The Spanish have an idiosyncratic system of forenames. Or perhaps I should say Christian names, since that term, rather frowned on in England now, does literally apply in this case.
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| How do you take him on at badminton, let alone with a hope of winning? That's not a photo of my opponent. It’s a detail from Cornelis Massijs’ Christ driving the merchants from the temple |
Even so, Jesus is quite name. A prestigious name. A name of power. How on Earth could I be expected to win a badminton game against Jesus? Why, it felt almost sacrilegious to attempt it.
In the end, the problem didn’t arise. He won. Not by a lot, but in a two-person game, there are no prizes for coming second, as Jeremy Corbyn has discovered. At least it was more Corbyn 2017 (a close defeat) than 2019 (a thorough thrashing).
One of the other players is called Maria Jesus. You might think that would make her still more unbeatable, with the virgin Mary on her side as well as the redeemer. As it happens, she’s a relatively weak player, so if Mary is full of grace, it reveals itself in the good feeling her partner enjoys on the rare occasions when they win.
The administrative side of the club is managed by Maria Jose. This name tactfully avoids calling on the redeemer himself. Instead, the allusion is to his parents. But then again, perhaps not. His mother certainly, but Joseph actually wasn’t the father, was he? The husband of the mother but not the father.
That kind of thing happens in ordinary human society too but as a general rule, the Church takes a dim view of it. Not though in the case of the holy family. It’s a complicated religion, Christianity, which is why its greatest theologians have been such subtle thinkers.
All this came to my mind when I was stopped by a man I didn’t know from Adam, or indeed from any other Biblical character, in the street just outside my house. One of the great pleasures of moving to Valencia has been the extraordinary friendliness of the locals. He was no exception.
He turned out to be a neighbour, if ‘neighbour’ is the right term for someone who lives in the same street but 51 houses away. The Spanish term means something more like a ‘nearby’, which feels more accurate. This man was a nearby of ours.
He started off by welcoming us to the area. I always wax lyrical about the place whenever anyone does that. Much the most pleasant neighbourhood we’ve ever lived in, lovely people, beautiful surroundings, etc. I try to avoid mentioning the weather because that seems so trivial. But they always home right in on it themselves.
“And the climate,” he said, “isn’t the climate wonderful?”
Well, having moved her from England which, proverbially, has no climate, only weather, the answer to that question was pretty obvious.
Before we parted, I thought I ought at least to introduce myself.
“I’m David,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Santiago,” he replied vigorously shaking it.
Santiago? That’s Saint James.
“Ah,” I said, “I’ve never met a saint before.”
“Well,” he said, “there’s a first time for everything. Now you have.”
Curious. I wonder whether he plays badminton?
