingo, deep in conversation with his friends, drinking wine and laughing, hope flared up again and she thought maybe everything would be all right.

. Several young men had brought instruments and were striking up dance music on the platform at the top of the steps. Down in the square people were dancing.

Angela watched wistfully as the girls stamped and clapped and swung their heavy skirts to the music. After a while she became aware that Marcia Belén was standing beside her. "I will show you," she whispered and, taking Angela by the hand, drew her into an alley. Together they stepped through the Sevillana, laughing every time Angela got it wrong. After two or three tunes, she felt confident enough to try it in public and the two went back into the square, giggling like schoolgirls, and joined the throng by the church steps.

She was so lost in the dance that she took a moment to notice when the music died to a halt and the crowd suddenly became silent. Then she looked up to see what was causing it.

Riding into the square on a magnificent white stallion, was Guillermo the mayor.

The stallion was not just adorned, it was caparisoned, the saddle blanket of embroidered silk with tassels, the saddle itself of beautiful tooled leather. The horse's mane was plaited and woven with ribbons, the tail woven with gold thread and silk, ending in an intricate knot.

And Guillermo himself was scarcely less magnificent. He wore tailored riding breeches, high boots of worked leather, a snowy white starched and ruffled shirt, an embroidered waistcoat, and a hard, black, wide-brimmed hat.

The crowd gasped in admiration and Guillermo acknowledged them with a regal wave. If anybody noticed that his balance wavered slightly with the gesture, nobody commented.

With a vast, satisfied smile, he dismounted at the bar and demanded a cognac. Pepe raised both eyebrows and turned to wink at Domingo as he reached for the brandy bottle.

Domingo leaned over and whispered in Salva's ear. "That is how he spent the two hundred thousand pesetas," adding, "If I had two hundred thousand pesetas, that is what I would spend it on."

Salva gave him an old-fashioned look. "He has a golden egg," he remarked, "but you have the goose."

Domingo looked at him in frank incomprehension. It was as if he were talking in riddles.

"He has the two hundred thousand pesetas," Salva said patiently, "but you have the rich girl."

He paused. "You should get Angela to buy you a horse."

"Yeah!" said Limping Pepe, "before she notices how ugly you are."

Domingo stared gloomily into his wine. He had completely forgotten that it was Angela who had supplied the money. That Angela was the rich girl. And suddenly his heart sank.

How long before she grew tired of a goatherd?

It was as if a dark cloud had overtaken the sun. The feria whirled around him, the bright dresses flashing in the sun, the music suddenly loud and strident. And none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except that he was certain to lose Angela. As soon as she noticed how ugly he was.

Thinking these miserable thoughts, he returned to his vino del terreno and began to drink with rather more determination than before.