‘Inglesa?’ she asks, pointing to Chloe who stands back a bit.
‘Inglesa.’
‘Es guapa,’ Renata replies. ‘Pero sus tetas son diminutas, no como mis melones.’
‘RENATA!’ I shout, trying not to laugh.
‘What did she say?’ Chloe asks.
She said you had tiny tits compared to her melons, but I won’t translate that, especially as Renata is still being quite casual about hoisting a giant gun around.
‘The men come to shoot the goats,’ Renata says in her broken English. ‘Big truck. I take gun,’ she says in a low, excited growl.
I’m confused. Is that Renata’s gun or has she stolen their gun so they can’t shoot the goats? ‘¿Y la cuerda?’ I say, pointing to the rope in her hands.Has she tied these men up somewhere?It’s a hilarious image to hold on to anyway.
‘I tie goats to house so they cannot find,’ she tells me.
Chloe looks at her strangely with fear in her eyes. I turn to her to calm her down. ‘The goats are wild, sometimes hunters come up here to shoot them because they eat crops and Renata is against the cull.’
‘CUL?’ Renata barks at me. ‘¿Por qué estás hablando de mi culo?’
I realise I’ve said the Spanish word for ass. ‘Por supuesto, tienes un culo estupendo.’I won’t tell Chloe I’ve complimented the old lady’s bum. Renata laughs. I wish she’d put the gun down.
‘Renata, how can I help?’ I ask.
‘You come? Girl, you come also…You help withcabras.’
Chloe looks at me, still trying to work this all out. ‘She wants help with the goats.’
‘I can help,’ Chloe says, nodding, possibly still in fear of this badass old Spanish lady. ‘What will I need to do?’
It turns out Renata wasn’t joking. She has herded about fifteen of the local wild goats who regularly reside in the space between my villa and her farm, and let them hang out next to her farmhouse instead so they can be safe from the hunters. I knew there was a reason she and my uncle got on so well. I can imagine Uncle Lorenzo going completely guerilla in the Spanish bracken, stealing guns and protecting the wildlife.
‘He looks really angry,’ Chloe tells me, looking up at a black goat who proudly stands on a wooden bench, staring her down. ‘Can goats attack?’
‘Just don’t look him in the eye,’ I say. ‘Renata wants them in the barn so let’s?—’
‘Herd?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling at her.
She goes up to a goat. ‘Go in the barn. Please. It’s for your own safety,’ she says politely. It stares at her like she’s mad and I laugh, letting out a primal yelp to scare them to attention, pushing one on the hind legs, dodging a few like I might tackle them. She looks back at me and claps her hands. ‘Please do as the man says.’
‘They are Spanish goats, maybe you’re not speaking their lingo,’ I say, mimicking her words to me when she tamed our villa cat.
Chloe laughs. Like the fighting last night, this activity was also not on the flyer, but she doesn’t seem to mind, she’s takingit all on in good spirits, laughing even, her wet hair scraped back from her face, a ruddy glow in her cheeks. In the farmhouse, I can hear Renata speaking on the phone in hurried Spanish, complaining about the men with guns and saying how she’s going to shoot their bollocks off if they come near her farm. I’m glad Chloe can’t understand her.
‘I’m amazed that you’re still standing after last night,’ I say to her.
‘Oh, I feel like ass, but I woke up at six so I had a very long shower to revive myself and a super-strong coffee.’
‘I feel bad. I’m the host, I’m supposed to be the one making the coffee,’ I tell her.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about. Thank you for carrying me to my bed,’ she says, smiling. ‘You even folded my knickers.’
‘That I did.’
‘That was very considerate. Flashes of last night keep coming to me,’ she says, wide-eyed. ‘The knicker flinging…And I think I made you spoon me. I really am very sorry.’
