Luz had been interested mainly in a meal ticket, but she also had status issues as well which is why she kept introducing me to her chums. However, one girl who was completely uninterested in the contents of my wallet, but fascinated by my nationality was Eva, a lovely nineteen year old when I met her October 1995. How can I be so sure of the date? Well, my eldest son was just a month shy of his second birthday, and he was indirectly responsible for my fling with that girl.
For reasons that would bore you senseless I spent a week lugging my young son around Mexico City. My car was in for a service so we had to use public transport, namely the collective taxis called peseros, which consist of minibuses which run along a set route, and which pick people up and drop them off anywhere along it, and the metro.
I met Eva at the southern terminus of metro line two as I and small son queued for a pesero to take us home. He was tired and wanted carrying and my arms ached. Eva was next to me in the queue and she smiled sympathetically at my plight, so needless to say I began to act out the helpless male in the hope that I might be able to work the situation to my advantage. The first thing to do was to get her to carry the bag that I had with me, which meant that at least I could get her sat next to me on the journey home. That was accomplished with a smile and by holding the bag in the air and sighing heavily. Eva took the hint, bless her, and part one of my shag plan was accomplished successfully.
The reason for the pantomime was fairly simple. At about 5' 6" Eva was tall for a local and her slender build, ice blue eyes and corn blonde hair that hung in ringlets to her shoulders all yelled out to me that she was a foreigner. It was only when I heard her speak that I realised that she was from Mexico City, and it was when she heard my accented Spanish that she began to take an interest in me, rather than my son. Thus, and quite by accident, stage two of the road to bed was completed, which was not bad going in less than five minutes.
"Where are you from?" That was the first question that she asked, as soon as we had introduced ourselves and once we had finally taken our seats for the forty-five minute journey home. I told her and we chatted for a short while about Manchester and England.
"You don't look very Mexican, either," I told her.
"My daddy was German and my mum is from Chihuahua," she explained, assuming that I would understand. Actually I did, as Chihuahua is a slab is desert in the north with a tiny American-Indian population that was settled first by Spaniards and then Americans, with a dash of other westerners, especially the French, thrown in for good measure.
"Your father was much older than your mother, I suppose?
"Yes, he was, how on earth did you know that? Eva's eyes widened nicely as she considered Nick Holmes, Sherlock's equally bright brother.
"You were born in about 1975," I told her, "and very few foreigners came to live in this country in the 60s and 70s, and hardly any of them were German. Most Germans came here straight after the war, so that's why I reckon that you dad is much older than your mother," I concluded.
"He arrived in 1947," Eva told me. "First he went to Spain, but then he came here. I don't know why he left Spain, but he did. I never asked him and now it's too late. He died two years ago," she concluded in a voice that had suddenly gone very small and quiet.
I gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her arm in my avuncular way. At that moment my son began to wriggle in his sleep and I was reminded of just how much my arms ached from carrying him.
"Do you fancy holding him for a while?"
Beth nodded and I passed the baby over to her. She sat in her window seat with him on her lap whilst I rested my arms and stretched out my legs for a moment. Looking over at her I saw a look of utter tenderness on her face as she gazed at the baby in her arms, and then I saw that her eyes were still moist from the memory of her father. I wondered what kind of man had the iron heart needed to take advantage of such an innocent flower?
The kind of man like me - and I spent the rest of the journey chatting to Eva about inconsequential things as my mind pondered on the pressing matter of how to separate her from her knickers?
To be continued.
No comments:
Post a Comment