Ogre's Lament

Chapter Three: The Bullies

Chapter Three: The BulliesAfter he placed the last bundle of bread inside the door of the Ramirez family, Luis relaxed his breathing, dropping his shoulders as the stress left him. Another day of deliveries done. He relished these moments, when he could simply be.

He stood against a wall, under the shade of an orange tree, and searched the sky. No sign of any cloud. Already the temperature had risen to uncomfortable levels. From down the way came the sounds of morning, a village slowly waking up. A baby crying, parents running around to find food scraps, an old man opening bedroom shutters and wheezing in a great gulp of air. From afar someone else coughing violently, sounding as if they were bringing up their entire lungs. A woman calling to her neighbour, barking out the usual 'Buenos dias' that they had exchanged everyday for the past fifty odd years. Luis listened and he breathed it all in. His village. His world.

He called back at his house to check that his mother and sister were all right. His mother was sat up in bed, dragging a comb through her hair. She looked a little better, some colour returned to her cheeks, but Luis knew not to build his hopes up. She often rallied like this, however the illness which had ravaged her for so long eventually returned, often with a vengeance.

For now, at least, face flushed and eyes bright, she seemed in livelier spirits than she had been when he left.

“Luis,” she cried as he came through her door, her face breaking into a smile. He rushed over and fell into her arms. She hugged him tightly and he snuggled into her shoulder, breathing in her perfume.

“You are feeling a little better?” He rocked back, so he could take in the details of her face.

She nodded. “A little.” She placed the comb on her bedside table. “It is very hot today.”

She often changed the subject like this whenever conversations turned to her illness. It was almost as if by not talking about it, in some bizarre way, the illness might become less. Luis, despite knowing this not to be so, much preferred to keep his mother in good spirits, so he decided to tell her of his earlier encounter in the square. “I met someone today. A stranger.”

“Really?” She appeared indifferent and adjusted her nightdress. “And where did he come from, this stranger, or was it a 'she'?”

“No, a man. A soldier.”

Her right eye narrowed. A slight holding of the breath. Luis noticed, but made no comment. “A soldier? Interesting. What's a soldier doing all the way down here?”

“He didn't say. I told him where to find a room, over at Filipe's.”

“A room?” She smoothed down the side of her hair. Her gaze did not meet his. “That means he might be staying. Did he tell you his name?”

“No, mama. Why, do you think you might know him?” He wasn't sure why he asked, but something about her changed attitude unsettled him. Might the mention of a soldier be the precursor to something more sinister in her view?

She gave a quick giggle, “Know him? Goodness me, no. I don't think I have ever met a soldier… at least, not for many years.”

Luis swung his legs over the bed and stood up. “Well, I'm sure he won't be staying for long. Nothing of very much interest for a soldier, here in the village.”

She pressed her lips together, her eyes peering beyond him, her voice distant as she said, “No. That much is true.”

“I have to be going. I'll see to Constanza, give her some breakfast, then I'll walk up to school.”

He leaned forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. She reached over, a thin hand stroking his face. “Luis…”

“Yes, mama?”

“Be careful.”

“Careful? Of what, mama?”

She shrugged. “Just… Be careful.”

He laughed and turned to go. When he reached the door, she shouted out to him, “And Luis—if you get the chance—find out his name.”

Frowning, Luis left her and went to the kitchen to prepare something for his sister to eat.

What did his mother mean by that, he wondered as he made his way down the slope towards the square. Why would his mother be interested in a strange soldier's name? She had said she didn't know any, had never met any, so why the interest? And the way she had become nervous, almost afraid at the mention of him. All of this was very curious. He couldn't remember his mother ever telling him to 'be careful', but to mention it this morning, after the meeting with the soldier, just seemed strange, a little too much of a coincidence. He was sure she was holding something back, keeping a secret or knowledge of something from him. Whatever it was, he would have to wait and see.

By now the early morning bustle had given way to the resigned and much calmer atmosphere of a small village gripped by strength sapping heat. Groups of men gathered on street corners, discussing what work they might be able to find. The olives were as yet unready to be gathered and, until they were, employment of any kind was scarce. Only some two hundred people resided in the village, but most of them lived on the borderline of starvation, desperate to find ways and means to feed their families. Luis was perhaps luckier than most. The pittance he earned from the baker meant that at least he could provide one meal a day for his mother and sister. Many in the village couldn't even do that.

At the fountain, where he had spoken to the soldier not two hours earlier, a small bunch of boys gathered. Often they would find work to do out in the fields, picking out the stones from the hard, unforgiving ground. They had to move fast, as by midday the heat was so intense that no one, not even flies, ventured outside. Lounging around, as they always seemed to do, one of their favourite, early morning sports was to goad and a***e Luis. When they noticed him, their spirits became much more buoyant. Luis saw it and groaned.

“Here he is,” began Alvaro, their leader, almost as soon as Luis came into view. A large, brutish looking lad of around fifteen, what Alvaro lacked in intelligence he made up for in sheer physical strength. Highly regarded by the local farmers, he always took particular pleasure in inflicting pain and misery on Luis. “Look at him, prancing around like a dancer in a bordello. Hey, Luigi, show us a dance!”

The other boys roared at this, the purposeful distortion of Luis's name. Luis kept his eyes averted, head down. He had long become accustomed to the tirade that greeted him most mornings. He wished there was another route he could take to his tutor's house, but there was none. Consequently, virtually every morning would find him forced to run the gauntlet of a***e. He gritted his teeth and marched on.

Two of the boys stepped out and barred his way. Luis sighed, resigned to what would come next. Señor Martinez, his tutor, would be angry when Luis explained what had happened, always saying the same thing, 'Luis, for the Lord's sake, why don't you fight back? Stand up to them Luis, don't allow yourself to be disrespected in this way.' It was all right for Señor Martinez to give such advice, he was a grown man, people revered him. No one would dare hurl insults at him. Luis, for his part, had long since learned that it was better to simply soak all the a***e up rather than try to retaliate. He had done so once and Alvaro had slapped him across the ear. The sting of the blow, the ringing that went on in his head for at least two days afterwards, was a memory more painful than the slap itself. So he let his shoulders drop and he sighed, preparing himself for the usual onslaught.

“You heard Alvaro,” said another, a short and swarthy looking tough by the name of Carlos. Luis feared him more than almost all of the others put together. Excepting Alvaro, of course. “Let's see you dance.”

“Please Carlos,” Luis said in a small voice and made to go past.

Carlos, sensing Luis's despair, grinned at the prospect of some fun. He stepped up to the others in blocking Luis's path. “Dear me, Luis, refusing our request? We can't have that—we want entertaining, Luis.”

“That's right,” said a thin boy named Francisco. Jet-black hair and jet-black eyes which smouldered with unrelenting fury. Luis wondered if he were angry only towards Luis, or possibly the entire world. He didn't think he had ever seen the boy happy. Some said his father had fought with the Imperialist tercios at the battle of Lutzen and had died there. No one could be certain as news rarely filtered through about the War in the north. Luis believed the possibility Francisco might never see his father again, must affect him in some way. Almost a kindred spirit, Luis had often played with the idea that they could be friends. After all, he had lost his father too. Today, he was like the rest. Mean, mocking. He prodded Luis in the chest, sneering. “Dance for us, Luis.”

Luis looked wildly from face to face, finally settling on Alvaro, who beamed, slapping one of the other toughs on the shoulder. “We are about to see the great dancing Luis. Come on, let's get moving.” He slowly began to clap his hands and stamp his foot. Soon the others took up the cue, a steady beat designed to goad Luis into moving.

“I can't dance,” Luis said through clenched teeth. “Why do we have to go through this every morning?”

“Because you're a girl,” said Francisco, reaching over and flicking Luis's long hair. “Look at that! Caballero! You wear your hair like a girl's, so dance like a girl.”

Carlos stepped closer and Luis gasped when he saw the thin blade in the boy's hand. “Shall I cut it off for you, Luis? Eh? Would you like that, make you like the rest of us?”

“You keep that away from me, Carlos.” Luis instinctively stepped back, only to find himself right up against Alvaro, who leaned over him and breathed down into his ear.

“Dance!”

Letting his shoulders drop even lower, Luis looked down at his feet. No one ever came to help him, no doubt enjoying the show themselves. A few old, tired men looked on, sitting against the wall, their faces blank. Luis wished he had the strength, the courage to fight back. But he had neither. So, tentatively at first, he began to shuffle his feet from side to side as the baying applause gathered momentum. Gradually he lifted up his knees and danced in earnest. With his eyes closed, battling to keep back the tears, he tried to lose himself in his thoughts. Memories of when he was younger, with his father taking him up on his shoulders, walking him out across the fields and into the forest. The miles they walked, the things they talked about. Distant lands, people who spoke strange tongues, oceans and ships and cities that swarmed with thousands of citizens; tales of monsters, giants and dwarfs. They all thrilled him, especially the tale of the ogre who lived in the mountains nearby. An ogre that could sometimes be heard roaring in the distant valleys as hunger gnawed at his very soul. He would come down into the village and prey on some unfortunate who happened to be out after dark. No one else ever spoke about the ogre, but Luis believed that was because they all feared that the mere mention of his name would bring him back down in to the village, to feast once again on children and grown-ups alike.

A great cheer sprang up and Luis snapped himself out of his dreaming. The boys had gathered around in a tight circle to enjoy the show and applauded loudly. Luis, dancing like a maniac, had earned their appreciation. He stopped and stood, hands on hips, breathing hard, sweat running down the bridge of his nose.

Alvaro stepped up and clapped Luis on the back. “That was a fine display, Luis. Tomorrow, we want you to dress up in a hat.”

“With a feather,” chirped in Carlos.

“Yes, with a feather. Then you'll be a proper Caballero.”

Luis groaned again, already thinking of a plan to outwit them, anything that would mean he wouldn't have to go through this ignominy again. He hefted his bag and went to move away.

“Enjoy your lessons, Luis.”

Luis looked up into Alvaro's cruel eyes. He could see the loathing simmering away in those deep, black rimmed orbs. Luis knew how much these ignorant, uneducated boys hated him. They hated him for the fact he could read and write, that he stopped at the bridge to look at the mountains, and in the cool of the evening he would stretch himself out in the grass and pick out the stars. They hated him for the fact that Luis had dreams, aspirations. That if anyone could, he would be the one to leave the village one day and make something of himself in that hardest and cruellest of worlds. Not them. Oh no, they would live out their lives here, dead by the time they were fifty, broken arms and broken backs, bodies worn out by the daily, unremitting toil of working in the fields. Not a life for Luis. So, the hatred. The envy. Luis didn't know which was worse.

Leaving the cackling voices behind, Luis trudged up the narrow footpath that climbed towards his tutor's home. As he took the first step, he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

Some way off, the soldier stood leaning nonchalantly under the shade of an orange tree, arms folded, smoking his long, thin pipe. A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, a forefinger tipping the brim of his hat in greeting. Luis gave a tiny smile, then hurried up the path.

He must have seen it all, he thought, the taunting, the jostling, the humiliation.

And he hadn't helped.