Driving Over Lemons: An Optimist in Spain Read Free Page A

years ago to put a dam across the gorge and flood the valley, but the tests they did showed that it couldn’t be managed economically. The surrounding rock is like a sponge. And anyway, even if they do resurrect the scheme, you’ll be well paid for your trouble. It really isn’t a problem.’
    ‘Can we be sure of that? I mean absolutely sure?’
    She mulled this over for a moment before shutting her book and reaching for her bag.
    ‘I’ll tell you what, we’ll go and see Domingo. He’s your nearest neighbour in the valley. He lives at La Colmena, at the north end. His family have lived there for years. He’s bound to know. I saw his car earlier so he must be around here somewhere.’
    And she set off at her usual brisk pace along the main street of Órgiva, while I traipsed along in her wake.
    ‘Keep your eyes open,’ she ordered. ‘He’s easy to spot – one of the best-looking men you’ll see round here. He’s around thirty, short, but then so is everyone here, and balding a little . . . ’
    ‘Not the most promising of portraits,’ I commented, feeling that I could be forgiven a little peevishness in the circumstances.
    ‘Ah, just you wait and see. He’s built like a prize fighter and has the loveliest smile you could imagine.’ It seemed that the man had certainly worked some magic on Georgina.
    Down we strode past the grandly named ‘Museum of Ham’, in reality just a small supermarket, past the town hall hung with its flags of Andalucía and Spain, and on to the main street and another cluster of bars.
    Here we found my neighbour, leaning nonchalantly against a lamp post talking to a gypsy. He was trying to sell him a cow, or so it appeared. We waited to allow the transaction to reach some sort of conclusion, but it seemed to be a long time getting nowhere, both parties refusing absolutely to be swayed. A few bystanders had gathered round, keen to involve themselves in the deal. Georgina guided me to a bar across the street and signalled an invitation to Domingo to join us when he had finished his negotiations.
    I watched Domingo from our table as he conducted his business. The other participants in the deal were listening with attention to what he had to say. He gave the impression of being accustomed to holding the floor. He was dressed in clean blue jeans, a white open-necked shirt and sneakers. The top of his head was, as Georgina had said, as bald as a shiny brown nut. Eventually he came over to join us. He shook hands with a shy smile, studying some spot below the table as Georgina introduced us.
    ‘Are you just going to come for holidays?’ he asked.
    ‘Hell no, we’re going to live here and farm.’
    At this Domingo smiled, momentarily lifting his head. Georgina was absolutely right. His expression was transformingly handsome.
    ‘What do you know of the dam in the valley of La Colmena?’ Georgina asked. ‘Pedro Romero has been telling Cristóbal about some plans . . .’
    ‘Don’t listen to Romero,’ said Domingo quietly. ‘There was a project many years ago but it came to nothing. There’s no danger of its being revived.’
    ‘Are you sure about that?’ I gabbled. ‘You see, it’s really very important to us. We want to live out our days there, not cash in on compensation.’
    ‘Yes, of course I’m sure, but if you want to hear it from someone official we’ll go and see the mayor.’
    With little more preamble we set out. In his sneakers and jeans Domingo wandered straight through the open door of the mayor’s office.
    ‘Hola, Antonio. This foreigner, Cristóbal, has bought the farm next to La Colmena, and he’s worried about the dam. I’ve told him, but I think he’d like to hear it from the mayor. You tell him.’
    Antonio repeated all that Domingo had just told me. But by then I was no longer thinking of the dam. I was congratulating myself on landing such an estimable neighbour.
    With this load off my mind, I collected Ana from the airport, skimming back towards