Bartolomé (16 page)

A Real Dog

ON the afternoon that Juan Carrasco had put his arm helplessly around Bartolomé, he went home, knowing that he must rescue his son from the palace and take him back to the village. It had been a terrible mistake to bring him to Madrid.

Juan had to admit that, until now, he had never paid Bartolomé any real attention. The crippled dwarf had remained a stranger to him. Before, on his rare visits to the village, when he saw how much trouble Bartolomé caused Isabel, he had often thought that a child like that should die at birth instead of making everyone else's life difficult. He had been there and had seen the midwife helping a tiny, floppy blue child into the world. The old woman had had to dunk the newborn into a bucket of cold water before the tiny bundle of humanity had started to breathe. Afterwards, she had put the child, naked, into his arms. Juan had looked at it in disgust. The deformed feet, the crooked back which would later become a hump and the oversized head had marked Bartolomé as a cripple from his first breath.

Ana, Joaquín, Beatríz – he was proud of them. But from the very beginning, he had been ashamed of Bartolomé. If Isabel had not loved the baby so much, he would have been all on for leaving him outside a convent as a foundling and abandoning him to his fate. He remembered all that now, as he made his way slowly home through the streets of Madrid.

When he came into the little apartment, his family was waiting for him. Food was steaming on the stove. Manuel ran babbling up to him to be thrown up into the air by his father's strong arms. Juan took no notice of him, however.

Joaquín was home on a visit. Ana and Isabel were sewing at the window and Beatríz was setting the table.

‘We have to get Bartolomé out of the palace,' said Juan loudly into the room. ‘I cannot stand by while they make him ridiculous and torment him.' He felt relieved now that he had said it.

Isabel leapt up. ‘What are they doing to him?' she cried. Until now, Juan had refused to discuss Bartolomé with her.

He sat on the bed.

‘The Infanta has had a dog costume made for him, with a tail and floppy ears, and this afternoon …' Juan faltered. ‘This afternoon, they threw him into the water at the bullfight. He would have drowned if someone hadn't rescued him at the last moment.'

Isabel, Ana and Joaquín stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘They treat him like an animal,' Juan went on. ‘No, worse than that. A real animal would defend itself. It would bite or scratch. But Bartolomé has to put up with whatever they demand of him.'

‘How long have you known this, and why did you not take him away immediately?' Isabel demanded angrily.

Juan covered his face with his hands. He could sense the odium in her accusation.

‘How could I do that?' he said softly. ‘He is the property of the Infanta. It would be considered theft, and who would look after him and provide for you all if I am in jail?'

‘But we have to bring him home!' cried Ana. ‘He is not an animal and he does not belong to the Infanta.'

Juan nodded. ‘That's what I want too, but I don't know how. The Infanta is besotted with her human dog. She will never give him up.'

‘There has to be a way,' murmured Joaquín. ‘Suppose we kidnap him and hide him?'

‘Impossible. The Infanta's surroundings are under constant surveillance. Nobody gets to her except by order of their Majesties, or under the protection of her first lady-in-waiting.'

‘A letter …' Joaquín did not want to give up. ‘Could we not get a letter to Bartolomé, saying that he should flee and that we will be waiting for him outside the palace?'

‘Who is to write this letter?'

‘Don Cristobal of course! He would definitely help us if he hears how mean they are being to Bartolomé.'

‘And who is going to read it to Bartolomé?'

‘But he can read!' Ana interjected.

Juan had forgotten. That terrible afternoon came back to him now. If he had not been so furious about Bartolomé's secret lessons, he would certainly never have hit Ana and maybe he would not have taken Bartolomé to the palace either.

‘It won't work. I don't know anyone to whom I could entrust a letter. In the palace, there are lots of envious people. Someone would read it, and then I'd end up in jail anyway. That's no good.'

‘Has the princess not got a real dog to love?' Beatríz suddenly butted in. She couldn't understand why a princess would want her ugly brother as a dog when there were so many sweet little dogs in Madrid. Only recently, she had been admiring a basket of puppies in the market. Every single one of them was a hundred times cuter than Bartolomé.

Nobody listened to her. But Beatríz was a determined girl. She stood up in front of her father, put her hands by her side and said: ‘Papa, I know how we can get Bartolomé back.'

Juan laughed.

‘I really do know,' insisted Beatríz.

‘How?' asked Ana.

‘We'll do a swap,' explained the little girl.

‘What are we going to swap?' asked Isabel.

‘A dog, of course. We'll swap a real dog for Bartolomé.'

Now they all laughed.

Beatríz stamped her foot. ‘What are you laughing about?' she cried unhappily. ‘If I were the princess, I would give Bartolomé up immediately for a proper dog.'

Isabel reached out to take Beatríz in her arms, to console her, but Joaquín stood between them. His eyes were shining.

‘Why is a proper dog better than Bartolomé?' he asked.

Beatríz looked at her brother in astonishment. It was obvious.

‘Bartolomé is so ugly, and he can't walk properly either – and he's not actually a dog,' she explained.

‘Of course he's not a dog,' Isabel snapped.

Joaquín signalled to her to keep quiet.

‘And a proper dog?' he prompted his sister.

Beatríz could just see the basket of puppies in front of her.

‘A proper dog is sweet. I would stroke him and race him. He would sleep beside me. I wish I had a little dog just for me. I'd look after him well.'

She gave her father a longing look. Who knows, maybe he would get her one.

Juan shook his head. ‘We have enough problems, Beatríz,' he said. ‘We can't afford to feed a dog.'

Joaquín went on thinking. The Infanta and Beatríz were around the same age. She must have the same kind of thoughts and desires as his sister.

‘Papa,' said Joaquín. ‘If we buy a cute little puppy and give it to the Infanta as a present, then maybe she wouldn't need Bartolomé any more.'

Juan considered it. Could this plan work? He could see that there were a lot of flaws in it.

‘Suppose he wets the floor, if he scratches or bites the Infanta or is a bit rough with her?' he asked.

‘We would train him well first.'

‘And who is going to give the Infanta this dog?'

‘Bartolomé,' said Joaquín. ‘And he should ask her to take the real dog in his place.'

Juan shook his head. They were back to the original problem.

‘How could we get in touch with Bartolomé in secret? How could we give him a dog, if I can't get as much as a letter to him without it being seen by many eyes?'

Joaquín didn't know either. ‘There has to be a way. It's just that we can't see it yet,' he said stubbornly.

‘We could at least try,' Ana begged her father.

Juan looked at Isabel. ‘What do you think? Does it make sense?' Before Isabel could answer, Beatríz said: ‘If the princess is going to get a dog from us, can I have one too? It can share my food.'

Isabel smiled. ‘We could give it a try,' she said.

Juan gave in. With two fewer mouths to feed, since Bartolomé and Joaquín had left, he had managed to save a little money, enough to buy a dog. Isabel's horrified reaction had shamed him deeply. If they could free Bartolomé in this way and if he personally could take him back to the village, to Tomáz, where the child would be safe, he would have made up in some way for what he had done.

But what if it didn't work? Juan wavered.

Isabel seemed to be thinking the same thing. ‘If it doesn't work, we could always sell the dog again,' she said softly.

‘All right, then,' Juan decided. ‘We'll give it a try.'

Beatríz sulked when she realised she was not going to get a dog of her own. She didn't want to go with them to the market to choose a puppy for the Infanta. She stood defiantly where she was in the room. Isabel lifted her up.

‘You want Bartolomé to come home, don't you?' she asked gently.

Beatríz nodded reluctantly.

‘Then you have to help!' said Isabel.

‘Why? It was my idea, and now Joaquín is going on as if he was the one who thought of it. And I'm not going to get a dog of my own either.'

Isabel looked at Joaquín.

‘Joaquín knows that, don't you, Joaquín?'

‘It was Beatríz's idea,' Joaquín conceded readily. ‘Are we going to go to the market now? I know a market trader who has puppies.'

‘He's doing it again.' Beatríz's lower lip quivered.

‘Just a minute,' said Juan. He'd been thinking the plan through quietly. ‘Beatríz,' he said, ‘not only is it your idea, but the plan can only work if you help.'

‘Really?'

‘You must be the one to choose the little dog.'

‘Not Joaquín?'

‘Certainly not Joaquín.' Juan turned to face the whole family. ‘Do you see? Beatríz has to like the puppy. That's the only way to do it. And we'll have to train the puppy so that it obeys only Beatríz. That way, the Infanta will like it too, and it will obey her. They are both little girls, after all.'

He smiled at Beatríz.

‘I'm like the Infanta!' breathed Beatríz.

Isabel hugged her close.

‘You are a thousand times better than the Infanta,' she said.

They bought a little puppy with a good pedigree, according to the market trader. What was much more important, though, was that Beatríz chose him as the sweetest of the litter.

At home, they spent days training the puppy together. Juan thanked his lucky stars that the princess's visit to the country was extended by two weeks, and that she had gone there in her parents' coach and did not need him to drive her.

The little dog, which Beatríz christened Justo, learnt quickly. Soon the puppy knew that he was not allowed to leave little puddles indoors, and he came running when Beatríz called him in her clear child's voice. Juan spent a lot of time teaching Justo never to respond to a deep, adult voice. He would put Ana or Beatríz standing at one side of the room, and himself or Isabel on the opposite side. Then they would both call him at the same time. If Justo ran to the girls, he was rewarded with titbits. If he went to the adults, however, he got nothing. It didn't take Justo long to understand what was expected of him.

‘I wish we didn't have to give him away,' sighed Beatríz from time to time. Secretly, she wished she really could keep the dog. Why couldn't her father just ask the Infanta, while they were out driving in the coach, to let Bartolomé go home?

Every time Juan was in the palace, and had time to spare, he tried to get news of Bartolomé. He sought out the company of the guardsmen. He would invite them to a glass of wine and try to get them to talk. But they could tell him nothing about Bartolomé, except that he was the Infanta's human doggy.

Juan did not have much time left. The royal family would soon be coming back to Madrid. Part of the Infanta's little household, under the leadership of the chamberlain, Don Nieto, had already gone to the country house in order to prepare the Infanta for her return journey.

One afternoon, as Juan was cleaning the Infanta's coach in the stables, a page came running in.

‘Hurry!' he ordered. ‘Get a coach ready for Don Nieto.'

Juan bowed his head. Now was his chance to find out about Bartolomé.

‘Sir,' asked Juan, ‘I have a clever son. Would it be possible for him to get a place as a page to the Infanta?'

The page gave an arrogant smile.

‘My father is Don Rodriguez de Herraro. He owns large tracts of land and is a loyal supporter of the king.'

‘So one would have to be of noble blood, like you?' said Juan flatteringly.

The page nodded.

‘Only the noblest boys are good enough to serve the Infanta of Spain.'

‘Excuse my ignorance, sir, but I have heard that the Infanta has a crippled dwarf as a page. Is he also of noble blood?'

‘That's not a page, it's the human dog!' said the boy in disgust. ‘Who told you he was a page?'

Juan hid a smile. The page had taken the bait.

‘Oh, some drunken guardsman,' lied Juan. ‘I wouldn't even know him if I saw him again.'

The page turned away. As far as he was concerned, this conversation was over.

But Juan started up again. ‘Would you allow me to ask one more question, sir?'

The page, who hardly counted in the household and was ordered around by everyone, nodded graciously.

‘Noble sir, what is a human dog?' asked Juan.

The page laughed.

‘That's what the Infanta calls him. Actually, he's just an ordinary dwarf. She rescued him from the gutter and had a dog costume made for him. He has to wear it day and night, and with his brown face, he really does look like a dog. He behaves like a dog too. Sometimes we think he is more dog than human.'

‘Brown face? Has he got a disease?' asked Juan.

The stupidity of the lower orders is unbelievable,
thought the page. Aloud he said, ‘Of course not. He is made up. An apprentice of Don Velázquez, the court painter, is responsible for that.'

A painter's apprentice. Juan made a mental leap in the air. Now he had something to go on.

‘How much longer is it going to take to get a coach?' asked the page, suddenly impatient.