THE SPANISH WAITER: TWENTY-TWO

A meeting at last

Ivan had developed a reputation for being the sort of man who didn’t seem to be able to take anything seriously. It was probably a result of having to stay sane during a long period in prison when he would probably have gone mad had he not developed a protective skin. Now, in Spain, it was easy for him to tell himself to go with the flow, and actually do that.

Most of the summer visitors, and it was the start of the busy summer season as far as the hotel was concerned, liked him and consequently he found himself having to accept a few free drinks when he was behind the bar.

He was careful, though. Years ago he’d been a student and that had taught him the folly of drinking more than enough and the hangovers with their accompanying headaches the next day when he really had to concentrate had added to the lesson.

Tomas liked the atmosphere he brought to the bar because guests tended to stay longer and hopefully spend more, and that helped balance his books after a long bleak season with little going on.

He told himself that it was probably the years he’d spent as a teacher that had encouraged the growth of his repartee from behind the bar because his easy attitude in the school workshop had gone a long way to cementing him as a valuable asset to the technical side of education. Even after his time there was cut short he had been remembered by staff and pupils alike with a degree of respect and gratitude.

Now he was regaining quite a lot of his earlier bonhomie. And it was one quiet afternoon between busy lunch and busy dinner when who should he see walking up to the bar but an Englishman (he had to be one of those) in his sixties, possibly, trailing a slightly younger woman behind him.

He recognised the type and in his mind he categorised him as an office geek whose sole interests were his desk stapler and accompanying hole punch but who toyed when he was bored with a secretary, the one he was curently escorting on a cheeky and possibly naughty holiday abroad.

He noticed this couple because for the moment there were few customers in the bar. It was afternoon, too late for the luncheon brigade and too early for the evening diners and he alone was left to satisfy the desires of the very few who sought mid-afternoon refreshment, so he was behind the bar.

“Good to see a new face. Can I help you?” he asked airily.

“What would I like?” the man asked the woman as if ordering anything from a bar was a radically new experience.

“That’s very mush what you fancy, Randy,” she replied, putting a slight accentuation on the man’s name, “you can’t expect me to know everything.”

“Would a brandy suit me, Alice?” he asked, frowning, “I mean, brandy’s supposed to have many medicinal side-effects, don’t you know? And if I had a beer I might need to find the toilet, and you know what I’m like with strange toilets...”

The woman smiled at Ivan. “Give the man a large brandy, and I’ll have a gin,” she said, “with tonic, if you have some.”

“Are you paying now or adding it to your room?” asked Ivan, who rather preferred handling money rather than just noting a room number on a pad. It seemed more like a proper transaction to him if he actually handled cash. He placed the drinks on the bar and looked at Randy quizzically.

And Randy obviously had no idea what the question was. Having spent the greater part of his life in an office and the only time he enjoyed a drink being at home with Janice, his grey and rather invisible wife who hardly ever drunk anything more refreshing than bottled water unless it was Christmas when she brought out an ancient bottle of sherry and partook of a minuscule glass of the geriatric liquid only half full.

“Charge it to the room please,” said Alice frowning at him. He nodded as if he’d made a decision, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to. After all, this wasn’t England so maybe people here asked odd questions no decent Englishman would understand.

They retired to a table, he making sure it was one with only two chairs as he suddenly felt that the last thing he wanted was the company of strangers. After all, he was in a foreign country and one thing he knew about foreign countries was they were filled with foreign people, most of whom only spoke in a foreign language.

Back in England and in his office where he was the Governor and was always addressed deferentially as due to a man occupying thst elevated position he was comfortable and lord of all he surveyed, but here in a public place he felt out of his depth and way beyond his personal comfort zone. In truth, he preferred the isolation of his comfortable but sterilt office.

“You are silly, Randy,” murmured Alice when they were seated.

“Why do you call me that?” he asked.

“I had to call you something when we ordered your passport or they might not have issued one,” she told him, “and you’re lucky to have one that doesn’t show your very secret real name.”

“Even rthat would be better than Randy,” he sniffed, “now tell me, what do we know about that barman? He seems a bit too English to be Spanish, if you see what I mean.”

“That is Ivan Maybe,” she whispered. “and you’ve got to tread very carefully or he might decide he doesn’t like you and then might not agree to anything you say.”

“I always tread carefully,” he protested.

“If you did that you’d have a few more friends prepared to join you for coffee,” she said, “or even go out with you for a pint or two.”

“I’ve got plenty of friends!” he protested.

Age eyed him coldly, “not friends. Acquaintances,” she told him.

“Is there a difference?” he asked.

“Of course there is, and my point has been made for me by you feeling you have to ask that question!” she said with half a smile.

He mulled over that, and might have found some sort of reply but Ivan, the barman, on his way to collecting a few empty glasses left by earlier guests, paused at his table.

Randy saw this as an early oppoetunity to get his work over so that he could retreat to home and his office.

“Is your name Maybe?” he asked, “Ivan Maybe?”

The question surprised Ivan, but he nodded. “That’s what they call me,” he replied, “why, do we know each other?”

“Not in the least,” replied the man called Randy, “but I’ve come a long way to sort something out with you. I am empowered to offer you a rather large sum as compensation as long as you agree to keeping quiet to errors that may or may not have been made in the past…”

“That may not?” asked Ivan, “I don’t understand may not.”

© Peter Rogerson 24.11.22

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