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To the south west of the heart-shaped village of Alqueria, is an olive mill. A run-down, clapped-out inefficient mill producing a mediocre product at a startling high price. Fernando Rodriguez inherited the mill from his Father who swindled Galeno Matas to get his hands on it in 1937. Matas exchanged his prize winning mill for a damp cave above the village. Rodriguez senior had terrified Matas with bogus intelligence inferring the Falangists were after him. He fled in fright to the life of a troglodyte.
Before the Civil War, Matas worked night and day to make his mill the best in the province. Olivarera de Alqueria was the mill that set the standards. A quality product at a fair price produced by a satisfied workforce. Since 1937 the Rodriguez family had plundered the firms finances, cut back on maintenance and to complete the job they alienated the workers. The main olive press had 1911 pressed on the casing. Rodriguez maintains that the old presses are the best way of producing oil but really it is an excuse for not buying a decanter centrifuge.
Anyone driving by and seeing the factory through the olive tress would notice reasonably well kept buildings. However Rodriguez only painted the parts of the structures that were visible from the road. The result was a strange patchwork effect of alternating pristine paintwork and a cracked and peeling façade. Rodriguez employed every cowboy trick in the book structural as well as cosmetic. The builder's department had inherited the nickname of Dodge City. The swallows' nests formed buttresses, without which the walls would probably have collapsed long ago.
The mill is a microcosm of the village. Los Gente del Cerro employed in the more menial work while Los Recién Venido and their offsprings form the management. If of course, the grandiose term of management applies in this case. Its main consistency being nepotism and stupidity tinged with blatant servile flattery. Rodriguez selected the management line-up. Rodriguez is an imbecile with a flare for self preservation. The result was obvious. One never hires someone more able than one's self.
Roberto Robles the second in command but premier sycophant. He was Obese, much hard work and many calories had gone into making him so. The result was a profile which replicated Rodriguez. Sycophancy was a full-time occupation for Robles. The remainder of the mill's hierarchy consisted of the fruit of Rodriguez's loins. This conjures up dreadful mental images. These sons and daughters were as inept as the Father. The other members of their departments had to cover for their shortfalls and carry the can when they messed up.
With this managerial handicap and the constant rivalry and sniping of the two parochial groups, Olivarera de Alqueria resembles a continuous street riot marshalled by the Marx Brothers.
Rodriguez's eldest son, Enrique, heads the Customer Services Department. Manuela, La Comba also works there and is a constant thorn in his side. Her baiting started in a small way. Manuela would move glasses, pens or other objects of his, not far but subtly. He became increasingly confused, spending most of his day searching for his mislaid possessions. His self confidence almost visibly declined. Manuela enjoyed the result of her work and stepped up the campaign, moving his car from one parking space to another. This caused Enrique to start talking to himself, an attempt at reassurance. Over the weeks he was pushed to the top of an emotional cliff.
Manuela pushed him over.
Waiting until he arrived for work in the morning, she simply lifted his keys and drove his car back to his house. She parked it in his crescent shaped drive and walked self satisfied back to the mill.
Enrique was in hospital for three weeks, one of those in a straight jacket. Los Gente del Cerro had struck another blow.
Also at the mill was one of Manuel's confederates. Antonio Poyato hated Rodriguez and Los Recién Venido with a will. As electrical foreman he was in a better position than most to sabotage the mill. Unfortunately the attempts went unnoticed lost in the usual chaotic everyday operation of the mill. Poyato had high hopes for his latest plot. He had met a shady character at a market in Rute. A dishevelled elderly man who look as if he sleeps in a cave. He sold Poyato a bottle of what he called Remitroot. An unknown liquor to Poyato. But with a guaranteed potency and remarkable side-effects.
A board meeting meant a working lunch and the chance to spike the water jug with Remitroot. A board meeting at Olivarera de Alqueria is a thing of wonder. All the directors are from the Recién Venido faction of the village. All directors are subservient to Rodriguez. Of the eight directors three are women and all highly paid scape-goats. A carefully crafted agenda avoids any issue which is embarrassing to Rodriguez. Discussions take place on all issues providing Rodriguez's view prevails. He has two rules. One, he is always right. Two, if he is ever wrong refer to rule one. If anyone argues or contradicts, the rantings and the raving begin. The accompanying language can strip the whitewash from the very walls.
The meeting followed the same preordained path. The hot Andalucían sun streamed into the boardroom. The spiked water disappeared at an alarming rate. Poyato had the forethought to spike the whole cooler. Jarra followed Jarra. The directors became drowsy. Bonhomie followed with much back slapping and giggling. The aphrodisiacal side-effects soon followed. The male directors leering at the lady directors, apart from the sales director Bartolo Hurtado who leered at the Roberto Robles. The boardroom door remained locked for three days and two nights. Rodriguez lost twenty kilograms, the minutes of the meeting and his respect for Tranquilla Piña the head of accounts department.
The production of olive oil is a secondary process at Olivarera de Alqueria. The partisan struggle of Los Gente del Cerro versus Los Recién Venido is of far greater importance. The management is simply a personality cult orchestrated by Fernando Rodriguez.
Matas sits in his cave above the village, watching as the workers finish their shift in the mill. “Será mío de nuevo” he mutters as he upends the wine skin. A good Rioja with just a hint of Remitroot.
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