Cat on a Hot Tiled Roof by Anna Nicholas Read Free Book Online

bottles of warm beer. Catalina is amongst them and hurtles towards me with a huge grin on her face.
    Â Â 'What are you doing running along here, you mad woman?' she screams.
    Â Â I pat her arm as I run by. 'You know I like to live dangerously.'
    Â Â The air is laced with the peppery tang of cordite and a veil of smoke like pale muslin hovers over the port. It's hot enough to singe skin and spectators are splashing bottles of mineral water over their heads to stave off the rays of the sun. The smell of brine wriggles through the hot musty air as I weave a path along the esplanade. Finally, I reach the car park and am about to head back when there is a massive explosion from the sea and several small boats burst into flames. I peer across the water just in time to see the defiant chin of a large black pirate vessel jutting out from behind steep cliffs in the distance. The ship hovers on the far rim of the bay, its frame resplendent in the glowing rays of the sun. Slowly and steadily it forges a menacing path towards Platja d'en Repic, the beach on the south side of the port. I stop to gulp some water and am aware of a woman calling hysterically in English from her open car window. I jog over to the vehicle as firecrackers snap and guns blaze. Inside, a pale-faced, elderly couple sit strapped in their seats, a tartan flask resting between them. Can they seriously be drinking tea in this heat? She's wearing a head scarf while her partner's diminutive frame is buried inside a beige quilted jacket.
    Â Â 'What's going on?' the woman shrieks at me. 'Is it some kind of riot? We've locked ourselves in the car, but it seems to be getting worse.'
    Â Â 'It's just a fiesta,' I yell as cheerfully as possible with rockets whizzing and whirring overhead. I crouch by her window as I wait for the ensuing BOOM and flash of white light as they explode.
    Â Â She gapes at me in disbelief. 'Fiesta? It's more like Iraq! Our rep in Magaluf told us Sóller would make a nice day trip. I'll have words with her when we get back.'
    Â Â I'm about to reply when there's a sudden whoosh and thunderous thud as a nearby blunderbuss unleashes its charge. We hold our ears and scrunch our eyes shut as the scorched air is filled with dust and grey acrid smoke.
    Â Â 'The road will be clear in about an hour. Why not just enjoy yourselves until then,' I hear myself shouting above the din.
    Â Â 'We're not leaving the car,' she quivers and hurriedly winds up the window.
    Â Â As I beat a retreat I see, appearing out of the haze, the towering hull of the pirate ship approaching the beach. With a united war cry, swarthy, sabre-rattling Moors leap into the shallow water and up onto the sandy shore. Guns blaze and swords whip the air as they join battle with the awaiting Christians. I leave the scene, relieved that this lively pageant distracted me from the gnawing pain in my leg. As I reach our track the only sound to be heard is the distant braying of a donkey. Peace at last.

    It is ten o'clock and the sky is ablaze with stars. Tightly packed in the leafy plaça , singing and swaying forms raise a cheer as El Capità Angelats, Captain of the Christians, wrestles victory from El Rei Moro, the King of the Moors. He stands aloft on the first floor verandah of the town hall and thrusting his sword in the air leads the town in song. Around the square, defeated Moors link arms with their vanquishers to sing the Mallorcan national song, 'La Balanguera'. Firecrackers thrown into the throng by mischievous boys sizzle and splutter, their bright flares briefly illuminating the dark earth.
    Â Â We sit at a quiet cafe just off the plaça with our friends, Pep and Juana. Ollie and their son, Angel, have commandeered another small table and sit playing cards and sipping cola. The waiter bustles over and places glasses of cold cava in front of us. In characteristic mode, Pep is smoking a puro and wearing a wide-brimmed panama which