The Wind From the East Read Online Free PDF Page A

her pink housecoat, Maribel put her new dress in a canvas bag before giving her employer a second chance. “But they’re from Madrid.”
     
    “No, Maribel,” said Sara, smiling at the obstinate skepticism of her cleaner, who couldn’t quite believe that everyone from Madrid didn’t know each another. “I’ve told you before, Madrid must be over a hundred times bigger than this little town. I couldn’t possibly know everyone who lives there. And it’s no coincidence that we bump into one another all over the place, we’re like flies—there are swarms of us.”
     
    “Right . . .” Maribel, leaning over the dishwasher, seemed to accept this. “Well, anyway, they’re from Madrid, and they’re here because of his work—”
     
    “What about her?” interrupted Sara.“Does she work too?”
     
    “What ‘her’?” asked Maribel, straightening up and staring at Sara.
     
    “Well, the doctor’s wife. He is married, isn’t he?”
     
    “No.That’s the strange thing, you see. I mean he doesn’t look like a poof, and he’s quite good-looking.Well, maybe not good-looking, you know, handsome, blond and all that, but he’s definitely very attractive . . .” She stopped stacking the dishwasher for a moment and started listing Dr. Olmedo’s attributes, counting them off on the fingers of one hand. “He’s tall, slim but not puny, dark not balding, well dressed.A pretty good catch, if you ask me. And being a doctor he must earn a packet. But he definitely doesn’t have a wife. Maybe he’s divorced. And the child isn’t his, that’s for sure, because she calls him ‘Uncle Juan.’”
     
    “He has a little girl living with him?” remarked Sara neutrally, trying to divert the torrent of words in the direction that most interested her.
     
    “Yes, she’s about this one’s age, and really pretty, gorgeous, even though she isn’t blond and doesn’t have blue eyes or anything. Her name’s Tamara. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?” Maribel had her back to her employer so she didn’t see Sara give a start when she heard the child’s name, instead taking her silence as a sign of agreement.“I think so too. If I ever have a daughter, maybe I’ll call her Tamara. Well, anyway, the niece looks just like her uncle. Her face is softer, more delicate, and rounder like all kids, but apart from that she’s the spitting image. Same eyes, same mouth, same nose, same everything. Apparently she’s his brother’s daughter. He and his brother must have looked identical, if you ask me, though who knows, because I didn’t find out much else—he’s like you, doesn’t go around telling you his life story. He said the child’s an orphan, that’s all, and only because I asked. I think it’s because of the retarded one.They live with a man who’s not all there, if you know what I mean, and the less you talk about that kind of thing and the less people you tell, the better.That’s what I think. He’s the doctor’s brother too, like the little girl’s father was.When you see him around, you’ll know it’s him straight away, because he’s bald and you can see how retarded he is, the way he moves and talks and all that. Shame, isn’t it? It was because of a difficult birth, apparently. Imagine, he’s been like that all his life, thirty-two years! Of course, I won’t ever be left alone with him, thank God, because those people—I know you’re supposed to pity them and all that—but they give me the creeps, they really do.What if he had a fit or something, with only me in the house? People like that have seizures and they get violent, you wouldn’t believe it, a neighbor of mine, she’s got a daughter like that and she really whacks her mother sometimes. But this one seems quiet and he’ll be going to a school for people like him, in El Puerto. He’ll be having lunch there and everything. The girl too, except she’ll be at the school near here of course. Anyway, the arrangement suits me down to the