Chapter Two

 Later that night, Marta and Xavier were doing their homework, waiting for their father to arrive home.  Their mother was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.

 "What's a Dromedary?"  Xavi asked, puzzling over a word in his geography text book.

Marta looked very superior as she replied:

"It's a sort of camel."

 Xavier did not look any wiser.

 "What sort of camel?"  he enquired.

 Marta had not expected to be probed any deeper on the subject and hesitated, less sure of herself:

 "I think they're Indian camels... and the others are African."

 "Isn't that elephants?"  queried her brother.

 "Oh yes.  No, er, I remember now - one's got hair and the other hasn't."

 "Hair?  I thought all animals had hair," protested Xavier unconvinced.  "What on earth would a bald camel look like?"

 "A dromedary of course," said Marta triumphantly.

 "I'll ask Dad, he'll know," Xavier said.

 "He's late tonight, isn't he?" Marta noted with a catch in her voice.

 "Not especially," said Xavi, trying to sound re-assuring.

 "I wish he didn't have to drive in to the city and back every day," Marta said, expressing her fears.  "It's a terrible road.  I hate
it when we come back at night and Dad overtakes all those lorries."

 "Oh he's a careful driver, don't worry," Xavi argued.  "Remember he's got that picture of us on the dashboard to remind him to take it easy."

 "Well, I hope he doesn't look at it too often," Marta declared.

 "Why?"

 "I'd prefer him to keep his eyes on the road," she replied with a smile.

 Just at that moment, there came a distant metallic grinding sound from somewhere in the depths of the building.  Marta's smile broadened:

 "That's the garage door.  This'll be him now!"

 "They really ought to oil that thing," Xavier noted, hiding his relief.  "You can hear it from one end of the street to the other."

 "Tell Dad to bring it up at the next block meeting," Marta suggested.

 Xavier laughed, knowing how his father hated the bi-annual meetings where decisions affecting all the neighbours in their building were debated in microscopic detail for hours on end.
 

 Senyor Villanova, looked at himself critically in the mirror as the lift brought him up to the third floor.

 "More grey hair and bigger bags under your eyes, old son," he said to himself aloud.  "You look older than the forty-five years your identity card claims for you.  God you're beginning to look like your grandfather."

 He pulled a face at his reflection and shouted: "When the hell did you appear in my life?  Why don't you just get lost you decrepid old-"

 The lift doors hissed open.  Senyor Rovira, his elderly neighbour, stood waiting for the lift with a black bin bag in one hand and a vicious looking alsatian dog, on a short leash, in the other.  The dog snarled and looked ready to pounce.

 "Oh, Er, hello Bobby... Good evening Rovira...  How's the wife?"  Senyor Villanova asked, feeling the colour rush to his cheeks.

 The old man eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to leave the lift.

 "Good evening," he stated without feeling.  "Are you going to stay in there all night?"

 "Er no.  No, of course not, sorry," said Senyor Villanova, edging out slowly as the dog strained at his leash.  The elderly neighbour shuffled into the lift and pulled the dog in after him.

 "Come on Bobby, walkies!" the old man said, as the lift doors hissed closed.
 Xavier and Marta's father was angry with himself:

 "I thought I was never going to apologize to that troublesome old man ever again," he said, remembering the vow he had made just the day before.

 "Why do I always feel like a little boy with my pants round my ankles whenever I bump into that old buzzard?" he silently demanded.

 He took the flat keys out of his jacket pocket, suddenly grinning like a schoolboy.

 "I'm home!"  he shouted, as he stepped over the threshold.  The two children rushed out into the hall and flung their arms around him.

 "Well, you two seem very keen to see me," he remarked.  Then after kissing them both on the forehead he added: "So, alright, tell me what you've done wrong in your own words before your mother exaggerates it out of all proportion."

 "Nothing, this time, Dad honest," Xavier objected.

 "We were worried, because you were so late," Marta explained.

 "Late?  Oh yes, I suppose I am a bit..." their father accepted, after glancing at his watch.

 "What a day!" he said, entering into the living room and dramatically flinging off his jacket, before flopping down heavily onto his favourite old armchair.

 Before he had chance to recount in detail all the trials and tribulations of a Barcelona businessman, his wife Maria popped her head in.

 "Dinner's ready," she said and disappeared again.

 "Not even a `Hello', eh?"  their dad noted.  "Excuse me a minute you two," and with that he slipped out into the kitchen.

 "Shouts or kisses?"  said Xavier, holding out the palm of his hand to his sister as soon as their father had gone.

 "My bet is kisses," Marta replied.  "He's in good spirits tonight."

 "Yes, but is she?  Twenty centas says the sparks will start flying before we can count to a hundred," challenged Xavier.

 "You're on," said Marta slapping his palm with her own.

 The two waited, counting under their breath.   Before they got to sixty the kitchen door opened and Mum and Dad came in with big beaming smiles and the supper.  Marta winked at Xavier who flipped her a coin he had just taken from his pocket.  Their father caught the catch out of the corner of his eye, raised an enquiring eyebrow, then smiled and invited everyone to sit down at table.

 "Mmm green beans and bacon, great!" said Xavier delighted.

 "And grilled sardines to follow," his mother added, knowing they were Marta's favourites.

 "Pass me the olives!"  said Dad.

 "Isn't anyone going to say grace?"  asked Mum, looking stern.

 Dad looked guiltily at the olive he held in his hand, glances were exchanged and then Dad said:

 "Grace!" and popped the olive into his mouth.  Laughing they all tucked into the meal.

 As they were scraping their bowls for the last drop of flan and waiting for Mum to bring in the coffee, Xavier suddenly remembered something and turned to his father saying:

 "Dad, what's a dromedary?"

 "It's a hairless camel, isn't it?" said Marta butting in.

 Their father took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on, but pulled them low down on his nose.  Putting on the voice of a famous quiz show presenter he replied:

 "No, I can't give you full marks for that I'm afraid.  You've got the right creature, but not its characteristics.  Let me see what does it say here on the card."  He picked up his serviette and pretended to read it:  "Dromedary.  One humped riding camel, found mainly in Arabia and the Sahara."

 "Have all the other camels got two humps then?"  Xavier queried.

 "Most definitely, barring genetic deformities," Dad replied, still in character.  "Camels born near Nuclear Power stations may well have four or five!"

 "What's a genetic deformity?" Marta asked.

 "Your Uncle Raimon," said Mother who had now entered with the coffee. "One hump or two?" she added handing her husband his coffee.

 Xavier glanced at Marta, who sensed that she should change the subject away from her father's brother before an argument broke out:

 "Misha was acting strange today at granny's," she said.

 "Misha?  Who's Misha?" asked Dad.  "Don't tell me Mother has taken in an Eastern European refugee now."

 "Misha is your mother's cat, remember?" said Mum, patting her husband affectionately on the head as she sat down next to him.

 "So what was this feline up to then?" Dad inquired.

 Marta told him about the cat's apparent ability to see things they could not.  It sparked Dad off on a series of long rambling speculations about other dimensions which Mum dismissed with derision:

 "Oh the things you tell these children!  No wonder their teachers complain about `over-active imaginations' with you filling their heads with such nonsense."

 "Talking nonsense madam?" said Dad, putting on another voice.  "Zats vot zey said about me, Albert Einstein!"
 The children laughed and even Mum could not suppress a smile.

 "Whose turn is it to put the things in the dishwasher?"  Mum asked, bringing the conversation back down to earth.

 "Mine," said Xavier, beginning to clear away the bowls.

 "Have you two done all your homework?"  Dad asked.

 "Well...." Xavier started.

 "Leave that to me, and get to it!"  Dad ordered in a military tone.

 "Yes, sir!" said Xavier saluting and putting the bowls back down on the table.

 "Dad, could you give me a hand later with my English?"  Marta asked pleadingly.  Dad hesitated:

 "Er, I suppose so.  As long as there aren't too many irregular verbs, I never remember any of them."

 Their parents cleared the table and withdrew into the kitchen.

 "How many more pages have you got to do?"  Xavier asked Marta.

 "Loads.  I've got a story to write for English, two pages of Maths exercises and a report to finish for Nature studies, and you?"

 "Oh, I've only got this geography thing about the Islamic world to finish, but it's so boring."

 "It's giving you the hump is it?"  Marta said with a smile.

 Xavier went to laugh, but then suddenly put his fingers to his lips.

 "Shh.  I reckon you're going to have to give me back that twenty-five pesetas, I'm afraid."

 "Oh no, not again," said Marta, disappointed to hear the muffled sounds of an argument from the kitchen.  "Go and put an ear to the door.  But make sure they don't catch you at it."

 Xavier put down his pencil and crossed the hall to the kitchen door.  He could hear his father's angry voice quite clearly now:

 "....just don't criticize him in front of the kids, that's all I ask.  I know he's difficult, but he's my own flesh and blood!"

 Xavier listened some more and then returned to Marta.

 "Uncle Raimon again, I suppose," she stated resignedly.

 "You got it in one," her brother said with a sigh.

 "I don't know why Dad always defends him, Mum's right he is a... a... what was it?

 "A genetic deformity?"

 "That's it, yes."

 "But you don't even know what one is!"

 "I know, but whatever it is I'm sure it's a perfect description of him."

 Their parents came back into the room and Dad walked straight over and switched on the T.V.   The children knew that this was always a bad sign.  Mum sat down on the sofa and Dad sat in his armchair facing away from her.  The children looked at each other, shrugged and carried on with their homework as the talking heads on the T.V. droned on and on in the background.  The atmosphere remained tense for the rest of the evening.