I recently moved to Madrid to work for an English Textbook Company to satisfy the huge demand for learning the Queen's English in Spain. It was a transfer I had sought out. Every year for the past decade I'd made a point of taking a project in the Madrid office and by this point spoke pretty good Spanish and understood the culture fairly well. The weather, the food, the people, the landscape - everything called to me.
My office was a 20 minute walk away from the flat I had rented, and I was lucky enough to be able to walk through the Retiro Park, the largest green space in central Madrid, along my route. Since my timing was the same every day I got to see many of the same people walking the opposite direction on a regular basis. One of my regulars was a young woman also on her way to work, she was probably in her early 20s, average height, slim build, with a round innocent face, wearing large black prescription glasses, long black straight hair pulled back in a pony-tail, and always conservatively dressed. She never really acknowledged me as we passed daily but I chalked that up to her shyness rather than anything else.
One day as I was walking to work, I saw my mystery girl walking slowly towards me. She had on higher heels than usual, a pair of dark tight trousers and a stylish white blouse along with her signature glasses. She clearly wasn't very used to the heels and just before we were about to pass one another she caught a piece of uneven pavement and went down twisting her ankle. Of course, I rushed to her aid asking in Spanish if she needed any help.
"Miss, are you OK? Can I help you up onto a bench?" I asked.
"Yes, that would be good." she replied.
So I picked her up by the arms and half dragged her a few steps to a nearby bench. She was clearly in pain, wincing from time to time.
"I think you need to have that ankle looked at, you've done some damage to it, it looks like." I said.
"Yes, I think you're right. Damn these new heels!" she said. This was pretty demure swearing for a culture that really didn't mind all manner of foul language.
"Can I help you get to a doctor or hospital?" I asked.
"Yes, if you don't mind" she said.
"Do you mind if I pick you up? That would be the easiest. We could go to the hospital just outside the central gates on the left." I said pointing the direction.
"Yes, that's a good idea." She said.
Assuming that she meant the method and direction were both acceptable, I simply scooped her up from her seated position on the bench and started walking in the direction of the hospital. She put her arms around my neck to steady herself. I doubt she weighed over 100lbs and I'm in pretty good condition for my 30 years of age so it was no problem going the 300 yards to the emergency room.
Once we arrived I put her down on a seat and tried to get the attention of someone to help her get admitted. Within a minute I had a nurse aide with a portable device come over to do the intake. I learned that my mystery woman was Maria Torres, she was 21 years old, and she lived in the same barrio as the hospital.
Then the nurse asked "Shall I call anyone? Only relatives and spouses are allowed in the triage area."
To which Maria responded looking me in the eye: "No need, my husband here can help me just fine."
I had to say I was more than a little surprised but decided to take it in stride and replied "I'll just let work know I'm not going to be coming in today." So I pulled out my cellphone and called my boss to let him know that a personal emergency was going to keep me away.
With the nurse gone, Maria said to me: "I hope you don't mind staying with me a little longer. My parents are away on holiday and I don't have any other relatives in Madrid."
