Isabel has her mother and her father-in-law, both elderly; she is in her nineties and he is almost there. It is a problem. Phew! For her mother, she has found two caregivers who live in the village: a young girl from Honduras, Carolina, who is sweet and hardworking, and an older one, María, about to retire, who came from Córdoba as a little girl and has managed as best she could her whole life. María often goes to the mother's house with her granddaughter, Naiara, who keeps them both entertained: she dances sevillanas for them and does her homework. Carolina stays at night. She is pregnant now. We will see how she manages in a few months. But what drive and charm she has. She also cleans houses during the day. María has done that for years.
For the father-in-law, they have found a guy; well, more of a gentleman, a tall and strong Dominican, Moisés, who lifts him and cleans him. A woman couldn't do it. Since the father-in-law is well-off, he comes from an agency, all legal. It costs them a fortune. Because apart from Moisés, there is another one for the weekends, Josele. I don't know how they put up with the father-in-law; he is ill-tempered and, moreover, he is starting to lose his mind. But money talks. Sometimes Josele even makes him laugh... Anyway.
Isabel's brother-in-law has a gardener from Morocco, Moha, who is a delight and a hard worker. He takes care of everything: the pool, the vegetable garden, everything. He is a handyman. He goes there a few days a week. And he is not very expensive. And his wife, Fátima, cleans his house. She wears a veil; they are Muslims. She doesn't cause any problems, she is reliable, and she also cooks couscous and things like that for them. She has even started to speak Catalan. They have a daughter who is a very good student; the boy, on the other hand, doesn't try very hard. Anyway, with teenage boys, it is always more complicated. As long as he doesn't get into trouble.
At the chick breeding farm belonging to Isabel's brother, Antoni, several sub-Saharans work there, "the blacks," he says. Antoni likes to be politically incorrect, speaking his mind. He has already given contracts to the ones who have been there the longest. They work longer hours than a fan and don't complain. He doesn't really know where they live, spread out in dilapidated apartments, but they get by. They ride their bikes up and down, and still save money and send it to their families in Africa. They are trustworthy. But if one fails, he is out. He wouldn't find anyone from the country who would want to do such hard work. Of course, his own children, don't even think about it; both study in Barcelona. The farm will last until Antoni says enough. But he is one of those who doesn't think about retiring. What would he do, otherwise?
In the village, the only shop that is always open is the Pakistani's, Rudi. That's what they call him. Isabel is a good customer and he often gives her bruised fruit. "All for you, Isa!" It reminds her of Armando, that Aragonese man who had a corner shop when she was little, Can Maitanquis. Rudi never closes either. He carries a smile on his lips and has good produce, better than the supermarket's.
On the mornings when she does the shopping, when she leaves Rudi's, she goes to the bar in the square for a coffee, where the Romanian waiter, Andrei, welcomes her with an impeccable "Good morning". Afterwards, he mumbles a kind of unique language that nobody quite knows what it is: a mix of Romanian, Spanish, and Catalan. But he makes himself understood. At the beginning, the first summer, they had the typical mix-up with iced coffee. Now he has it clear. "With ice, right?"
Her grandson, Gael, has an Italian friend at nursery school –or maybe he's Argentinian?– who makes him laugh a lot: Nino. One day a week she goes to pick them up and takes them both. Nino's parents are neighbors of her daughter's housing estate. In fact, they share a pool. They are very funny, this pair of rascals. He will be her only grandson: Paula, her daughter, does not want to get pregnant again. One child is enough and more than enough for her. Wages don't go any further.
Isabel is clear about it: the town has changed a lot, there are more and more outsiders. It is no longer like it used to be. One hears more Spanish and everyone goes their own way. People do not know each other. It is fine for immigrants to come, but not so many, eh? And they should be legal. Catalonia cannot be a global NGO. The Ceuta thing was just what we needed. Our identity and well-being are at stake... But do not let them touch María and Carolina, Moisés and Josele, Moha and Fàtima, the sub-Saharans from the farm –what the hell are their names?–, Rudi and Nino. They are very good people!
