A short break in the mountains 2

He had had no pain since yesterday. True, the night had been disturbed but he attributed that to the eating of a substantial quantity of mountain stew and more than his share of rough red wine. The mountaineers had booked a restaurant near the end of the walk. They had enjoyed the meal late in the afternoon. They had lingered in the restaurant and while he had not had a copa, a 'bowlful' of brandy or other spirit, he had gone on sipping the red wine. It was very pleasant to be part of a group relaxing and socialising in another language. The group had sung local songs in a chorus and individually, the women competing with the men in the strength of their voices and, he suspected, in the suggestiveness of the lyrics. The allusions were beyond his command of the language. It was the language of their bodies and eyes and the tone of their voices that convinced him of the acceptable ribaldry of the words. They had been called on to sing and together with the other teacher, an Irishman, had made a brave stab at 'Sweet Molly Malone'. The Irishman couldn't remember the word and she couldn't carry the tune and so he was the only one in there at the end. His light tenor voice a bit of an anticlimax. There was applause for their faltering efforts. It was kindly and undeserved.

That Sunday had been no different from many of the others they had spent in Spain. He had been a little tired, a little anxious about the pain in his chest the day before and as always annoyed by the few drivers on the small country roads all giving him a hard time because of the GB plates.

When he had started into the hairpin he had felt nothing. Then he had become aware that he was losing consciousness. That was when he said "shit". It was as if part of his brain was still awake and part had disengaged from the conscious world. The bit of his brain that was still out there knew it had to bring the car to rest. Why did he put the indicator on? The nearest car must have been twenty kilometres away. He put the car in neutral. Did he put the handbrake on? It was a narrow hairpin, he had to get the car as far off the road as possible. Did he know the hairpin was into the mountain? Would he have run the car off the road if the bend had been the other way?

She called his name, twice. He had started to go red in the face. Panic! What could she do? Was he still alive? Was he still breathing? She tried to raise his head and free his neck from obstructions from her position alongside him in the passenger seat. Still no response. She got out of the car and went round to the driver's door, opening it. She looked round for help. No cars, no people, no houses, there was nothing but the steep mountain road and the mist.

Her mind came back into focus, subconsciously tackling the mundane things first. She leaned over and put the handbrake on the car. She turned the engine off. Then she lifted his face calling his name. She struck his face, gently, and called his name again. He stirred, he was breathing, his head moved and his eyes flickered. How long had he been unconscious. It seemed like an age. It could have happened so fast. Her mind had no way to measure the the time from when she heard him swear to the point she was convinced he was breathing again.

He had slipped from consciousness. His brain was still active. He was aware he was dreaming but little else. The contents of the dream were beyond him. He was aware of a large lake to his left. The surface boiling and billowing, which was strange as there was no storm or bad weather in his dream. Somewhere in his brain he translated the lake as the sea of mist surrounding the car. That small rationality gave him some comfort. His awareness subsided and he relaxed with his dreams beside the lake. There was light over the lake, the sun looked as if it were rising. The fact that it was rising in the west disturbed him. She was calling his name. He was irritated, the sunrise was so beautiful and he would miss it. She called his name again and consciousness came flooding back almost painfully. Awareness rushed through him as the dreams that he would never remember ebbed away. His tongue was heavy but the words came out breaking like a wave.

"I do love you"

He rested confused as she questioned him. Was he in pain? Was he able to breath easily? Was he all right? The familiar words reassured him. In a few moments he was strong enough to get out of the driver's seat. Holding on to her and the car he moved round to the passenger side. His mind cleared, he became more aware of his body, he had lost control of his bladder. This troubled him more than realising that he had been unconscious. He drank some water and they decided to go back over the pass to the nearest houses to get help.

The houses they had passed on the way turned out to be farm buildings by the side of the road. There was no one around. They went on. He felt very weak but they agreed that they would get closer to help if they drove on. By the time they reached Cervera again he was still weak there was no pain, he was still conscious and alert. They decided to head for 'home'.

It exhausted him to get to the apartment on the second floor. He stripped off his clothes and had a hot shower to warm himself. She kept the bathroom door open as she made some camomile tea. Her ears were tuned to the noises in the bathroom for any sudden changes, any loud noises. He rested in a chair and drank the tea. About an hour after getting back to the flat he felt strong enough to go out.

The doctor in the emergency room at the small health centre checked him out. He was poked and prodded by the doctor and a nurse connected him up to various machines. The doctor asked questions in very simple Spanish as if he were dealing with a slightly backward child. He understood most of the questions and was able to explain the events. They had looked up the unfamiliar words in the dictionary before coming to the emergency room. Where he stumbled over the tense of a verb or forgot the technical term she supplied the correct Spanish, glad to be able to contribute in some way. The doctor was a mountaineer and made some comment about the factory group being "locos" or crazy. The doctor only seemed to be concerned about his blood pressure. Everything else was working, and as far as they could tell he had not had a stroke or a heart attack. His blood sugar was low but he had eaten very little at breakfast and nothing during the day.

He was given pills and eventually his blood pressure came down to something like normal. He was released and told to come back early in the week to have his blood pressure checked.

They went out into the cold night, the rain had stopped and the cloud cleared. There was a good moon and it cast its light into the valley that had become their home. They looked up to the horseshoe of mountains that surrounded them and offered protection. He felt very uncertain, very scared. He reached for her hand.