Ogre's Lament

Chapter Four: The Teacher

Chapter Four: The TeacherSeñor Martinez greeted Luis with his usual dour expression, piercing eyes searching him under bristling brows. Wiry and bent over by the years, Señor Martinez still bore the stature of a well-respected man, a certain arrogance rooted in his strong jaw, the slightly turned down corners of his mouth. He did not suffer fools lightly, this old music teacher who had, so the stories went, once tutored the king's son in Madrid. For Luis to have discovered such a man as this, in this forgotten backwater of a dried-up village, was good fortune indeed. That he did not charge Luis a single peseta, even better. “There's something about you that I like,” the old man had said when he first came across Luis a few years before. “Come and talk to me and I will open your eyes to a whole new world.” So Luis did, and every morning since, excepting Saturdays and Sundays, he went to Martinez's simple house and worked through his studies. Soon, it became routine. Not a painful one, however; one borne from necessity. Luis might find himself trapped here forever without his tutoring. Riodelgado, the world's end.

“You're late again,” said Martinez without anger. “They belittled you did they, as usual?”

Luis placed his bag on the table and slowly pulled out his books and the quill he'd borrowed from Martinez some days before. “Only a little.”

“Bah!” Martinez slammed the flat of his hand down on the table. “When are you going to stand up to them, meet them full on and end all of this? Heh?”

Luis had no answer. He had been through this conversation any number of times and he was bored with it. He sat down and began to sharpen the nib of his quill. “There is a soldier come to the village,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “I met him this morning.”

“German?”

“No. Spanish, I think.”

“You think? Don't you know? What was he, a mercenary?”

Luis frowned. “Mercenary?”

“Soldier of fortune—one who fights for the highest bidder. Now the war is almost over many such men will be roaming the countryside, looking for employment.” Martinez sucked his teeth. “Or trouble.”

“Well, he was certainly a soldier. He had a sword and pistols. A rougher looking man I have yet to see. He looked as if he had been travelling for days, perhaps even weeks.” Luis carefully put the quill down and smoothed open the page of his copybook. “The war is over, you say? When did that happen?”

“I can't begin to know.” Martinez disappeared for a moment into the tiny kitchen adjacent to the room and returned with a basket of bread. He placed it down before Luis, together with a slab of cheese. “Eat your breakfast, Luis. You can't learn on an empty stomach.”

Luis smiled. The old man could always sense Luis's need for food, probably by simply listening to the rumblings coming from deep inside his young scholar.

Chewing through the bread, Luis asked again, “So, the war. When did it end?”

“I said I don't know. Pablo told me some weeks ago.” Martinez pushed over a jug of fresh water. Luis poured himself a mug full. “Apparently a peace agreement has been signed by all the countries involved. Somehow, I suspect the struggle between Spain and France will only grow worse.” He lowered his eyes, as well as his voice. “Much worse.”

“Can that be possible?” Luis took a large drink. It tasted fresh and sweet. “I have heard it said that this war has been the worst in all recorded history. Hundreds of thousands of people killed, either by fighting or plague. Whole cities burned to the ground, miles upon miles of farmland throughout Germany salted, blighted forever.”

“You know much, Luis. All of this from Pablo?”

Luis nodded, nibbling at a piece of cheese. “Mostly. Mother also told me some things.”

“Yes, well… she would know.”

Martinez slid over a wrinkled piece of parchment. “Enough talk of war, Luis. Your Latin requires urgent attention.” Luis sighed, drained his mug and settled down to some study.

At the door, a few hours later, Martinez placed a tightly wrapped bundle of bread and cheese into Luis's hand, together with a small stone bottle of wine. “Tomorrow we will talk of some history, Luis. Geography too. That way you can make sense of all these things you keep hearing and all these strangers you keep meeting.”

Luis gave an awkward smile, a little embarrassed. He stuffed the food and drink into his bag. “Thank you, Señor Martinez.”

“And learn your verbs, Luis. You won't get anywhere without knowing them.”

Luis waved goodbye to the old tutor and made his way back down into the square. Almost at once he broke out in sweat. The heat had become unbearable and not a soul was out. At least this meant he would not have to suffer another bout of bullying. The intense sunlight, however, was almost as bad, making his head hurt with all the frowning. By the time he reached his house, he was soaked through with perspiration, but all of this discomfort vanished when he saw old Señora Gomez standing at the doorway, wringing her hands.

“Oh Luis,” she said, coming forward at a rush. She clamped her hands on his shoulders.

“What is it?” He could see by her flushed face something serious had happened. She shuffled into the house, wringing her hands again, and slumped down on a rickety old chair, mumbling incoherently. “Señora Gomez, tell me what's happened – is it Mamá?”

Luis dumped his bag down and rushed towards his mother's room. Señora Gomez caught him by the arm. “No, your mother is sleeping. Please don't disturb her. It's Constanza. She is not well. I have taken her to my house, kept her in bed, given her some broth.”

“Constanza?” Luis felt his stomach pitch over. “But, what is it? A fever?” He was wild with worry. How could this have happened? When he had left them this morning they both seemed bright enough. Señora Gomez always came in to stay with them for a few hours whilst he worked and studied. To discover his sister was ill shocked him, turning his legs to jelly and he sat down on his bed, pressing his hands against his face.

Señora Gomez knelt down next to him. “She is very weak, with some kind of fever.” She shook her head. “You should have told me.”

Luis gaped at her. “I didn't know. When I left this morning, everything was fine. Even Mamá seemed better, more cheerful.” He put his face in his hands, leaning forward, the news becoming too much all of a sudden. “I can't believe this.”

She placed a hand gently on his arm. “You need some rest as well. You do too much, what with your bread deliveries and that… school. Can't you give it up?”

He brought his head up from his hands. “And what would I do with my life then, Señora Gomez? Become a farmer, perhaps? A worker in the fields?”

She shook her head, looking sad. “What will you become if you continue with your studies?”

“I will go to university, Señora Gomez. Madrid, possibly even Paris. I will learn to be a doctor.”

“A doctor.” She shook her head again, this time more vigorously. “My, what silly dreams you have.” She bent forward, her face very close. “I know you want to do what is best for your mother and sister, Luis, but you have to understand that this is the real world in which you live, not some fairytale. Studies and education are not for the likes of us. We are peasants, Luis. We always will be.” She smiled. “You have to think of your mother. I am afraid she is not long for this world. I would prepare yourself, Luis.”

“Prepare myself for what, Señora Gomez?”

“I think you know.” She patted his knee and stood up, groaning a little as she did so, showing the few teeth she still had remaining. “My aching bones.” Slowly she shuffled towards the door. “When your mother awakes, tell her about Constanza. Then, I suggest you go and visit the priest.”