Evaristo wanted to make a good impression at Paca's house. He had washed behind his ears, buttoned up his waistcoat and asked us not to say anything crude over tea. He lasted until he sat down. The chair collapsed and he ended up under the table with an olive in his collar.
«Caspicas!»
We stared at him. It had come out in such a high voice that Paca looked round in case a bird had got in. Evaristo raised a finger from the floor. He was in one piece. We pulled him out by his boots.
He said caspicas was his way of saying bloody hell when something caught him off guard, only with slightly better manners. We loved it. It had a cartoonish touch, like a gentleman who loses his hat and still tries to bow. We were all saying it before we'd even tried a biscuit.
A word with plenty of mileage
Paca brought a tray of doughnuts and Felisardo picked up one the size of his head. He lifted it with both hands to show us. He couldn't bite it because it covered his face, but he was happy. Another delighted caspicas came through the hole.
We started trying the word with different faces. With wide eyes it worked for a fright. Stretching the first syllable made it sound like you'd just seen a cracking arse. Whispered, it gave the impression you'd found something worth pocketing. Evaristo practised this last one while eyeing the sweet jar.
"Aren't you elegant, you cheeky sod. You just need to ask permission before you nick them," we told him.
The jar had a narrow neck. Evaristo put his hand in, grabbed three shortbread biscuits and pulled. His hand wouldn't come out. He tugged again while asking about the weather, hoping we wouldn't notice. The jar was dangling from his arm while he tried to have a normal conversation.
We held the jar and he yanked backwards. He dragged us across the tablecloth until Paca moved the cups. Then we lined up, holding each other round the waist, and all pulled together. The last one was Felisardo, who wouldn't let go of his doughnut even to save a friend.
We slipped. Evaristo ended up on the floor again with us on top of him. The jar was still on. You'd think the jar had always been part of him. Paca watched from her stool, eating calmly. She let us get on with it, the crafty cow. She wanted to see how far we'd go.
First let go of the loot
"Open your hand, you daft thing," she said at last.
Evaristo opened it and it came out without any problem. What didn't fit through the jar's mouth was his fist full of shortbread. We went quiet for a moment. Felisardo took another bite. Lovely to see someone treating the situation with the respect it deserved.
We got a fit of the giggles that left us weak. Evaristo ended up laughing too, still with crumbs stuck to his fingers. What a joy it is to make a fool of yourself among your own without having it held against you for the next three years. We pulled up a sturdy chair for him and Paca put the sweets on a plate.
Ever since that afternoon, we've said caspicas whenever we bloody well feel like it. You don't have to give up any swear word to grow fond of another. If you blurt out bollocks, so be it. But sometimes you get a start and that silly word makes you smile before you start cursing the furniture.
Before leaving we wanted to show Paca that, despite the wreckage, we were decent guests. We picked up the cups, swept up the crumbs and fixed the chair. Evaristo sat on it very carefully. It held.
Paca came over, stroked his hat and looked at the tidy room with a lovely smile.
«Caspicas, what useful little bastards!»
