The Caganer

    Jaume had just finished his dinner of a thick blood sausage and white haricot beans when an icy draft blew through the noisy bar, disturbing the flames on the torches along the stone walls. He wasn’t expecting company, nor was he drunk, so it wasn’t late enough for his wife to hunt him down, but the loud whoosh that sucked out the hanging smoke, piqued his curiosity.
    He set down his second cup of red wine and looked up from the scraps on his plate to see a shivering couple, huddled by the now closed wooden door. The young man was tall with a straggly beard and wore a frayed outer tunic for a coat which looked more like a sack than a piece of clothing. There was something familiar about his angular, handsome face, although Jaume couldn’t remember a name or how he might have known the man. The girl with him was a complete stranger, but radiated a beauty that attracted Jaume’s eyes as if they were moths, and she was the only light in a dark field.
    He imagined being a sculptor who carved her long neck and soft features into a wooden block, creating a statue so magnificent that the entire country came to visit it on pilgrimage. He saw a round belly protruding from the ragged wool cloak she wore. It was one thing to ogle at a woman. But when she was about to have another man’s child, that was a completely different story. Any fantasy involving her now brought the grating sound of newborn babies and memories of sleepless nights.
    Jaume had enough mouths to feed and has no interest in adding another. He took a sip of his red wine to wash away the ashy taste of guilt. He knew it was wrong to gawk at the lady. She was pregnant and he was married to another woman. But he still couldn’t take his eyes off the mysterious beauty. He sipped his wine and continued to observe her and her partner out of the corner of his eye, as they squeezed between the backs of chairs toward the bar counter.
    “My name is Pep and this is Mari.” The young man’s light voice and expression were full of hope as he spoke to the portly man who owned the bar. “We’ve come from Barcelona Ciutat...”
    “Yes. And?” The bar owner interrupted, folding his arms across his stained apron.
    His aggressive tone and posture seemed to unnerve Pep. His voice dropped to just above a whisper as he stammered through his story of the one hundred and fifty kilometer trek he and Mari had made to the village, so that their son could be born in the same place as his father, grandfather and great-grandfather. “Do you have any room for us?” Pep asked, his intonation rising from the obvious pride he took from their arduous journey. “We don’t have much money, but I’ll do whatever you need to earn our keep.”
    The owner nodded politely and smiled as if he was about to say, yes. “I’m sorry,” he replied instead, “but all of our rooms upstairs are taken, with everyone returning to be registered for the census and all.”
    “We could sleep on the floor.” Pep’s voice cracked and his wide eyed stare darted to the grime and crumb covered stone tiles that were barely visible beneath the feet of the patrons who sat at the tables and stood by the bar. “All we need is a roof over our heads to escape the cold wind.”
    “I'm very sorry, but that’s impossible.” The bar owner gave a derisive snort that matched his pig like eyes which were almost invisible behind his fatty cheeks. “This is the bar and I cannot allow people to stay here when we are closed. What do you think we are – gypsies?”
    Pep blinked repeatedly and lowered his gaze in defeat. “I'm so sorry,” he said with tears in his large brown eyes as he turned to his wife.
    “Can’t you see I’m pregnant?” Mari yelled, opening her cloak to show her bulging stomach that was set to go flat any time, once the birthing process began, bringing shrieks of agony that were loud enough to be heard across the Mediterranean Sea. “Do you have no pity?”
    “Look. I’m truly sorry,” The owner’s chubby face sunk enough to make his tiny eyes seem human, not swine. “If I had room, you could stay,” he added, his tone no longer full of glee at delivering bad news, “but I don’t, and I can’t have you sleeping in the bar. What would happen if you or the child died during birth? People would say my place was cursed and I’d lose business.”
    “I can’t believe what you’re saying.” Mari’s voice faded to a whisper as a single tear trickled down her pearly cheek, and she looked to Pep for guidance.
    His frayed tunic hung as if he’d shrunk to the size of a young boy. But he had the sunken and glazed eyes of a beaten man who had run out of answers, a man who had failed his wife despite his best efforts. Mari responded, not with waterworks and curses, blaming Pep for not planning ahead, as Jaume’s wife would’ve done, but with a comforting smile, a light brush of the arm and a soft peck on the cheek.
    Pep’s brown eyes lit up, giving his expression hope again. He grew back into his clothes and stood taller than before.
    The way he chewed his lower lip brought back a flood of memories that felt more like an epiphany. Jaume had known a boy who had done the exact same thing when he was stumped for answers. He set down his empty wine glass and studied the bearded man standing next to him. He had the same bump in the bridge of his nose and soulful eyes that seemed to have specks of gold.
    “Josep Jakobo?” Jaume said before giving his name and adding, “Do you remember me? We used to play in the woods near my father’s farm before your family moved to Barcelona.”
    Pep squinted and nibbled on his lip, sucking on the wiry black hairs of his patchy beard, as he pondered Jaume’s round face and red rose. “Of course I remember you,” Pep eventually said, his wide mouth breaking into a warm smile. “We built a fort together.”
    “So it is you!” Jaume jumped up from the bar and banged his head on the wooden ceiling beam, but felt not pain. For two glorious summers, he and Pep had been best friends. They had spent their days fishing, hunting rabbits and pretending a donkey was a war-stallion that towed their makeshift chariot.
    Jaume hugged his old friend and planted a kiss on each of his Mari’s cheeks, sniffing her fragrance that brought images of morning sunlight reflecting off dewy green leaves. He rubbed his head and felt a knot, but didn’t care. He was buzzing from the chance encounter, marveling how life had brought him and Pep together after all these years. There had to be a reason beyond luck and circumstance, and Jaume offered his farm as a place to stay.
    The joyous looks on Pep and Mari’s faces warmed his body like a third glass of wine and not even stepping outside the cozy bar into the frigid December night, could dampen the enthusiasm Jaume felt as they left the village’s walls and walked up a meandering path that would take them to the farm he worked with his three brothers, along with their wives and children. The millions of twinkling stars dusted the surrounding trees and fields white like glowing snow, and Jaume looked up to see the pan-shaped constellation his father had once shown him.
    A bright star with a glistening tail streaked across the night sky.
    “Did you just see that?” Jaume yelled, turning to Pep, hoping to share in the spectacular moment.
    He and Mari had fallen a few legs behind. “What's that horrible smell?” she cried, wrapping her arms around waist as she doubled over, burying her face in her round belly.
    Jaume rushed down the path to help. “We’re fertilizing the ground for spring,” he informed them as he took their heavy sack and slung it over his shoulder.
    “Thanks,” Pep said, staring at his wife cringing in the star light. “It doesn’t smell like any animal dung I know.”
    “Animal dung,” Jaume repeated at a volume ten times louder. “Who can afford to use just that with the taxes we’re paying to Rome!”
    “Then what is it?” Pep asked, his attention focused on Jaume, not his pregnant wife.
    “Let’s just say we kill two birds with one stone here in Catalunya, so don’t go looking for any outhouses.”
    “That’s disgusting.” Mari rose from her crouch and covered her mouth with one hand.
    She looked like she was about to deliver the contents of her stomach, not a baby. “What's the matter?” Jaume asked, surprised that the strong woman from earlier seemed to be acting like a spoiled princess camping for the first time. “Haven’t you ever lived in the country?”

    “I’m in pain you idiot,” Mari snapped, tightening the hold she had around her waist. “I think the baby’s coming.”

    Jaume didn’t panic. He felt his body fill with enough strength to carry five, plump sheep across his shoulders and grabbed Mari’s arm, putting it around his neck. He and Pep lifted her so that her toes dragged against the ground, and carried her through a space in the trees, up a narrow path.
    The overhang of the branches was thick enough to block out the light from the sky until the trees stopped, and the path opened onto the bottom of a dip in the mountain that was painted white by the stars and full moon. On the other side of the shallow valley, perched on a ridge, was Jaume’s stone cottage with its distinctive red tiled roof. Seven adults and eleven children meant that even his beloved dog had to sleep outside.
    “You’ll have to stay in the stable,” Jaume explained, leading Pep and Mari off the main path to the stable at the bottom of the clearing. He sold them on the sense of privacy and the fact that the smell of the hay dulled the stench from the fields before explaining how he’d originally built the stable for his two donkeys, but they made a bull seem flexible and preferred to feed and sleep outside, even in the dead of winter.
    “They never come in, so need to worry about unwanted intruders,” Jaume continued, leading his guests into a shelter which consisted of four posts, three wooden walls and a thatched roof.
    He pointed to the stack of hay by a dusty feeding trough in the far corner. “That makes a perfect place for a bed. I’ve had to do it when I get in trouble with my wife, if you know what I mean.”
    “Thanks,” Pep said, beaming in appreciation. “I’ll take your advice.”
    Jaume’s eyes moved from his old friend’s warm face to Mari whose somber expression made it seem as if her beauty came with a horrible curse. “Are you alright?” Jaume asked, feeling the desire to be the one who would rescue her from her fate.
    “Just tired,” Mari replied with a faint smile. “This place is more than perfect. Thank you so much for your kindness. May the Lord bless you.”
    So they were one of those type of people. Jaume didn’t know how many gods there really were, or if the son of one was about to arrive. He was too tired by the end of the day to contemplate such deep questions. “Don’t mention it,” he said, watching as Pep left Mari’s side and dutifully began preparing a bed using a worn sheet and old clothes.
    Not to be outdone when it came to doing a good deed, Jaume blurted, “Be right back,” and returned carrying a blanket over his arms and tray.
    Pep rushed to take the unsteady candle that almost tipped over onto a plate of bread. “Thanks,” he said, going over to a patch of dirt away from the hay bed.
    Jaume went to where Mari slept and set down the tray. As he covered her with a wool blanket, he looked at her peaceful face and thought of a spider web caught in the late afternoon sun after a rain. She was stunning and the personification of a delicate strength that ensnared all those around her.
    “I don’t know what we would’ve done without your kindness and generosity,” Pep said, his words reminding Jaume that Mari was not his to admire.
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, feeling his cheeks flush as he turned to his old friend. “My wife’s getting everything ready for the big moment. She loves babies.”
    “I don’t know how we can repay you and your family.” Pep patted his well-worn tunic and gave Jaume an embarrassed look of a man who wasn’t used to handouts.
    “A safe birth will be good enough,” Jaume said, putting his large hand on his friend’s shoulder.
    Pep nodded in agreement, adding, “Let’s pray there are no complications.” He paused and cast a tender glance at Mari bundled in the blanket that rested on a bed of hay. He quickly looked up at Jaume and said, “ Well, thanks again for everything. We should get to sleep now.”
    “Nonsense, my friend.” Jaume thumbed toward the valley. “Did you hear that scream earlier? This will be your last moment of peace ever.” He went on to relate his experience of being a husband and a father, telling of the constant demands that came from both his wife and children.
    Their sole purpose to exist, it seemed sometimes, was to drive him crazy, making the rewards feel few and far between. Although, when there was such a moment, like the smile on a son’s face after he caught his first fish or built his first chariot, it was worth all the stress and ingratitude.
    “So you see,” Jaume concluded his sermon. “It’s the beginning of a new life. Now is the moment to morn and celebrate this passage of time with a drink.”
    “I can’t be drunk for my son's birth,” Pep replied, stunned by the suggestion.
    “I didn’t say a bottle,” Jaume told him, remembering his friend had never been the quickest person. “One drink to calm your nerves. Trust me, you’ll need it.”
    “I don’t know. Should probably stay with Mari.”
    “Go have a drink so I can rest,” she snapped, the blanket that covered her head, muffling her voice.
    “Best do as the wife says.” Jaume chuckled and took Pep by the arm. They walked out of the stable and up the path onto the ridge that overlooked the shallow valley under a starry night. A gust of wind brought the faint clangs of cow bells from the wooded mountainside, and Jaume waved at a rugged, wooded terrain. “Only a pragmatic and hard working people like us, Catalans, could create a prosperous life here,” he boasted. “As I told you earlier, we can make plants grow from shit.”
    Pep laughed and brought his tunic in across his chest to ward off the chill. “Do you pee to water the flowers, too?”
    “Now that would be uncivilized and dangerous on windy days.” Jaume’s words faded as he jogged to the bushes before coming back, holding the handle of a ceramic bottle. He bit down on the cork stopper and ripped it out, handing the bottle to Pep.
    “It’s orujo from Galicia,” Jaume informed him. “My cousin brought it for me. There’s nothing like it to keep you warm on a cold night.”
    “Thanks.” Pep took a tentative sip that made his body shake. “Wow. Tha... That’s strong,” he stuttered with a second shudder.
    Jaume snatched the bottle and took a hearty chug. “City life’s made you weak, Pepito,” he declared, using Pep’s childhood nickname to show his words were only in jest. “Tell me about this beautiful wife of yours,” Jaume continued. “When did the two of you meet?”
    Pep took a second, bigger sip and shivered. “About a year ago.”
    The orujo combined with the wine made Jaume’s head feel lighter than a leaf on a breezy day. A boisterous laugh roared from his stuffed belly as he watched his old friend wipe the tears from his eyes.
    “When your son’s old enough to drink, make sure you send him to Uncle Jaume for an education,” he ribbed, pulling out a pipe from his pocket as he sat down on the set of steps. Above them the stone cottage’s windows were aglow in the orange light from the burning torches inside.
    Jaume heard a grunt to the tune of, “I will,” as he stuffed his pipe with dried leaves of a weed. The pale face, sitting next to him, brought the familiar taste of ash to his mouth from the guilt he felt. He puffed his pipe lit and announced, “No more orujo for you. I promised not to get you drunk and I’m a man of my word.”
    A sweet smelling cloud of smoke escaped from between his lips as he spoke and glided toward Pep who gagged and covered his mouth.
    “Sorry.” Jaume quickly turned his head to exhale in the other direction. “My stomach’s been a bit tight lately, if you know what I mean. Smoking helps loosen it.”
    “That’s okay.” Pep forced a smile, but still looked worse than his wife when she’d discovered the source of the local fertilizer. “Feeling better now,” he added, the beads of perspiration gleaming on his forehead, “but can we talk about something else?”
    “Sure.” Jaume felt relieved to see the first signs of color returning to his friend’s bearded face and asked, “How long have you two love birds been married?”
    “We’re not married yet.” Pep delivered the news as if it were normal, not a sin. “We’re waiting for the baby to be born.”
    “What!” Jaume choked the smoke in his lungs and coughed before he blurted, “You’re letting your son be born a bastard?”
    “Well – He’s not really mine,” Pep explained, seemingly happy at the arrangement. “Mari received a visit from an angel who said her son will be born the messiah.”
    “She’s not the only one,” Jaume scoffed, waving his pipe as if it were a finger “There are three Joseps and two Jordis from the village who say the same thing. Ask them how they feel now with all the pilgrims outside their windows day and night.”
    “Don’t you believe the messiah’s coming?” Pep seemed disappointed by Jaume’s mocking tone.
    “Holding off judgment until spring,” he said, smiling to show that he hadn’t ruled anything out.
    “Why’s that?” Pep’s innocent brown eyes attached to Jaume’s face as he waited for his theory.
    “Let’s see if the arrival of the so-called messiah brings the right amount of rain in April. If it’s dry again next year, I’m blaming people believing in some baby for pissing off Jupiter.”
    Pep smiled politely at the reasoning. “Well – I prayed to my Lord for your family’s health and protection,” he said it as if he had pull with the emperor. “May your generosity be celebrated for eternity.”
    “Thanks. Next time pray for golden eggs.” Jaume tapped his spent pipe against the step and took another swig of from the ceramic bottle. He drew a deep breath of the icy air to put out the flaming sensation that ran from his throat to his belly.
    He looked at his old friend and decided to test his faith. “Can I ask you something?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Forget the possibility Mari’s baby ends up being a girl. Imagine if the father is an albino angel and the boy looks like him. Would you still love him like a son?”
    “Why wouldn’t I?” Pep seemed more surprised by the question, than offended. “He’d still have the face of an angel.”
    Jaume gritted his teeth in irritation. His old friend was a man who had nothing, not woman to call his wife, a room in which to sleep, nor a son who was truly his own. Yet, he was completely at peace, like none of that mattered.
    Jaume loaded his pipe with died leaves and muttered, “Guess if my wife looked like Mari, I wouldn’t care who the father was either, as long as I got to wake up to that face every morning.”
    Pep replied with a bemused grin and silence. His unruffled response reminded Jaume of another person who had long ago learned the best way to respond to an inappropriate remark of his was to say nothing.
    Jaume’s mouth eased as he pictured his wife. “Sorry about that comment from earlier,” he said, putting the pipe back into his pocket. “Bit drunk and my better half says I get surly sometimes.”
    “No need to apologize.” Pep showed no signs of taking offense at Jaume’s dig and continued to calmly smile. “You’ve been more than a gracious host. Besides, I’ve noticed Mari can bring out the best and worst in men.”
    “Beautiful women will do that.” Jaume paused and another question popped in his head, “Tell me, Pep – Have you decided on a name for this miracle baby yet?”
    “Jesus.”
    “Jesus?” Jaume repeated, hearing his voice strain from disbelief.
    “It’s another form of Josep and means 'The Salvation'.”
    “Who on earth told you that?” Jaume retorted. “I’ve never heard of such a strange name.”
    “An angel in a dream,” Pep replied evenly.
    “You're kidding, right?” Jaume still couldn’t believe it. Kids nowadays. Why did they always have to be different? Don’t they understand children just want to fit in? “He wasn’t the same angel who paid Mari a visit, was he?”
    “No.” Pep’s expression sharpened, hinting at irritation.
    Jaume stared into eyes so sincere, he'd believe the earth was round if Pep told him so. Raising the ceramic jug in the air, Jaume toasted, “Here’s to Jesus, son of Josep! May he live a long life and die of old age,” ending his quick speech with a chug of orujo.
    A long steady shriek shook the still winter air as if the sound had came from a
the depths of a volcano. Jaume’s body tensed at the realization that the birth was eminent. He watched as Pep leapt to his feet, yelling, “Mari, I'm coming, honey!” on his way down the path toward the stable at the bottom of the dip in the mountain.
    Jaume smacked his knees and slowly stirred into action. The orujo and wine rushed to his head, as he rose from his seat. Each star had a blurry double when he looked to the sky and swayed to find his balance on a ground that moved lie water. He heard the growing sound of heavy footsteps behind him which meant only one person – his wife.
    “You’d better stay here.” Her tone the familiar blend of disappointment and resignation which came from realizing there were somethings about her man that would never change. Jaume opened his eyes to see the bleary image of his wife carrying a bowl of steaming water, as she stood next to him at the foot of the stairs. “You smell of booze and you’ll faint like the last time,” she sneered, waddling down the path toward the stable that seemed to be on fire.
    “As you wish my dear.” Jaume smiled apologetically, but felt pure relief, because attending a birth ranked just above working in a sleeting rain on the list of things he liked to do. He listened as a soft wind carried the familiar sound of hooves and a strange language. His eyes were drawn to the spot in the trees where the path led to the base of the shallow valley. He watched as an orange globe atop a golden pole emerged, followed by a second and a third. A man in bright ornamental robes that sparkled held each staff and the three men were followed by a procession of strange humped animals, bearing the weight of sacks stuffed with gold, herbs and spice.
    The group was unlike any gypsies Jaume had ever seen and his eyes widened in amazement as herds of animals seeped from the woods and into his clearing as if it had become the regions sole watering hole. The moment soured when he wondered what their owners would think. Without any plausible explanation for the miraculous feat, they’d label him as a practitioner of black magic and burn him at the stake. He was sure of it.
    Another thunderous shriek shook that air. Jaume swore he heard the stars crackle it was so quiet. The possibility Pep’s son didn’t survive weighed in Jaume’s stomach like a loaf of raw dough mixed with stones. He bent over, feeling a pain in his gut that brought tears to his eyes. He had seen men’s faces turn from joy to sorrow when the baby they held no longer breathed. Not even Pep “The Serene” could withstand such a loss.
    Jaume prayed, but not for relief. Instead, he offered to suffer the agony in his belly for the rest of his life, even if that meant never eating or drinking again. The only thing he asked was that the baby lived.
    The plaintive wail of a newborn broke the silence. A gust of wind swooped from the north, taking the noise over the round peaks of the mountains and across the land for all to hear. The weight in Jaume’s stomach crumbled and he lifted his head. “Come all and look! He's so beautiful,” his wife shouted and the chimes from the bells of the braying animals, and cheers from the three men erupted in celebration at the news.
    Jaume ran towards the glowing stable, as anxious to see Pep’s boy as if he were his fourth son. His footsteps, hitting the hard ground, jarred loose the food stuffed in his belly. Nature called, reminding him that he needed to fertilize a patch of land before he even contemplated doing anything else.