HeROeS OF THe RePuBLIC
we were a new drink the thick red syrup that bore no
foreign couple, resemblance whatsoever to the Jalón
just moved into Red that I was used to. as for Bartolome,
their, at that I’ll never forget one late night in the
time, practically Cuatre Cantons. He was very drunk and
untouched little lolling back in a chair in the middle of the
Spanish village, or floor. He was telling his stories of war to
out of pity for our anyone who would listen. Suddenly, his
dreadful, but no puro slipped from his bottom lip and set
doubt humorous his old shirt ablaze. He was oblivious to
attempts at their the smoke and the rising flames, his eyes
language. They closed deep in recollection; he didn’t
would stop and even stop relating his tale. In a second,
chat to us in Pedro, the owner, hardly blinking, picked
indecipherable up the nearest tubo of beer, expertly
for his morning snack. On the other slurred valenciano, and at times invite us shot its contents the 10 or so feet
hand (and other side) we saw Bautista into their houses. through the air, and doused the fire.
only when the weather was fine enough amongst our happy memories is one These two old friends are now long gone
for him to venture out. The reason for of being invited into Bautista’s house but their children and grandchildren are
this was that he was very slow getting for some of his ‘20-year-old Jalón wine’. still with us here in the village. In years
around, and if he got his timing wrong Being an avid fan of the grape in those to come we’ll tell our son, eliot, about
he could be stranded, either out in days, I found the viscous dark liquid Bautista and Bartolome, and they’ll be
the rain, or more frequently, when totally undrinkable. He then pulled, with remembered, not only for Bautista’s
nature called. Sometimes there was no fingers that didn’t look the cleanest in dreadful wine, questionable chicken,
doubting behind which car nature had the world, lumps of meat from an old, heart of gold, or accidental clouds of
called Bautista. It was vident by the cold, chicken carcass and handed them steam, or for Bartolome’s tough, roguish,
rising cloud of steam. They were both to us. We secretly hid the morsels of and joyful love of life, but also for
amazingly friendly to us, either because meat in out pockets, and pretended to being heroes.
89.2fm
Denia to Valencia
98.5fm
Javea
88.4fm
Moraira
89.4fm
Benidorm to Alicante
LISTEN LIVE
viva magazine 37
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