Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
Once Dick made up his mind to move on he didn't believe in delay. The following morning he stuffed his gear into his rucksack and headed out. We walked with him part way to the edge of the Casbah and bade him goodbye. We watched as he headed south towards the border and Casablanca. I remember the ululating wail of an Arab woman singing over a loudspeaker turned up to full volume as usual.
Bill and I decided to wait only until the following morning to leave for Gibraltar. I thought it was wise to leave the hotel before he took to breaking windows again. When we arrived at the quayside in Gibraltar we made our way to the centre of the town and found an inexpensive hotel in which to spend the night. The next morning I went to the Spanish Embassy and began the tiresome process of acquiring a visa (which I really didn't need) for Spain.
The British ships in the Mediterranean were moving through the Strait in increased numbers heading to England for the coronation of Elizabeth in June. Most of them stopped off in Gibraltar for a day or two. American ships were interspersed among them and minor outbreaks of bar brawls were not unknown.
We were sitting that night in the Assembly Rooms on Alameda scoffing a few good British pints. The rooms were crowded, mostly with British Ordinary Seamen most of whom were ready for an all-night session with one of the attractive Spanish girls sitting on their laps and on whom they were spending most of their month's pay. The sailors seemed not to care that there was virtually no communication between them and the girls, none of who spoke a word of English, save a few coarse Cockney phrases some had mastered.
'Watch this!' said a knowledgeable British Petty Officer sitting at our table as the big hand on the wall clock approached ten o'clock. Sure enough, promptly at ten o'clock the orchestra stopped the slow, romantic waltz it was playing and started playing the familiar strains of 'Granada'. The many girls jumped promptly off the warm laps onto the floor, kissed the sailors quickly, then walked briskly to the back door and out into the night.
'What the hell is going on?' I said.
'Curfew time,' said the Petty Officer with a smug smile. 'Ten o'clock sharp the buses are waiting at the back door to drive the girls back across the border. No Spaniards allowed in Gibraltar after curfew time.'
'Christ, that's a bit heavy! Look at all those sailors sitting there with long faces and moderate erections. They've pissed away a fortune on those babes and figured it was leading inevitably to an all-night tumble in the sack, only to have it snatched away without warning, you'll pardon the expression.'
'So who's going to tell the dumb bastards, anyway?' said the P.O. with a grin. 'The girls don't tell 'em because they have a nice night out; the veterans know what's going to happen but say nothing because they enjoy watching.'
'So all those poor buggers limp back to their liberty boats with nothing to show for it but a severe case of 'lover's nuts'
'Yeah, but they don't have the clap either, do they?'
'You've got a point there,' I admitted.
'Finish your beer,' Bill said, 'it's time to hit the old fart sack.'
I told Bill that I had some unfinished business when we arrived back in Algeciras the next morning. As soon as we landed I walked down the street past the cathouses to the bar with the large bullfight poster on the wall above the shelf holding the bottles of liquor. I had seen the poster at the time of our previous visit and was determined to have it. The bartender wanted five hundred pesetas for it and I was offering three hundred. Two days of lies and obfuscations failed to move him so I had given up in frustration before we left for North Africa.
Bill and I made our way over to La Linea in the off chance we could manage to hitch a ride north in the direction of Madrid. Belgian tourists were pouring off the car ferry one after the other. The Belgians were still in full control of the Congo so we assumed that perhaps they were heading back to Belgium for the Easter break. Apparently that was the limit of their Christian involvement. As they rolled off the ferry in their modern automobiles they ignored our plaintive smiles and vigorous thumbing, looking neither right nor left as they gunned up the ramp. We were referring to them as 'them Beljicky bastards' after four hours of fruitless expectation and eventually agreed we would be better off sitting in a bar back at Algeciras. We found a convenient tapa bar and sat for a couple of hours nursing our resentment before going to an adjoining restaurant and pigging out on paella.
Night was falling before we emerged from the restaurant and I decided to go down to the 'poster' bar for one more round of dickering with the barman before seeking other assignations. We were standing outside the bar talking to some British sailors when we were virtually accosted by an American 'swabbie' who had obviously spent most of the afternoon sitting in a local bar.
'You jokers don't know where a guy could buy some good bullfight posters do ya?' he said loudly, interrupting our conversation. 'Money is no object, if you get my meaning!' My blood froze. He was standing with his back to the corner bar and I could see the coveted poster over his shoulder. He had to be distracted. Think fast, dummy! I said to myself.
'I may be able to help you,' I said indulgently. 'If you go back up this street one, no...two blocks and turn left I think you'll find a little shop there that sells what you want. A nice selection!'
'Great! Thanks a bunch!' he said and lurched off up the street without a backward glance.
'Jesus! That was close,' I said to Bill as I headed into the little corner bar.
The bartender smiled as I walked in prepared to make my latest offer.
'What would you say to three hundred and fifty?' I said. His smile broadened as though he were enjoying the game.
'Still five hundred,' he said. 'The price hasn't changed.' He was obviously unaware of the recent conversation outside the bar and the rapid price escalation about to take place. Then, to his obvious astonishment I opened my shirt, unzipped my money belt and said 'Right, five hundred it is!' He took the five one hundred peseta notes and shoved them into his pocket then turned and removed the tacks holding the poster against the wall.
'Sorry, I don't have wrapping paper and string,' he said apologetically as he handed the tightly rolled poster to me.
'Don't worry about it,' I said, 'it's fine just the way it is.' As Bill and I walked out of the bar, the barman and I were both smiling.
'So whatta we do now?' Bill asked.
'I dunno about you, but I think I may have some unfinished business up the street.'
'It's a bit early,, isn't it?'
'Of course not, it's nearly eight o'clock, come on!' We walked up the street to the house where Natalia plied her trade and peered in. Wonder of wonders, she was sitting primly in her proper place. At last! I said to myself as I walked in and spoke to the madam. I didn't give a second thought to Bill as the two women and I walked up the stairs and down the hallway.
'Quiero todo la noche...cuanto cuesta? I want to stay all night...How much?'
'Cien pesetas. One hundred pesetas!' she replied.
'Okay, muy bien,' I said and handed her a one hundred peseta note. She gave me a towel and a bar of soap, opened the door to a room and stood aside as Natalia and I entered then handed me a key and ceremoniously closed and locked the door from the outside. I may as well be honest and admit that I don't remember all the details of the night's assignation. But I remember enough to congratulate myself whenever I think back to that night.
As we had walked down the hall I noticed some things I had previously overlooked. Natalia was about three inches taller than the other girls I had seen in various locations in Spain and her eyes were not dark brown at all as I had previously thought, but an unusual combination of dark blue and dark green that seemed to respond to the ambient lighting. She had a squarish face, a wide sensuous mouth which wore a dark shade of lipstick and her wide-set eyes had dark unpencilled brows below a clear forehead. I noticed for the second time the soft wave in her hair. Watching her walk confidently down the passageway tempted me to make the plebeian comment: What's a gorgeous creature like you doing in a place like this? But I held my tongue.
I do remember that Natalia had stripped down to her white panties and brassiere. She was tall, almost eye to eye with me and I realized why when I saw her long shapely legs and her her small, firm athletic bum. I was soon snuggled next to her, stroking her smooth, chocolate-coloured skin while taking my time finding the clasp on the back of her brassiere. Her breasts were round, Aphrodite-like and her tummy was flat. She had a striking complexion and her nose and lips were close to perfection. She was very helpful with the removal of my shorts and I reciprocated by assisting her with the removal of her panties.
She closed her magnificent green/brown eyes only momentarily during the excitement of intromission then opened them again and looked directly into mine while smiling slightly and provocatively. I assumed she was pleased with the arrangement, being required to couple only two or three times through the night and rest while I was dozing.
When I woke in the morning I had a red wine headache but my first thought was of my money. I had removed my leather money belt for the first time in Europe and had a panicky moment when I reached down and could not feel it. Paranoid thoughts flooded my brain as I remembered I had removed it in a moment of passion and dropped it beside the bed. I rolled over and looked down. It was still lying on the floor apparently just as I had left it. I was not satisfied, though, until I had checked it out. I reached down and unzipped it and found my money untouched. How could I have been so churlish as to suspect otherwise? Shame on me! I looked over and saw Natalia curled on her side, sleeping deeply and peacefully.
Having learned our lesson from the Belgians about hitchhiking, Bill and I didn't bother to go over to the car ferry unloading dock the next day but proceeded directly to the train station and bought tickets (third class, of course) for Madrid. We soon realized that we had invested our money in an unique other adventure we hadn't anticipated. Poor peasant women with babies had brought on board a form of charcoal burner for heating the bath in which they warmed the baby's milk before pouring it into the bottle. The same charcoal stove was used for heating soup and stew and whatever else had been lugged aboard.
The train travelled from moderate speed to barely moving except when going downhill when it sped up to about forty miles and hour; when going uphill there were occasions when we actually got off the train and jogged or walked beside it just to break the monotony.
This was obviously not a fast train and would stop at any accumulation of dwellings that even remotely resembled a town. Anyone aboard the train on third class was required to bring along whatever might be required to eat or drink en route. As a result there were peddlers of every kind of food and drink at each stop of the train.
There were boys with huge clay jugs of what was purported to be 'pure water', women with baskets of bread, men with trays of meat pies and so on. We were reluctant, probably mistakenly, to partake of any of these goodies and relied primarily on swigs of wine from our botas.
Perhaps we were becoming inured to long periods of complete boredom, but I don't recall any particular ennui resuting from this potentially tiresome journey. We may have aquired the ability to 'turn off' at will.
— The End —