Almanzora by Pugh R. Whimmsey

 

Almanzora

The first settlers of the Almanzora valley

have been identified as being from the Palaeolithic era.

 

Under a burning Spanish noonday sun, an hirsute stooped figure, standing at the entrance to his cave, straightened up, relatively, his prominent brow shading his beadlike eyes against the glare.

Sucking thoughtfully on a gnawed forefinger, Ugg pursed a protruding top lip and gazed out over the verdant valley to the mountains beyond.

“Goat’s just eaten your Asparagus.” He informed the interior of the cave.

Inside, Ugg’s wife ceased feeding a fat wriggling grub to an infant of indeterminable sex and, casually dropping the child to the floor, joined her husband at the entrance to the cave.

She hurled a rock at the Goat.

“Why didn’t you stop it?” She demanded.

“I do meat, veg is your department.” He replied.

“Meat, I lost another tooth on that rubbish you brought home last.”

“Cooking’s your job, I’m fire.” Grunted Ugg.

“Fire? Your bleedin’ fire went out before it’d finished cooking,” she admonished him “get more sticks next time.”

Emerging from the cave the infant scuttled across the floor and widdled on Ugg’s foot. He kicked it. Bawling, the infant scurried away.

“Oiy! Stop that,” cried Ugg’s wife, clubbing her husband smartly with her fist, “discipline, education and the niceties of social behaviour is my province.”

Ignoring the reprimand, Ugg shook his foot and continued contemplating the scene below.

“Them Oranges is nearly ready to eat.” He mused.

His wife pulled her face. “They’re horrible,” she said “make your mouth go all whizzend.”

“Whizzend’s not the Orange ones,” retorted her husband “whizzend’s them yellow ones. Stone me woman, don’t you know nothing about the vegetation ’round here?”

A Rat scampered across in front of them stopping just short of the still bawling infant. The infant, ceased bawling, and grabbing the Rat, bit it. The Rat squealed. Delighted, the infant scuttled back inside the cave.

“Hola, Buenos dias.”

A mattedly hirsute figure appeared around the corner of the cave.

“Buenos dias.” Replied Ugg, nodding a grudging welcome to the stranger.

“Name’s Guk,” continued the visitor, picking a nit from his matted brow and chewing it “we’ve just taken the cave further down, view’s not as nice as yours, but it’s all about location isn’t it. Sought after area this now, price of caves going through the roof. They’re asking three Goats for some of them further down the valley with a lake view.”

“Lake view!” Exclaimed Ugg’s wife “Slums them used to be called. Lakes? Primordial soup more like, primitive life emerges from them ponds… Oiy!” She hurled another rock at the Goat now nibbling at the Peppers. “Much more upmarket this end,” she continued “you should bring your wife up later for drinks, we’ve the very latest in chic clay drinking vessels, handmade special they was, very Almanzora.” She added proudly.

“To right,” agreed Ugg “An’ I’ve just acquired a tub of rather drinkable local vino, very decent mouthful, goes down a treat with a few olives, plus you get to see how far you can spit the stones, all very sophisticated.”