Bartolomeo, Tolo as he was called, had been driving tour guides and their clients around Madrid for as long as he could remember. The guides agreed that Tolo knew Madrid’s inner city streets better than any other driver and that he had a calming influence on the tourists. What began as a way to make ends meet in the post-Franco years became Tolo’s career. The son of an olive farmer, he’d come to Madrid in the eighties and worked the counter of a jamon market near the Puerta del Sol for a decade. When a friend who was a driver asked him to drive in an emergency, he’d had to ask directions, but his poise impressed the tour guide, who was a fast-talking amateur historian. Tolo juggled his work at the counter and the occasional tour before becoming a full-time driver. At sixty, gray-haired and trim, he was considered indispensable, if invisible.
He married the sister of a friend, and they had two sons, one of whom worked for the city, the other as an intern at Santander bank. The family lived in the three-bedroom apartment in Vallecas that Tolo and Valentina had rented for thirty years, but the boys were rarely there except to sleep. Someone said that Vallecas was the setting for a film by the great Spanish film director Almodovar, which made Tolo proud of his neighborhood, although he often wished he and Valentina had been able to buy a house in the suburbs. Their life had become as predictable as the routes he drove.
A tour guide named Gabriela “adopted” him. “I must have Tolo,” she told the company. Her clients, who were mostly Americans, liked her blond hair, perky personality, and knowledge of the best places to shop and eat, she said. Tolo gave her the confidence to be herself. A Gallego who favored Galician shops and restaurants, she was a money-maker, and the company let her have Tolo as much as possible, despite the resistance of other guides. It didn’t matter to Tolo one way or the other. The routes were the same, or similar, and tuned out the patter.
“Tolo will be our driver today,” Gabriela informed the clients, two American couples staying at the Hotel Ingles. “He is the best.” Nodding modestly, Tolo slid the van door open, positioned a step stool under the running board, and held the women by the hand, the men by the elbow, as they climbed in. He did not speak to them unless spoken to first, because silence, he believed, imparted a sense of importance to his role. Gabriela could do the talking.
“Tolo can give us a tour of Madrid, or we can go directly to Salamanca and shop,” she said, turning to look at the clients. The women were sitting in the middle row with the husbands in back.
“Salamanca,” one of the women said.
“We do not drink before noon in Spain, so we will visit a few shops–I haven’t been to all of them, but I think you’ll like them, they’re Galician–and explore the tapas bars after that. Is that okay?”
“The last part especially,” one of the husbands said, and Gabriella winked at him.
“Serrano, Velazquez, Ortega y Gasset, these are the stylish shopping streets in Salamanca,” she said. “We’ll explore all of them, but first I want to teach you a little about Spanish wines, which are the best in the world.” The wine shop was always the first stop. Tolo took San Jeronimo toward the Prado and the park. Policemen carrying Uzis were standing in front of the Congreso de los Diputados..
“So many policemen,” one woman said.
“As a precaution,” Gabriela said. “Because of the trouble in the Middle East. Also, the Royal Family comes tomorrow for the Princess’s swearing in. Take us by Retiro Park, Tolo.”
The wine shop was located on Calle Serrano, a busy street. Tolo was able to double park while Gabriela took the clients inside to explain the difference between Rioja and Tempranillo and the meaning of the different certificates of authenticity. Tolo waited, watched them emerge in the rearview mirror, and quickly but not too hastily came around to open the sliding door.
“Our best wines are not exported,” Gabriela said, when everyone was seated in the van. “Which is why we do not enjoy the reputation of the French or Italian wines.” Tolo wondered if a client might challenge this statement, but none ever did. After a tour of the big shopping streets Gabriela had Tolo take a narrow street with cars parked on either side and stop at a Galician shop neither had been to before. As cars behind them honked, Tolo let the clients out of the van. “Thirty minutes,” Gabriela said. Tolo watched as the women went into the store and the men, looking bored, waited on the sidewalk. There were no empty parking spaces on the street or any of the side streets, so he double-parked on Serrano and read the news on his I-phone. He liked to be early for pick-ups, but when he returned honking cars forced him to circle the block. He arrived as the clients were coming out of the shop and helped them into the van, stowing their bags in the cargo bay.
“Do you like pottery?” Gabriela said when everyone was inside. Another narrow, one-way street, Tolo thought. She told him to take Hermosilla, even though there was a faster way. Trying to impress them, he thought. The traffic was heavy, and it took twenty minutes to find the shop on a little tree-lined side street. Tolo helped everyone out of the van and waited in front of the entrance to an apartment complex three streets away, checking his texts and emails. Valentina sent a text reminding him to pick up Sofrito and stew meat for dinner. The residential street where he had parked seemed to be lost amid the commercial bustle around it. He timed his return perfectly and stowed the clients’ heavy boxes of pottery in the bay.
“Are we ready now for tapas?” Gabriela said. Tolo suspected he could do her tapas spiel word for word, if he had to. “I want you to experience and understand the evolution of Spanish tapas,” she said. “We will visit three different bars that are personal favorites. Each has a distinct character. The first specializes in tapas of the past, the next features traditional tapas, and the third contemporary tapas.”
“Will they have vermouth and patatas fritas?” one of the husbands said.
“Yes, yes,” Gabriela said. “And much, much more.” Tapas bars were fixtures of Gabriella’s tours, and Tolo knew exactly where to park. After spending forty-five minutes inside the third and last tapas bar the clients came out reeling and laughing. One of the women tripped on the step stool. Tolo held her arm to keep her from falling.
“That octopus was divine,” the woman said as Tolo drove them past the Cibeles fountain. He pulled up in front of their hotel, helped everyone out of the van, and handed the shopping bags and pottery boxes to the hotel doorman while the clients thanked Gabriela.
“We can’t forget Tolo,” one of the men said. As the others stumbled into the lobby, he put a few Euros in Tolo’s hand.
“I wasn’t sure they could walk,” Gabriela said, as they were driving to the office. Tolo smiled with his eyes on the road. “A single tomorrow,” she said. “Who would pay so much money for a solo, especially someone staying at the Aloft? We pick him up at ten. You know where the Aloft is?” Tolo nodded. At the office he let her out and pulled the van into the garage.
On the train, holding Valetina’s things, Tolo reflected on his life and wondered if any of it mattered. He and Valentina were living out their marriage, the boys would soon be out of the house, and tomorrow Gabriela would say and do the same things.
The Aloft hotel was a nondescript building on a side street filled with ethnic restaurants and small businesses just off the Gran Via. It was hardly recognizable as a hotel. The building was narrow and industrial-looking. There was no doorman and little signage. No one was waiting on the sidewalk. Tolo confirmed for Gabriella that they were in the right place, and she called the client to say they had arrived. Ten minutes later a man in his thirties wearing jeans, a field jacket, and a Yankees baseball cap came out of the hotel and peered into the van. His face was tan, and he wore a black and white scarf around his neck. Gabriella rolled down her window, and Tolo came around the van to open the sliding door.
“Mr. Badillo?” Gabriella said. The man seemed hesitant at first, but after waving away the step stool, climbed into the van.
“I don’t have any information about what you would like to see or do,” Gabriella said. “This is Tolo, by the way. He is our best driver.” The man stared at the back of Tolo’s head. “We can take a tour of Madrid or go to Salamanca and shop or perhaps visit the Prado…”
“I want you to take me to the Congreso de los Diputados.”
Gabriella looked at Tolo, who shook his head.
“I’m sorry, but the streets around the Congreso are blocked off due to the arrival of the royal family.”
“Then get me as close as you can. Your driver must know how, if he’s good.”
“You won’t be able to get close enough to see the princess or the royal family, if that’s what you want. I would recommend that we…”
“Take me to the Congreso. You’re a tour guide, aren’t you?” the man said. Before Gabriella could respond Tolo said “How would you like to go?”
“You must know the way.”
”Down the Gran Via?”
“Tolo, we can’t...” Gabriella said, but Tolo had already made a U-turn. They joined the traffic on the Gran Via. Gabriella turned around to look at the man. ”Have you been to Madrid before?” she said, her voice shaking. ”The Gran Via is its heartbeat. Always filled with people and happenings, even at three in the morning.” In the rearview mirror, Tolo noticed that the man was sitting stone-faced, looking straight ahead, not at the shops and hotels they passed. “The Puerto de Alcala is at the end of the Gran Via,” Gabriella said. “From there we can,”
“Do these side streets lead to the Congreso?”” the man said,
“Some do, but as I told you, the police…”
“Take whatever brings me closest to the Congreso de los Diputados,” he said to Tolo.
Gabriella and Tolo exchanged looks.
“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “The police…”
“I have a gun and I am pointing it at you. Take me to the Congreso and give me your phones.”
Her hands shaking, Gabriela gave him her phone. Tolo removed his from a dashboard dock and handed it over. Gabriella’s eyes appealed to Tolo to do something.
“I may be able to get you close, but I don’t know which of the streets are cordoned off,” Tolo said. “They are crowded and narrow, many are one-way. It will be difficult.”
“Just do it,” the man said.
Tolo turned up the Calle de Alcala toward the Four Seasons Hotel. Barricades were visible beyond the hotel on Calle de Sevilla, but when Tolo looked in the mirror he saw that the man failed to notice. Instead of turning left he took a right turn on a street leading back toward the Gran Via. Her mouth open, Gabriella seemed ready to ask where they were going, when Tollo took a left down a small side street and stopped. A delivery truck was unloading boxes of fruit and vegetables.
“Keep going,” the man said.
“I can’t,” Tolo said. “We must let him finish.”
“Why did you take this street?”
“I told you. The only way to get where you want to go is on the back streets. They are narrow and can be busy.” This seemed to satisfy the man, although Tolo heard him shifting nervously in his seat. The truck driver eventually threw a hand cart into the back of the truck and drove away. At the next intersection Tolo took a left and an immediate right on a one-way street behind a line of cars and taxis.
“Back up,” the man said.
“There are cars behind us.”
“Make them back up then.”
“It will be quicker if we wait,” Tolo said. Gabriella was making moaning sounds. Tolo put a hand on her knee to calm her down. The line of vehicles slowly cleared. Tolo took a right at the next intersection and a left turn down a cramped street lined with bars and small restaurants. A horse-drawn carriage was clopping on the cobblestones and eventually turned down a cross street. After a series of lefts and rights on dark side streets filled with stalled vehicles they passed a multi-story building with a portico and columns.
“The Teatro Real,” Gabriella said in her tour guide’s voice as if trying to lighten the mood.
“I don’t care,” the man said. “Do not play with me.”
“We are close,” Tolo said. “Only two blocks away. I cannot go any further, but if you go to the end of this street you will see barricades and policemen waiting for the royal family.” A demonstration was underway in a nearby plaza. A man was shouting through a bullhorn, and a crowd was cheering. Gabriella gave Tolo an anxious look as the man got out of the van. He made Tolo roll down his window
“Come with me,” he said. “Both of you.” His field jacket was bulky, as though covering more than his torso. Tolo again patted Gabriella’s knee, and they got out of the van. The man followed them past formal gardens to the broad Calle de Bailen, where policemen with Uzis were standing by the barricades set up in front of the palatial complex.
“This is the Congreso?” the man said.
“The police are waiting for the Royal Family to arrive.”
“Which way will they come?”
“From the north, I think.”
His hands in his coat pockets, the man seemed to squeeze something in readiness. Gabriella looked at Tolo and at the Royal Palace in disbelief.
“When will they come?” the man said.
“Soon,” Tolo said. “In a limousine. The driver will let them out on the other side of the street. You won’t be able to see them from here.”
“We must get closer then,” the man said. Two policemen, cradling Uzis, were chatting and laughing as they let people through the barricades. Tourists were waiting to get into the Royal Palace and the Cathedral.
“They won’t allow you close to the Royal Family,” Tolo said.
“The police are letting people through the barricades, and people are waiting in line in front of the buildings.”
“Those are not the entrances used by the royal family.”
“You need to get me as close as possible to the royal family. We must go through the barricades. Tell the police we are tourists. Do not try to warn them. I am prepared to shoot. ” Gabriella made a choking sound, and the man pushed Tolo forward with an elbow, hands in his coat pockets. Tolo approached a policeman and said “The Cathedral”. The policeman let them through. They crossed the street and stopped on the sidewalk. Policemen were standing in front of the palace with its columns in rows, one on top of the other, and flags flying from the roof.
“Why is no one at this entrance?” the man said.
“The Royal Family uses the entrance for the deputies. Around the corner,” Tolo said.
“Take me there,” the man said, nudging him forward with a shoulder. They walked by the policemen standing in front of the palace to the far end of the building at the end of the block.
“Let me walk behind,” Tolo said. ”You look suspicious with your hands in your pockets like that, like you’re guarding us. Gabriella knows where the entrance is.” Gabriella let out a little cry, and the man waved Tolo to the rear. One of the policemen standing in front of the palace was Samuel, a friend of Tolo’s sons. Tolo caught his eye and nodded his head toward the man. He made a gun gesture with one hand and a ballooning motion with both hands over his chest and stomach. Samuel, who at first smiled, seemed confused. The party of three turned the corner and walked slowly to the private entrance. Two policemen carrying Uzis were in front of it, chatting. One was smoking a cigarette.
“Why is there no one here?” the man said.
“Deception,” Tolo said. “The police want the crowds to be elsewhere.”
The three of them waited on the sidewalk for the royal party to arrive. The man with the gun kept looking at the police and at the empty street. Samuel, the policeman whom Tolo had alerted, came around the corner and joined the other two policemen. They talked briefly and looked at Tolo and the man standing beside him.
“Something is wrong. Why are they not here?” the man said.
“The schedule can change at the last minute, as a precaution.”
“It will not help,” the man said,
Tolo put one hand behind his back and waved to the officers, signaling for them to approach, moving it up and down to indicate that they should come quietly. There was a street map in the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled it out and pretended to look for something.
“What are you doing?” the man said.
“I’m trying to find the route they are likely to take. Does this look like Plaza de Espana to you?” He tried to hand the map to the man, who would not take it.
“You need to hold it so I can trace the route for you,” Tolo said. The man took his hands out of his pockets to hold the map, and at that instant, a policeman grabbed his arms from behind and held them over his head.
“He has a gun,” Tolo said. Another policeman pulled a small handgun from the man’s jacket pocket. “And a device of some kind.” The policeman opened his coat. Packages were strapped with duct tape to his chest.
“There may be a detonator,” Tolo said.
”Keep his hands up. We need to call the bomb squad,” the policeman said. He radioed the station. The man looked with disdain at Tolo and hung his head.
“What is he doing here?” Samuel said.
“I brought him,” Tolo said. “He booked a tour and said he wanted to go to the Chamber of Deputies.” Samuel laughed.
“So you brought him to the palace instead. The royal family hasn’t been here in months. Wait until I tell Felipe and Mateo,”
Gabriella, frozen with fear, suddenly threw herself into Tolo’s arms.
“Tolo, you scared me to death.”
“I didn’t want to arouse his suspicion.”
“You certainly aroused mine. I thought you were crazy.”
“You must leave,” Samuel said. “We have to clear the area. Thank you, Tolo.”
They walked back to the van in silence. A parking ticket was under the wiper blade. As they drove to the office, Gabriella couldn’t stop talking.
“I can’t believe what just happened,” she said, looking out her window, out the windshield, and at Tolo. “I thought there was something odd about him. What kind of people are they sending us? Don’t they do background checks? We should both sue the company for mental anguish. And you, Tolo, I can’t believe you drove down that maze of side streets. Did you know what would happen when we got there? Did you know what you were going to do, or were you only trying to keep him away from the Royal Family? He thought it was the right place when he saw the barricades and the police. Did you know they were there? Of course you did, there are police at all the government buildings. How did they know to detain him? You warned them somehow, right? It’s so amazing, I’m still shaking. Did he really point a gun at us? I’m angry with you Tolo, We could have been killed.”
Tolo let her finish, his eyes on the road.
“How did you know?” she said.
“The scarf,” he said. “It was Palestinian.”
“The Royal Family hasn’t taken sides. How did you know what he intended to do?”
“I had a feeling.”
He felt her gaze on him.
“I think I know you, Tolo, but then you surprise me.”
On the train going home, Tolo sent Valentina a text saying he had something to tell her. He asked if Mateo and Felipe were around. As usual, they were not. When he told her what had happened, she punched him on the arm hard and told him he was a fool. Later, when his picture was in the paper and he received the Civil Protection Medal for Bravery from the police, she beamed during the speeches. On the train after the ceremony, they looked at the medal, which was round with a border of engraved laurels and a watch-like face.
“It looks like an expensive Rolex,” she said. He didn’t answer and seemed distracted. “Tolo?” she said.
He was thinking about the streets he had taken to the Royal Palace, one in particular. It was a quiet street of shuttered shops with no sidewalk, a block long. He realized that he had never been there before.
Bruce Bullen lives in Massachusetts and writes short fiction. Stories of his have appeared in the Copperfield and Blue Lake Reviews.
