We stopped in front of the cab driver’s house. It had clearly been built to be part of a pricey development but the swimming pool looked like it had never been filled. A thick fence and a tall gate with a fancy yet non-functioning intercom system precluded all approach.
An elderly woman stepped out into the third-floor balcony to observe the unusual sight of two men, one woman and a child decamping in her street.
“Who sent you here?” she inquired in a trembling voice.
Based on the woman’s age, she must’ve grown up in the Franco dictatorship, so I tried to look homey and unthreatening as I narrated my story of a cell phone and a taxi cab across the elaborately paved space between the gate and the house. My efforts failed entirely, and the old lady retreated into the house. I saw her draw the shades on her floor shut.
The house next to the cab driver’s lacked a gate but it had another elderly woman tending to a beautiful tangerine tree.
“Yes, a cab driver lives here,” she confirmed. “Name of José. His mom is on the third floor, and his apartment is on the first. The cab was outside all day but it left 15 minutes ago. Doña Chelo – the mom – won’t talk to me because we had a little disagreement but I’ll take you to doña Toni who’s still friendly with her.”
With the help of doña Toni and her husband, we managed to lure the cab driver’s mother out of the house.
“It’s OK, these are good people, religious,” coaxed doña Toni who had been won over by my enthusiastic exclamations “oh, thank God” and “thanks be to our Lord Jesus.”
The elderly and still confused doña Chelo took a while to locate the name of her cab driver son José among what seemed to be a million of other Josés on her phone. Eyeing me suspiciously, she passed me the device.
“I’ve been looking for you!” José exclaimed. “Give me your address and I’ll bring by the phone! But it won’t be soon because I have some clients I need to see to.”
“I’ll wait for you, José!” I yelled, buoyed with the prospect of regaining my phone. “I’ll wait for you all night, if needed!”
Hearing this, doña Chelo perked up. My enthusiasm for José seemed to awaken some dormant dream regarding her very middle-aged, unmarried son and an empty apartment between his and his mom’s floors.
“She seems nice,” doña Chelo shared with doña Toni. “I don’t mind the kid either. But who are these two?” she pointed to N and the Uber driver. “Her, I don’t mind, but there seem to be a lot of men around her.”
We thanked everybody profusely and left to avoid feeding doña Chelo’s hopes.
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