Yet they know also that this nonsense goes back a long way, long before the stroke. Ever since retirement the two foreigners have taken it in turns to do their evening meal. The neighbours used to chuckle about that as well, but of course foreigners are foreign and have strange ways, and at least we'd be eating normally half the time.
One day he is able to report to Lola that his wife has chopped the carrots for their supper. She hasn't yet attempted a whole meal, but it's a start. He agreed to let her have a go on condition that she was very, very careful with the big kitchen knife. She was, and didn't chop off any fingers, but she did chop the carrots into commendably small pieces.
As he recounts this to Lola, along with a couple of other neighbours who are visiting, he realises he's sounding like a proud parent whose toddler has just tied her first shoelaces. He jokes about this and they all laugh, after which he finds he has tears in his eyes, which they pretend not to notice.
These milestones are terribly important. Soon she's helping to hang out the washing and even sweeping the floor.
One day they take a taxi into town in the morning and she sits outside a cafe for the first time. Teresa, the waitress, gives her a big hug and kisses her on both cheeks. 'How are you doing? Back on your bicycle yet?' Jokingly of course, you don't start jumping onto your bike if you're still walking with a stick. Others come up to greet and offer encouragement. Poco a poco is the thing to remember, they all advise - little by little, these things take time. Many have been through something similar themselves or have stories to tell about friends or family.
For her it's like being released from a kidnapper's basement. Suddenly she's back in the daylight, the real world full of people, and at first she finds it slightly overwhelming. For him it's a new lightness of being, as though someone has lifted from his head a heavy sandbag he hadn't realised was there.
A week or two later they venture out for an evening meal in celebration of - well, in celebration of going out for an evening meal, another milestone. She can't take much wine without getting wobbly so they order it by the glass rather than the bottle. He orders a second glass for himself and then a third, he's out to enjoy. It's wonderful just being there in one of their favourite restaurants, eating something different from his damned cooking, and being greeted by their fellow diners. Poco a poco they tell her, these things take time. What's important is that she's making progress.
In fact there's a new camaraderie to be found in recovery. She had been offered rehabilitation sessions at the local hospital but declined because getting there every day would be a hassle, and down by the beach there's a fine set of outdoor exercise machines. These are intended for older folk to keep in shape but they're painted a bright, cheerful yellow with things that swing or spin and kids like them more than the bouncy stuff in their play park. However, senior citizens have priority.
She starts with the static bicycle, a metal chair with a set of pedals in front of it. There are two of these side by side so she can pass the time of day with a pedalling neighbour while getting her legs working again.
They get to know the regulars. Antonio (one of many Antonios) is a retiree in his mid-seventies who follows a daily routine that takes an hour or more: twenty minutes' pedalling, then over to the pendulum platform where you swing your legs sideways, then to the skiing machine or the giant steering wheel to exercise the arms… There's a nice one with a seat, footrests and handlebars that you lean forward to grasp. Push on the footrests while pulling on the handlebars and you rise gracefully to a standing position, like a horse-rider doing a very slow trot.
It's all perfect for a stroke recoverer, an open-air gym tailor-made for rebuilding muscles, coordination and balance. A middle-aged lady called María (one of many Marías) confesses that she too had a stroke a few years ago. 'I was paralysed all down one side,' she says as her legs twirl on the pedals. 'And I could hardly speak.' She can speak now all right, clear as a bell, she's tickety-boo.
The gym increases his wife's confidence as well as her muscles. Eventually she feels ready for her first swim. This is a big, important milestone because swimming is so enjoyable. Choosing a sunny day with only a gentle breeze they head arm-in-arm down to the breakers. She's nervous, you can drown in water. He promises not to let her drown.
Waves drawing this way and that around her ankles make her stumble. She strikes her toes on a big pebble. He won't let her fall over? He won't, he won't, stop worrying, it's only water. He hands her a long, orange-coloured foam sausage and finally she plunges and floats, clutching the sausage to hold up her head.
Amazingly, her legs have forgotten how to do their frog-kick, they flap around as though looking for a role. No matter, swimming is good, floating in the water feels wonderful, and in the days to follow her legs will slowly recall what they're supposed to do.
New milestones are identified and passed day by day, week by week. The horror of the stroke recedes behind them, the pleasure of normality approaches on the horizon. Poco a poco, these things take time.
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