Is not the phrase that I need aid in translating today, rather ‘my drunken gardener has fallen from the bridge into the river bed’.
Those zealous immigrants to Costa Rica who spout ‘Pura Vida!’ at every turn and never end telling others of the wonderful communities here upholding family values have, I suggest, been wearing rose coloured blinkers, just like immigrants anywhere else who have come to ‘live their dream’ and can’t afford to return whence they came even if the dream turns a little sour, they feel the need to validate the choice they made so make sure to turn over no stones lest something unwelcome should emerge.
In Costa Rica, fathers who desert their families – or abandon their light of love should she have produced a child – are made to pay a pension for the upkeep of the children, with the alternative of the jug for non payment. Sounds very sensible and usually is, but there are a number of women who regard it as a way of life. Catch man, produce child, claim man is abusing her, thus awarded house and pension, repeat as many times as feasible. And if they catch a gringo then the sky is the limit! No wonder adverts for DNA tests abound…..
Family life should be regarded as flexible, to say the least. Our local electrician cannot afford to marry the lady he loves because he is already paying pensions for five other ladies and their children…..his neighbour has two families at least and another suspected, but at least they are consecutive rather than concurrent, while the gardener seems to have any number of marital and non marital histories behind him resulting in offspring of all ages turning up on his doorstep when having problems. To the displeasure of his current inamorata.
Now, as May 1st is a public holiday, our chap knew he would not be coming to work so, I imagine, decided to relax on Sunday evening over a gallon or two of guaro – hooch made from sugar cane.
One of his offspring turned up at the house in the evening to claim his assistance. I have no idea whether it was the one who had lived there previously for three months before moving out in a huff when asked to find a job, or the one who doubled the electricity bill, or the one who moved in with his girlfriend and her baby by her husband until said husband came by to reclaim woman and child, but whoever it was, the inamorata took umbrage and made it known.
Under normal circumstances she would have prevailed…..she is a large lady and can continue to expound her views for hours without seeming to pause for breath while the gardener is a mild man who believes in a quiet life.
However, there was another participant…..the guaro. And the guaro spoke. It transformed the gardener into a follower of King Canute as per ‘1066 and All That’
‘Wroth was Cnut and wrothword spake
Well wold he win at wopantake.
Fain wolde he brake frith and cracke heads
And than they shold worshippe his redes’
Drawing the line at breaking forth and cracking heads he emitted several wroth words and stormed unsteadily out of the house – followed, very wisely, by offspring – in the early hours of the morning, heading for his mother’s house up the road and the other side of the bridge.
I say road…..in fact it is a muddy, rutted track with a deep ditch on one side and a steep rise on the other so, given his condition, he was doing well to get along at all.
Until it came to the bridge. Whether he missed the support of the steep rise on one side, or whether his son was too busy supporting himself to support his father is unknown. What is known is that father fell off the bridge into the river bed below. Not far to fall, to be fair, but onto a jumble of large rocks. Luckily the river was no longer in spate as it had been in the afternoon or falling onto the rocks would have been the least of his problems.
Son staggered off to rouse his uncle – up the road – and between them they hauled gardener out of the river while mother called an ambulance which carted him off to the main hospital in San Jose.
Later that morning – at 4.30 a.m. – gardener’s sister in law telephoned me to tell me the sorry tale and to say that he had been admitted to Emergencies and that the prognosis was grim. I can tell you, as far as I was concerned her prognosis was pretty grim as well, hauling me out of bed half an hour early and waking the dogs from their slumbers.
When Leo rose at 5.00 a.m. , we talked about what support gardener would need if unable to work and also about how to work round his absence, then when Leo went back to bed I took my tea out onto the balcony for an hour of peace.
At 5.30 a.m. the young man across the road arrived, thus rousing the dogs again, and asked me excitedly if I would have a job for him as the gardener would be crippled for life. Stiffening the sinews and imitating the actions of a tiger I blew him backwards bowlegged…by which time my tea had become cold.
Much to my surprise as we stopped for mid morning coffee the gardener’s car arrived at the gate, stuffed full of people and with two young men hanging off the back. Sister in law emerged and came to the house…rousing the dogs once more.
She had come to borrow the walking frame that Leo used to be able to use.
‘So he is not crippled for life?’
No, it appeared, he was not. He was in the car having just been collected from the hospital.
He had been awaiting attention on a trolley, gassed as a ne’erday tinker and reeking like a spirit vault, when the dragon who ran the Emergencies department spotted – or smelt – him. After receiving the results of examinations she upbraided him for his condition, issued him with paracetamol and had him evicted…with no sick note.
He will return to work next week.