No, this blog post is not about the disastrous results for the PSOE (Partido Socialista de España) in Sunday’s municipal and regional elections, where they lost in a big way to the conservative Partido Popular. You might be mistaken for thinking so, because of course José Luís Zapatero is the name of the current (socialist) prime minister of Spain (who incidentally happens to vaguely look like Mr. Bean).
There are other zapateros, though, who have longer “terms in office” than our Mr. José Luís (who has announced he will not seek re-election in the federal election of 2012). You see, while a Zapatero can be a prime minister, a zapatero is also a cobbler; a shoe-maker. A week ago I went with my Dulcinea to drop off some shoes for repair with a local zapatero. We decided not to give more business to our “regular” cobbler, who is a very bitter and grumpy fellow indeed, and instead to try our luck with another. I’d seen another little hole-in-the-wall shoe shop nearby, so we decided to check it out.
In it, there was not just a zapatero, but also a zapatera — a husband-and-wife team working together in that tiny shop. Second, unlike our miserable regular, they were incredibly good-natured and funny. We had a hard time getting out of there, with all their wise-cracks; they just kept wanting to talk and talk.
While the man was fitting some cork pads into Dulcinea’s sandals, some other customers came to make their “entreaties.” We all crammed into the two or three square metres available for customers. The comedy didn’t really start, though, until a sweet little nun from a nearby convent showed up. She wanted to buy some brown shoe polish, and the zapatero put us on hold for a moment to serve her. After much discussion, she “sweetly” insisted that her superiora was very tight with money, and that she couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) pay the full amount (4.50 Euros, I believe it was) for a container. She insisted on paying less, in a firm but friendly, loving way (a way that brought back memories of my grandmother). The zapatero argued and joked with her, but conceded to a lower price. At this, she said maybe she’d take another container, so he ended up selling her two, at a loss — both for 6 or 7 Euros rather than 9.
The nun was happy enough (in a sweet, humble sort of way), reminded him he should pray more often, and that she would also pray for him. “You have to pray every day, ask God for what you need, and believe he will provide it. You really have to believe it. And, if you still don’t get it, you have to keep praying.”
Meanwhile, in his coarse but good-natured way, he joked that maybe God should know what he really needed, and that the nun’s prayers hadn’t seemed to do him much good thus far in his life. “It’s because you don’t really believe,” she repeated. To me, it all seemed fun and good-natured, and I assumed she was a regular and valued customer. We all had a smile on our faces when she finally left — including the nun herself, who asked him make out the receipt for the full, regular price…even as he tried to insist that these days his business’ books were very closely scrutinized. “You don’t want me to sin, do you?” he joked. But she got her receipt.
The most surprising part was that, as soon as the nun was out the door and we were alone with the zapatero couple, they started ranting on about how: “it’s no wonder the church has so much money,” and “they never want to pay for anything, they’ll put us out of business,” etc. The wife told us how she personally didn’t believe in “all that,” and basically what a pain it was for them to have to deal with these frequent requests for special treatment. I was sympathetic to what they were saying, yet found the change of attitude very surprising: what a contrast to hear so much negativity (though still in a semi-joking way), after so much joviality.
It makes you wonder what people say about you when you’re not around, if they can be so “genuinely” fun and friendly when you’re there, then so bluntly critical about you the instant you leave! Might this be some vestigial survival mechanism, left over from the days of the Franco dictatorship? When you live in a fascist (or any) dictatorship, you need to be very careful to whom you show your “true” face. Say the right things to the right people, and the real things to those you know and trust. Perhaps what was most surprising to me, was the power and respect that the Catholic Church still seems to wield here — in its own way — and even among non-believers.
Postlude: In a (somewhat) related note, I went back several days later to pick up another pair of Dulcinea’s shoes, which were being stretched on the horma (shoe tree). When the zapatero told me it would cost 3.50, I told him I was pretty sure Dulcinea had already paid this amount when we dropped them off. He shrugged, and said, “could be, although it’s strange, because here on the sticker I don’t have it marked as paid.” With a wave of his hand, he cheerfully let me go without paying a cent.
To my embarrassment, Dulcinea later told me that the money she’d paid was for the cork inserts, not the stretching. So, first thing the next morning, I went back sheepishly to pay him his 3.50. My new “friend” and I had a good laugh, as he told me that many people do the same trick, but — unlike me — never come back. He insisted that I come around behind the counter to show me dozens of “unpaid” stickers from other clients. All of which made me think that if he wanted his (financial) life to improve, maybe he shouldn’t try to “meet God halfway,” and be a bit more tough about payment! His only sin, though, seems to be that he’s too nice a guy. Well, that, and of course talking badly about people behind their backs… (-;