The tiny structure looked strange, somewhat Oriental. One or two low pine tables; small mats instead of chairs, and, hanging from the walls, coloured cloths and two small three-stringed guitars.
Manuel was introduced to Jacob’s father, a long-haired old fellow who walked about the house in a dark tunic and a cap, to his wife, Mesoda, and to a black-eyed child called Aisa.
They all sat down to table; the old man solemnly pronounced a number of words in an involved language, which Manuel took for some Hebrew prayer, and then they began to eat.
The meal had a taste of strong aromatic herbs and to Manuel it seemed that he was chewing flowers.
At table the old man, employing that extravagant Castilian in which the entire family spoke, recounted to Manuel the events of the African war. In his version Prim, or, as he referred to him, Señor Juan Prim, assumed epic proportions. Jacob must have respected the old man very deeply, for he allowed him to speak on and on about Prim and about the Almighty. Mesoda, who was very timid, only smiled, and blushed upon the slightest provocation.
After the meal Jacob took down from the wall one of the small three-stringed guitars and sang several Arabian songs, accompanying himself on the primitive instrument.
Manuel bid adieu to Jacob’s family and promised to visit them from time to time.
One autumn night, as Manuel was returning from work after a day during which Jesús had not put in an appearance at the shop, he entered the hostelry to find in the corridor leading to his room a knot of women gossiping about Jesús and his sisters.
La Fea had given birth; the doctor from the Emergency Hospital was in her room together with Señora Salomona, a kindly woman who made her living as a nurse.
“But what has Jesús done?” asked Manuel, hearing the insults heaped upon the typesetter by the angry women.