A week or so before la feria was officially due to open we were joined by a much larger travelling fun fair. Huge lorries dragging even bigger trailers arrived and were allotted their respective areas. As usual the rides requiring heavy machinery were all placed together at the other end of the car park, and the smaller ones, including most of the children's rides and the games of chance were situated near us. We found ourselves in the privileged position of forming the buffer between the amusements and the 'casetas', or pavilions. It was incredible to watch these monsters of fun go up. Teams of young men, mostly gypsies but with a liberal sprinkling of non-gypsies too, clambered over vast metal arms and up and down scaffolding until the skeletons of octopus, rockets, nameless disc-shaped constructions, dominated the scene. At this stage it looked horrific, something out of a science fiction novel, a cold alien city being built. Council officials were everywhere, measuring and checking, settling squabbles between owners, stopping this and starting that. The people from the town would come and watch, or forward a piece of advice, and would gladly have interfered more if it weren't for the fierce hungry dogs chained to nearly every caravan or truck. At the same time the 'casetas' were being fitted out and decorated. Some were imitation Andalusian houses, others Arab patios. There were false windows, fountains, beams, pot plants, galleries and arches. Chinese lanterns were strung up everywhere and finally each tent was covered in bright canvas.
Meanwhile the fun fair advanced. Comic strip characters began to clothe the naked girders, and thousands of light bulbs dotted every limb of the giants like coloured rain drops. Massive speakers were piled in front of every ride and stall without exception, and for days the testing of these powerful P.A.s carved up the air like a madman. There were test runs on all the rides too, and even the food was tried and analysed before the opening day.
For us it was a quiet time. We had no setting up to do and had repaired everything well before hand. Sometimes we could earn a little by lending a hand with the heavy labour, but mostly we moped about and looked for old familiar faces - sometimes to greet them and sometimes to avoid them. There was the couple that sold wine from an ancient stall they'd had in the family for generations. It consisted of two huge dummies with comical faces that trod imaginary grapes, and the resulting wine flowed out into a trough from where it was served to the customers. Years ago it had been worked by hand but in recent years a generator had been installed and it was run mechanically. We also knew some of the caterers, and often ate with them at extremely low prices. Most famous of all were the notorious brothers who worked on the love-car, a circular train-like ride with hoods that covered the cars when the lights went off. Most years they would get themselves into trouble over something and both of them spent their time between prison and the amusements. They were big, short-tempered and cruel, and as far as possible were kept out of contact with the public.
Ten days it would all last. Ten days and nights of virtually non-stop entertainment for the public and very little sleep for us. Still, to me, it was the best time of the year. It always impressed me that people should go to such lengths, employ such mechanical imagination, so that others could be silly. And although a lot of money changed hands, nobody could be said to have made a fortune - the running costs are too high. It pleased me to think that for ten days the townsfolk would come and dance and drink and frighten themselves to death for the pure joy of it. Children would dress up and gape and cry from over-excitement, demanding this and pleading for that. Their parents, perhaps infected by their children's behaviour, would indulge in every whim and have a go themselves. Later, with the long night well under way, the youngsters would come to pose and pick up a partner and try to enjoy themselves without getting too self-conscious. Old people out till seven in the morning wearing flamenco dress and with flowers in their hair. Policemen with hands in pockets and more than a little tipsy. It seemed the whole town at one point or another was bound to be there, after all, there was something for everyone. Anyway, it is well-known that those few who really cannot stand a crowd or noise have the good grace to stay away.
At midnight on Friday the mayor officially opens the fair by throwing the switch that lights up this temporary city. This is followed by a fireworks display over the bay of some twenty minutes' duration. Sometimes this is a shoddy affair, the rockets sent up in a seemingly haphazard way and creating very little effect. Other years it is like a visual symphony rising to a flashing crescendo. The crowd always oohs and aahs and it all finishes in applause either way.
Then the flood gates open and the whole area swarms with people. Here are all the types you could ever imagine, an endless stream of faces and bodies. It is humanity in its most harmless form and with one common goal - enjoyment. For a week or so the one reigning emotion is the joy of life; this is the celebration of the triumph of optimism, an acknowledgement of the intrinsic beauty of living.
After four or five o'clock in the morning I could afford to shut up for the night as very few children were still about at that time. If I felt strong enough I would meet Pablo and we'd go to the 'casetas' for a drink and a dance. Here are the bus drivers, hotel managers, telecommunications experts, housewives, students and unemployed. The classism and snobbery inherent in everyday life are forgotten here for a more noble fraternity - humanity. Good dancers or bad dancers, the well-dressed or shabby, the old, good-looking, or clumsy, all together in a gaily painted pavilion for the sole purpose of having a good time.
So the fiesta continues through candyfloss and sherry until about eight in the morning. Then, one by one, the tents turn off their music and the rides grind to a halt. As the last lovers and drunks stagger home the rubbish collectors move in to clear away the bottles and plastic wrappers of another night of silliness. For me, it is time to get my head down for a couple of hours because by eleven I'll be glutted with children. I sleep a few hours in the morning, and the siesta - the rest of the time I'm either working or trying to snatch a bit of fun myself.
La feria has its detractors, of course. Some accuse us of hedonism, others say that we have no right to enjoy ourselves while others less fortunate than us suffer. Some complain of the noise and some about the dangers involved. I remember Pablo talking to a young German boy who thought it was obscene and asked if we had forgotten that people were starving in the world. Pablo said he'd explain it after the fair was over, and that for now, effectively yes, he had forgotten. The German pushed past us muttering something.
Of course it is never all bright lights, and the inevitable shadow fell at times, like the knife-fight in the early hours of the morning. At first it was assumed that one of the wild brothers had had a hand in it, but later it came out that they were not involved. Reports were confused and rumours various, but it would seem that two boys had got too drunk and squabbled over a seat on the Viking ship. Both of them were taken to hospital where luckily they recovered from their wounds. For a couple of days this event threw a shadow over the merriment, but by the following Friday it had all blown over and people came in their thousands from the town and nearby villages.
The festive spirit is not only confined to the actual site of the fair, but takes over the whole town. There are processions and parades with horses and beautiful carriages. Clowns and dancing competitions fill the squares and every bar is decked out in streamers and flowers and plays music for traditional dances. The schools and colleges live the event, too, with galas and displays and days off. Traffic collapses, the streets become strewn with litter, and a holiday atmosphere pervades everything.
By the final Saturday just about everybody has had enough. They'll go one last time to say goodbye but really people are tired of so much revelry. And that is precisely how it should be. This great feria is like a blood-letting, an uncorking of a desire too often stifled by domestic reality or work or suffering. It is a time to forget the hardships of life, the often cruel reality of today's world, and for ten days sing, shout, dance, drink, laugh or whatever else you feel like doin
g. Because when it is all over, and the need for fun has been utterly exhausted, our world will return, in all its beauty and agony, and those of us left alive will be forced to carry on until death or madness claims us.
Had that German boy stayed on till after the fair, I would have tried to explain why I cannot share his Cromwellian viewpoint. No notion of solidarity, indignation or sympathy can justify bleeding the world dry, draining it of all joy and celebration. For who will sing and dance and make love if not the free and the thankfully well-fed? And were I thrown into suffering and despair, I would need to know that somewhere out there children were playing, lovers embracing, voices singing. Remove that possibility and you remove all hope. Remove la feria and you castrate Salvador, snuff out Antonio's candle, crush Loli's love. This is not a matter for the Gods, or for theories of infinity, it is purely of human concern. There are those who would convert this planet into something grey and appalling, those who would provoke suffering and ignorance for personal gain. Against these men and women I have no conclusive evidence, no convincing argument, I part from the same hollow reasoning as they do. Quite simply I state my case, in human terms, and I draw my lines.
I don't believe in love, like I don't believe in pain, or happiness, or death. Or the death of love. It is not a question of faith, but of testimony. I have witnessed children give birth to children, adults fight, a handshake between the deadly grip of legionnaires. I have seen the young girl die, so young! And the rich and moneyed society claw at each other's hearts, stifled in their pre-paid limitless lives. And I have walked the areas where the old and unemployed sit in the parks and compose songs to praise the sunlight that gives them the strength to carry on.
As I know that pain and death will search me out, so I now realise that the counterbalance is within my grasp. I have seen the man's bruises yet still heard his voice full of hope. I have cried, and caused suffering, and lost my way, watched the sun rise over the dirty city. The tears of parents dried by their children's grubby hands.
Cuts and clots, scratches and kisses, and the power within us.
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