THE English speaker had grasped the bones of the situation – we had a fire in the campo, and we wanted the Bomberos.
‘Where is the fire?’
‘In Limaria.’
‘Santa Maria.’
‘No, Limaria.’
‘Ah!’ she said in tones of enlightenment. ‘Santa Maria de la Nieve.’
‘No. Limaria. L.I.M.A.R.I.A I spelt it out.
‘Where is Limaria?’
‘Near Albox.’
‘In Albox.’
‘No. It is between Albox and Los Higuerales.’
Silly me! ‘Where is Los Higuerales?’
‘Would you like me to give you the sat-nav coordinates?’
‘No. Just tell me where Limaria is.’
‘From Albox take the road past Alhambre to Limaria, which is the Albox side of Los Higuerales and Cucador.’
‘It is in Alhambre?’
Oh no, I thought. She’s got hold of the wrong Alhambre. ‘No.’ I uttered urgently. ‘It is between Alhambre, the village outside Albox, and Los Higuerales.’
‘Not Santa Maria?’
‘No. I screamed inwardly. ‘Limaria is one of the villages belonging to Arboleas.’
‘The fire is in the campo?’ ‘Yes.’ Patience of a saint.
‘Is it a big fire?’ By now I thought it probably was.
‘Yes.’ ‘Can you see the fire from the road?’
‘Yes.’ ‘In Limaria?’
‘Yes.’ ‘You want the Bomberos?’ Halleluja! Praise the Lord!
‘One moment.’ She paused to digest the salient points: Fire. Campo. Bomberos. In a village on the dark side of the moon.
‘I will call the Bomberos.’
‘Thank you.’
If this had been a house fire it would have been pointless calling the Bomberos – as it would be nothing more than a smouldering heap by now!
