My neighbourhood My neighbourhood is a small world, I suppose similar to other neighbourhoods. A place where we have grown accustomed to seeing the same faces, exchanging the same greetings, shopping in the same shops, listening to the same songs that are popular at any given time, going to the same cinema, the same church and the same park where the children play. For the salvation of our souls, we have a Catholic church and a Protestant one. The two compete over which of them rings its bells the loudest, and attract more Berlinhioners. The Catholic church is not as popular as the Protestant one. It is generally attended by devout elderly women and pensioners who no longer have the energy to sin, but remain fearful of dying in mortal sin and going to hell; although they no longer know what a mortal sin is or how it is committed, they nevertheless hope that their church will save them from their sins or other temptations. The Protestant church is attended by people of all races and nationalities, who turn the house of God into a social club, where songs are sung and performed by a motley band of amateurs. Nothing is written about how God likes a church to be organised, but perhaps God does not disapprove of this one. It has the two things that are essential and most cherished in a small community: a simple neighbourhood cemetery and a noisy primary school; here death and life come together. The mournful silence of its graves is offset by the enthusiastic shouts of children at play. The dead must feel cheered and well accompanied. We also have a small park, where three immense, thousand-year-old beech trees grow, which withstood the horrors of the war, and now provide shelter for a variety of birds and cast their welcoming shade over the elderly, who spend their final days gazing eagerly at these images of life as they approach death. Most of us neighbours over the age of forty are the same as we were before the war, except for the unfortunate ones who died under the rubble , and we have known one another for many years now. None of us wants to talk about the past, nor to recall the events that led us into this devastating war. It is as if everything that happened just two decades ago has been erased from our memory. Since the end of the war, we have all started a new life after the cataclysm of war, but none of us has been able to realise the dreams we had before the great holocaust. Wars kill dreams, but they awaken consciences. We are wiser now, but more miserable. Though modest, there are enough shops to ensure we lack nothing essential. I opened a modest shop selling costume jewellery and gift trinkets, because my father was a jeweller, but in the war we lost everything, and I lacked the means to carry on the family business. Most have long lists of debtors, for the post-war years have been very hard and good jobs have been scarce. Anyone who can afford it and wants something special has to go to the department stores in the city centre. Café Berlin The neighbourhood has a cosy square with two ancient, sturdy walnut trees and half a dozen young lime trees, which we planted after the war. The square is a spacious area with the two churches at either end, but the busiest spot is undoubtedly the grand Café Berlin, where we usually go almost every day at the end of our tedious working day. The stately building in which it is housed miraculously suffered no significant damage during the war and retains its original décor, in the style of the great cafés of the last century, much to the torment of the waiters, who end up exhausted by the great distances they have to cover. It is a large room, with countless tables, and long benches running along the walls, upholstered in leather that has faded and worn thin from so many years of use. Large mirrors give the impression that it is even larger, complementing the faded Art Deco frescoes, so popular in the years when it was decorated. Despite the name, undoubtedly influenced by the great French cafés of the era, the most common drink is not coffee, but beer. This nostalgic Café has been a silent witness to all the major events in the neighbourhood that have shaped our lives. In this cosy space, we share our hopes, ideas and fantasies with our dearest friends. If we ever feel nostalgic for the past, we need only return to Café Berlin to step back in time and relive the golden years of our youth. INTRODUCTION TO THE CHARACTER The young and beautiful María The most admired character in this story is the charming and beautiful María. I simply wait for her to walk past my jewellery shop to fill my dark life with light. I have no greater incentive in all the time I spend tending to my failing business than her longed-for presence. Whenever she walks past my modest jewellery shop, she stops to gaze at the trinkets, which could possibly enhance her beauty any further. Yet her natural coquetry draws her to my little shop window. For some mysterious reason, she is seduced by a necklace of imitation pearls and the black felt chokers. But is it not a sacrilege to hide that lovely neck? María is the daughter of a modest local hairdresser, a widower for a year now, and he has only his beautiful daughter to look after the house. The father is already an old man who ought to have retired, but they have no other means of support apart from the barbershop. I certainly wouldn’t get a shave at his barbershop, because he can no longer hold the razor without his hands trembling. I don’t know how they survive, because his barbershop is usually empty. I don’t think his few regular customers allow them to live decently. I suppose he must be counting on his beautiful daughter finding a good match to lift them both out of poverty. What I’d give to be that lucky man! But my business is no less of a money-pit than his. ‘Maria,’ I venture to say whilst she keeps her eyes fixed on the fake pearl necklace, w you walk past my shop, you stop to look at that necklace. Do you like it? I could give it to you as a gift! María is young, but not naive. She must know that nobody gives anything away for nothing, and I am no angel. She smiles at me, and pays no heed to the immorality of my generous offer. ‘What use is such a beautiful necklace to me if I have no dress to show it off in? ‘if you wanted to, you could dress like a queen... ‘A queen without a king?’ she interrupts me, without losing her charming smile. ‘There are still single princes!’ ‘But they don’t hang around this neighbourhood.’ isn’t there a prince in the neighbourhood who’ll make you his queen?’ She replies with another smile that leaves me in doubt and carries on her way. Only her youth justifies her cheerful nature, because her life must be shrouded in great sadness. María is the most sought-after woman in the neighbourhood and has many suitors, but she seems to be waiting for some Prince Charming who must exist only in her imagination. Perhaps it will be someone from outside our neighbourhood who is lucky enough to win her heart. Adela, the gossipy baker In every neighbourhood, there is always gossip in charge of informing the locals of the scandals and the ins and outs of the neighbours’ private lives. Our gossip is Adela, a woman devoted with true passion–I would even say a vocation–to gossiping about the private lives of the community. If anyone is interested in selling something on credit, they need only ask Adela about her financial situation. As she passes my shop every morning on her way to her bakery. When she saw us, she couldn’t but find out what we were discussing. She suspects that I, despite being nearly 50, am also interested in being one of her suitors. She has been observing the scene and, true to her meddlesome nature, she can’t help but fill me in on her gossips. ‘Who will manage to win over this beautiful doe? The coalman’s son? He’s handsome and hopelessly in love with this girl, who gives her coal to win her affection. But she neither rejects him nor gives him hope, because the winters are long and cold, and she needs her coal. But the one who never takes his eyes off her–and certainly not with honourable intentions‘is Raulín, the spoiled son of that money-lender Romano. The poor girl will eventually give in to his wicked desires, because she needs someone to free her from her debts, even though in many shops where young people serve her, they give her discounts and even give her what she buys for free. I too would give her the bread if I didn’t fear the complaints of my other customers. Rumour has it that they are six months behind on the rent for the hairdressing salon, which, like many other properties in the neighbourhood, is owned by Romano. His wicked son will not hesitate to take advantage of her situation to secure favours... I’m not interested in her gossipy information, but in this neighbourhood we all know one another and depend on one another, which is why it’s necessary to get on well with one another. I make her see that I am interested. ‘I see, Adela, that you’re well informed. ‘Don’t think I go looking for news; they give it to me at ‘ bakery. If I didn’t listen, it would be rude. I have no choice but to put up with their gossip. In my bakery, they talk of nothing but María’s future husband. They’ve even placed bets on which of her many suitors she’ll end up marrying. ‘And who among them is the favourite? ‘ Guido, the bookseller, of course! ‘But he must be about forty! ‘The best age for a man! Young girls are attracted to mature men with life experience, and he’s not in a bad position, because his bookshop business seems to be doing well, and I don’t think he’d like living without a woman to look after him and run his household. I think they’d make a good couple, because Guido’s a gentleman. But his fiancée, Julia, stands in the way, though they say they don’t get on very well. Of course, it’s not official and they’re not engaged. I don’t know if, apart from Guido, she likes books too, because her house must be full of unread books‘ she never leaves her bookshop! My Lucio is also after her, but we wouldn’t allow him to marry a woman who’s the talk of the whole neighbourhood. I’m not saying she isn’t respectable, but there are so many rumours! Fortunately, a customer has come into my shop and I have a good excuse to take my leave and end this rather disparaging conversation. She looks annoyed, as if I’d called my customer over just to find an excuse to stand her up, with half her gossip left untold, and she carries on her way without hiding her annoyance, but she’ll soon find a new victim for her perverse hobby. Jacinto, the neighbourhood policeman Jacinto isn’t a very suitable name for a policeman, but given his friendly and tolerant nature, perhaps it is appropriate after all. Punctual as ever, Jacinto, the local policeman, pops into my shop to check on my safety. But the truth is that, thank God and thanks to his dedication, the police have little work to do in our neighbourhood, and we’re quite happy with the tolerant and patient Jacinto. ‘Everything alright, Marcus?’ he asks me the same routine question he asks every day. ‘All quiet round here,’ I give him the same routine reply. ‘And how are things in the neighbourhood? No petty thieves to arrest, a drunk to calm down or a rowdy neighbour to warn off? “Unfortunately, something regrettable has happened. Old Mrs Rosita’s cat has been killed by a car right outside her front door. The poor animal was following the old lady as she was on her way to church to attend mass. The shock has been so great that the poor woman has lost her faith, and insists she will never set foot in a sacred place. ‘It seems that God has not only forgotten us, but our innocent pets as well. Perhaps that enlightened fellow Nietzsche was right, and God is dead. ‘If God is dead, it must be because we have killed him. But no police force can lock up the murderers, because we cannot put the whole of humanity in prison‘because we are all guilty! My relaxed conversations with Jacinto end in profound reflections and pessimistic moral and philosophical conclusions, because although he disagrees, I believe that human beings are evil by nature, and only the fear of punishment keeps us at peace. If there were no repressive laws, this would be a jungle, the law of the strongest and best adapted. Jacinto sighs helplessly, as if he felt unable to do his job with the rest of humanity as he does with us, and he bids me farewell with a troubling question, typical of an optimist: ‘Will there come a day when human beings no longer need us? My answer is clear and emphatic: “The opposite will happen; there will have to be one policeman for every human being!” I didn’t think that way before the war; quite the opposite, in fact. I believed in the innate moral qualities of human beings. I used to think it was adverse circumstances, ignorance and a poor upbringing that made us wicked. But after witnessing human beings torturing and killing their fellow humans simply because they do not belong to their race or culture, I lost faith in the innate good qualities of human beings. Another day wasted behind a counter, with nothing to look forward to but watching people pass by the door of my shop. Af Fortunately, time exists, and it marches inexorably on; it is already closing time. I am about to close up, but I have an unexpected customer: Margarita and her daughter Luisa The name of this extraordinary woman whose name is undoubtedly the most fitting for her business. I admire this tenacious, hard-working woman, who has not been treated well by the neighbours. She wants to buy some earrings for her daughter’s First Communion, Luisa. ‘Just look at that, Marcus, how time flies. It feels as though Luisa was born only yesterday, and yet she’s already turned nine and is about to have her First Communion. Little Luisa was born of a failed romance of Margarita’s, and has no father’s surname. No one knows who the father might be, because she has never revealed it. Not even Adela knows. She is a charming little girl; another flower in her florist’s shop. In the early days after the circumstances of her pregnancy became known, Margarita was treated very badly in the neighbourhood, because deep down everyone, except Leonardo, the primary school teacher, who is a radical socialist, and Efraín, our Social Democratic MP, were more or less conservative and not very tolerant of such behaviour. But Margarita bore our rejection with resignation, and knew how to raise Luisa with the affection and protection of the unknown father. Now we all know she is in a serious relationship with Jacinto, which will surely end in marriage, and he’ll acknowledge Luisa by giving her his surname. A policeman married to a florist and a single mother! No doubt the war changed a lot of things in our old ways of thinking, and has made us more tolerant. It had to have some benefit! ‘And before you know it, Luisa will be of marriageable age,’ I remarked, convinced of how quickly time flies. ‘No, please, don’t let time pass so quickly! I don’t want to be separated from my daughter!’ ‘You were her age when the war broke out, and you were separated from your parents forever.’ ‘That won’t happen to Luisa!’ ‘May God hear you, if He hasn’t already died! Choose the earrings, but I won’t charge you a thing; I want them to be my gift for Luisa’s First Communion. She thanks me with her faint smile, the smile of a woman who has suffered the misunderstanding of her neighbours. The girl has got used to seeing Jacinto in her mother’s company, and if they do eventually get married, it won’t be too hard for her to accept him as her father. In any case, she is old enough to understand things, and she must know that Jacinto is not her real father. How can a nine-year-old girl comprehend the reasons and arguments of adults that justify her abandonment? I confess I am incapable of forming even the vaguest idea! I gather up the meagre takings of the day and close the shop. It’s not that I can afford the expense of having a beer and spending a pleasant hour at Café Berlin, but I’d rather go without a meal than miss out on this relaxing moment. My modest shop is situated on the neighbourhood’s main street, where most of the shops are located. The wide street leads into the square, and it’s easy to bump into acquaintances or colleagues from other shops who close at the same time. Rodolfo the butcher, and his prodigy son, Rodolfito A few metres beyond my shop I come across the obese Rodolfo, the neighbourhood butcher, capable of butchering a cow in five minutes. I’m convinced he loves his work; he’s possibly the only one in the neighbourhood who does. His life seems like a tale of ogres who eat children, but in this case it’s pigs, calves, cows, and I believe he also sells horsemeat, so common during the war. He is the only one who seems to be happy in his marriage. His wife, Ignacia, as obese as she is, has the good-natured and calm disposition of plump people, and seems incapable of having a single thought that goes beyond her butcher’s shop, her husband and her son. That is why I believe she must be happy. As if they did not have enough joy with their bacon and sirloins, God seems to have blessed them with a child prodigy. They say he has an astonishing ability for calculation and a prodigious memory, but he stands out above all for his virtuosity on the piano. There is reasonable explanation for such a child being the fruit of that marriage! There are those who claim he has inherited his precociousness from her, but she is far too shy and unassuming to prove it. With her, calculators are unnecessary in her butcher’s shop. Apparently, she remembers the full names of all her customers. ‘Hello, Marcus. Off for a beer? ‘she greets me in that voice gurgling typical of the obese. “Hello, Rodolfo and Rodolfito. Yes, vices define willpower; the more we have, the less willpower we have left, and I have very little left now. Where are you off to with little Rodolfito?” “I’m off to my piano lessons,” her son replies without waiting for his father’s answer, whom he must consider incapable of any intelligent thought. ‘When will you treat us to another piano recital? ‘I don’t know, ‘he replies smugly, though accustomed to flattery, ‘but I’ve been invited to a TV talent contest for young people next month, and I have to prepare. The sidelined father remains smiling and cannot hide his pride at being the father of such a prodigy, yet in absolute silence, as if spellbound and unable to intervene when his prodigious son speaks to someone. “That’s fantastic!” I reply, feigning enthusiasm, but deep down I feel sorry for this child whose superior intelligence has robbed him of his childhood. I too was a child prodigy and I didn’t have a happy childhood either. By the age of 10 I had already read Homer’s Odyssey and the Iliad, and most of Sophocles’ and Aeschylus’ tragedies. I didn’t find my schoolmates’ games entertaining; only reading brought me any joy, and I always had a good book with me. My father couldn’t teach me the jeweller’s trade and resigned himself to my pursuing a degree in the humanities, though he knew full well that I could never earn a living with that knowledge‘which is exactly how it turned out. Rodolfo and his son are heading to a bus stop that will drop them off near the Conservatoire, where, it seems, little Rodolfito amazes his teachers. They are grooming him to be a winner, which would be a great draw for the Conservatoire and its teachers. Café Berlin isn’t very lively yet; it’s still early. It usually comes alive around midnight. It’s astonishing how many people stay up late in this neighbourhood, and it never closes until well into the early hours . It is during those hours that the most heated spontaneous discussions arise, on the most absurd topics, for which there are always people to join in. But the truth is that they always degenerate into drunken ramblings and aren’t very interesting. Generally, the topics are monotonous: politics and sex. Laura, my late love Laura has been my friend for almost a year and we’ve made a habit of meeting at this café every day to catch up on how our respective jobs are going, which isn’t usually very interesting. We met during a concert by the National Philharmonic, which I recall performed the Brandenburg Concertos by the divine Bach. Laura is a war widow. She was only 18 and practically a newlywed when a shell took the life of her brand-new husband. She feels guilty for his death, because during a bombing alert, when they were already at the entrance to the shelter, she made him go back home to fetch a small chest where she kept some priceless family jewels that they had forgotten. Her husband never returned, but she recovered the jewels that the dead man was still clutching in his bloodied hands. For this reason, she felt responsible for his death and made no attempt to rebuild her life; she had remained single and solitary until she met me . Perhaps it is due to her remorse or my apathy that our relationship is not very creative, let alone passionate. I know she hopes our friendship will progress and become less formal and more romantic, but I have lost the necessary imagination and creativity to please her. I don’t know how she puts up with me and persists in maintaining a friendship with so few attractions. She is in charge of the local library in our neighbourhood . That’s why the most frequent topics of conversation are books and their authors. I try to be polite and pretend I’m interested, but the truth is I’ve probably read no more than half a dozen books since the war ended. My frustration has been so deep that I’ve even come to loathe books. We settle down at a small table by the large windows overlooking the square, and she pulls a thick book from her handbag, which she shows me. ‘Look, Marcus, the latest edition of Goethe’s complete works! Do you like Goethe?’ she asks, trying to draw me into the subject and overcome my apathy. ‘I used to read him in my youth,’ I remark without showing any interest. ‘He impressed me back then, but I’d be incapable of reading him now. Too old-fashioned!’ ‘Admit it, Marcus, in reality you don’t read anything anymore. You’ve never asked me for a book from the Library!” I didn’t think her remark was appropriate, but I forgive her because it’s true. Having lived through the horrors of war, there’s nothing left that can surprise me. Sometimes I try to read a novel and they seem like children’s literature to me, or for people who still have the capacity to imagine what they’re reading. I can’t imagine anything because the reality I’ve lived through has surpassed the imaginable. I’m condemned to be a realist; I’ve lost the ability to dream! I know she understands the reason for my lack of interest in any sort of romanticism. I may be a loyal friend, but a poor lover. She doesn’t press the matter and seems resigned, but our relationship isn’t very stable. After a year of doing the same things, meeting in the same place, always talking about the same topics, discussing our ailments and strolling through the same streets, I think it would be better to end this dull friendship amicably and try our luck with. Guido, the bookseller, and his outgoing friend Julia One of the most interesting people in the neighbourhood has just enter into the Café. He owns the local bookshop, and his tradition as a bookseller comes from his great-great-grandfather, who opened the first and only bookshop in this neighbourhood in the middle of the last century, at the height of the revolutionary fervour, when books were as effective and deadly as the anarchists’ guns and grenades. He also has a partner, Julia, with whom he shares practically nothing, but she insists on winning his friendship, because she is passionate about books. She is also his ardent admirer, because Guido is the author of short stories and tales, which he usually publishes in the cultural section of a monthly magazine published in the neighbourhood, with her financial support. In my opinion, he has imagination, but God has not granted him the gift of inspiration, and they are merely entertaining, but lack originality. Laura and she are great friends, because they share the same passion for books They’ve spotted us, and Julia literally pounces on Laura and gives her a warm hug. We invite them to join us at our table. Julia sits next to Laura and bombards her with a thousand questions about books. ‘Do you already have Max Frisch’s latest novel in the Library? And Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’? Have you received the unsettling novel ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by the paranoid Anthony Burgess; or that literary marvel, ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ by the brilliant Colombian García Márquez? Don’t tell me that Argentine gem, ‘Rayuela’, by the charming Julio Cortázar, isn’t in the library yet... Of course, come to think of it, it’s better if it takes you a while to get hold of them, so that we can sell them in the bookshop. Julia speaks in the plural when referring to the bookshop, but Guido doesn’t seem to agree. They make a strange couple and I don’t think this union will last. She is far too extroverted, unrestrained; she talks a mile a minute and always wants to be the centre of attention. When she has no choice but to keep quiet, she pays not the slightest attention to whoever is speaking, and seems to concentrate on not losing the thread of her own topic of conversation, so she can carry on as if no one had said a word whilst she was silent. I don’t understand why Guido puts up with her. ‘Who’ll win the Nobel this year, Guido?’ I ask, steering the conversation towards a topic he’s familiar with. ‘Several names are being mentioned, but the strongest contender is a Greek writer virtually unknown in literary circles, Yorgos Seferis. But there are other strong candidates, such as Pablo Neruda or Samuel Beckett. I’d certainly give it to Neruda. “And when will you win it?” Julia seizes on my joking question to lavish praise on her friend. “Guido has more than enough merit to win the Nobel Prize, but he’s too modest to admit it.” Guido seems annoyed by this praise, which he knows is unfounded, and tries to correct her. ‘Julia, it’s not out of false modesty, but I wouldn’t deserve this award in the slightest. I haven’t even written a single novel yet! ‘Forgive me, Guido ‘she insists‘, but authors never know how to appreciate what they write; it is we readers who have the final say, and mine is that you are an unrecognised genius. “Julia,” I interject, “I cannot agree with you. It is the authors, not the readers, who must know the value of what they write, because readers’ opinions are highly subjective. Laura nods vigorously. Guido wants to put an end to this line of conversation and surprises us with a radical change of subject: ‘Will the Social Democrats win the elections this year? Julia has been sidelined. She has no opinions on politics. I think Guido knows this and that is why he has brought up the subject. In reality, few of us have political views. The war also sapped our interest in politics. We saw just how far political ideas can lead to barbarism. But, at the same time, we are aware that we must at least fulfil our duty as responsible citizens and vote according to our conscience, now that we have regained democracy, and that through apathy or lack of interest, it might be snatched away from us again. As I mentioned at the start, practically everyone who runs a business in the neighbourhood meets here at this café. I saw Romano walk in, arrogant as ever, aware of his power and his great influence over the community, owner of countless properties in the neighbourhood. Romano and his servile entourage All we know about him is that before the war he was a mere clerk at the Land Registry , and that after the war he was already a wealthy man, although most of the properties he owns are registered in his young wife’s name. He has a reserved table, which he shares with his only two friends: the notary and a lawyer-cum-servant, who manages his property dealings with an iron fist. No sooner has he sat down than he makes an authoritative gesture to summon the waiter, who comes running as if he were his lapdog. The reason is the generous tips he usually gives to those who serve him obediently. He looks like a moneylender straight out of Charles Dickens’ stories. He always wears an impeccable dark suit and a black felt hat, which he leaves hanging on a coat rack reserved solely for his personal use and that of his two friends. He usually dines here, in the company of his court of sycophants and servants. In addition to property deals, this tyrant made a living from usurious lending during the early post-war years, which he invested in buying more properties in the neighbourhood. He divorced his first, long-suffering wife, with whom he had Raulín, to marry Roxy, the young daughter of one of his clients ruined by his usury, and to evade the taxman, he put most of the properties in her name. Roxy‘I’ve never seen her in the Café‘may be incapacitated or punished by this usurious tyrant. Her son, Raulín, is one of the night owls; idle, he has nothing better to do than get drunk every night and speak ill of the Government or of his sexual exploits, as he usually does every night nights. This sinister character knows he is literally hated by the whole neighbourhood, but far from feeling uncomfortable, it seems that being hated proves his great power and influence in the area. The more they hate him, the more important he thinks he is. Among his many enemies in the neighbourhood, he has one of the very finest: Leonardo, the young primary school teacher. And if I have mentioned him, it is because he has just joined this ship of fools that is this Café. I feel a special affection for this young teacher; although I do not share his ideology, I do admire his brave and determined spirit in the face of adversity ‘ just as I was at his age! He is a somewhat taciturn young man. He is not the sort of person you fall in love with at first sight and wish to be your friend. Quite the contrary, he inspires a certain repulsion with his deep, accusing gaze, which manages to make us feel guilty without even knowing why. That is why he has practically no friends, and always comes to the Café alone. He usually settles into one of the seats against the wall and drinks a beer whilst leafing through a newspaper of the party in which he is an active member. He is certainly not a good candidate as a potential husband for the beautiful María, although he is also one of her secret suitors. I suspect he must be a complex person with deep feelings and radical ideas, which is a good quality for ensuring fidelity, but María does not seem to be a complicated woman and needs more than just fidelity. Leonardo, primary school teacher During the war he was barely a teenager, but he was called up during the final years of the conflict. Fortunately for him, no sooner had he joined the army than the armistice was signed, putting an end to that madness. His socialist radicalism stems from that brief experience. Although he is an active member of the Social Democratic Party , he is far further to the left, but his job as a primary school teacher forces him to be more moderate. Despite his surly appearance, I get the impression that he does not like solitude, even though his character might suggest otherwise. I suspect he does not come to the café to drink his beer and catch up on party affairs, because he regularly looks up and watches the people in the café, and above all, who is coming in, as if he were waiting for someone in particular. It’s impossible to concentrate on reading like this. It’s clear he’s waiting for someone he knows to turn up and keep him company. During one of those brief glances, he recognised me and greeted me with a brief wave of the hand, and a smile that managed to soften the stiffness of his face, which seems to be a pose, but like everyone else, he must add a companion. ‘There’s Leonardo, as always, playing the lone wolf, though I get the impression that deep down he has the mentality of a lap dog,’ I remark to my friends. Julia, always so outgoing and generous with her exuberant affection, suggests we invite him to our table. It’s a bit of a dirty trick on my part, but I think they’d make a good couple, and incidentally it would leave the field open for Guido to try and win María’s heart. I too believe, like the gossipy Adela, that despite the age difference, they wouldn’t make a bad couple. Beauty, like caviar or oysters, is not for the inexperienced palate. Only a mature and intelligent man is capable of seeing the soul in the body of an attractive woman. Young men only see the body. It is she herself who gets up and persuades Leonardo to join us. I fear it will be inevitable to talk about politics, though I have the impression he’d rather we talked about women! Julia has sat down beside him . Something tells me her interest in him goes deeper than it seems. “Well then, Leonardo, has the time come for the Social Democrats? Will we Conservatives be relegated to the opposition?” ‘I bring up the subject so he doesn’t feel sidelined and so we pay him attention. ‘The time has come to turn another page in our history,” he replies without much emphasis, because he must have understood the intent of my question ‘. But it won’t be us Socialists who lead this change.. ‘So ‘asks Julia, who I sense is attracted to the schoolteacher‘, who will? ‘It will be the post-war generation. We, whether on the left or the right, suffer from the same stigma, and we are not equipped to lead the change. The answer has left us with a bitter . ‘So do you think the cultural and social influence of our generation and those that came before is over? Farewell Thomas Mann, Herman Hesse, Joyce, Marcel Proust, Victor Hugo, and so many others! ‘I think no one has a better answer than the man who’s just walked into the café! Leonardo is referring to our MP, Efraín, who has always lived in our neighbourhood and, with the exception of the Nazi period, has always won his seat as a regional MP for our city. Leonardo and he are fellow party members and good friends. It would be discourteous not to invite him to our table. ‘Leonardo, invite him to our table; that way we’ll have a topic for our discussion. As a good and experienced politician , Efraín has the appearance of a modest public servant, who is supposed to attend to the wishes and needs of the people, but the truth is that he is still a politician, and the leitmotiv of every politician is staying in power. His legislative or parliamentary work is a mere excuse, but if they want to stay in power they have to do something that motivates their electorate to re-elect them time and time again. When we bring him up to date with our discussion, he offers us his particular view of the post-war world. Efraín, a pre-war politician ‘Neither Socialists nor Conservatives; whoever governs our nation, whatever the results, it is the United States. The rest are mere branches! The victors’ prize is that they are the ones who impose the rules on the vanquished. ‘Dear Efraín ‘I reply, because I do not share his radical conclusion‘, “you Socialists see lions where there are only cats. Cats scratch, but they don’t kill. They sacrificed thousands of lives to rid us of a rabid dog; they must get some compensation!” “But you Conservatives see cats where there are lions, and you let yourselves be devoured by them, and you’re still grateful! Yes, it’s true that they’ve rid us of political imperialism azi, but only to fall into Yankee economic imperialism! Julia seems enthusiastic about our MP’s remarks, which confirms to me that she sympathises with left-wing ideas. She is definitely the ideal partner for Leonardo, and I think this will soon be confirmed. Our MP seems to have found his audience and feels compelled to deliver his speech: ‘Despite sacrificing thousands of human lives, as you say, the war was an excellent opportunity for business. Do you think the hundreds of companies that had been manufacturing weapons during the war simply closed their doors and laid off all their workers? ‘They converted to industries of peace,’ I observe. ‘Don’t be so naive!’ he retorts, surprised. ‘It’s more profitable to manufacture guns than washing machines! They didn’t liberate us, they occupied us. They kept the most profitable companies, and the most strategic ones; they took control of the finances and the media. And you call that liberation? ‘We conservatives may well be a bit naive, but mistrust and suspicion between the countries of the world do not help to ease tensions. To bridge differences in positions and opinions, one must be flexible. It was above all intolerance towards the ideas of others that cost us a war. You radicals should take good note of this reality! The discussion about who rules the world has dragged on for over an hour without our positions changing: for me, the United States are the saviours of democratic Europe; for Efraín and Leonardo, they are its oppressors. Debates with older people who can no longer change their minds are of little use, because they become as rigid as their arteries. Itsw truth is that with every passing day I understand less and less of what is happening in the world. Everything is confusing and contradictory. I am beginning to think that to stay well-informed, it is best not to read the news published in the papers, because better to live in ignorance than to be deceived. Father Serafín, a kind-hearted Catholic Berlinh priest The café’s clientele is changing. The first night owls are arriving; it’s time for us early risers to leave. Lorenzo stays, because I don’t think he’s an early bird but rather a nocturnal creature. To Guido’s surprise, Julia decides to stay and keep the teacher company; I suspect there will soon be changes in their relationship. But Guido doesn’t seem bothered by it; I think he’s looking for an excuse to break up with Julia, and Julia must be looking an excuse to find new stimulation for her lively nature. Lorenzo might be her man! The night is cool and there are hardly any neighbours to be seen on the streets. As we stretch our muscles, stiff from nearly two hours of immobility, I see Father Serafín coming out of the Catholic church, a kind-hearted priest, yet strict in his adherence to Catholic orthodoxy, so different from the Protestant pastor, who is more open to other religions and beliefs. He has seen us and is coming towards us. He will surely rebuke us as incorrigible sinners, for he suspects we are engaging in intimate relations with our partners without having been blessed by the holy sacrament of marriage. ‘Good evening, Father Serafín,’ I greet him. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to be celebrating Mass?’ ‘Silence, atheist! Whilst you condemn your souls in this Sodom, I save other souls from hell. I have just come from administering last rites to a dying man; may he rest in heaven.’ ‘May I ask who has passed away?’ ‘The father of Jesús, the upholsterer. May God hold him close to His heart, but He wanted him by His side already and to free that modest family from such a burden, for he had been a centenarian for two months now. Go to God and do not anger him with your sins, for I have to say Mass early tomorrow. ‘If God wants us to be sinners, there mn be a reason. The Lord’s ways are inscrutable. ‘You speak like an atheist... Good evening... He walks away with a determined stride towards his residence. Father Serafín must be nearly eighty, but he remains as active as if he were thirty years old. It’s a pity that most of his congregation are now incapable of sinning due to lack of strength and the frailty of their minds, for the vast majority are elderly. Father Serafín has bumped into Calixto, our resident beggar, who, as is his custom, remains crouched in some corner of the square, watching for those of us leaving the Café to collect our alms. Father Serafín has tried on several occasions to admit him to a care home, but he has refused time and again, preferring to survive on the streets with the alms we give him, almost as if it were a tax having such a character in the neighbourhood. He himself has revealed his strange origins to us. He claims to come from a planet called Galikea, in a vanished galaxy, and that he possesses supernatural powers capable of destroying the world, but he spares us out of gratitude for our generosity. He also claims to know when and how the world will end, but that is his best-kept secret, which he has revealed to no one. Nevertheless, he always threatens to destroy the world if we try to harm him. Although it may seem absurd, many in the neighbourhood believe it might be true and treat him with cautious respect. Calixto, the alien beggar Tonight he seems to have received a revelation, and I think he is determined that we should all know what it is, and he begins by informing the patient Father Serafín of his prophecies: ‘The Grand Master, Neira, who reigns over the universe from the Central Galaxy, is writhing on his throne in indignation at the many sins of your world. He has told me that a heavenly bolt of lightning will strike the most corrupt place, and many innocents will die because of the wicked. ’ ‘Calixto,’ replies the patient priest, ‘the Great Master, as you call him, speaks to me every morning when I come to his church, and he has not told me any of your atrocious prophecies, so stop going about spouting your nonsense and frightening the gullible people of the neighbourhood. Father Serafín considers him a madman possessed by demons, but he feels sorry for him and plays along. But to me, he doesn’t seem quite so mad; many of his wild prophecies contain great truths if we look at them from his perspective. The world doesn’t look the same from a king’s palace as it does from a coal merchant’s hut. To get a sense of who we are and how we behave, one must be outside this world, and Calixto is. I don’t know if he’s an alien, but unfortunately in our world there are many who don’t seem to belong on this planet, because they live on the margins of all its resources. Only children and madmen say what they feel, and they have no reason to justify a lie. Calixto has come to ask us for his tribute, but as he always does, he’ll tell us something unsettling that’s interesting enough to justify our alms: ‘Cheers, earthlings! It’s a mild night, much like those on my planet, though there they lasted twice as long as yours. ‘Good evening, Calixto, what’s new? Surely you’re not thinking of destroying the world? ‘You’re wrong to laugh at my supernatural powers. One day I’ll prove them to you, but I must await orders from the Central Galaxy. I’ve received a message from the Grand Master: he’ll come to visit me next leap year, and I must prepare for a difficult mission: he has tasked me with finding twelve righteous men and women, to appoint them as ambassadors of the Central Galaxy, which governs the universe. ‘They have entrusted you with a difficult task, Calixto, it is possible that there are no righteous men and women left, for no one can act righteously in an unjust world. ‘Earthling, you speak like a Galikean. I may give your name to the great Neira, so that you may be his extraordinary ambassador, and he will reward you by endowing you with supernatural powers. ‘And what will my task be? ‘I cannot reveal it, but you will one of the chosen few who will be able to leave this corrupt planet before its destruction. And I have already said more than I ought to. He remains silent because he is waiting for our alms. We make a small collection and I hand over the proceeds. He seems satisfied. ‘It is harder to find a generous man than a just one. You will have the privilege of being one of the chosen few to be evacuated before the great destruction takes place. ‘That is some consolation! His predictions seem absurd, but we can no longer say that human beings are incapable of destroying this world. We already have enough weapons to achieve it! I say goodbye to Guido and Laura, who live on the opposite side of my home, a small flat on the second floor of my shop. This is the worst time of day for me. My nights are endless and painful, because all my demons from the past awaken, and I have enough to fill hell. Raulín, the neighbourhood’s disgrace I’m not in the right frame of mind to bump into Romano’s son on the street. He’s accompanied by a woman who looks drunk, because she’s literally hanging off his neck. Judging by her mannerisms and attire, I suppose she must be a prostitute. No doubt they’re heading to Café Berlin to start their usual day, because he must be up at this hour. I don’t like him, but I don’t want to seem rude and I feel obliged to greet him: ‘Good evening, Raulín... and company... “Hey, Marcus,” he addresses me without the slightest respect for my age, “do you know if my father’s still at Café Berlin?” “He’s still there, with the solicitor and his lawyer.” “Shit! I can’t go now; if he sees me with this whore, he might disinherit me!” Not only is he arrogant and rude, but he’s foul-mouthed too. ‘Right… have a good night, bye…’ I try to get rid of him, but he stops me and makes me an astonishing proposal. ‘Why don’t you take this whore home? She’s blind drunk, and I don’t even know where she lives, nor is she capable of telling me. Tomorrow, when she’s sober, she’ll be able to tell you where she lives and you can put her in a taxi to take her back to her hovel. I’ll pay you well for the favour... and if you fancy it, you can sleep with her‘she won’t notice the difference! This monster presents me with a difficult dilemma. If I don’t take her in, he’s capable of abandoning her anywhere without a thought for how drunk she is, but if I take her to my flat, I have no doubt it will cause trouble. I can tell from the dazed look on her face that she has heard and understood her situation, because she struggles to pull away from Raulín’s neck and throws her arms round me. “There you go, she’s all yours; looks like she’s taken a shine to you!” He slips a note into her handbag and walks off as if nothing had happened. ‘ “Thanks, Marcus, I’ll return the favour one day!” I have no choice but to take her to my flat, make her drink half a litre of strong coffee, and hope she clears her head so I can take her home tonight. The problems began as soon as I laid her on my bed, because I have the impression that it’s not just alcohol she’s had, but that she must have taken some sort of drug, because her pulse is barely detectable. I’m afraid she may have overdosed. I can’t just stand by and do nothing; I have to do something, and urgently. The only thing I can think of is to call my GP and have him examine her. We might have to take her to A&E. Luckily, he’s at home and answers the phone. Enrico, my GP ‘ Yes, Enrico, it’s urgent! I’m afraid she’s taken an overdose of some kind of drug. ‘Marcus, how could you have done such a thing! I thought you were a sensible man...! ‘It’s not what you think, but there’s no time for explanations now. Come as quickly as possible; we don’t want her to die in my house! ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Get the bathroom ready, because we’ll have to pump her stomach. Now all I can do is wait; I don’t know how patients in these cases. I’m just a shopkeepe. Aura, my fortune-telling neighbour‘a witch to some My neighbour, Aura, has heard the racket we’ve made climbing the stairs due to the woman’s clumsiness‘she’s incapable of climbing a single step without my help‘and has been alarmed. comes to my flat to see if anything has happened to me and can help me. Aura is a strange woman, but she is a good neighbour and completely trustworthy. She earns her living by reading the cards and foretelling the future, and it is said of her that she is usually right in her predictions. Perhaps I should ask her to try and foretell mine in these critical moments. When she has seen the pitiful state the prostitute is in, she has been just as alarmed as I was. But she has seen beyond her physical condition. ‘That poor woman’s soul is very sick, and she lacks both the energy and the will to live needed to overcome her condition without help. I thought I knew you, Marcus, but I see I was wrong; I can’t believe you’re leading a double life! ‘You too, Aura? I know it’s hard to believe, but Romano’s son passed her on to me in the street as I was coming back from Café Berlin, because he didn’t want his father to see him with a prostitute. ‘ And why didn’t he take her home himself? ‘He doesn’t know where she lives, and she can’t tell us either! I had no choice but to bring her here and try to revive her... ‘This afternoon I read the cards and saw that something serious would happen to someone close to me, but I couldn’t work out what it was. Now I see the cards were right. Marcus, you have to do something or this woman will die in your bed! ‘My GP should be here any minute; I’ve already called him! ‘Your doctor may be able to heal her body, but her soul will remain sick. She needs more than just medical care. ‘You don’t want me to call a psychiatrist as well! ‘The illness she’s suffering from can’t be cured by a psychiatrist. She needs someone who won’t treat her like a slut. A friend. . There’s a knock at the door. Thank God my doctor’s here! My doctor’s arrival interrupts our conversation. His diagnosis confirms my suspicions: she’s intoxicated, but not just with alcohol, but with some much more dangerous drug. It’s possibly heroin. He doesn’t wait to explain; we undress her and take her to the bathroom where he pumps her stomach until there’s not a trace left of whatever was poisoning her. Linda, the rebellious prostitute “Now we can only hope we’ve arrived in time ‘he tells me, unable to hide his concern‘. She could have died of a heart attack if you hadn’t called me. ‘I had a feeling this woman would cause me a lot of trouble! I’ve had one of the worst nights since the end of the war, because the unknown woman I brought to my flat doesn’t seem to be responding and remains in a worrying state of unconsciousness. My doctor has suggested I give her frequent foot massages, and when she’s more conscious, prevent her from eating any solid food. I’ve had to make do with the small sofa in the living room, and I’m so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep despite the discomfort. But the surprising thing is that it was she who woke me up just as day was breaking. “Hey, sir, wake up, wake up!” “For God’s sake, what’s going on now!” I wake up with a start, but when I see the woman standing up and trying to speak to me, I calm down. “Good morning, I’m ’ I say, still half-asleep. ‘Where am I? Who are you? What’s happened to me? Why does my stomach hurt?” she asks excitedly. “Calm down, you’re safe now...” “Safe from what?” “Last night a friend of yours begged me to bring you to my flat to try and revive you, because you were terribly drunk, and to tell us where you live so we could take you home...” “A friend of mine? I don’t have friends, only clients! I can’t remember who it was last night! ‘If you feel up to it, you’d best go home. Your family will be worried about you... ‘I have no family or home, and I live in a seedy hotel. No one would miss me if I didn’t turn up there anymore. And don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe everything you tell me. I bet you took advantage of me too when I was drunk! Should I feel compassion for this woman, or, on the contrary, throw her out of my house without a second thought? Now I understand why degenerates like Raulín treat these women without the slightest humanity. They exude hatred for men from every pore of their bodies. We humiliate them and they take their revenge with a hellish hatred towards us. If they could, they would act like the praying mantis, devour us after intercourse. ‘I’m not taking your unfair accusation into account, because I understand your state of mind, but I have my obligations and can’t deal with you any further. If you feel strong enough, there’s a note from your client in your handbag, with which you can pay for a taxi and return to your hotel. ‘ I get it! Whores like me can only go out at night, like cockroaches. During the day the wives go out and we have to hide in our filthy hotel rooms, shunned by decent people. Isn’t that what you want? ‘Unfortunately, that’s how it is, but I didn’t create this world; it was already like this when I was born. ‘You’re just as guilty as the rest of them! Would you dare to go out onto the street right now walking beside me? Don’t be a hypocrite‘you have the same prejudices against prostitutes! ‘Yes, you might be right… . ‘Is that so? Does my profession mean I have no right to think? Haven’t you searched my handbag? Here, look what’s inside! She empties the contents of her handbag onto the floor, and amongst her personal belongings is Aldous Huxley’s book, *Brave New World* ‘It surprises you, doesn’t it? It’s not exactly normal to find a book in a prostitute’s handbag! You’d normally find condoms, contraceptive pills or pornographic magazines. Don’t you think? ‘Of course it surprises me! Look, I was only trying to help you. Last night you were on the brink of death. We had to pump your stomach. My responsibility ends here. Now gather your things and leave. I have to run my business, which barely allows me to survive. I suppose you don’t want to put me out of business. ‘And who told you I wanted to go on living? ‘Were you planning to kill yourself? ‘No, but I wouldn’t have minded dying! ‘Do you value your life so little? ‘Knowing who I am, your question is stupid! We don’t live, we merely survive, many of us against our will. ‘You always have the option of finding an honest job that offers you other rewards. ‘Is my job not honest? What does ‘honest’ mean to you? Being faithful to a frigid wife and paying for her neurosis with your family? Sending your children to a religious boarding school? Watching nothing but cartoons on the telly? ‘Look, I’m not in the mood to answer. I’ve barely slept and I need to get ready to run my business. For me, too, it’s a matter of survival experience. Do me a big favour: pack your things and leave. I help her pack her things and accompany her to the door. ‘Goodbye, it’s been a pleasure... ‘Don’t talk to me about pleasure, because I’m the expert! I manage to get her out of my flat and close the door, relieved to be rid of her. After a good shower, I hope I’ll feel better. But there’s a knock at the door. It must to be her. I open it and, sure enough, it’s her! “What do you want now?” “Don’t get upset, I was just leaving. But I thought that since you saved my life‘however little I value it‘I ought to thank you...” “All right, you’re welcome!” Good morning! I shut the door, unable to hide my annoyance. And now straight into the shower. No, not again! She’s knocking on my door again! I won’t be able to get rid of her! ‘This is the last time I’m opening the door for you. Say what you have to say quickly and don’t come back, because I won’t open it! ‘Calm down, don’t get worked up. It’s just that I thought that whoever saves another person’s life should be rewarded with more than just thanks. Here’s a phone number where you can reach me. I won’t consider you a client, but my saviour and, if you like, my friend. I’ll be your prostitute friend! ‘All right, all right, but now go away and don’t ring again. Do you promise? ‘I promise! But you shouldn’t put too much stock in a prostitute’s promises! I shut the door and hope I’ve got rid of her! I’m left in a state of utter confusion, because I’ve thrown an attractive woman out of my house who managed to arouse me, when I’d given up hope of ever feeling the desire to sleep with a woman, as I do with Julia. I fear this woman will overturn all my convictions. The Disturbing Doubt (Narrator: Marcus) Today I made two mistakes with customers’ change. That woman has managed to rattle my nerves. I’ve never dealt with this sort of woman before. Who could have imagined she’d have such good judgement! Yes, she’s right, I am a complete hypocrite. I boast of my morality because I have never faced real temptation. It is easy to boast of being a moralist when you have never had the chance to be immoral. It is true that we forget these women are people too. Nevertheless, I still think it is not a dignified profession. It is not befitting of a normal person to trade their body and take advantage of those who cannot have sexual relations like normal people. No, I’ll never ring her! But what’s the difference between Laura and this woman? Laura talks to me about books, fills my head with new editions, award-winning authors, interesting reads, but not a word about sex. As if we were two bodiless spectres, just souls. The other one # talk about books, only sex, yet she manages to awaken my body, whilst Julia tries in vain to awaken my soul. With Laura I can go to Café Berlin without provoking comments or to a Philharmonic concert without attracting attention; with the other I can only go to disreputable clubs or brothel-like hotels, but we cannot stroll through the park, nor approach children for fear of corrupting their innocence. Why can’t a woman talk to you about books by day and sex by night? Why must one thing be so mutually exclusive with the other? Must one be a prostitute to talk about sex without inhibitions? Can she not talk to you about books, editions, award-winners, and so on? Until today I believed myself to be a man of the world, a person who has seen it all, who is accompanied by a librarian to Café Berlin, which proves that I am worthy of having a companion. Whilst others must not be normal people if they have no one to accompany them, as is the case with Leonardo. If Julia were to to be his companion, his social status would shift from that of an abnormal loner to a person with company and, therefore, normal. Adela, the baker, has come into my shop and seems to want to buy something, but she can’t make up her mind. I get the impression it’s an excuse for something she must be hiding. ‘Marcus, have you heard the news?’ she asks me, making no attempt to hide what the real reason for her unexpected visit is. “What news? I haven’t left my shop all morning; I’m not up to date with what’s going on in the neighbourhood, but Jacinto will fill me in when he comes round on his rounds.” “No need, I’ll tell you myself. Raulín’s been arrested over some shady drug business! We all suspected that scatterbrain would end up in prison for one reason or another. From what I’ve heard, they’re looking for a prostitute who’s also involved in the same affair. Raulín swears blind that the drugs they found on him were sold to him by that loose woman! I try to hold myself back and not show my indignation and astonishment. That wicked Raulín won’t hesitate to send that woman to prison just to save his own skin! His father will surely hire the best lawyer in town and that woman won’t stand a chance. But that gossip Adela hasn’t told the whole story, and she keeps on gossiping. ‘Rumours are doing the rounds at the bakery that the woman hid out at the house of some possible accomplice who lives in this neighbourhood, because they saw her going into one of the houses on this very street. My intuition didn’t fooled me; that woman would bring me nothing but trouble! I have to wait for Jacinto to tell me what he knows, and I’ll tell him what really happened last night. That villain can’t get away with it. There must be some rumour going about me, because today I’ve had more customers than usual, but they’re only buying trinkets. I get the feeling they’re coming to get a closer look at a drug dealer! My troubles have only just begun. Jacinto has just arrived, but he’s accompanied by two men who aren’t from this neighbourhood, and judging by the serious look on their faces, I don’t think they’ve come to buy any jewellery. ‘Marcus, I never would have believed that after all these years of friendship, a day would come when I’d have to do something like this. I don’t know what you’re involved in, but I’ve got an arrest warrant for you. These two colleagues are inspectors from the narcotics unit; they’re the ones who’ve served the warrant. Apparently, Romano’s son has stated that the woman they’re looking for spent the night in your flat... ‘Jacinto, you can’t possibly believe I’m involved in something like this...! ‘All the evidence points to you. There’s another witness, Adela’s son, who claims to have seen you embracing that woman , and that she went up to your flat with you. ‘But there’s an explanation, and Raulín knows it very well! ‘I’m sorry, Marcus, but you’ll have to explain that to the judge. You’ll have to close the shop and come with us to the police station, where you can make a written statement. ‘Can I go up to my flat to get a coat? ‘Yes, but accompanied by one of these inspectors. You mustn’t touch anything until they’ve searched the place. We went up to my flat and I bumped into Aura on the landing. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus. I’d read about all this mess in the letters, but I didn’t want to alarm you. As I step out onto the street, I find myself in an embarrassing situation. The news has spread like wildfire throughout the neighbourhood, and I don’t think there’s a single neighbour left who isn’t here. Guido is leading this spontaneous gathering, but I also see Leonardo and Efraín, Laura and Julia; even young María has come with her father, and the portly butcher, Rodolfo. What could be the reason so many neighbours have gathered? The police hadn’t anticipated this spontaneous demonstration and are overwhelmed. Guido has managed to approach me, and I’m deeply moved by what he says: ‘Marcus, all these good people have come to cheer you on you encouragement and show you that we’re with you, because we know you’re innocent. We don’t believe a word that scoundrel Raulín says; we hope they lock him up for a long time. We’ll stay here until we see you released without charge. The good people of this neighbourhood appreciate you and recognise your honesty, We won’t stand for this outrage! I don’t know if I deserve it, but you never really get to know your neighbours! There are times when you feel ignored, because we all have our own worries, but when it comes down to it, I see that this isn’t just a neighbourhood, but a united community that won’t tolerate injustice. “This spontaneous show of solidarity is worth more than any written law,” Guido tells me. The local police station is just a few metres away, and the crowd follows us right up to the entrance. It seems they’re determined not leave until they see me come out of the police station cleared of all charges. But a key witness is missing to prove my innocence: my GP. He’s not answering his phone. Perhaps he’s at the city hospital, or attending to a patient outside the neighbourhood. I know the chief inspector, and he comes out to meet me with a look of utter despair on his face. ‘Believe me, Marcus, I’m so sorry you’ve been caught up in this ugly business, but the narcotics squad are very strict. We haven’t been able to cancel your arrest warrant! But what are all these people doing here? Guido steps forward to where the bewildered inspector is standing. “Guido, what’s all this commotion about? I don’t want any disturbances outside my station!” “Inspector, we’re standing up for Marcus’s innocence, and we won’t leave here until we see him cleared of all charges.” “That’s not up to me, but on the investigating judge. ‘Well, speak to him and pass on our demand. ‘Marcus, this is a nasty business and you should disperse, but I’ll speak to the judge and perhaps get them to take your statement without pressing charges. What do you know about the woman we’re looking for? I know it’s a crime to withhold information in a case like this, but I believe he wasn’t lying and she was Raulín’s victim. No; even if I’m convicted, I won’t give you her phone number. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea who that woman was. All I know is that her nickname was Linda. But it seems that’s her professional name. ‘If we found her, everything could be cleared up; we can’t dismiss the statement from the lad from Romano without proof that he’s lying. ‘My GP could testify that the woman had been drugged. No drug dealer would drug himself to the to the brink of death. He wouldn’t go to such extremes. Frankly, I believe she was the victim, not the culprit. I think the chief inspector suspects I’m trying to cover for her, because all police officers have a sixth sense for reading the slightest tell-tale facial expression. ‘Marcus, you’re not covering for her, are you! ‘Why on earth would I do that? I don’t know her; she’s neither a friend nor a relative. I have no reason to cover for her! ‘All right, I’ll speak to the judge. Fortunately, my GP is on his way to the police station. He had been at the hospital attending the post-mortem of one of his deceased patients. His testimony has been crucial in clearing my name, and after the usual formalities, I leave the police station cleared of all charges. Raulín faces a new charge of perjury. I fear he won’t escape prison easily. When I walk through the police station door and tell them there are no charges against me, my neighbours respond with a long, warm round of applause and everyone wants to shake my hand, as if I were a hero. Leonardo recites his favourite slogan to me: ‘The people united will never be defeated! ‘And I think he’s right. It’s difficult go against the will of the people, since they are the protagonists of the story, or rather, I would say, the victims of the story. The Separation (Narrator: Julia) I’ve been through some very distressing times. I couldn’t believe Marcus was involved in a drug offence! But what was a prostitute doing in his flat? He’s never seemed the sort of man to resort to a streetwalker, and moreover, a drug addict‘at least he doesn’t seem like one to me. Perhaps, like almost all men, he leads a double life that he’s been hiding from me. Of course, I have no right to judge his behaviour; we’re just friends‘not even lovers! But he’s never made a move… perhaps I hold no appeal for him at all. That woman must be more attractive than me, and, above all, more brazen. After this unpleasant incident, I think we need to sort things out and find out whether our friendship will take precedence over the sexual relationship he must have had with that woman. But how can we know? He invited that prostitute to his flat. Our relationship has to end! It’s not out of jealousy, it’s common sense. He can’t have a female friend by day and a different lover by night. I’ve supported him too and I believe he’s innocent, which is why I’m here, but it’s impossible to maintain a friendship with someone who, whilst accompanying you for a beer and walking by your side, is thinking about how he’ll spend the night with his prostitute lover. I’d be the laughing stock of the neighbourhood! I’m a civil servant with a great deal of responsibility, and looking after my image is essential. How could I do my job properly whilst listening to my readers’ whispers about my friend’s nocturnal erotic escapades? No, I feel great sadness and despair, but this relationship must end! He approaches me after shaking off the displays of affection from those of us who have supported him. He has no idea of my decision to end our relationship. ‘Thanks for coming too, Julia, I’m still reeling from this impressive display of affection and solidarity. But right now I desperately need a nice cold beer. Let’s go to Café Berlin. I suppose you must be tired too; I can see it in your expression. You seem a bit distant… Is something wrong? Guido has joined us and I can’t answer him right now. I’ll wait until we’re alone again . I agree to accompany him for a beer, but I don’t feel as though I’m with the same person I was with just 24 hours ago. He’s not the friend I can chat with and have a pleasant time, but the lover of a prostitute. ‘It’s been amazing how the neighbourhood has reacted ‘says Guido, brimming with satisfaction, because in a way he has been the leader of this rebellion. Adela approaches us, looking remorseful, and addresses Marcus: “Marcus, don’t think I wanted to harm you. We’ve known each other since we were children, and I know you’re an honest person, but my son did what he had to do. He told them what he’d seen, nothing more, and it was his duty to tell the police. The truth is, I couldn’t believe it myself. ‘Honest Marcus involved in drug dealings? Impossible!’ That’s what I said to the people who brought the news to the bakery. ‘Forget it, Adela, and tell your son I don’t hold a grudge against him... ‘Tell him yourself‘he’s come to support you too!’ Adela’s son, Lucio, doesn’t live up to his name, because he isn’t exactly a genius. He must surely have inherited his mother’s simple-mindedness, because his father is a great lover of philosophy, although all he knows about Plato or Aristotle is that they were Greek. He conceives his philosophy whilst baking bread, which is why it’s so warm-hearted, but not at all reasonable. He approaches us with his head bowed and looking hesitant. Marcus cheers him up. ‘Lucio, you’ve got no reason to feel guilty; you’ve simply done what a responsible citizen ought to do. ‘But I’ve got you into quite a mess... ‘All’s well that ends well! Forget what’s happened. I’m still your friend. Marcus gives him a few friendly pats on the shoulder, which comforts him, and he joins his mother, who has joined a group of her clients, and I suppose they must be swapping the latest gossip. At Café Berlin the atmosphere must be very tense, because Raulín has his supporters too, and the news of Marcus’s release won’t have gone down well at all. Of course his father must be outraged, but we’re told he isn’t at the Café, because he’s handling his son’s case with the city’s most prestigious law firm. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there today; there are other places where we can drink our beer in peace. “I’m not going in there, Marcus, the atmosphere is too tense; let’s go somewhere else!” I suggest, because I’m really scared. “Don’t worry, his mates won’t dare make things any worse for Raulín than they already are. Anyway, a few months behind bars might make him think twice about the consequences of his bad behaviour. I reckon he needed something like that. The place is practically empty. There’s just a small group of young people, who must be Raulín’s mates. When they see us come in, they react and murmur something amongst themselves. They don’t look at us very friendly. We sit at our usual table, but no waiter comes to serve us. “Let’s get out of here, Marcus, no one’s going to serve us!” One of the young men in the group approaches us and says in a defiant tone: “The café is closing; they’re not serving drinks any more.” “It’s only seven in the evening‘why are you closing so early today? And I don’t think it’s up to you to decide when the café should close!” “You’d better leave,” he insists, growing increasingly defiant. “Why on earth should we leave? Who’s giving the orders?” Marcus insists, unfazed, but I am feeling uneasy. “I’m giving the orders!” and he bangs his fist hard on the table. The other young men are watching what’s happening, I suppose waiting to intervene if necessary. “And who are you ?‘ replies Marcus, equally defiant. ’I’m the one in charge here right now! Do you need any further explanation?‘ and he turns his gaze towards the group of young people, who seem to understand the gesture. Fortunately, at that moment Jacinto enters the café, having presumably been alerted by one of our companions. ’What’s going on here? What’s all that banging about? “Nothing’s wrong, Jacinto, it’s just that this young man was about to serve us some beers, because the waiter’s gone off, but first he decided to clean our table with a bit more vigour than necessary.” The aggressive young man makes a gesture of annoyance, but doesn’t dare contradict him. The waiter steps forward and asks, looking frightened. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen! Beers, as usual? The poor lad must have been intimidated by the young men so he wouldn’t serve us. ‘Ah, the waiter’s back! ‘Marcus remarks sarcastically. The violent young man joins the others and they murmur something amongst themselves. They won’t let us drink our beers in peace. We don’t stay long in the café. As we bump into Romano at the door. Upon seeing Marcus, his indignation makes him shout a threat without worrying about the consequences. “If my son goes to prison because of you, you’ll pay dearly for it!” “Are you threatening me?” Marcus replies without losing his cool. “I didn’t say that, but you’ll regret getting my son into drugs. You’re not fooling me. You and that slut have ruined my son! “Your son is lying and deserves to be punished. The evidence against him is overwhelming. He’s got no reputation; the whole neighbourhood would testify against him, because he’s done everyone some harm!” Marcus retorts, certain of his condemnation. “The neighbourhood will pay for this too. I’ve been far too generous. Now they’ll find out the price of defending a drug dealer and condemning an innocent young man! Romano seems to be plotting his revenge, not only against Marcus but also against the neighbourhood, and, unfortunately, he can do a great deal of harm, because he owns numerous homes and small businesses.‘I fear that if this loan shark plans to take revenge, from now on life in the neighbourhood will be very difficult,” I say to Marcus, convinced that serious events are on the horizon.Guido has said goodbye to us and, at last, we are alone. This is the right moment to discuss the state of our relationship. “Marcus, there’s something I want to talk to you about, but I don’t know where to start…”“Is what you have to tell me that serious?”“It’s about our relationship.”“What’s wrong with our relationship?”“It’s not very interesting, and I think you feel the same way. If you’ve had to resort to the services of a prostitute, it’s because you need more than just a friend to accompany you for a few beers at Café Berlin.‘Do you also think I invited that woman to my flat?‘It’s hard to believe your version of what happened. ‘So, you don’t believe in my innocence?‘I don’t think you’re a drug dealer, but I do think you’re trying to pretend to me that you’re a man who doesn’t need to have sex with a woman, which I don’t think is true.‘Julia, I’m surprised you’ve formed that opinion of me, but perhaps you’re right. I didn’t invite that woman, but I helped my doctor undress her and I felt the urge to possess her, and perhaps I would have done so had it not been for the state she was in.‘So I wasn’t wrong!‘No; you haven’t been wrong. Was that what you wanted to know?‘Marcus, we have to end this relationship; now I can’t be sure you won’t go looking for that woman…‘I’ve thought about it a few times. Yes, perhaps it’s for the best.‘What attracts you to her, if I may ask?‘Her sincerity and her natural sensuality.‘I know I shouldn’t ask you this, because you won’t be honest in your answer, but I’d like to know why you don’t find me attractive. You’ve never hinted that you desired me. I even went so far as to think you weren’t attracted to women. I’m not that ugly, even if I’m no longer a young girl!‘Julia, you’re an intelligent woman, a good companion and, certainly, you’re not ugly, but for me you’re missing something essential: behaving like a woman!‘What do you mean by ‘behaving like a woman’?‘If nature has created two sexes, it is so that each has a different role. Men and women have nothing in common by nature, and it is precisely from those differences that attraction arises. We are drawn to differences, not similarities. If a man and a woman share the same ideas and tastes, there is no reason for attraction, only for friendship. Opposites attract. This principle even applies to physics.‘And that woman shares nothing with you...‘That’s right, that’s why I’m attracted to her!‘But in that case, friendship between a man and a woman isn’t possible.‘As a man and a woman, friendship is impossible, but they can be friends as people. But it is men and women who make love, not people. ‘I see... You see me as a person, but not as a woman! ‘Perhaps that’s the case! ‘I thought men were looking for a soulmate. ‘Yes, but of the opposite sex ‘I appreciate your honesty, but your opinion of me hurts. I thought you valued precisely what we have in common. How can you live with someone with whom you can only talk about sex, and whom you can’t consider a friend? I don’t understand! ‘Look at it this way: how could you live with someone who only talks about books and whom you can’t consider a woman? ‘You mean that’s me! ‘You asked me, and this is my answer. ‘And why didn’t you tell me this before? I feel deceived and humiliated! ‘You hadn’t asked me before either. ‘Was it that woman who made you change? ‘She’s allowed me to see everything more clearly. ‘Well then, goodbye, Marcus, there’s no need for you to see me off. It’s been a lovely few months, for which I thank you... No; you won’t see me cry, but all endings hurt. May you be very happy with your prostitute! I’m not crying over the end of our relationship, but over the harshness of his opinions of me. But it’s never too late to learn a painful lesson. Perhaps he’s right that friendship between a man and a woman isn’t possible without a sexual relationship. It may well be true that it’s sex that binds men and women together, and not chats in cafés or walks in the park on a spring afternoon. I have been very naive and I think I deserve this failure. You never stop learning how to live! (Narrator: Romano, the loan shark) Revenge That shopkeeper will pay dearly for his insolence. I won’t rest until I see him behind bars. No one in this neighbourhood can treat me that way. I’ll teach him some manners! I have been very generous with the ungrateful people of this neighbourhood. If they prefer that impertinent shopkeeper to me, I’ll start by demanding all the rent arrears, and anyone who can’t pay them will be out on the street. I’ve got plenty of work for my lawyer, but he knows his trade inside out and knows how to deal with these wretches. We met at Café Berlin. ‘No more arrears, Rufo; those who can’t pay, we’ll evict. I’d rather have the flats empty than occupied by deadbeats. Start with the barber‘it’s high time he retired! And as for that stuck-up María, my son must have lost his mind to be interested in a penniless girl when he could have any woman he wants, and from a good family. But because of that drug-addicted jewellery dealer, my son’s reputation will be tarnished if I can’t get the charges dropped. My lawyer seems to have a very clear plan. ‘You’ll have Raulín back home in a week. Every law has a back door, through which you can slip in and out unseen. ‘Well, you’d better find that back door to save my son from prison. ‘I will! But we need to find someone to pin it on and get a witness to incriminate her. ‘I think I’ve got a good candidate for the prosecution witness; she won’t be able to refuse! ‘Who are you thinking of? ‘ The hairdresser! He owes me six months’ rent and I can write off his debt in exchange for this favour. If he refuses, I’ll evict him! ‘It won’t be difficult to get him to testify that she offered drugs not only to him, but to many of her clients. With his testimony, we can get the judge to issue an arrest warrant for that prostitute. ‘But we don’t know much about her, just the description given by ... ‘We know a bit more from Raulín himself: the streets where she usually works, and whores don’t usually change their haunts. ‘Save my son and I promise you’ll have the holiday of a lifetime! ‘Don’t worry, I’ll save him! I’ll speak to the hairdresser today. But I’ll need a bit of time ‘Take as long as you need, but bring my son back just as innocent as when they took him. ‘And for the same price, we’ll get a prostitute off the streets and put her behind bars, which is where she belongs! I’m not wasting the money I pay this lawyer. He knows how to carry out my wishes without needing too many explanations. But this case is a matter of my honour and we have to win it even if we have to bend the laws. After all, as he himself says, there are no laws that cannot be interpreted in various ways, if the one defending them is an experienced lawyer. Linda (Narrator: Marcus) I think I’ve been too harsh on Julia; after all, I’m the one to blame for our relationship lacking interest. Julia is a woman, and we live in a society dominated by a moral code where men still take the initiative in seduction, and we must subdue their wills so that we can make all our sexual fantasies a reality. That must be what attracts me to Linda: the conviction that I can satisfy all my passions. She even offered to be ‘my prostitute friend!’ She couldn’t have been clearer. Will I end up calling her? And what will become of my reputation? She makes no secret of her profession. Given her provocative way of dressing, everyone will know she’s a streetwalker, and a drug addict to boot. Would I dare take her into Café Berlin? Would I be able to attend a Philharmonic concert or the Opera with her? Yes, she hit the nail on the head: I am just as guilty as the rest! A supreme hypocrite, who has earned his reputation by not having relations with prostitutes and by being seen in the company of the respectable local librarian. We cannot know one another if we have no temptations to overcome. Those who do not live out their passions do not know what passion is. After all these extraordinary events, I return to my flat in a state of great confusion. At my age, all my moral convictions are wavering and I need to reflect on all this and find a fair and reasonable answer. Aura has left me a note on my door; she wants to see me because she has had a vision about the events of the previous night and wants to tell me about it. She receives me at her workplace. A room with a décor capable of convincing even the most sceptical of her powers as a fortune-teller. In the centre, on a small round table covered with a purple tablecloth, lies the mysterious crystal ball, through which she is supposed to see her clients’ futures. She is also shaken by the events. ‘The neighbourhood’s show of solidarity with you has been moving. How is the young woman who was poisoned? Is she still at your flat? ‘No, she’s recovered and has left. Aura, you’re a fortune-teller; perhaps you should read my cards and clear up my doubts about my future. ‘Don’t worry. Marcus, I have good news for you about that woman, whom I’ve seen in my cards. ‘Aura must be reading my mind; after all, she earns her living by reading our futures in her magical crystal ball.‘ Your future is inextricably linked to that woman! ‘But do you know she’s a prostitute? ‘Of course! And does that worry you? You’ve fallen in love with a prostitute, and you don’t know what to do: whether to forget her or go looking for her. .. ‘Those who say you’re a witch are right! I desire her, but at my age it can’t be love; I no longer know the meaning of that word. ‘I don’t believe a word you say ‘Aura sees through my hypocrisy too‘. Why are you ashamed to admit you’re in love? The older we get, the more we need to love and be loved, but only a privileged few find it; the rest of will leave this world without ever ceasing to long for it. What other meaning could your distress have? Don’t be stupid, run after your whore of a friend, because she’s waiting for you! ‘Did you read that in your crystal ball? ‘Yes, I’ve seen it in my cards. But I also read it in the way you looked at her when she was lying in your bed. That’s when you realised you’d you’d never get to sleep again without her company. You simply discovered that life without a woman in your bed is a form of living death. Most of us live like zombies! Providence wants to save you from that horrible state‘ don’t turn your back on it! I see in her deep, mysterious gaze a wisdom that cannot be learnt from books. Her understanding comes directly from some place in the cosmos where our destinies are written. Yes, she has convinced me; I will go in search of her and endure the moral condemnation of those neighbours who today showed me their affection, but that will not be enough to justify my choice. Everyone will defend and pity the despised librarian. Overnight, I shall go from hero to villain. I cannot help but ask her this agonising question: ‘And what will become of my reputation? I’ll soon lose many of my few customers and may be forced to close the jewellery shop. And how will I earn a living?’ ‘You’ll only lose a few customers, but you’ll gain others who will approve of your courage if you don’t hide.’ ‘And her, will she give up her profession? I’m sure it’s far more lucrative than mine. ‘I don’t know of any prostitute who practises her profession out of vocation. Most would give it up if they had the chance to earn a living another way and had an honest person by their side to help them. ‘I knew from that night when she could barely stand and clung to me , that my life would take an unpredictable turn. Even the scent of her skin was new to me! Aura remains in thoughtful silence. I get the impression that my passionate declarations affect her for some reason. ‘Marcus, I know how you feel. You know I usually boast about my single status, and you must think I’m a heartless fortune-telling witch. But, though it pains me to admit it, that isn’t the whole truth. I’d like to be in your place and meet someone whose life I could save through my honesty and sense of duty, I had saved the life of. Joining with a man or a woman for love alone is not enough; there must be other, more powerful and, above all, generous reasons. Love must be the fruit of some sacrifice; something to be grateful for. And I have not had your luck nor the opportunity to do something for someone to deserve their sincere love. That unfortunate woman, your friend, knows that you have saved her life and , however little I may appreciate her, that is reason enough to give herself to you without reservation... Aura has opened her heart to me, and I’m saddened by what I hear. Yes, that’s the truth. I like this woman, but I always thought she lived only for her business and wasn’t interested in anything else. I’ve never seen her with anyone who might be her lover. Today must be the day for confiding in one another. Aura seems to need to confide the secrets of her past to someone. They may not be very pleasant and weigh on her conscience. But we can’t keep talking on the stairs. I invite her into my flat and make two cups of comforting tea. Aura has been my neighbour for over five years, and although we’ve always been on friendly terms, we’ve never shared this sort of confidence before. I’ve seen people of all ages and social standing enter her flat. I believe that among her regular clients are senior executives from renowned companies, who apparently trust her predictions regarding their businesses. I have also seen Efraín leaving her home, and I believe she is regularly visited by other politicians of a certain standing. But I have never seen her accompanied by anyone who might be her regular partner. Aura rarely goes out and is certainly not a regular at Café Berlin. Aura’s Story ‘ I’m not single: I’m divorced from two husbands! I wasn’t very lucky in my choice. ‘She takes a sip of tea and fixes her melancholy gaze on the still-steaming cup, as if it were her prodigious crystal ball, and she could see her two ex-husbands. There’s something I’ve never dared to ask her, and perhaps today is the right day. ‘Aura , do you really have powers of divination? Can you predict the future? ‘she smiles at me, because she’s been waiting for me to ask her that question for a long time. ‘I do, but only in extreme situations. Usually my clients are very naive and I predict what is most likely to happen to them, after getting them to answer questions about their personality, tastes, phobias, hopes, plans, etc. But I believe in the messages the cards send me, and I don’t usually get it wrong. Another of my ‘extrasensory powers’ is the ability to see future events. Ever since I was a child, I’ve suffered from premonitory visions when I’m under great emotional pressure. Most of the visions are premonitions of deaths, accidents and serious incidents involving people I know or have some connection with. Last night I sensed your friend’s crisis, and had your doctor not arrived in time, she would already be dead. ‘And what did you see? ‘I saw the horrible image of Death approaching her bed and struggling with her to snatch her life away, but you appeared and managed to drive it away. You saved her life! She falls silent again. She seems lost in dark thoughts as she finishes her cup of tea. She sighs as if trying to shake them off and continues: ‘Those visions have ruined my life! My first husband was a compulsive gambler and married me because he hoped to have an exclusive fortune-teller who would give him the winning lottery numbers or the results of the horse races, the outcome of football matches or the number that would come up on the roulette wheel at the casinos he frequented. He soon realised that his expectations of becoming a millionaire thanks to my powers as a fortune-teller were mistaken, because the exact opposite happened‘ we went bankrupt! I had better luck with my second husband, because by then I was still a very attractive woman. I accepted his marriage proposal because I had no other choice. I was broke and had no means of earning a living. I could never have imagined that Aura had such an eventful past. After another brief silence, she continues her story: ‘Despite the age difference, our relationship was acceptable. As I told you, I wasn’t in love with him, but I was grateful, and that was enough for me. But two years later, disaster struck. By then I had given birth to Darío, my only son... She has paused and seems deeply moved. I didn’t know she had a son! She sighs with great sadness and continues: ‘My husband was a renowned architect, and he was supervising several of his projects. One morning I had a terrible vision: I saw the scaffolding where he was standing give way and him plummet into the void, dying instantly upon hitting the ground. I didn’t want to alarm him, because he didn’t know I had these visions, but I begged him not to go to work that day. I didn’t know how to stop him, and the only thing I could think of was to feign a sudden illness. But he insisted that his presence on site was essential or all work would come to a standstill, and he called his elderly mother to look after me in his absence. I was on good terms with my mother-in-law and confided in her the cause of my fears and how I’d had the premonition of his accident, so that she might try to dissuade him from going to work. But he insisted… and suffered the fatal accident I’d predicted! When his family found out I’d had a vision of his death, they accused me of having caused it with some black magic spell and managed to have my inheritance rights revoked, as well as taking away custody of my son, Darío, when he was only two years old and whom I haven’t seen since. They were convinced that I was actually a witch! And here I am, earning a living from the very thing that destroyed mine! Your story has moved me deeply. You never truly know people, even if you spend a lifetime with them! Now I understand your apparent indifference. Someone with a past like this can’t have much desire to rebuild their life and get their hopes up again. Why Why must all extraordinary people suffer the same tragic fate? The perjury (Narrator: Rufo, the lawyer. I think I need a haircut. It’s time to visit the barber. I also need a well-deserved holiday; fighting with these people is exhausting ‘ there’s no way they’ll abide by the law! It’s already midday and it doesn’t look like any customers have come in; she’d have no way of paying the arrears, and if she wants to keep the business she’ll have to accept our proposal. When I enter this desolate shop, I bump into her daughter, María, and I’m not surprised so many men lose their heads over her; perhaps we could include her in the deal. I wouldn’t mind being one of her suitors! I know she doesn’t like me, because when she saw me she made a and didn’t even say hello. We’ll have to knock this beauty down a peg or two! ‘Good morning, María, it seems you’re not happy to see me! ‘What do you want? Why have you come to our salon? Is it about the arrears? ‘Don’t get upset, little one, I might be here to do you a favour... I need a haircut. A generous customer won’t do you any harm! ‘If you’ve only come for a haircut, my father will see you straight away. ‘Yes, I don’t think you need to queue at this salon ! ‘Well, goodbye, I’ve got things to do. ‘Goodbye, gorgeous. If you were a bit less proud, all your problems would be sorted out in no time. I think she’s got the hint, because she storms off without answering me. The hairdresser doesn’t seem very busy; when I walk in, I find him sitting in his barber’s chair reading the paper, and he doesn’t seem to give me a any warmer welcome than his daughter did. ‘Good morning, Jonás, you don’t look very busy. Is there bad news in the papers today? Has a new war broken out the world? Are the stock market prices rising or falling? ‘Good morning... What brings you here? ‘Don’t worry, Jonás, I’ve only come to have you sort out these four hairs I’ve got left. ‘If it’s about the rent being overdue... ‘We’ll talk about that painful business later, but first cut my hair. It won’t be much work, because as you can see I’ve only got four hairs left on my head.. It’s clear he suspects my visit isn’t just to get my hair cut, but he makes me settle into the chair and gets to work. He knows my visit has another purpose. So I get straight to the point with my proposal: ‘Jonás, I need to discuss a distressing matter with you. It concerns Raulín, who, as you know, is under arrest, wrongly accused of drug possession and trafficking... You’re a father yourself and you know how distressing it can be to see your innocent son in a situation like this. And all because of a prostitute! I understand that she also offered drugs to you and some of your clients... ‘That’s slander! Nobody has offered me drugs, and I doubt she offered them to my clients either! Clearly, I’ll have to be more explicit for him to understand. ‘You have a very tidy hairdressing salon. María must be a very clean girl. I can even see you have a lovely vase with fresh flowers, which must cost money. ‘ It’s a gift from Margarita! But that’s none of your business. ‘Ah, the generous and brave Margarita, and her charming daughter! Do you think she’ll end up marrying our dear policeman, Jacinto? That girl needs a surname! ‘Don’t beat about the bush and just tell me why you’re here! If it’s about the arrears... ‘Well, now that you mention it, if you were willing to cooperate with the authorities, I’m sure Romano would thank you for it with his usual generosity. I suppose you must be very fond of this cosy little spot. And of course it’s very convenient to have your flat right above the shop. You can’t even imagine how difficult it is to find a place like yours in this neighbourhood! ‘What are you implying! “That I should commit perjury and testify against that woman!” “I didn’t say such a thing, but you must understand that six months’ rent is a considerable debt, and with the trend among young people to grow their hair long, you’ll have fewer and fewer customers to pay it off.” “Are you threatening to evict me?” ‘She’s just a slut! Your business is worth more than she is! Women like that shouldn’t be on the streets spreading diseases to decent people. We’re safer if they’re behind bars! ‘Why don’t you speak plainly and tell me what you want me to do, and the consequences if I don’t? ‘Plain enough? I’m a lawyer; I can’t speak any plainer, but I think you’ve understood without me having to give you further explanations. I think, Jonás, that you’ve already cut enough of the few hairs I have left, and I have a thousand things to do. Call me at my office when you have an answer. I suppose he’s understood what we expect of him and won’t be long to call me. He has no other choice! He won’t want to find himself on the street with his precious daughter, sleeping under the river bridges. That is, if he could find one free! (Narrator: Serafín, the Catholic Berlinh priest) 7. The Confession Sometimes I regret that God has given me the gift of faith, because there are moments when I wish I had never embraced the priesthood . But the Lord has chosen me and I must not renounce His will. Today I heard Jonás’s confession, and he confessed a horrible sin to me: he has committed perjury by falsely accusing a prostitute and is deeply repentant. But the instigator of this sin is that son of Satan, Romano, who threatened to evict him if he did not accuse that woman. What What can this poor man do if he is thrown out onto the street? There isn’t even a decent shelter in the neighbourhood where they might take him in. And what would become of his young daughter, the only comfort he has left in this world, who can look after him until God chooses to take him to His side? Is he guilty or innocent? Only divine justice can know, for in this world there is no one free from guilt who has the moral authority to judge their fellow human beings. Jesus stated it clearly: ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone “. Only God knows why He allows the existence of these wicked characters; why He lets Satan take hold of their souls and corrupt them. What satisfaction can one who does evil possibly find? I know nothing of human beings, even though they confess their sins to me. But speaking of Rome, here it comes. Satan himself, in the flesh, has just entered my church. Does he wish to confess his share of guilt in this perjury? It seems that is what he wants, for he is asking me to hear his confession! Is Could it be that a miracle has occurred and the Holy Spirit has entered his conscience? ‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. ‘May God enter your heart and may you repent of all your sins. ‘Seraphim, you know that I am a good Christian and that I am generous in my donations to this church for charitable works. ‘Romano, have you come to confess or to remind me of the amount of your donations? ‘I have come to remind you that without my donations, your poorest Berlinhioners would have nothing to eat. And in these hard times, that would be a bad deed. I suppose my generous donations must please God and your poor. ‘They do please Him, I am sure... ‘That is why I believe God would not like it if anyone were plotting against me. ‘Speak plainly, Romano; remember that I hear you in confession. ‘Serafín, you hear the confessions of all the Catholics in this neighbourhood and they tell you their sins. Perhaps some of them have told you horrible things about me... ‘What they tell me is bound by the seal of confession! What are you trying to imply? ‘Nothing, Serafín; I just wanted to hear you say that both this conversation and whatever they may have told you about me are bound by the seal of confession. And don’t worry about my donations. From now on, they’ll be even more generous! ‘Well, you’ve heard it! May peace reign in your spirit. Amen! We’ve finished this confession, Romano! ‘Without even an Our Father as penance? ‘How can I give you penance if you haven’t come to repent of your sins? ‘My sins? But what sins, Serafín? Things aren’t the same on the street like in your church. You have to fight to survive, and in this ruthless struggle there are always winners and losers. Is it a sin to be a winner? It’s pointless for me to make him see his sins; the devil will never admit his wickedness! On the contrary, the devil believes that God is the evil one. Unfortunately, he leaves my church with the information he wanted: that I will not betray him. But I cannot let this crime go unpunished. I shall speak to the bishop; perhaps he can release me from the seal of confession! I am a member of a church that cannot tolerate covering up for a criminal who does not even acknowledge his sins and shows not the slightest remorse. There must be some way to prevent this injustice from being committed without offending God or breaking His sacraments! Manhunt (Narrator: Romano) Rufo has done a good job. Jonás has testified against that prostitute. We’ve got a culprit now, and an arrest warrant out for her. Now all we need is for the police to find her, and my son will be back in the neighbourhood, cleared of all charges! Adela’s poor idiot of a son has given us a description of that woman and the police already have a photofit. It won’t be hard to track her. But we’re not going to stop there; once we’ve freed Raulín, we’ll go after that insolent shopkeeper until we see him behind bars too. Nobody makes fun of Romano! He He doesn’t know who he’s up against! I’m in charge in this neighbourhood, and my will is done. We’ll start by destroying his good reputation by spreading false rumours around the neighbourhood about an alleged Nazi past, and we’ll finish by charging him with aiding and abetting and obstruction of justice. That’ll be enough to put him behind bars for a while. Long enough to ruin his wretched business. When that time comes, I’ll take over property where his shop is located, because once he’s ruined, he’ll have no choice but to put it up for sale. People like this Marcus are from another era; from before the war. Now is not the time to dream of fantasies of perfect societies and such nonsense. Now we must be more realistic and fight tooth and nail, without mercy, if we want to get this country back on its feet and ensure prosperity for all . Liberal political ideas cost us a war, and they will cost us another until we eradicate them from the face of the earth. The only truth in this new world is a healthy balance sheet; the rest is mere rhetoric, which only serves to confuse people’s minds. The Americans have shown us that the world is not governed by ideologies but by profits. That is why they won the war! As for the communists, their ridiculous ideas clash with reality, and it won’t be many years before they follow in our footsteps and seek profit too, forgetting about absurd equality and the fair distribution of wealth. There will always be rich and poor, because no two human beings are alike, nor do they share the same ambitions and resources! I grew up on the streets, without parents to protect me or a school to educate me, because they spent half the day drunk and the other half fighting. I was raised on the streets of this damned neighbourhood, and I had to fend for myself by humiliating myself in the most degrading and worst-paid jobs. That is why, from a very young age, I resolved to one day be the master of the neighbourhood, because I learnt the lesson: what makes a person respectable is their wealth. No one respects the poor, the destitute, the idlers or the thugs. That ignorant priest accuses me of being a sinner because he lives in a world of dreams , with his God, his angels and his saints, but he cannot step outside his church, because on the streets no God reigns, but only the simple law of the strongest and the strict law of retaliation: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Those are the only rules you must follow if you want to command respect. Those were the mottos of our party, and we would have triumphed had the English been less hypocritical. We won over the elites with our ideas, but we could not convince the rabble. There will be no peace or security in the world until every last ballot box is destroyed and the elites and the victors rule. We do not need saviours promising paradises, but disciplined men who create wealth and rule the masses with a heavy hand and without mercy. One day these men will rule the world! There can be no progress where everyone wants to be right and possess the truth. There is only one truth: this world is a jungle, and if you do not want to be food for the vermin, you must also be a vermin‘but the strongest and most harmful. Marcus searches for Linda (Narrator: Marcus) I am distressed by what I am about to do. It may be the biggest mistake of my life, costing me my reputation and even my business, but something tells me it is what I must do. On the other hand, my desires are very confused. It would be a disgrace if the satisfaction of my desires‘perhaps repressed by an excess of honesty‘were the only thing driving me to go in search of her. There must be something more, but I am not capable of thinking clearly at the moment. I know I am letting myself be carried away by imagination and intuition, but not by reason. My imagination shows me a paradise of boundless sensuality; my intuition is screaming at me that Linda is a diamond in the rough, she just needs someone to polish her. Who better to polish her than the son of a jeweller? I still doubt whether I should dial this phone number. In life, dilemmas arise for which reason is of no use, because they are not reasonable. I have always been a conservative, albeit a moderate one. I have condemned prostitution, homosexuality and any immoral behaviour. I was brought up on Bible verses within a Protestant family, though I would have preferred the Catholic faith, because it is, in every sense, superior to the Protestant faith. It is more emotive, more visual, infinitely more imaginative than the iconoclastic Protestant faith. How can one feel the emotion of good and evil without evocative images? Catholics have left us the finest works of painting; the most inspired works of literature; the most harmonious symphonies. Protestants have given us only ideas, concepts, philosophy, but hardly any art. And now I am about to throw my solid moral principles out of the window by going in search of a prostitute! It is utterly pointless for me to search some corner of my mind for an argument to stop me from taking this step, because without having given my approval I am already dialling the number... An unfamiliar voice answers. It sounds like an older woman’s; it’s hoarse and unpleasant. Perhaps it’s her mother. ‘Sir, Linda is busy at the moment... She’ll be available in an hour. Would you like me to pass on a message from you? “Shall I book her for you?” I’ve called a brothel, and Linda is working! She must be in great demand, and I intend to take her away from such a lucrative business! I must have lost my mind… but I press on. “Yes, tell her her saviour has called…” “Her saviour, you say?” ‘Yes, she’ll understand. ‘If you say so, I’ll tell her that. I leave her my phone number and hang up feeling dizzy, as if I were on the edge of a precipice, but I vigorously reject the voice of my conscience. I don’t know how to occupy my mind whilst waiting for her call to silence these thoughts. Now I remember that Linda left behind her book * Brave New World’; perhaps reading it will distract me. But it’s no use; I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading, because the image of Linda sleeping with her numerous clients clouds my mind. Yet this passage from this unsettling novel might be the realistic answer to my moral doubts: ‘This is the secret of happiness and virtue: to love what one has to do. All conditioning tends towards this: to ensure that people to love their inevitable social destiny.” Is it my social destiny to love a prostitute? At last the phone rings. I still have time not to pick it up, but once again it is pointless for me to resist what seems to be my destiny. It is Linda’s voice; she has taken less time than expected with her last client, because not even half an hour has passed since my call. ‘What a surprise! I really wasn’t expecting your call! I was so angry…’ I can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s pleased by my unexpected call. Perhaps Aura is right. ‘So you’re pleased I called?’ ‘You’re always so contradictory. If I wasn’t pleased, do you think I’d have called you back?’ ‘Sorry, and you’re so direct and honest! How about we drop the formalities? ‘As you wish, but I don’t even know your name. ‘Marcus. ‘Well then, Marcus, what’s the reason for your call? I’m not sure I have an answer, because I’m talking to a prostitute, with whom one only expects to talk about sex, and I remain in a tense silence, not knowing what to say. She seems to have figured out the reason. ‘Perhaps you fancy sleeping with me and don’t dare admit it. Is that it, Marcus? I have to react and be honest; enough of the repression, the shame and the false modesty. With Linda, I have to say what I think, even it’s hard for me to put into words: ‘Yes, that’s one reason, but I have others as well. ‘Like what? ‘Just as you suggested, I want us to be friends! ‘You, my friend? Are you serious? ‘What’s so strange about that? ‘And what about your reputation? I’m a prostitute! ‘I already know that.. .! ‘What’s made you change your mind? You seemed very angry at your place. You practically pushed me out. ‘I don’t think you deserved that treatment and I want to apologise. Can we meet up somewhere? ‘I promised you that if you wanted me to, I’d be your prostitute friend, and I’ll keep my promise. ‘So can we meet tomorrow, Sunday, for breakfast together at Café Berlin? ‘But you’ve lost your mind! Do you dare show up with me where everyone knows you? Either you’re a saint or you’re mad, but I accept! ‘You yourself accused me of being a hypocrite, and you were right. Now I want to prove to myself that I’m not. ‘I’ll never understand men, but I’ll be there! I hang up the phone knowing I’ve done what I had to, but at the same time, I know I’ll cause a huge scandal in the neighbourhood. Deep down, we’re all are hypocrites, but it is thanks to that hypocrisy that we live together in peace and harmony. Sincerity is dangerous, because no one can be sure that their behaviour is correct or that they possess the truth. The people we consider honest have the same flaws as those who aren’t, but thanks to hypocrisy they hide them. Harmonious coexistence is based on hypocrisy! I am no exception and have lived the last few years as a perfect hypocrite. It’s high time I started behaving properly. The Reunion (Narrator: Linda.) This man must have lost his mind and is determined to cause a scandal in his neighbourhood. Why has he asked me to meet him at the café where half the neighbourhood gathers? They’ll show him no mercy, and not a single neighbour will approve of his behaviour. Deep down, things are fine as they are: we women who work the streets are like cats, we sleep during the day and move about, hunting our mice, when it gets dark, where we can best hide our miseries. The sunlight hurts our eyes smeared with make-up. The night is made for love, and I suppose the day is made for friendship. If I go to this café, it will be as a friend and nothing more. I won’t wear make-up or dress provocatively. I hope he has something suitable to wear. And I won’t talk about sex but about other topics. For example, the book I read about how we can be happy if we’re manufactured in incubators. I’m sure he’ll have a deeper and more intelligent opinion than mine. I’m so used to abuse and vulgar language that perhaps I was wrong to suggest to this good man that I could be his friend; apart from sex, I hardly have any other topics of conversation left. None of my clients are interested in the history of Rome or the Four Gospels. One ends up getting used to this job and might even miss it if I left this profession. Clients aren’t always bastards, like the one who left me at this man’s flat. Often I have the pleasant feeling that I’m doing good social work, introducing some shy lad who masturbates every night in the silence of his room, or freeing a man from the repression of an unsatisfied husband to prevent him from taking out his frustration on his own wife by mistreating her; sometimes I feel that making love is also an art, and I am an artist, not a pervert. I know I’m an unusual prostitute, because I ended up in this profession out of laziness and a reluctance to face other, more complicated and less lucrative jobs. But deep down, it’s a beautiful profession, because it consists of bringing pleasure and avoiding pain, and when a man enjoys a woman, the world is at peace. But ordinary people don’t see it that way. A prostitute is a loose woman with no morals who sells her body to the highest bidder and humiliates herself until she becomes her clients’ slave, fulfilling all their sexual fantasies. We are censured above all because we make them pay dearly for every second of intense pleasure we provide. We wouldn’t be women without morals if we did it for free, but rather good Samaritans, charitable and generous women, angels of sex , and so on. Money corrupts everything. I’m already standing at the entrance to Café Berlin. Luckily for Marcus, there aren’t many customers at this time of the morning. He’s just stepped into the square and greets me with an effusive gesture; he’s clearly delighted to see me. But he’s taken aback by my appearance. He was surely expecting to find me in the same provocative clothes I was wearing the day he saved my life. “Is it you, Linda, the woman who was dying in my bed?” I get the impression he’d steeled himself to enter the Café on the arm of a scandalous woman, and now he finds himself with another who might not attract attention, which makes her less interesting. He’d surely convinced himself that my presence would be a scandal so he could stand up to the neighbourhood in my defence, and now he has no grounds for heroism. I know he must feel let down, even if he doesn’t show it. ‘It’s the same me, but I’m not on duty, that’s why I’ve dressed like this. Don’t you like it? Perhaps you don’t find me attractive anymore! ‘Of course, but I was expecting... ‘Yes, I know exactly what you were expecting. If you’d prefer, I can go back to the hotel and dress the same way I did when you first met me, but this isn’t the most appropriate time of day. He feels confused, and perhaps I’m right: he’s fallen in love with the prostitute, but not with the woman. He wants to be my saviour, because he must feel like a father facing his wayward daughter and , at the same time, the lover of a repentant prostitute. ‘No, of course not... but it’s been a surprise; it doesn’t seem like I’m looking at the same woman... But we’d better go inside; we’ve got a lot to talk about. I take his arm and make my first official entrance into this neighbourhood. The few customers in the café must not know him, because they show no interest in us. We settle at the table by the windows where Marcus usually sits, and order two coffees with milk and some croissants. Marcus seems to be waiting for me to tell him about myself. He wants to know the reasons that led me into prostitution. ‘I know you’re thinking I’ve lost my mind for asking you to be friends, because my reputation is at stake. But from what little I’ve got to know you so far, I can’t understand why you’ve chosen such a degrading profession‘and, I suppose, such a dangerous one too. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons. I’d like to hear them, if you don’t mind. Linda’s Story (Narrator: Linda) ‘Do you want to know my story? There’s little to tell! Any woman who has been raped by her own father or stepfather is a prime candidate for prostitution. What sets us apart from one another is innocence and the fear of losing our virginity without getting something important in return. Some lose it in exchange for a good husband, others for a considerable sum of money or valuable gifts. My case is the second: my stepfather abused me when I was only 13, but in return he showered me with expensive gifts. I soon realised how easy it was to get everything I wanted with just a few minutes of effortless work. By the time my stepfather died, I was already accustomed to this way of life and simply had to look for other stepfathers willing to pay for my many whims and eccentricities. I lacked, and still lack, any moral principle that would make me feel guilty simply because I slept with men whom I gave a good time, and who treated me generously. That’s how I became a prostitute! ‘But perhaps that story belongs to another era, because your life doesn’t seem all rosy now. You’ve been on the brink of death! I even suppose you’re hooked on drugs... ‘I’m not a drug addict, that bastard tricked me! I didn’t know it was heroin! But, yes, you’re right, things aren’t as simple now as they were at the start. I’m not 20 anymore! Nowadays men want young girls‘not to say children‘because they’re afraid that us older women are sick and might pass on something serious to them. My best clients have vanished as if by magic. Now they haggle over the price and demand crazy things, like us putting a collar on them and treating them like dogs, as well as whipping them until they bleed. This isn’t sex anymore, it’s madness! ‘So, would you be willing to give up this profession? It’s obvious that his question has a clear interpretation: he’s surely thinking of being my saviour. He wants to be the friend of a wayward woman, but one who only sleeps with him. I know this story well, because I’ve been offered it more than a dozen times. There’s something they don’t understand: working the streets isn’t just about sleeping with a different man every night, but about being free to choose who we sleep with. If I accepted his offer of redemption, I wouldn’t be able to choose anymore. I’d lose my freedom! ‘Do I have to give up my profession for us to be friends? My question seems to have taken him by surprise, because he remains in an awkward silence without giving me an answer. ‘Don’t you know what to say? I’ll answer for you. I know you’re willing to face the judgement of your neighbours, but in exchange for having me exclusively, because a hero can be the lover of a whore, but a redeemed and subjugated one. That’s what heroes are for! I think I’ve thrown him off balance. Perhaps he’s considering giving up my friendship and returning to his routine as a shopkeeper, loved and respected by his community. Maybe a companion like me doesn’t fit into his simple world of costume jewellery and coffee-shop chats with his friends. ‘I think you’re right, and I’ve let my imagination run away with me. Now I’m beginning to wake from a dream in which everything seemed real. I could already see myself by your side, somewhere where neither the past nor memories existed. You were my lover, as if fallen from the sky, with no first or last name; I named you Linda, and you were the woman of my dreams. Perhaps I should return to them and give up on reality... . This man has managed to move me. I don’t want to give up my freedom, but I don’t want to end this friendship either. We need to reach a compromise that works for both of us. ‘Marcus, I think we should try to take things as they come, give our feelings time to sort themselves out; let our friendship settle and see what happens. I’m not going to give up my profession until I come to hate it for some reason, and I think that will depend on you. I suppose you understand me.. ‘It’s clear I have to accept your suggestion. Dreams need to be left to rest too! But I would have liked us not to put barriers in the way of our friendship; who knows, it might turn into love. Yes, I’d like that too. I think I’m growing fond of this man, and I also think, like him, that this fondness might turn into love. Rodolfito (Narrator, Rodolfo) The whole neighbourhood is in a right state because tomorrow my Rodolf ito is taking part in a young talent contest, which will be broadcast on television. Few of us have a television set, but Café Berlin has one of the latest models and people will be able to watch and listen to the concert there. It will also be broadcast on the radio. God has blessed us with this son, who is our pride and joy as parents. All our customers are congratulating us and can’t stop praising our son. ‘Good morning, Rodolfo. Your Rodolfito is the pride of the neighbourhood! How on earth did you manage to produce such an intelligent child? ‘It’s God’s doing, I suppose. He has blessed us. Today my wife can’t hide her pride as a mother and can’t concentrate on her work. She’s been very busy choosing the clothes he’ll wear for his performance. Rodolfito doesn’t agree with the ones she’s chosen, because he says they’re too flashy and restricts his movements, but his mother insists that he must project the image of a child from a good family, and that she knows exactly what the clothes should be like. Thanks to our son, we have new customers, and everyone wants to meet him and congratulate him, but Rodolfito doesn’t want to show his face at the butcher’s, so as not to lose his concentration. He deserves everything that’s happening to him, because he’s worked hard to achieve it. The fact that he’s a child prodigy doesn’t from having to work, even harder than a normal child. Sometimes his mother and I have wished Rodolfito had been a normal child, because it pains us to see him spend so many hours rehearsing and so few playing, just like any other child his age. Margarita has just walked into the butcher’s with her lovely daughter Luisa. I wouldn’t mind being her father-in-law one day. I think they’d make a splendid couple. ‘Good morning, Luisa, has your mum told you yet that my Rodolfito will be on the telly tomorrow? ‘I already knew that; Rodolfito told me yesterday at break time! ‘So you’re little friends, then? ‘Oh, yes; he’s very nice and he makes me laugh! Margarita seems to approve of them being friends. It’s a shame Luisa doesn’t have a recognised father! ‘Luisa tells me wonderful things about your son. She says he’s a star at school. ‘Don’t believe it, Margarita; lots of children don’t like him. They play all sorts of nasty tricks on him! Many days he’s come home in tears because his classmates break his coloured pencils, or take his hat and hide it. It’s lucky your daughter is his friend. ‘It’s jealousy, Rodolfo. Children can be so cruel! My Luisa also suffered a lot in her first year at school because of you-know-what. ‘Yes, I see... ‘But I think this rejection strengthens their character, though it also makes them grow up too fast ‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come with us to the TV studios? Rodolfito would be so happy to see Luisa in the audience! Luisa seems excited by my suggestion. ‘Yes, Mummy; say yes! ‘All right, Luisa, we’ll go with you and cheer him on. You’ll see how he wins first prize! ‘So we’ll meet right here tomorrow, because a car from the TV studios will come to pick us up. El concurso (Narrator: Guido) Café Berlin is packed to the rafters today. All the locals want to hear and see the neighbourhood’s child prodigy and are hoping he’ll be the winner. It won’t be easy to find a free table. I haven’t invited Julia because she hasn’t been seen in the bookshop for several days. I suppose she’s found her great love in Leonardo. Yes, it’s confirmed, because I’ve just seen her sitting next to Leonardo, in the spot where he always sits. She’s seen me and the situation seems awkward, but I don’t want to show her that it bothers me; on the contrary, I want her to know that I approve, and I greet her with a meaningful smile. I hope she understands that I have nothing to reproach her for. She seems to have understood and returns my smile. Everything has been cleared up between the two of them; I wish them a happy relationship! Leonardo seems to have been transformed. He’s no longer reading the party newspaper; he’s simply listening to whatever Julia is saying, who, as always, won’t stop talking about a thousand things at once. But Leonardo seems spellbound by whatever Julia is telling him. I’ve seen, Jonás, the hairdresser, sharing a table with a couple who must be married. There is also María, who seems to be having a great laugh, because she is laughing at something funny that one of her companions must be telling her. Jonás doesn’t seem to share his daughter’s joy. I think something is worrying him. It must be because of the numerous debts he has run up in the neighbourhood. He has seen me and seems surprised that I’ve come to the Café on my own. He invites me to sit at his crowded table. I accept without hesitation. I grab a chair and sit down next to his charming daughter, María. She seems pleased; she undoubtedly considers me a good friend. ‘Where’s your friend Julia? Doesn’t she want to see Rodolfito’s performance?’ María asks me, though I think she knows the answer. “Julia’s changed her date. She’s seeing Leonardo now, the teacher. It seems he’s a better listener than I am! Haven’t you seen them? He wouldn’t miss this event for the world!” “And you don’t mind?” “No, not at all; we never had a serious relationship. We’re very different. It seems she gets on better with Leonardo!” Jonás has asked me a question to which I have an answer: “Guido, when are you going to settle down? It’s not good for a man to live alone, without a woman to look after him and give him some offspring. Family is what gives men a sense of purpose . It’s not all about books! Perhaps if I were honest, I’d ask for María’s hand, but it would be very selfish of me to take advantage of his difficulties to make him sacrifice his daughter and give her to an old man. I reply with an absurd excuse: ‘The bookshop and the books are my family! María seems to want to respond to my absurd statement, but her father beats her to it. ‘Books don’t look after the sick, nor do they know how to run a household, nor do they give you children. Could it be that you haven’t found your better half yet ? I get the impression he’s trying to hint at something; perhaps he’s seen in me a good candidate to be María’s husband. He must know the rumours circulating around the neighbourhood about me and his daughter. I’m burning with the desire to be honest and let him know that María could be that better half, but I hold back. María doesn’t seem to agree with my answer either. ‘I think you’re joking; however much you love your books, they can’t give you the warmth of a home. Just as the conversation was getting more interesting, we interrupted it because we saw Laura come in, but she isn’t accompanied by Marcus. It’s like an epidemic! I suppose she’d arranged to meet her good friend Julia here, because she heads straight over to where she is, and they embrace warmly. Julia must be aware of her split from Marcus, because rather than just greeting her, she seems to be comforting her. Leonardo is also affectionate towards Laura. He’s spotted me and gives me a shy wave; he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to meet Marcus’s friends. But where is he? It’s very strange that he hasn’t turned up for an event like this, especially as he and Rodolfo are good friends. Is he ill? Perhaps he’ll come later; there’s still more than half an hour to go before the broadcast of the contest begins. The one who couldn’t miss it is Adela, accompanied by her philosopher husband and poor old Lucio. It seems they can’t find a table, but some neighbours and customers invite them to sit at theirs. Adela is much sought-after among the women, for her entertaining chats about the private lives of the locals. Of course, she must already be aware of my separation. She has spotted me and the look on her face is one of utter astonishment at seeing me sitting next to María. I fear she will come over to our table to gather more first-hand material for her gossip. Indeed, here she comes! ‘Hello, Guido. Where’s Julia? ‘There she is, with her friend Laura ‘and I point out where they are. As she’s an expert in personal relationships, she’s quickly worked out the situation, but it seems she isn’t satisfied with this evidence; she wants to know more. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but shouldn’t she be with you? ‘Adela, you already know why she’s not with me; you’re the best-informed woman in the neighbourhood! ‘I admit it, I knew about your split, but I couldn’t believe it... But it seems you’re in good company now! ‘Don’t push it, Adela, because you won’t get the scoop! But Adela already knows everything she wanted to know and has seen everything she wanted to see. Tomorrow the whole neighbourhood will know that I’m courting María. She greets María with a kiss that, for some reason, reminds me of Judas’s kiss, and returns to her table. She’s seen enough to last a week of fresh gossip. Of course, that wretch Romano couldn’t be missing, who turns up, as always, accompanied by that scoundrel of a lawyer of his. I don’t know why he’s here at the Café, because he’s one of the few locals who owns a television. Perhaps he wants to give us the impression that he’s just another member of the community and wants to share in our simple lives. He has no trouble getting a table, because he’s had one reserved. Jonás has made a gesture of deep distaste when he saw him come in. It must be because of the rumour going round the neighbourhood that he owes him half a year’s rent for his hairdressing salon! Romano approaches our table and greets Jonás, but neither Jonás nor his daughter return his greeting. On the contrary, they give him a look of great animosity, which displeases Romano. ‘It’s not very polite not to return a friend’s greeting,’ remarks Romano, clearly annoyed. ‘Especially now that we’ve sorted out your arrears!’ Has Jonás paid his rent arrears? But where on earth has Jonás got all that money from? I don’t dare ask him. Romano doesn’t seem to mind the snub and settles down at his table. I wonder what must have happened for Jonás and María to seem so upset by Romano’s unexpected visit to the Café. María’s mood has changed suddenly. She seems not to be listening, and exchanges an expressive look of complicity with her dejected father. Something must have happened between Jonás and Romano to explain their reactions. Linda’s introduction (Narrator: Marcus) I hesitated right up to the last moment about going to Café Berlin with Linda on the night of Rodolfito’s performance. Half the neighbourhood must be there, because we all want to hear him perform. On the other hand, this might be the best opportunity for the neighbourhood to meet my new companion. But Linda is an unpredictable woman. I don’t know if I’ll have the nerve to go in if she turns up dressed provocatively. We’ve agreed to meet at the same place as last time, but this time I’m the one who’s arrived early. Just as I expected, all my friends and acquaintances are already at the Café, including Laura. Just as I feared, Linda is wearing her work clothes! She’s wearing a red skirt so tight she can barely walk, and it’s above the knees. But if the tight skirt is already making things difficult for her, she’s wearing white ankle boots with an exaggerated heel. I I don’t know how she manages to keep her balance! Although she’s wearing a black leather jacket, I suspect what she’s wearing underneath can’t cover much of her body. It’s the end of my good reputation, but I can’t back out now, because I’ve brought this on myself! ‘Hello, Marcus, don’t be surprised. I’ve decided to give you the chance to test just how far your interest in me goes! Tonight you can be my hero, just as you’ve always dreamed! We’ve barely crossed the threshold and I can feel the magnetic pull of dozens of stares, no doubt wondering who my new companion is, looking every bit the part of a prostitute. Most of them must know that I’ve split up with Laura, and everyone will make their own assumptions, but there’s no doubt that the whole neighbourhood will condemn me. This unexpected spectacle keeps them entertained, and Adela will be in greater demand than ever. She must have tripled her bread sales. Unfortunately, after the unpleasant business of Raulín’s arrest, I’ve become a figure of interest, and all my neighbours admire my moral integrity. Otherwise, they would feel deceived for having rallied to my defence. But above all, they expect me to be the defender of those oppressed by Romano, and to rid them of this despicable character and his ill-bred son, who remains under arrest awaiting trial. But I do not feel I have the strength or energy for this enormous responsibility. I believe it is inevitable that I will have to . And this rift will begin to emerge tonight very same night, if they discover that Linda is a prostitute. I see that Laura is here too. We have exchanged a furtive glance. I suppose she must feel despised because of her age, for Linda may be twenty years younger than her, and certainly far more attractive, or at least more provocative. Most of my neighbours will already have noticed this detail and will begin to pity her and doubt my moral integrity. There is no doubt that I was not born to be a leader. They have created me and they will destroy me. Linda seems oblivious to the stir she is causing, because this is not her neighbourhood. Hers is the most sordid in the city. There are no gossiping bakers there, nor butchers who are fathers of child prodigies, nor florists nor primary schools; there are no churches, no modest public parks, nor geraniums on the balconies. Hers is not a neighbourhood, it is a huge brothel. A labyrinth of dark streets, lit only by neon signs advertising carnal paradises, doctors specialising in venereal diseases, cheap hostels, off-licences and dozens of dive bars with no-holds-barred signs advertising what can be enjoyed for a modest price, provided you don’t mind the age of the prostitutes. That’s Linda’s neighbourhood! There’s no chance of finding a free table, and no one’s inviting us to join theirs. I’ve said hello to Guido, who’s stood up and I suppose is waiting for me to introduce him to Linda. He’s probably the only one who’ll dare to say hello to her. ‘I’ve been missing you, Marcus. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend? ‘Sure, Guido; this is Linda, we met by chance circumstances; it’s a long story. Linda, this is Guido, my best friend. He’s certainly proved himself to be my best friend, because he’s inviting us to share his table. ‘Perhaps if we squeeze in a bit, and you can find two chairs, you can sit with us, if Jonás doesn’t mind. The competition is about to start, although Rodolfito won’t be among the first to perform. A waiter fetches us two folding chairs and we settle down at their table. Linda has taken off her jacket, and, as I feared, reveals a generous amount of her chest and back. She couldn’t possibly have chosen more provocative clothes! I notice that Jonás seems restless, and he can’t take his eyes off Linda. Could she have been one of his clients? No; that’s impossible. So what’s catching his attention? I can’t help but ask him this question: ‘Jonás, do you two know each other? Linda seems to be trying to place him as a possible client, but denies knowing him. But Jonás remains restless and seems not to have heard my question. Could he have recognised her? Indiscretion (Narrator: Adela) I never would have imagined that one day I might see something like this in this neighbourhood. I have no words to express it: Marcus accompanied by a slut, because she looks like a loose woman! How could he have left Laura for this hussy? Men are a mystery, but they all end up in the arms of easy women like this. Sex rules their will. Of course, not all men are the same. I don’t think my Ramiro has ever betrayed me, not even once. Marcus has deceived us all. But how does he have the nerve to turn up here with a whore? No wonder poor Laura feels betrayed and her dignity wounded at the sight of this spectacle. But he doesn’t seem to care. There he is, as if nothing’s happened! Sitting at the same table as innocent María! How can anyone have so little shame? My Lucio seems to have spotted something about that woman that’s caught his eye; he’s nudging me because he wants to tell me something, but he doesn’t want the others to hear. ‘What are you looking at, Lucio? What do you want to tell me? ‘Mum, that woman is the one I saw hugging Marcus; it’s her, I’m sure... ‘ The drug dealer? Are you sure, son? ‘Absolutely! ‘So, it’s confirmed that Marcus has been deceiving the whole neighbourhood, and he must be in cahoots with her? I was already wondering how she could get by on the pittance she must earn from that ruinous costume jewellery business! But how dare they show up here knowing the police must be looking for her ? We should report her, but it’s best not to get ourselves into trouble. Ramiro must know about this; I want to hear his opinion on what we should do. ‘Ramiro, do you know who that woman with Marcus is? The drug dealer the police are looking for‘your son has recognised her! Shouldn’t we report her? ‘No, Adela; it’s not our place to meddle in matters of justice. Let the police do that job. You haven’t seen anything, and let’s enjoy Rodolfito’s performance, because the competition has just begun! ‘You’re always so philosophical! But perhaps you’re right. The recital (Narrator: Guido) The competition has begun, and everyone seems to have forgotten about Marcus and his striking new friend, Linda. The presenters explain the rules of the competition. Now we see shots of the live audience, and there are his proud parents, who can barely fit in their seats, not only because of their weight, but also because of their pride. We neighbours have reacted with spontaneous applause, because they too are stars of this great event. But we also see Margarita and her daughter, Luisa, in the audience, waving when they think they’re on screen because the cameras are focused on them. We wave back. The performances of other child prodigies begin; they will undoubtedly be strong contenders for first prize, but we all trust that Rodolfito will outshine them all. The big moment has finally arrived. Rodolfito has just taken to the stage. We all applaud him enthusiastically. His parents appear on screen visibly moved, and they have every reason to be. Rodolfito seems very relaxed and displays an extraordinary maturity uncharacteristic of his young age. The presenter introduces him and speaks highly of him. Rodolfito dedicates his performance to his parents, whom he thanks for the sacrifices they have had to make for his sake; he then mentions little Luisa, his best friend, who appears brimming with joy on screen; and finally, he hasn’t forgotten us, and he dedicates it to his neighbourhood as well. We have responded once again with warm applause. But now we have all fallen into a deathly silence, because Rodolfito is making his way to a huge grand piano, and after stretching his fingers and remaining motionless for a few moments, he begins his performance with the difficult composition of Frédéric Chopin’s Grand Polonaise. We are so enthralled by Rodolfito’s performance that we haven’t noticed Jacinto, the policeman, and two other men with a grim look on their faces‘who must also be policemen‘enter the café. It seems he doesn’t want to miss Rodolfito’s performance either, but what’s strange is the presence of the two men accompanying him, because I think they’re the same policemen who arrested Marcus. Have they come to arrest him again? We’ll soon find out ! The Arrest (Narrator: Jacinto, local policeman) I can’t believe that loan shark Romano has turned into an upstanding citizen, because it was he who alerted the police to the presence in this café of that woman, who, from what I can see, is Marcus’s new girlfriend. According to witnesses, she’s a drug dealer. She certainly looks the part of a prostitute, but I can’t believe Marcus has anything to do with drugs, as he proved during the other arrest. But there’s her and I have no choice but to uphold the law. I always wanted to be a policeman to enforce the law, but years of experience in this profession have taught me that laws do not reform people; rather, it is people who reform the laws. Laws should serve to protect the integrity of honest people, not of criminals, and I have no doubt whatsoever that Marcus is an honest person, yet the law protects the criminal Romano. Perhaps I am lacking what is essential in a policeman: absolute faith in the workings of justice. Perhaps I am no longer fit for this job and the time has come for me to retire. I have the painful task of taking the two detainees away: the woman for being an alleged drug dealer and Marcus for acting as her accomplice and obstruction of justice. Today, I certainly do not feel proud of my profession. At the very least, I’ll wait until this quiz show has finished; I don’t want to spoil their evening! But everyone has noticed my presence and must suspect it’s connected to that woman. Adela must have spread the rumour that Marcus’s partner is wanted by the police, which they’re now linking to my presence. Marcus himself has given me a questioning look, because he must be the reason for my presence. I’d like to reassure him and let him know that I’m just another person here to see Rodolfito, but unfortunately I have to remain impassive. I know Marcus has interpreted my attitude and must be fearing for his friend. It’s possible the rumour has reached him too. Rodolfito has finished his performance and the Café is a clamour of cheers and applause. Some have even stood up , thrilled by his brilliant performance. At least they have forgotten about our presence. Now there is a shot of his emotional parents. Ignacia cannot hold back her tears. The studio audience is also applauding enthusiastically. Judging by the length of the applause, it looks as though Rodolfito is the winner. Rodolfito is now a professional, and has repeatedly gestured his thanks to the audience, who continue to applaud. Surprise! Little Luisa comes up on stage to present him with a huge bouquet of flowers, a gift from Margarita, and also rewards him with a childish kiss on the cheek. If the footage were in colour, we would surely see the blush on the surprised Rodolfito’s face. Luisa seems thrilled and, on her way back, hugs her mother, as if she felt ashamed. I hope that one day he’ll be a good father to her! My colleagues in narcotics are pressuring me to make the arrests, and the most humiliating thing is that I have to handcuff them, because both offences are considered serious. How can I bring myself to handcuff a friend? How could I prove his innocence? Who could possibly testify against a woman who deserves to be the partner of an honourable man like Marcus? Perhaps she is a prostitute, but they too are human beings and deserve our respect and the presumption of innocence! The law does not judge by the way one dresses or by one’s profession. It seems the informant is also growing impatient. Romano and his lawyer have approached us, and I can see in his tense expression his desperate desire for us to proceed with the arrests. ‘Jacinto, what are you waiting for to arrest them? For them to run away? I’d like to have a reason to arrest him‘he’s the one who deserves it. ‘Romano, don’t interfere in my work, or you might be the one getting arrested! My reply has infuriated him. ‘Is this how an honest citizen should be treated? Is this how you thank me for putting food on your table with my taxes? At the police academy they taught us to be patient and tolerant, but this man is driving me up the wall; I don’t know if I can keep my cool! ‘I’ll arrest them when I see fit. One more word and I’ll charge you with contempt of authority! Thank God his lawyer has intervened, because I was on the verge of losing my temper and arresting him too. ‘Calm down, Romano, Jacinto knows his duty, and they’ve no chance of escaping. I don’t know how the neighbours will react when I arrest them. I hope there isn’t the same commotion as during the last arrest. For the first time, I am convinced of the innocence of the person I have to arrest, but I must fulfil my duty. They are still sitting because they must not feel guilty of any crime. I arrest the woman. ‘Stand up, you are under arrest... You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in court. You have the right to a lawyer. I suppose you understand... The poor woman looks at me in horror and is unable to react. I put the handcuffs on her and she offers no resistance, as she seems dazed, unable to understand what her crime might be. ‘Jacinto, what are you doing? What crime has she committed? Why are you arresting her? ‘I’m sorry, Marcus, but I have to arrest you too; you’ve already heard your rights! I have to handcuff you! I put the handcuffs on him, and he offers no resistance either. There’s a huge commotion in the café. I hear some whistles, but no one seems to be coming to her defence. Only Guido dares to intervene. ‘Jacinto, this is an outrage! What are you accusing them of now? ‘Guido, let’s not make things more painful than they already are. I have an arrest warrant for this woman on drug trafficking charges! “And what is Marcus accused of?” “Aiding and abetting, and obstruction of justice!” “But you know that’s not true; they’re innocent!” “Yes, I know; but the law is the law and I have to enforce it!” The woman can’t bear the tension and bursts into tears. Marcus tries to comfort her. “Don’t cry, Linda, we’re innocent and everything will be cleared up.” “I hope so, Marcus!” I reply. We were already at the door of the café when Jonás stood up and, visibly moved, shouted at me: “No, Jacinto, they’re not guilty, I’m the guilty one!” María tries to defend her father, and she can’t help but cry too. “Dad, you’re not to blame; they’re the ones to blame! “No, María, I’m the only one to blame; I falsely accused that woman and I deserve to be punished.” The situation has become very confusing, but I want to know who the culprits are that María is suggesting. “María, who are ‘they’?” Unexpectedly, Serafín, the Berlinh priest of the Catholic Church, appears unexpectedly at the door of Café Serafín, and he gives me the answer: ‘Romano and his lawyer! They blackmailed poor Jonás with eviction to force him to give false testimony against that woman, who is innocent! Romano has turned pale with rage, and responds to the priest’s accusation. ‘You’re lying! You have no evidence against me, because what you’re saying is covered by the seal of confession! “No, Romano. I am no longer a priest; now I am a layman, like you and the others. I have renounced the priesthood and I am excommunicated. But God cannot condone this monstrous injustice. I know He will forgive me! I shall testify before a judge and I hope it is you who goes to prison, in the company of your wicked son!” Romano lurches forward in fury and makes a move to attack Serafín, but I stop him. I remove the handcuffs from Marcus and put them on him; he thrashes about like a wounded beast. Now I am the happiest policeman on Earth! All the neighbours applaud the arrest. I also remove the handcuffs from the woman and put them on Romano’s lawyer, who offers no resistance, as he is held by the two policemen accompanying me. Marcus embraces his friend, who bursts in tears, but now with joy! Jonás does the same with his daughter. It is not the laws, but honest people, who administer true justice A Memorable Night (Narrator: Jacinto) Yes, that night, when little Rodolfito filled our neighbourhood with pride, I was the happiest policeman on Earth! It was a memorable night, on which we all learnt a great lesson: All laws are useless where there is no honesty. No one expected that elderly Berlinh priest, rooted in the deepest theological traditions; firm in his moral convictions and a faithful follower of the purest Catholic orthodoxy, would renounce 50 years of religious service and risk, through his excommunication, the damnation of his soul just to save a prostitute from prison! That good Berlinh priest must now be seated at the right hand of God the Father, as are all righteous men and women, for he passed away a year later. But I must recall that before his death his excommunication was revoked, as it could not be otherwise, so he died in God’s absolute grace. Paradoxically, the one who spoke most highly of this good priest was Erasmus, the Protestant pastor of the neighbourhood. He said of him that the truest religion is the one that makes us act justly, above all other considerations, which is equally valid for Catholics and Protestants. Injustices cannot be condoned under the guise of religion! The funeral was a mourning event unprecedented in the history of our neighbourhood; many could not hold back their tears. But what was most memorable was that practically all the prostitutes in the city turned up, because word had spread of his heroic deed on Linda’s behalf. The other lesson we learnt from that night’s experience was that we must not judge people by their appearance or image. The whole neighbourhood was already prepared to turn its back on Marcus, simply because his companion was not dressed as one would expect of a decent woman , for the one who conceals their indecency beneath decent clothes is more guilty. Romano was charged with malfeasance, but we later learnt that he had acquired most of his properties through criminal means, by forging the deeds of homeowners who had died during the war and whose property records had been destroyed. As a result, he remained in prison until his death six years later. His properties were confiscated and handed over to those who could prove they were his heirs; the rest became the property of the City Council, and were used as social housing for the most needy. Romano got the end he deserved, and with his arrest and imprisonment, we rid the neighbourhood of an undesirable character. As for Raulín, he was only in prison for six months, but when he was released he no longer had anyone to finance his misdeeds and he left the neighbourhood; we still do not know where he is. After that incident I was put forward for a promotion, but although that night I realised just how important my contribution as a police officer had been in resolving that injustice, my faith in the justice system was deeply shaken, so I could no longer carry out my duties with the necessary conviction, and I decided, not without great regret after twenty-five years of service in this neighbourhood, to apply for retirement from the force. But there was another reason, more important than my frustration as a servant of laws in which I no longer believed : Margarita! Her florist’s had grown so much that she could no longer run it on her own. She needed help. And who better than her own husband? So we decided that the time had come to unite our lives in marriage. If Father Serafín’s funeral had drawn a huge crowd, our wedding was no less well-attended. Although most of the gifts were modest, we had to use a room in the house to store the numerous gifts we received. It was another memorable day. Margarita insisted she would not wear white, because she was standing at the altar with a 10-year-old daughter, but I convinced her that was no reason not to wear white. She had already done enough penance to earn this right! So we spared no expense and she was able to wear a simple but immaculate white wedding dress. I was deeply concerned about Luisa’s reaction. Although during our long courtship I had always tried to behave as her real father would have done. But now it was different, because my relationship with her mother would be more intimate and Luisa might feel left out. For that reason, we agreed to restrain our displays of affection until Luisa was sure that her mother had not stopped loving her as she had before our union. We only regretted that it was not Father Serafín who would marry us and give us his blessing; instead, the bishopric had assigned the Berlinh to a young priest of this same generation, who knew nothing of our past, nor had he heard of either Romano or Marcus . The Wedding (Narrator: Margarita) That first Sunday in May 1965 was the happiest day of my life! At last I saw all my dreams come true: I had a husband I was in love with (and of course I still am), a daughter who was my pride and joy, and a florist’s shop that was gaining more customers every day. What more could I ask for? Buried and forgotten were the hard years of sacrifice and my neighbours’ lack of understanding; of course I have to understand them, because those were different times and different mindsets. On that bright wedding day, I entered the Catholic church so free of any remorse that I might have felt , floating rather than walking. Jacinto persuaded me to wear white, the same colour as Luisa’s beautiful dress, so that she looked like the bride and not me. I should point out that my husband belonged to the Protestant church, but after meeting me he converted to Catholicism. Not only because I belonged to this church, but because of his admiration for Father Serafín. The ceremony was very moving, and I couldn’t help but cry with happiness when I accepted him as my husband with that beautiful phrase most women dream of: ‘I do!’ Luisa was old enough to understand what was happening, but my poor daughter was in a state of great confusion, and it was easy to see it in the expression on her face, somewhere between a smile and fear. She knew that from that day onwards, Jacinto would no longer be her mother’s friend. He would not only be my husband, but also her father, and she didn’t know how she should behave. But Jacinto had the patience and skill to win her trust and make her feel what she expected from a father. To me, Jacinto was the perfect partner, the faithful husband and the responsible father. He swapped his uniform for a gardener’s apron, handcuffs for roses and geraniums, criminals and thieves for customers, the police station for the florist’s, the prison for the greenhouse, the inspector for a wife, and as a bonus he found himself with a grown-up daughter who needed him. Could he have been happier? It didn’t take him long to learn the trade of gardening; indeed, it seemed that the plants he watered and tended grew more robustly, bloomed earlier and withered later. The plants must have sensed his positive energy, for there was no other explanation. Luisa has phoned our wedding witnesses, Guido and Marcus, to invite them to our silver wedding anniversary celebration. Twenty-five fifteen years of happiness! I haven’t seen them since my daughter’s wedding to Rodolfo, because we can’t call him ‘Rodolfito’ any more. I remember when Marcus said to me on the day he gave me the earrings I’d bought from his jewellery shop for his First Communion: ‘Before you know it, your Luisa will be of marriageable age!’ And now she’s married without me really ‘realising it’! Because time flies by like a dream when you’re happy and drags on forever when you’re unhappy. Yes, time flies; Jacinto has just turned seventy and I’m already past sixty. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel that my spirit, which has never been older than twenty, is bound to a body that isn’t mine. Only Jacinto knows my secret. To him, I’m still twenty! It’s sad to grow old, but it is far sadder to grow old with the feeling of having wasted the years without having done anything to be proud of, and I have no reason to be sad. As if life hadn’t already blessed me enough with a good husband and a loving daughter, Luisa, she filled me with joy by making me the grandmother of a charming little girl, Jesúa, who, when she was just two years old, already knew how to call me ‘Grandma’! What more could I ask of life? I would only ask that, when my time comes to leave this world, I may accept death with the same fortitude with which I have accepted life. The Pearl Necklace (Narrator: Marcus) Today I had the pleasant surprise of a call from Luisa. She wants us to attend her parents’ silver wedding anniversary celebration at Café Berlin. She still has the tone of voice of a little girl, and I think that deep down she must feel just as she did back then. For those of us in the neighbourhood who knew her, Luisa will always be the little girl who rewarded our prodigy, Rodolfito, with a huge bouquet of flowers and a kiss so tender that it cannot be erased from our memory. The history of this neighbourhood is forever linked to that beautiful image. And that magical moment was twenty-five years ago! Why does time punish us by warping our bodies when our souls and the pleasant images of our memories remain intact? There must be another life that resolves this enormous contradiction, where body and soul are eternally young! On that memorable night an angel must have soared over our neighbourhood; there is no other explanation! That must have been the angel who brought us to the doors of Café Berlin a righteous man, the sort born only once in a million. Surely Calixto wrote in his magical notebook the name of this priest to be the extraordinary ambassador of his fantastic Central Galaxy, which, according to the imagination of this free spirit‘who lives in another parallel world‘rules over the universe. What if it were true? Yes, I too believe that someone must rule over the entire universe. Someone who knows what we are like and how we behave, and who is prepared to punish or reward us according to our deeds. He punished us with a long and cruel war and will punish us again with another war far more cruel and destructive, which may well be the last. That is why Calixto is seeking ten righteous men and women, to be ambassadors of truth and justice, and to herald this possible final apocalypse. That night my life took a sudden turn. Linda wanted to know if I was her hero. Someone she could trust to change careers and be willing to lose her freedom. And it was that great Berlinh priest who saved us from certain failure. Linda found her hero and, just as she had promised herself, she had a powerful reason to loathe her profession : her love and admiration for me. That night I was her last client, and she lay once more in the same bed where the Grim Reaper had struggled with her to snatch her life away, but now, life was struggling with death to drive it from our bed. What happened next was undoubtedly the result of that magical night. The neighbourhood was rid of Romano and it seemed as though it were entering a new era, for the enthusiasm and hope for the future that had existed before the war were revived. I had unwittingly become an admired and respected leader, and through my example of tolerance I showed them the path to a thriving community. Linda was accepted as a member of the community, just as respected as the rest. As for my modest costume jewellery business, not only did I not lose my clientele, but it grew so much that I turned the costume jewellery business into a proper jewellery shop, following in the family tradition, with the approval of my neighbours. But the most precious jewel was, of course, Linda, the rough diamond I had set out to polish. Luisa’s invitation has brought to mind the memory of María’s passion for one of my imitation pearl necklaces and my offer to give it to her in exchange for her favours. Her extraordinary beauty turned the heads of every man in the neighbourhood! How lucky we all thought Guido was when they announced their engagement! I, too, will soon be celebrating my silver wedding anniversary, because it took Linda and me a year to tie the knot‘the time it took me to switch businesses, though it would still take another year to get it off the ground. A year after those events, Isabel was born of our love, a girl whose father was an unexpected neighbourhood leader and whose mother was an honourable prostitute. But times and attitudes had changed, and she did not have to suffer the moral rejection endured by little Luisa. Isabel was a happy child because she grew up in the bosom of a happy family, one that had known misfortune, and we knew what we must not do to prevent it from casting a shadow over our happiness. But life followed its inexorable course, showing us that time is an unrepentant traveller who does not linger long at any station until he reaches the final stop. My Hero (Narrator: Linda) I was only eight years old when the war broke out, but I didn’t know what was happening. I only remember my father picking me up and running towards the shelter. Then I heard the roar of the bombs falling on our neighbourhood, and the whole shelter shook as if hit by an earthquake. After each explosion, we children cried in fear, whilst the adults tried to calm us with caresses and words of comfort. My father told me they weren’t bombs but firecrackers, and that when it was all over we’d go to the fair to have fun. But I knew he was lying to me, because firecrackers didn’t make that terrifying noise. Six months after the war began, he was called up and my mother and I were left alone. My father returned to the neighbourhood in a simple pine coffin paid for by the Government that had led us into that catastrophe. My mother was still young and attractive, and she met a man of means, but it was not her he was after, but me. My mother was aware of his desires, but when he asked for her hand in marriage, our situation was so desperate that she had to accept. On the very wedding night, he forced me to sleep with him and I could not refuse, whilst my mother remained in another room, weeping silently, yet resigned and powerless. But my stepfather was generous to both of us, showering us with gifts and showing his gratitude for my mother’s resigned tolerance. After some time, we came to accept that situation, and his only concern was that I should not become pregnant. This irregular marriage lasted barely a year, because my stepfather died of a sudden heart attack, practically on top of me, while we were making love. In his will, he left me a small fortune, which I was to take possession of when I married, and my mother a modest income from a block of shares that barely allowed her to survive. I thought I could help by finding her other generous stepfathers, and she was so used to tolerating my sleeping with older men that she agreed, and so I began my career as a prostitute. When I turned eighteen, I fell in love with the son of one of my clients, whom his father had arranged for me to accompany, because he wanted me to initiate him into sex. But the son was not like his father; he was a real gigolo, with whom I fell madly in love. I was naive and believed in love for all eternity, and that my beloved gigolo would never betray me. That is why I told him of my small fortune and the conditions for accessing it. It took my beloved gigolo less than 24 hours to declare his eternal love and ask for my hand in marriage. Within a week we were married. We spent our honeymoon in one of the most expensive hotels on the Côte d’Azur and spared no expense when choosing dishes from the menus of the most renowned restaurants. That extravagant honeymoon cost me half of my inheritance; the other half didn’t last us much longer. My first marriage lasted just long enough for my inheritance to be squandered. By the time I met Marcus, I was no longer a young girl and was beginning to be rejected. My mother, consumed by her silent suffering, didn’t take long to follow my stepfather. So by then, my meagre earnings only allowed me to live in a disreputable hotel in the worst neighbourhood in the city. That night when I accepted Romano’s son as a client, he just wanted to have some fun with me. We went to a flat where there were several couples; the women were all prostitutes, and they were holding an orgy. Raúl supplied them with the drugs they needed to liven up the evening. Half an hour later, the orgy turned violent, and the women were being humiliated and abused. Romano’s son got scared, and decided to leave his violent friends, but he didn’t know what to do with me. He thought that if I drank a strong cup of coffee, it would clear my head and he could get rid of me that very night, which is why we were heading to Café Berlin. Fate would have it that we bumped into Marcus. I could hear their conversation, but I wasn’t able to utter a single word, so I made a huge effort and hugged Marcus . From that moment on, I knew he was the man who could free me from the nightmare that my life had become. But I was so bitter that when I woke up in pain and confusion, I couldn’t help taking out my desperation on the man who had apparently saved my life. When I found myself back on the street, I realised I’d made a terrible mistake, and I went back to at least leave him a way to find me, but I’d had treated him so aggressively that I had no illusions he’d call me. I think I cried all night. The next day I realised it wouldn’t be easy to break free from that vicious circle my life had become, from which I couldn’t see a way out. I had no profession and no skills other than those of my trade, and no one would take me on knowing my past. I was trapped, and I had mistreated the very person who could have been my salvation. Fortunately, he called me. My Sweet María (Narrator: Guido) In my family, we have been booksellers for three generations. My grandfather Guillermo founded the first bookshop in this neighbourhood seventy-five years ago. He always said that a book was like the flower from which fruit springs, because fruit also springs from books. You always learn something. He also used to say that a community’s progress is measured by the books it reads. A community that does not reads is like a child who does not play: something undesirable. He wanted to do his bit to help our community progress, and for that reason he opened a bookshop. But he also said that the character and personality of a community could be gauged by the sort of books it read. In our neighbourhood, the poetry of the Romantic authors was the favourite. Such as Heine, Goethe, Schiller, Hölderlin, but also playwrights such as Voltaire or Racine, and books containing the great ideas that changed the world, such as Rousseau or Descartes. I followed the family tradition and continued with the same philosophy as my ancestors, because I too believe that a book is man’s best friend, apart from dogs. Everyone who had known me since before the war predicted that the bookshop would be a resounding failure because they believed that after this bloody war, books were doomed to disappear, as they had been the main source of the ideas that led us into the conflict. They predicted a new ‘Brave New World’ , following the madness of war, with a single idea and hundreds, thousands or millions of variations on that same idea: Profit! The books of free-thinkers would be strictly forbidden. Historical figures who had conceived revolutionary ideas would be removed from their pedestals and from the history books. Even the Bible would be abolished! As soon as the war ended, a great pyre would be built with millions of books by and idealists, and they would burn in every public square on the planet. In this way, by ridding ourselves of ideas and the books that propagate them, we would finally achieve universal brotherhood under a single leader, for a world without complications, without controversies or polemics, with nothing to debate or analyse. The first to burn would be the books of philosophy. Plato and Aristotle would be regarded on the same level as Marx and Engels; Socrates as Lenin and Kant as Stalin. That was the world the intellectuals predicted when museums, schools, libraries and churches lay in ruins. In that pessimistic climate against books, I staked my claim on them and opened this bookshop in the very spot where my grandfather’s had stood, but I had to wait for the building to be rebuilt, because, like many others, it had damaged by the bombing. On 2 September 1945, when the armistice was signed, I had just turned 26. I was called up, but I never actually took part in any battles. My father had great influence among the local leaders and secured a post in the Quartermaster’s Department for the duration of the war. María had not yet been born. I got to know her mother, from whom María inherited her beauty. The girl who would become my wife was born on the last day of 1946, when we were still reeling from the destruction of eighty per cent of the neighbourhood’s buildings. Everything had to be rebuilt: the two churches, the library, the primary school, the infirmary. Some streets were impassable and rubble was piled up on every one. There wasn’t much time left for reading . By 1965, twenty years later, life in the neighbourhood had returned to normal and we tried to forget what we had left behind. Jonás’s barbershop was two blocks from my bookshop and I watched María grow up, amazed by her unusual beauty. I was jealous of the boys who played with her and regretted having been born twenty-seven years before her. By the time María had become a woman and was of marriageable age, I was already too old, and I didn’t dare confess my feelings to her, and I had to endure watching her being pursued by half a dozen suitors. I could never have imagined that that little girl would one day become my wife; my sweet María. But such is the way of fate! A home amongst books Not a single day goes by without me remembering the events of that night at Café Berlin. Above all, I cannot erase from my memory the anguish I felt when my late father had the courage to prevent Marcus and Linda’s arrest by pleading guilty. What would become of me if my father went to prison? That was the terrible image that gripped me, yet at the same time I seethed with indignation, for I knew he was not guilty. If he testified against that woman‘whom he certainly did not did not know, was because he feared for what would become of me if we were evicted. Where could we go? Who would take us in? That agonising thought drove him to perjury! He had confessed to me what he had done and the reasons why he had done it, because he could not bear the pangs of his conscience and needed to know my opinion. My father was torn between his sense of justice and my well-being. I did not doubt for a moment that his testimony would make him guilty; rather, the guilty ones were those who had forced him to commit that crime. Had it not been for that saint, Serafín, he would have died in some prison and I would have had no alternative but to live on charity. There is no doubt that God has him in heaven, and among his favourites. But that night, which began with threatening storm clouds, ended in radiant sunshine, for I had by my side the man my state of mind and my desolation so desperately needed. That night, fate had arranged everything with care. It brought Guido to my side, in whose arms I found the comfort and protection that only a good and honest man can give. There were many men courting me, and I did not know which of them to choose. But that night all my doubts were dispelled: that man, twice my age, was the chosen one, not only because he knew how to comfort me in those critical moments, but because as he held me close in his arms I could imagine what my life would be like with him, and from that moment I knew he would be my future husband. I was only 18 at the time, the right age for first love, and providence would have it that it was also to be my last. Perhaps it was because of the pressures I had had to endure, but my father was diagnosed with an incurable illness, and he died a year later. He did not live to see me married, nor, of course, to meet his two grandchildren, Marta and Sergio, to whom I never stop talking about their grandfather they never knew. Every three or four months we visit his grave to lay a fresh bouquet of flowers. A custom I hope my two children will continue when I go to join him. Despite our age difference, everyone approved of our relationship, but secretly the men envied him, because I was the most desired woman in the neighbourhood. But I never boasted of being a beautiful woman, because it was my beauty that corrupted my passionate admirers. Even Marcus went so far as to hint that he desired me. I never gave them any reason to provoke their desires, and many times I would have wished to lose my attractiveness and go unnoticed, but at other times I felt flattered and proud of my beauty. That was the gift I reserved for whoever stole my heart. And Guido was that lucky man! There was just one thing keeping us apart: I wasn’t in the habit of reading, because I had hardly any free time or money to buy books. I wasn’t going to be much help to him in his bookshop, but I knew how to create everything needed to turn a messy bachelor flat into a clean and cosy home, which was Guido needed. We agreed to hold our wedding in the spring of 1967, a year after my father’s death. It seemed the right amount of time to allow for his mourning. The local Catholic church was very busy that year, as three weddings were held around the same time: Margarita and Jacinto’s, Marcus and Linda’s, and mine with Guido. There is no doubt that the most talked-about and controversial was that of Marcus and Linda. She didn’t wear white; she wore a simple, classically tailored trouser suit, because by then she had given away all her work clothes from her former profession to her colleagues. Nevertheless, the neighbourhood gossips criticised her for turning up in trousers, like her husband, when it is traditional for the bride to wear a distinctly feminine dress. But Linda was opposed to any rules, and she proved on such a momentous occasion as her wedding day. Despite everything, it was a much-talked-about wedding and we all had a great time at the party she held in the gardens of her home. As for Jacinto and Margarita’s wedding, there was complete unanimity in the neighbourhood: they made a great couple! My Rodolfito is the life and soul of the neighbourhood (Narrator: Rodolfo, the butcher) The history of our neighbourhood will always be linked to the night my son Rodolfito won the television talent show. Whilst we were enjoying his magnificent performance, things were happening at Café Berlin that shaped our history. That night we got rid of a scoundrel and his degenerate son. But what moved us most was not his success, but the tender kiss Luisa gave our son, which sealed their union. I always wanted Luisa to be part of our family, because I had such great admiration for Margarita. This extraordinary woman raised her daughter despite the rejection of the whole neighbourhood, and in the end she has received the reward she deserved. The day they announced their engagement, I couldn’t even cut a single steak properly, I was so moved. I always feared that my Rodolfito would be seduced by a woman incapable of understanding his great personality, and I knew that Luisa was the ideal woman for him, because she was also an exceptional girl. When my wife and I realised he was a child prodigy, we didn’t know how to bring him up. In fact, he brought us up, because we decided when he was barely ten that we should let him choose for himself what he wanted to do, and we never forced him to do anything against his will: he knew better than us what he wanted; and we could do nothing but support him in all his decisions. I believe we did the right thing, and he rewarded us with the many joys he has given us since that memorable competition. On their wedding day, there wasn’t a single neighbour who didn’t pop into the butcher’s to congratulate us and bring a gift for the bride and groom. My poor wife, may she rest in peace, would not live to see them married, because, as often happens, good people have hearts weakened by being so generous and giving. Hers was as big as her generous frame, and for both reasons it stopped beating when Rodolfito, at just twenty years old, joined the city’s chamber orchestra. That was the last joy her frail heart could bear. Had she waited five more years, she might have held Linda, our granddaughter, in her arms, but if there is a heaven, she must be there, and it is possible she can see her granddaughter and even have her by her side, as her guardian angel. They named her after a former prostitute, because that woman tested our tolerance and respect for human beings when we are blinded by prejudice. We all have our reasons for doing what we do. One must know how to listen before one can judge. We have all committed some misdeed that we regret. What would become of this world if we were not given a second chance to repent and make amends? My granddaughter Linda will bear that beautiful name with the pride of having been named after a brave woman, who knew how to seize the first opportunity fate offered her to make amends, yet without losing her dignity. She taught us all a great lesson in morality! I believe that a repentant sinner is more pleasing in the eyes of God than one who does not feel the need to repent, because they believe they have not sinned, yet to sin is human. My daughter-in-law wants me to leave my house in the neighbourhood and go and live with them; they have a room ready for me. But I was born in this neighbourhood and this is where I want to die. I’ve almost forgotten the different cuts of a calf, and I couldn’t even butcher a rabbit anymore. I walk with the aid of a thick walking stick capable of supporting a hundred and ten kilos of old, fatty flesh, but I’m still able to make it to our little park, where I meet up with other retired friends and we chat about a thousand different topics, but they always have one thing in common: our memories! At our age and with our ailments, living is simply remembering. A Gossip Until Death (Narrator: Adela, the baker) In the neighbourhood, they say I’m a gossip; that nothing happens without me finding out and telling everyone. I don’t deny it, because I don’t think it’s a bad thing for people in the neighbourhood to know what everyone’s up to, if what they’re doing is wrong, so they know where they stand and aren’t deceiving themselves. Someone has to do this job, which I believe is important. Just yesterday I found out something the whole neighbourhood ought to know. Sergio, Guido and María’s son, is a homosexual. I always thought he was too handsome to be a man! He’s the spitting image of his mother! I can just imagine the of his parents’ distress at realising he isn’t a normal son. María didn’t deserve this! But I don’t think she’s to blame; I’m sure it’s all Guido’s fault. If he was single until he was forty, it’s because he couldn’t have been very attracted to women, and if he married María, it must have been out of pity for the poor woman. If they’ve had children, it must be because María is very attractive, because there’s no other explanation. What will become of this poor child? How can he have friends knowing he’s gay? And what about the girls? It’s a shame that such a handsome young man isn’t interested in women, because he’d have them all mad about him, but that’s just the way nature works. Although I do believe that homosexuals are the result of a poor upbringing, for not teaching him the ways of the world in good time, and how nature works between men and women. Anyway, this really is good news! I’ve also heard that Erasmo, the Protestant pastor, is in love with Julia, the librarian, even though she must be at least ten years older than him, but love knows no age. I’m happy for Julia, because Erasmo is a man of impeccable morals, unlike others... But they are far too old to be thinking of starting a family. I believe that if they do eventually marry, it must be so they don’t reach old age without anyone to look after them. Although both will have their pensions and will not lack for care. What I do not agree with is that servants of God should enter into marriage. For I believe that relationships between a man and a woman are not pure, and are not appropriate for someone must be free from worldly passions. Anyway, God knows why He allows it, but I don’t understand this religion! And what of Romano’s widow? That poor girl, who can’t even be thirty yet and was practically buried alive by her jealous husband, has been left out on the street‘the house she lives in isn’t even hers anymore! And who could possibly be interested in the ex-wife of the man who was the biggest scoundrel in the neighbourhood? No one, of course. But rumour has it that Rufus, who’s been free for a year now, is secretly courting her. They wouldn’t make a bad couple, because I reckon they were already seeing each other when Romano was still alive! The worst thing is that new people I don’t know are moving into the neighbourhood‘in many cases foreigners I can’t even understand‘and those I do know are leaving the neighbourhood to go and live on the outskirts, in nice houses with gardens, which is the fashionable thing to do. Perhaps we should do the same. We’ve had to close the bakery, because the new people buy their bread in the supermarkets that have opened in the neighbourhood. Anyway, we’re too old to run the business now, and Lucio has preferred to work in one of the many factories that have set up on the outskirts of the city, rather than carry on with the bakery. Yes, this isn’t my neighbourhood or my people anymore! Time turns everything upside down! How I long for the old days when we all knew each other, when it was easy to keep up to date with everything happening in the neighbourhood, whether good or bad ‘ there’s a bit of everything in God’s vineyard! The politician takes action (Narrator: Leonardo) I must confess that Julia was the encouragement I needed to move from political theory to practice. I put aside the fruitless political chatter at the café to take an active part in the debates at the local council, where I could propose projects and public works to improve the quality of life in our neighbourhood. She made me feel capable of taking on new challenges and taking action, because she believed in me. She persuaded me to stand as a candidate in the 1966 local elections, and I was elected as a councillor for the Social Democratic Party. In those days, the neighbourhood lacked the most basic public services. The elderly were left to fend for themselves, with no suitable for gathering. There were no care homes, community centres or home help schemes. Young people had nowhere to play their favourite sports. Landlords, as was the case with Romano, could evict their tenants whenever they saw fit, without any compensation or show of compassion for those evicted. Everything needed doing and I was content with my coffee-shop proselytising! Julia had a reputation for being an unrepentant chatterbox, but the truth is she had enough energy to give half away and still have plenty left for herself. Guido wasn’t the right man for her temperament. He had the mindset of a bookseller, which is to say, buried in his books, without the slightest sense of reality. Without a doubt, young María was the most suitable woman for him. I believe they have been a solid couple and have created a small, close-knit family. I’ve heard they they’re planning to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary at Café Berlin. It would be a lovely evening if all of us who were at the Café 25 years ago could get together‘on the night the butchers’ child prodigy won the TV talent contest. It would be interesting to see how we’ve aged. There are those who age without the passage of time showing on their faces, because they still have a youthful spirit, and those who are unrecognisable in old age , because not only does their body age, but their soul as well. In all these years I have only bumped into Rodolfo, the butcher, and the neighbourhood’s biggest gossip, Adela, because they attended the opening of the Community Centre for the elderly. It was through her that I heard about Jacinto and Luisa’s silver wedding anniversary. I had no trouble recognising Rodolfo, because he is one of those who always has a youthful spirit, but his body had suffered the severe rigours of old age. As for Adela, she’s as gossipy as ever, which keeps her young and active. The others have left the neighbourhood and must be living in residential areas on the outskirts. On one occasion I passed by Guido’s bookshop, but I didn’t see him, as he must have retired. It was being run by a young man with a striking resemblance to María. It’s very likely that he’s her son. The only thing I regret is that Julia didn’t give me a child, but between one thing and another, we missed the boat when it came to starting a family. We have to make do with Nico and Nica, a pair of lovely Yorkshire Terriers. Life in the neighbourhood has changed radically. It is no longer a community capable of rallying if an injustice were to be done to one of its neighbours, as happened back then. But something is brewing amongst the young people of this generation that could end in an unpredictable revolution. This new historical momentum comes from the United States, like everything else since the war. The peace and human rights movements could culminate in a popular uprising with unpredictable consequences. I have always believed that this post-war generation is the one that must bring about the changes needed to put an end to this dangerous block politics, and to end Yankee imperialism. But it would also be necessary for the Soviet Union to stop meddling in the political sovereignty of the satellite states, because otherwise this dangerous confrontation will never end. Everything is too confusing and it is becoming increasingly difficult to understand what is really going on. That is why I have come to the conclusion that the most realistic approach is to work at the grassroots level of civil society, and if we all did the same, perhaps we could truly change the world. It is at the grassroots level that one can see, most realistically and starkly, the problems people face and their possible solutions. No politician sitting in an office in a Ministry can know what really needs to be done and what doesn’t. A partner with ambitions (Narrator: Julia) It wasn’t on a whim that I left Guido and joined Lorenzo. Guido was a good man, but he had the mindset of a well-to-do family man, which is ultimately what he has become. But I believe the world isn’t fixed by conformists, but by those committed to a cause that benefits their community, and it is those men we must support and encourage. I am neither left-wing nor right-wing, because I believe there is only one political stance: that which serves the welfare of one’s community with honesty and common sense. If that is left-wing, I neither know nor care. Lorenzo was certainly a man with political convictions, but he lacked the resolve to put his ideas into practice, and that was my task. I also knew that Guido desired the young María, in whom he would probably see the perfect mother for his future children and successors to his family’s book-selling tradition‘an ambition shared by all ordinary men in this world‘which is why I left him, to give him free rein, an opportunity he seized as soon as we parted. I would never have given him such satisfac , and I had no desire to start a family. With Lorenzo, my life has been full of inspiration and reasons to feel useful and needed. Together, we have worked to ensure that people in our neighbourhood could live with dignity, and for me this has been enough to justify a whole lifetime. But I cannot deny that at times I feel deceived and let down, because the community does not appreciate our sacrifices and does not value the effort we have made. The new residents have found everything ready-made and do not know that it was my generation who built it. When I see a family enjoying the parks we have managed to reclaim from what were once piles of rubble, I feel comforted and believe that my life has had meaning and has made up for my decision not to start a family. Lorenzo feels the same way I do. Divining the Past (Narrator: Aura, the fortune-teller) I’ve spent my life predicting the future for many people, but I’ve never been able to predict my own. I was never able to save enough to ensure a comfortable old age and have had no choice but to accept public charity. I have to go to a soup kitchen every day and in a month’s time I’ll have no choice but to move into a care home, if they’ll take me, because I can’t afford the high rent on my flat either. People have become less gullible and I’ve practically no clients left. I’ve tried offering my services on the street, but I’ve barely managed to get two or three clients, and I think that was more out of pity than any real interest in the future. This was not the future I had envisaged when I married my second husband. I accepted him because I felt more protected with him and had no doubt that my old age would be secure. But fate turned its back on me and now I find myself alone and helpless. In a way, I am the only one to blame, because I’ve had plenty of opportunities to start my life afresh with one of the many men who’ve passed through my house, but none of them seemed right to me, and the one I did like had no interest in a fortune-teller at an age when we’ve lost all our charms. Nor do I have any friends generous enough to come to my aid. Marcus married his prostitute and now has a home and a family. And to think it was I who persuaded him to go in search of that lucky woman! Guido has also managed to secure his old age, and Jacinto was immensely lucky to marry Margarita. How I envy them! I’d like to see him again and reminisce about those happy times when we were young enough not to worry about the future, and before I knew it, the future has become the present. Sadder than death is to lose hope, and I have no reason left to hope; I’d be better off dead, but unfortunately, before that happens, I shall have a premonition! This extraordinary power has been of no use to me; it has brought me nothing but misfortune! Now I only wish to have that vision soon! The Encounter (Narrator: Darío, son of Aura) For twenty-five years I assumed my mother was dead. My paternal grandparents assured me she died in the same fatal accident in which my father died. They assured me she was buried alongside her husband, although her name did not appear on his gravestone. They also told me her name was Aura, but I only knew her married surname‘my father’s‘and did not know her maiden name. Nor did I know anything about my maternal grandparents. I had no reason to believe they were hiding the truth about my mother from me, but I found it strange that she was never spoken of, and that there wasn’t a single photograph of her, or any personal belongings, anything that would give me an idea of what she was like. When we visited my father’s grave, we would take only a bouquet of flowers, and in their prayers I never heard them mention my mother’s name. There was no doubt they were hiding something from me, but any attempt to find out more than the little I knew about her always ended with the same reply: ‘Why do you want to know more about your mother if she’s already dead?”, and they made it clear they didn’t wish to give me any further information. If, after all these years, I found her in a care home, suffering from a deep depression that brought her to the brink of death, it was by chance. I was in my final year of journalism and had an assignment for which I needed to interview someone from the 1960s. As I was just a student, the major figures of that decade were out of the question, so I had to find someone more accessible, but with an interesting story. I looked through the newspaper archives at the municipal library and came across an article about a case of perjury with an unexpected ending, and it seemed like a good topic for the assignment. The reporter named a certain Marcus and his friend, Linda, as the main figures involved; according to him was supposedly a prostitute. I rang the editorial office of the local newspaper that had published the story and pretended to be a colleague to see if they had any personal details of this man that would allow me to contact him, but they refused to give me any information about him. I thought that perhaps someone from the neighbourhood might be able to give me some information, and that very same day I visited the place where, apparently, he had been a leader of great integrity, but the few pensioners I met and asked about this man could only tell me what had happened that night in a popular neighbourhood café, but not a single detail that would allow me to contact him. I was already prepared to abandon my initial project and choose another topic, when I walked past a bookshop, and I thought that perhaps they might have some information about this person there. I was attended to by a young man who struck me as extraordinarily handsome . “ “Marcus? Yes, I know a Marcus who was the leader of this neighbourhood in the sixties.” “Is he still alive?” “Of course!” “Can you tell me where I can contact him?” “Perhaps, but why are you so keen to meet him?” “I’d like to interview him about the events he was involved in back in the 60s.” “Why don’t you interview my father ? He was also involved in those events; they were very close friends. ‘I’ve already gathered a lot of information about this Marcus; I’d prefer to interview him. ‘I understand, but I’ll have to check with him; I don’t know if he’ll be keen on being interviewed. I gave him my number and two days later Marcus himself rang me; we arranged to meet at Café Berlin that very afternoon, where I could interview him, though he warned me he wouldn’t answer questions that were too personal or private. At the agreed time we met at the café. He was a man who looked healthy and cheerful, despite his advanced age, and he seemed delighted that I was interested in interviewing him. ‘I think it’s good that young people are interested in my generation. We were young once too, but our youth was traumatised by the war... But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; you’re the one asking the questions. ‘I’m not a fan of conventional interviews. Tell me about yourself however you like; I’ll take notes. ‘All right . It all began when I met Linda, a prostitute. Aura, my neighbour, advised me to... When he said the name Aura, I had the impression he was talking about my mother. ‘Did you say Aura? ‘Yes, her name was Aura; she was an unfortunate woman with a sad story. ‘Tell me about it! And that was how I discovered my mother wasn’t dead! But neither Marcus nor anyone else in the neighbourhood who had known her knew where she was. I feared she might actually be dead, but fortunately she wasn’t listed in the death register. Someone in the neighbourhood suggested that only one person could know her whereabouts: a woman who at that time ran the local bakery, and who would certainly find her at the Senior Citizens’ Centre. Her name was Adela. It was undoubtedly a twist of fate that this woman, who had been the neighbourhood’s biggest gossip, was the very person‘precisely because of her fondness for gossip‘who helped me track her whereabouts, but in return I had to tell her why I was so interested in my mother. ‘So you’re the unknown son of Aura, the fortune-teller? What wonderful news! Yes, lad, I know where she is and I can already imagine the joy you’ll bring her when you visit. She’s in a Catholic nursing home in the neighbourhood. I’ll give you the address straight away, but you must promise me you’ll come back to tell me how the meeting went. ‘I promise, and I hope we can come back together! I went to the nursing home Adela had told me about, and when the nuns found out who I was, they thought it was a true miracle, because my poor mother was already on the brink of death. Such was her depression! It was a terrible sight to find my mother lying in bed, pale, with a terrible expression on her emaciated face, as if I were looking at a corpse. “She hasn’t eaten a thing for a week; I don’t know if she’ll recognise you. She’s practically in the next world already,” a nun told me with a deep sense of sadness and frustration. I approached her bed and squeezed one of her trembling hands. “Mum, it’s me, your son Darío!” Do you remember me? But she didn’t react. Her gaze was lost somewhere in the room and she seemed to be absent. The nuns watching the emotional scene tried to bring her back to reality. “Aura, darling, it’s your son, who has found you! Aren’t you going to say something to him? My mother seemed to react upon hearing the nun’s familiar voice. She opened her eyes wide and exclaimed, squeezing my hand as hard as she could. ‘Is it you, Darío… my little Darío…? ‘Yes, Mother, it’s me, and I’ve come to take you away from here. My poor mother finally reacted, turned her gaze towards me and burst into tears, but this time with joy. That room was a valley of tears, because we were all weeping with joy! And that was how I got my mother back, whom my paternal grandparents had led me to believe was dead. And she would have been, had I taken a week longer to find her! After that dramatic reunion, my mother seemed to come back to life. The colour returned to her gaunt cheeks and had enough strength to get up and stroll through the care home’s garden, holding my arm. The nurses were amazed at the change in such a short time. She seemed lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, for she wanted to ask me endless questions about how I had found her and what had become of her paternal grandparents. ‘My paternal grandparents haven’t behaved honestly, and that needs to be sorted out. They told me you’d died in the same accident as my father, but I always suspected that wasn’t true and that for some reason they were hiding the truth from me. ‘They accused me of being a witch and of having caused your father’s accident, so I could keep his vast fortune and get together with Marcus, whom they believed was my lover... Just because we lived in the same building and I used to have simple neighbourly chats with him, sometimes in his flat and sometimes in mine, but there was never anything to hide between us, though I regretted it! We agreed that she would stay at the residence whilst I settled matters with my grandparents. They would have to restore my mother’s inheritance rights, and even compensate her for the great suffering they had caused her through their absurd accusation. Overnight, my mother would become a woman of considerable fortune, because even my inconsiderate grandparents would have to return all the benefits they had gained from my father’s assets. The legal battle had only just begun! The surprise (Narrator: Roxy, Romano’s wife) No one knows-not even that gossip Adela-that whilst Romano was alive I was having an intimate relationship with my stepson, Raulín, because we’re practically the same age. Romano never suspected anything, because he couldn’t imagine his own son sleeping with his wife. I don’t think Raulín is a bad person, but his father’s example wasn’t exactly inspiring, and he behaved that way almost to please him. When he came out of prison, he was no longer under his influence and set out to start a new life, but away from this neighbourhood, where he had earned a well-deserved bad reputation. Over all these years he has changed so much in every way that I don’t think anyone in the neighbourhood would recognise him. He’s worked in every trade: miner, construction labourer, pizza delivery boy, taxi driver, even lorry driver, travelling all over Europe, because his father didn’t bother to ensure he learnt a decent trade, he simply wanted him to be the successor to his shady businesses. But he has made a success of himself, and quite successfully, without resorting to his father’s underhand tactics. He now owns a haulage company and several lorries that travel across Europe carrying his goods. But he is tired and wants to sell the business and retire to some sunny country in southern Europe, and he has asked me to go with him. I am determined to go with him, because he may well be one of the few people who haven’t been happy in this neighbourhood. Neighbourhoods aren’t paradises, as some nostalgic souls describe them, but hellholes where you can’t put a foot wrong without the whole neighbourhood finding out, because the locals have nothing better to do nor any better entertainment to amuse themselves with than finding out about their neighbours’ weaknesses, gossip about them behind their backs and smile cynically when they’re face to face. No, I don’t like I BDEEW8322neighbourhoods. If Raúl could afford it, I’d like to spend my twilight years far from people, their envy and their vanity, in a small country cottage with only animals and plants for company‘the only ones who don’t know how to lie, nor meddle in your private life. Las bodas de Plata (Narradora;Sometimes I wonder what it takes to reach a silver wedding anniversary with the man you married, because in 25 years many things happen, and not all of them are joyful and pleasant; there are also moments of great sadness and pain, even of boredom and weariness at always having the same person by your side, at whose every gesture, every word, every caress and every inch of their body, which fails to stir any passion. For many couples, this is a reason for separation. If I had an answer, it would be little short of divine, because one cannot answer what one does not understand, though one feels it! I do not have the answers; I only have feelings that cannot find the words to justify them. Perhaps the three magic words that explain it are: generosity, sacrifice and loyalty. Generosity to give everything to your partner without expecting anything in return; sacrifice to endure life’s setbacks with patience and dignity, when things aren’t going well in the relationship and, above all, to remain faithful to the pledge of loyalty you made at the altar. But there is something else, so deep and hidden that it too has no reasonable explanation: love. But what is love? I don’t know, I’m no philosopher! It’s best I don’t dwell on this matter or I’ll end up stripping it of its charm. Luisa has confirmed that Guido and María will be coming to our celebration, with their two children, Marta and Sergio, and Marcus and Linda, with their daughter Isabel. I would have liked to invite Leonardo and Julia too, and even the gossipy Adela, but I don’t have their phone numbers and haven’t been able to track them down. I wouldn’t be surprised if Adela already knew about our get-together! I’m really looking forward to seeing them all, but at the same time, I know this gathering will be confirmation that we’ve grown old. For us, there’s no longer any excitement about the future, because we’ve hardly any future left. There’s only the hope of a peaceful death without regrets. which is no easy feat! Miraculously, Café Berlin has escaped demolition and looks just as it did 25 years ago; only the furniture has changed, but the décor remains the same: it will be like travelling back in time. We’ll bring and light three candles, one for each of those who aren’t joining us, but whom we’ll miss: Father Serafín, Ignacia, Rodolfo’s mother, and Jonás, María’s father. We’ve arrived a little early and can’t see any of our old friends. There’s now an open-air terrace, and other cafés have opened in the square. There are no longer any cars driving by, and it’s very pleasant to sit on the terrace and let time pass whilst watching the people, because there’s no better spectacle than everyday life . Several tables are occupied by locals we don’t know. We’ve booked a table inside, but we’ll stay on the terrace until our guests arrive. The first to arrive are Marcus, Linda and their daughter Isabel, and upon seeing them I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of joy and sadness, because I’m happy to see my old friends again, but it saddens me to realise that time does not pass in vain , and it takes its terrible toll. Marcus is an old man, walking with the aid of a walking stick, and Linda bears not the slightest trace of her youth. I suppose they must have had the same impression on seeing us, even though we are a few years younger. ‘Marcus, my dear friend, you have no idea how happy I am to see you! But what are you doing with that walking stick? You don’t need it, you look splendid! ‘Dear Margarita, you really are as young and beautiful as you were 25 years ago! But I’m now an ailing old man‘though I do appreciate your compliments. For good friends, time stands still! ‘Linda, don’t let him play the victim; hide his walking stick… But you really do look just as you did when you last visited us, for Luisa’s wedding. What do you do to stay so beautiful? ‘Margarita, you’ll always be a good florist, because you know how to shower everyone with flowers. We’re nothing but a shadow of our former selves now. All the mirrors hate us and don’t treat us well. ‘Well, hide all the mirrors! ‘It’s no use, because they follow us everywhere! But Luisa needn’t fear them, because she can look at her reflection without panicking. How lucky you’ve been, Rodolfo! Or would you prefer us to keep calling you Rodolf ito? ‘You can call me Rodolfito, because I suppose to you I’m still that child prodigy, Luisa’s best friend at school. Marcus and Jacinto embrace warmly. ‘Everything alright, Marcus? ‘All’s well here, Jacinto! ‘So many memories, and it feels as though it were only yesterday! ‘But here come Guido and María, with Marta and Sergio. That lad has inherited his mother’s beauty. He’ll drive the girls wild! ‘Dear María, if it weren’t for the calendars, no one would say that 25 years have passed for you. You were always the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood and you still are, though your son Sergio outshines you. ‘Dear Margarita, I may have been the most beautiful in body in the neighbourhood, but you were the most beautiful in soul. ‘Well, we’re all here now, we can go into the café, we’ve got a table booked. ‘No, we’re not all here, because here come Lorenzo and Julia. How on earth did they find out about our anniversary? ‘ What a lovely surprise, Lorenzo and Julia! How did you find out about our silver wedding anniversary? ‘Dear Margarita, Who knows everything that goes on in the neighbourhood? ‘Adela! ‘Exactly! She told us during a visit I made to the neighbourhood’s senior citizens’ centre. ‘But how did she find out? ‘A waiter from this café told her, as his father also goes to the senior citizens’ centre. ‘Amazing! But you have no idea how happy I am! Right, let’s go in... ‘Aren’t wait for Aura? She’ll be here any minute! ‘Has Aura found out too? ‘Yes, her son Darío took her out of the care home and they went to visit Adela to thank her for telling him where his mother was being looked after; she must have told her then. ‘Here they are, mother and son! ‘Aura, this time it was Adela who guessed right. How are you? You look radiant. Congratulations on getting your son back! ‘Thanks to you, Marcus! ‘And to providence! ‘Is anyone else missing? ‘We couldn’t leave out the most important one, Adela! And here she comes! She must be over 70 and moves like a young girl! What new gossip will she tell us this time? ‘My dear old friends, you have no idea how happy I am to see you, and to prove it I’ve got a big surprise in store for you! There’s still someone missing who must be about to arrive. ‘Who, Adela? ‘Raulín and his partner Roxy! ‘The wicked Raulín and Romano’s ex-wife together? ‘Yes, the very ones, but it’s the Christian thing to forgive those who repent. God wants the repentant! And he’s here now, but he’s unrecognisable. I couldn’t recognise him either when he came to visit me to find out where his father had been buried. ‘And he told me! Hello everyone, I’ve just come to apologise for any harm I may have caused you in the past. Roxy and I are about to catch a flight to Mallorca, where we’ve decided to retire. ‘No, Raulín, it’s us who should be apologising to you, because thanks to you I met Linda... ‘Then this calls for a blessing! ‘You, Erasmo and Julia? Were you sitting here and have you heard everything? I hadn’t recognised you! ‘We’ve been listening to you with great joy! ‘Now we can really go inside! ‘Aren’t we waiting for my son Lucio? He’ll be here soon with Carmen, his Spanish wife, and my little granddaughter Lucía, who I hope turns out to be as gossipy as I am! I could never have imagined that at my silver wedding anniversary all the old friends from the neighbourhood 2would gather together, but thanks to the gossipy Adela, we had that joy. The only ones missing were the dead, but they were in our memories with the three candles we lit when we finally entered the café and drank beer until we were tipsy. It was a very heart-warming celebration Memories de mi infancia (Narradora: Luisa ) There are two memories that have shaped my life: the first was the prize Rodolfo won in the young talent contest‘back then he was just ‘Rodolfito’‘and the second was my mother’s wedding to Jacinto. I couldn’t say which of the two is the most important. In the first, I kissed the man who would become my husband; in the second, the man who would become my kind stepfather. I remember that the bouquet of flowers my mother had prepared to be hand over to Rodolfo after his brilliant performance was so heavy that I nearly fell over as I climbed onto the stage. I was told to give him a kiss after handing him the bouquet, but I would have done so anyway without being told. I believe that kiss I gave him would shape our destinies, because Rodolfo later confessed to me, when we were engaged, that he fell in love with me after that innocent kiss from a ten-year-old girl. But Rodolfo was already just the right age to feel the first stirrings of love; the first, and the purest and most sincere, which I was fortunate enough to be the object of. Despite being a child, Rodolfo was, to me, an almost supernatural being. I did not value him for his talent, but for his gentleness and kindness. He was not only a child prodigy at playing Chopin with the mastery of an adult, but he was also a prodigy at expressing his feelings like an adult. That is why at school they envied him and mistreated him. I think I was the only one who understood this side of his personality, because I too had been forced to grow up and behave like an adult. We were two adults in a school for children, which is why we understood each other so well. I felt great affection for his parents, so kind-hearted and unpretentious. They were always smiling, with their sleeves rolled up, wearing that huge green-striped apron that covered their generous bellies, and they seemed to be playing as they cut the beef fillets or carved up the ribs of a pig. I watched these masterful cuts, fascinated by their skill. I would say the pigs let themselves be slaughtered willingly so that Rodolfo could cut them up in that way. The death of my mother-in-law, Ignacia, when she was only sixty-five, was a great tragedy. After her death, Rodolfo could not bring himself to go near a piano for more than six months. It was his mother who had passed on the gene of genius to him, but she was always too shy to show it, and she passed away without ever letting us know. Since his wife died, my father-in-law has not smiled again. We have begged him to come and live with us, because he is a frail old man who needs help, but he insists on staying in the neighbourhood where he has his friends, and above all, his fond memories. This is no longer my parents’ neighbourhood. There are no traces of the war left. All the buildings have been refurbished, many demolished to make way for modern flats. Now it’s impossible to cross a street without using a traffic light, because the traffic is so heavy. There are practically none of the small shops left that were there back then. Several food, clothing and Chinese trinket chains have opened. People no longer know one another, not even those living in the same block of flats. It used to be a rather run-down neighbourhood; now it is a central and very expensive neighbourhood, occupied mainly by offices and young professionals who aren’t bothered by this hustle and bustle. We no longer live in the neighbourhood, because it isn’t the right place for a family. There are now three of us in this little family, and next spring there will be four of us, because, God willing, Linda will be born. Yes, she already has a name, that of an extraordinary woman. And I only ask God that she takes after her, even if just a little! We have moved to a quieter area on the outskirts. Our house is just a hundred metres from my parents’. We both have a small garden. My father, despite having just turned 70, remains passionate about gardening, and his is more than just a garden; it is a personal space for nostalgia. A passion he shares with my mother, which is why there isn’t a single corner of their house without a plant. His favourite flowers are, of course, hyacinths and daisies. It is a marvellous sight to behold the hyacinths, possibly nature’s most delicate and beautiful flowers, alongside the hardy and simple daisies. But I think that’s just what they’re like! When God calls them home, I’ll simply have to grow hyacinths alongside daisies in my own home, so that they’re always close to me. I hope it will be many years before I have to plant them in my home! There is only one shadow in my life: my real father, because I never knew who he was, nor, of course, did I ever get to know him. My mother doesn’t know what became of him either, because he was a Russian soldier she met during the war. I only know about him from what my mother tells me, that he was very handsome and cultured, because he always carried a book in his knapsack. I understand my mother and I don’t blame her, because life isn’t the same in peacetime as it is during a war. In those circumstances, you can’t make plans for the future, because you might die the next day; it’s just a matter of living in the moment as if it were the last day of your life. That soldier promised that after the war, he would return to be with her, but he never came back. He probably fell in battle during the war. If so, I hope he rests in peace! Isabel recalls (Narrator: Isabel, (Narrator, Isabel: daughter of Marcus and Linda) It wasn’t until I turned seven that I found out my mother had been a prostitute. But at that age, I couldn’t really grasp what a prostitute was. I didn’t find out from my parents, but at school. We had to write an essay about our parents: their names, where they worked, their profession, where they were born, what they’d studied, and so on. I barely knew that my father was a jeweller and that my mother served customers, and little else. So I didn’t know what to write. My desk partner was the son of a baker, and it seems his grandmother was the neighbourhood gossip, so he was up to date with the private lives of everyone in the neighbourhood. As I was distressed by my lack of ideas, I asked him what he had written about his parents, because he’d already filled half a page. When I told him I didn’t know what to write about my parents, he thought he was helping me by revealing my mother’s profession, which he’d heard from his grandmother: ‘My grandmother says your mother was a prostitute.’ I asked him if he knew what a prostitute was, but he shrugged, because he too didn’t know what it meant. So I wrote in the essay: ‘My mother was a good prostitute’, and handed the essay in to my teacher. At the end of the lesson, the teacher called me over and asked me to wait until the other pupils had left, because she wanted to speak to me alone. It was then that I understood the meaning, and I returned home in a state of great emotional turmoil. My mother didn’t seem the sort of person who could have led that sort of life. But I didn’t dare tell her what they’d said about her at school. I spent a few dreadful days, and every time I saw my mother I couldn’t help but see her as they had described her at school. I could no longer bear the anguish and, finally, one day I plucked up the courage to ask my father the question that was tormenting me: ‘Dad, is it true that Mum was a prostitute? ’ My father realised that evasions wouldn’t do; he had to answer my question with the clarity needed for me to understand. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘your mother was a prostitute, but you mustn’t be ashamed of that, because all adults, in one way or another, prostitute ourselves. At least she didn’t hide it, because she was an honest prostitute .” And I was convinced that prostitution was also an honest profession. Although the truth is that back then I didn’t really know what honesty meant either. My mother didn’t know I was aware of her past until I turned fourteen. It was a secret agreed between my father and me. She found out one day when we were looking through the family photo album together. My father kept photographs of himself from before the war, but there wasn’t a single one of my mother until she met my father. ‘Mum,’ I asked, puzzled, ‘why aren’t there any photos of you as a child, like Dad has?’ She tried to give an evasive answer, because she must have feared that I would find out about her past. But she decided the time had come to be honest with me: ‘Darling, all my childhood photos were burnt during the war, and the ones I had from when I was young weren’t very decent, because you need to know, your mother…’, ‘She was a prostitute!’ I interrupted her. ‘So, you knew?’ ‘Yes, for four years now. Dad told me, but don’t be ashamed. Dad also told me you were an honourable prostitute, that’s why he married you!” From that day on, my mother and I were much closer, because now she had nothing left to hide about her past. My father, who was not without reason the moral leader of the neighbourhood, knew how to reveal her past to me without causing me any trauma, because he had made his own the Christian doctrine he responsibly professed: “ Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.’ My mother was no more guilty than anyone else, because we are all guilty in a world where innocence and honesty are impossible. I shall raise Eloísa with the same principles I learnt from my admirable father. It is not a question of becoming better every day, but of being less bad! But above all, that in every profession, including prostitution, one can be honest, and in others, such as the legal profession, one can be dishonest My parents (Narrator: Marta, eldest daughter of Guido and María) I didn’t inherit my mother’s beauty, because I look more like my father, but my brother, Sergio, is the spitting image of her. He’s so handsome that as soon as he turned 14, we accepted that he was gay. My parents had known long before that Sergio behaved like a gay man, so it came as no surprise when he made it official. I knew he was gay too, because whenever I asked him how his flings with the girls at school were going, he would give me evasive answers. I found it incredible that, given his physical attractiveness, he didn’t have half the girls at school going mad over him. As for our games, they were just parodies to amuse ourselves. Thanks to my mother’s tolerance and my father’s quiet acceptance , Sergio did not have to suffer the painful trauma experienced by gay people within families that prided themselves on their high moral standards. Sergio was able to live out his sexual orientation as naturally as a straight person, although he also had his moments of misunderstanding and rejection. From those early years of my childhood, I retain a vivid image of our dear mother’s tolerance and understanding. She understood that her handsome son would never break any woman’s heart. One day she walked into our room whilst we were playing our favourite game. Sergio was wearing my clothes and I was wearing his. My mother, who, like my father and me, never understood what he was really like, didn’t bat an eyelid ; on the contrary, like me, she too was amused by his parodies. Suddenly she took Sergio by the hand and said: ‘Come on now, Sergio, you’re playing at being a young lady and you’re not wearing any make-up!’ So she went to fetch her lipstick and painted my surprised brother’s lips. That wasn’t the gesture that defined him, because Sergio wasn’t a transvestite, but he was so moved that he hugged my mother and burst into tears, because that day he realised that my mother had accepted him and loved him just as much as if he’d been straight . Even today, I get emotional when I remember that heart-warming image of our dear mother. As for my father, I know it was a heavy blow to learn of Sergio’s sexual orientation. Naturally, he would have liked to have a son with whom he could relate, sharing the same sexual orientation. It wasn’t easy for him to put himself in his son’s shoes and accept that he was talking to a man who felt no attraction to women, and I believe he left this world without ever being able to understand it. As for me, being the firstborn, I knew my father would have wished I were a boy, so sometimes I behaved as if I were one, just to please him. But once I had got through that strange adolescence, I clearly defined myself as a woman, which was a great joy to my father, who saw in me the hope of one day becoming a loving and tolerant grandfather. And it wouldn’t be long before he saw his dreams come true. My parents were close friends with Marcus and Linda, and with Jacinto, who had been the local policeman and later became a gardener after marrying Margarita. They were all entangled in the events that brought them together because of (though I should say, thanks to) a wicked character who died in prison, after trying to frame innocent people for the crime his son had committed. They used to meet quite frequently at Café Berlin, which still exists, to commemorate the happy outcome of those events. I used to accompany them, and at one of these gatherings I met Jesúa, Margarita’s son, and his half-sister, Luisa. At the time he was a teenager who had inherited his mother’s good nature and his father’s sound judgement, but above all, he was an attractive young man with an athletic build , with a thick head of blond hair, a charming half-smile, and polite yet impetuous manners and an active temperament; and it was at that gathering that I defined my sexual identity without the slightest shadow of a doubt, because I felt irresistibly drawn to that handsome and, above all, attractive teenager. On the way home, I asked my father a thousand questions about Jesúa’s family, and he realised straight away that I was in love with his son. He couldn’t help but show his delight at the news and said to me: ‘Marta, have you fallen in love with his son, Jesúa?’ I was taken aback by his direct and unexpected question, but I couldn’t deny it, and I nodded with a shy and embarrassed nod . “ ‘Well, we must celebrate that!’ And we went into an ice-cream parlour, where I treated myself to a gigantic strawberry ice cream, the most delicious I have ever tasted! My father made no secret of his preference for me, and, although he did not show it openly, he did not feel the same affection for my brother. Ever since he learnt of my feelings for Jesúa, he put all his efforts into bringing us together in marriage as soon as possible. But it still took us a few years to make his dreams come true. Five years later I married Jesúa, and two years after that my father saw his wish fulfilled to have a grandson and a potential successor to the family’s book-selling tradition. Because of his friendship with another of his close friends, he begged me to name my son after the neighbourhood’s historic leader: Marcus, which I approved without the slightest objection, as I felt that name would be fitting for a future great man, just like the original. Q I am gay (Narrator: Sergio, second son of Guido and María) I have been lucky to have a wonderful mother, because I can imagine the suffering of those who cannot openly acknowledge, at least within their family, their homosexuality. No one who is heterosexual can imagine the terrible internal struggle that those of us with this sexual orientation must endure. In my parents’ day, we were considered perverts, persecuted by the law and despised by everyone. Fortunately, though not without bitter clashes-which all too often turned violent-things began to change, although there is still much to fight for so that we may be fully accepted as people and not as criminals. I realised I was gay when I was just twelve years old, on the day I went to a schoolmate’s birthday party. It was a very crowded party and there was an abundance of all sorts of sweets. Once we’d made short work of them, the parents suggested a game where we had to solve riddles; whoever got it wrong had to forfeit an item of clothing, and whoever got it right received a prize. Children are very imaginative when it comes to choosing the forfeits, which are usually innocent ways of getting started in the complicated world of the senses. When it was my turn to answer, I got the riddle right, because it was easy to answer: ‘Guess, guess, what does the king hide in his tummy?’, and the prize was to kiss whoever I liked best. All the girls were hoping to be the ones chosen, because even back then my physical attractiveness. But everyone was left speechless when, without a moment’s hesitation, I walked over to one of the astonished boys, the one I liked best at the party. I didn’t think about the consequences, because it was a spontaneous and natural decision for me, but from that moment on the rumours about my possible homosexuality never ceased. It was merely the first sign warning me of my sexual inclination; it would still take another two years for me to become fully aware of my homosexuality, when I thought I was in love with any classmate who was kind to me. The games of dressing up in drag with my sister, which so worried my parents, were nothing more than a game, because I have never identified with a woman; for me, it was a creative and theatrical way of playing. I knew my father expected me to behave like a straight boy; that we would have a father-son conversation to introduce me to the understanding of sexuality from a heterosexual perspective. But they soon realised their efforts were in , because they realised that I rejected the charms of female attraction and felt drawn to those of men. To prove to me that she accepted it, my mother painted my lips herself one day when she walked into our room whilst my sister and I were playing dress-up. Nor did my mother, despite her good will and determination, understand that I did not feel like a woman, and that it was just a game; I simply felt no attraction to them. It came as such a surprise and thrill to me that I started crying like a fool. But no one can imagine the happiness of having your own mother’s approval of your homosexuality. As for my father, we never spoke openly about this subject, but I knew he accepted me with resignation just as I was, and would respect the decisions regarding my future that I might make later on. But he was very reluctant to invite my first official boyfriend into our home, or when we decided to get married. His tolerance had reached the limits of what was acceptable, and at first he flatly refused to bless our union, at a time when it had finally been legalised in our country. The conquest (Narrator: Marta, Sergio’s sister) From the day my father learnt that I had fallen in love with Jacinto and Margarita’s son, everything was arranged to help me win his heart. Jesúa was impetuous, but extremely shy around women. It was almost impossible to strike up a conversation with him, however trivial it might be. He stood no chance unless I could free him from his shyness, and my father devised a plan that could not fail. Jesúa had taken up fishing, just like his father. My father rented a small bungalow on the shores of a lake near our town, where fishing, but also swimming. It was mid-August, in the height of the summer heatwave. My father invited Jesúa to spend the day fishing at that lake on a weekday when not many people were expected to turn up. Jesúa agreed without knowing what was in store for him! They travelled in my father’s car and I travelled by bus without Jesúa knowing. They had a good catch and prepared a barbecue to cook the fish, but before putting the fish on the grill, my father suggested to Jesúa that they could do with a swim to cool off a bit before lunch, but they hadn’t brought any swimming trunks! The place was deserted and my father, without a shred of embarrassment, stripped completely naked and jumped into the water. “Come on, Jesúa, go on. No one will see you here, you can swim naked.” Poor Jesúa didn’t want to snub my father or make him think he was embarrassed, so he stripped off and, in the blink of an eye, hurried into the water. Then I appeared wearing an apron, as if I were tending the barbecue and putting the fish on the grill, and I shouted to them: “Dad, Jesúa, the fish will be ready in 10 minutes. Don’t catch a chill in the water! My father tried to explain my unexpected presence. ‘Ah, Jesúa, I hadn’t told you, but Marta couldn’t come with us in the car and has come by bus. I hope she hasn’t bothered you. I was so keen to get out of the city that I couldn’t say no! Poor Jesúa blushed so much he looked a red traffic light, because his clothes were by the barbecue and he’d have to get out of the water naked if he didn’t want to spend the night there, because I wasn’t moving from there until he came out. My father came out first, dried himself off calmly whilst doing a few exercises and got dressed as if nothing were amiss, whilst Jesúa began to shiver with cold but didn’t dare get out. I shouted at him: “Come on, Jesúa, get out of the water now, you’ll catch a chill and the fish are just right!” He had no choice but to get out of the water, but covering himself as much as his two large hands would allow. When he came over to collect his clothes, I handed them to him, holding one garment in each hand, so he had to stand there just as he had been brought into the world. My father watched our comical scene and exclaimed: ‘But Jesúa, why are you ashamed of being naked in front of a woman? We are all born naked from the womb of a woman. If they aren’t ashamed, why should we be? That brief speech had its effect, and Jesúa was never again ashamed to be with me! Clothed or naked! Jesúa has a noble heart, undoubtedly inherited from his parents, and he didn’t get angry at the trap my father had set for him; on the contrary, from that day on our relationship became more intimate and we soon felt so comfortable together that more than once we returned to that bungalow, but just the two of us, and we bathed naked. So we already knew everything about our bodies; all that remained was to know everything about our souls, which took us a little longer. It cannot be said that Josúa was in love with me, but he grew so accustomed to me that as soon as we were apart, he would miss me. Whether or not this was love is of no importance. My father could not have been happier to see how our relationship was progressing, and he began to make plans for the wedding. As I am Protestant, the ceremony would be conducted by Erasmo, and it would be held in the gardens of our home. Among the guests would be all our old friends, including Adela, who would take charge of the publicity and spread the news of our engagement throughout the neighbourhood, without it costing us a penny. When everything was ready, Josúa and I found ourselves caught up in another of his ideas , because he had already organised everything, so we had no choice but to get married so that all that effort wouldn’t go to waste. And so we were joined in matrimony! All we did was bring forward by a few months what was already obvious and had our parents’ blessing, because we made such a lovely couple. So much so that after the ceremony someone said: ‘It’s the first time I’ve attended the wedding of two angels The fisherman caught (Narrator: Jesua, son of Jacinto and Margarita) My parents always spoke enthusiastically to me about their friends Guido and María. Both had been involved in neighbourhood affairs in the 1960s, which is why it was common to see them at my house, which wasn’t far from theirs, or on other occasions, at the historic Café Berlin. That is how I met their daughter Marta. She was a young woman with a determined and cheerful nature. From the very first day I saw her, I took a liking to her, because our characters were very similar, and I felt as though I’d known her all my life. But back then, my shyness prevented me from showing her my affection . She knew this, and with her father’s help, they set a trap for me, thanks to which I was able to overcome my shyness. We always laugh when we recall that incident. But there is something our parents don’t know and that I have never told them. Only Marta knows, and I told her after we got married. On one of her visits, she was accompanied by her son Sergio, an extraordinarily handsome young man, a beauty he had inherited from his mother. I am not gay, but I couldn’t help feeling admiration for his beauty and letting him know it. But he took it to mean that I was gay too, and thought I’d fallen in love with him. He knew I went to a local gym once a week to keep fit, and a few days later we bumped into each other right in the street as I was leaving the gym. It certainly wasn’t a coincidence; he was waiting for me. “Sergio, what a surprise! What brings you to this neighbourhood?” “I’ve been living here for over a year. I don’t like the peace and quiet of my parents’ house. I’m not retired yet! Fancy a beer?” “Yes, that’s a good idea.” “Let’s go to Café Berlin, then. It’s a lovely day to sit on the terrace.” We settled down on the terrace and ordered two beers. Sergio was giving me strange looks, as if he was wondering if I was also gay. Something must have led him to think I was, because suddenly he took my hand and said almost in a whisper: ‘Do you fancy me? I certainly fancy you, you’re very attractive! I felt terribly uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and my reply couldn’t have been more ambiguous: “I admit you’re a very handsome young man; anyone would appreciate that, regardless of whether they’re a man or a woman.” He let go of my hand and must have understood the meaning of my reply, because he said, unable to hide his frustration: ‘You’re in love with my sister Marta! I nodded slightly. ‘Yes, she’s a great girl... You’re very lucky... I didn’t want there to be any ambiguity in my relationship with someone who would soon be part of our family, so I dared to ask him: ‘So, are you gay? ‘Yes, I am, and I think I’ve fallen in love with you, but I’ll get over it. ‘I’m sorry, Sergio, I can’t return your feelings, but we can be good friends. We’ll soon be part of the same family! ‘Are you going to marry her? ‘This very spring. It’s all been arranged. Your father has organised everything. He’s a great person! ‘Yes, he is. He’s pinned all his hopes on Marta; she’ll give him what he so desperately wants and what I can’t give him: a grandchild. ‘Does your father know you’re gay? ‘Yes, he knows and he tolerates it, but he has no interest in me. Only my mother understands my feelings. To my father, it’s as if I didn’t exist. We’ve ever had a beer together like you and I are having now. I think he’s ashamed of me... ‘I’m sorry, Sergio; I understand how you feel, but I don’t think you should judge him so harshly. His hopes are understandable. All human beings want to live on through our descendants... ‘Not me; I’ll never have any descendants! ‘Yes, I understand that you see things differently. We finished our beers and I said goodbye to him with the feeling that I had glimpsed the other hidden side of life, that of homosexuals. Sergio and I are good friends, as well as brother-in-law, and I would do anything to support him and defend his right to express his sexual orientation without having to feel ashamed. But my goodwill wasn’t enough to Sergio, he’d hoped I’d reciprocate. It was a terrible disappointment Our union (Narrator: Marta, daughter of Guido and María) It wasn’t easy to persuade our former pastor to travel over 500 kilometres to celebrate our union, because at the time Julia and he were living in another city, but my father was determined that he should be the one to bless our union, even if he had to go and fetch him himself. All the guests were as expected: my parents’ old friends and their children, plus a few others who had joined at the last minute‘our neighbours from our new home. But there was one notable absence: my brother Sergio. Jesúa hadn’t told me what had happened on the terrace of Café Berlin. Sergio couldn’t bear to see his first love throw herself into the arms of a woman, even if she was his own sister! He made up an excuse he had to attend a symposium on literature to which he’d been invited before our wedding was announced. I missed him, because we’d always got on well and supported one another, but that was stronger than our mutual affection. My father was, without a doubt, the happiest person at that gathering, because he was finally seeing his dream come true: to see his daughter marry the man he had wanted her to, and I think he was glad of my brother’s absence, because he still hadn’t fully accepted Sergio’s homosexuality, with all its implications. My mother must have known the real reason for his absence, because she didn’t look like the happy mother attending her daughter’s wedding, and she must have been quietly suffering quietly at Sergio’s absence, trying to imagine what his state of mind might be at that moment. She knew Sergio’s feelings, and must have thought that she would have done the same in his circumstances. Later I learnt that he had been on the terrace of Café Berlin, at the very table where he had met Jesúa, drinking one beer after another until the effects of the alcohol eased his sadness. Afterwards he locked himself in his flat, where, as he he himself recounted years later, he was on the verge of suicide. But it was not only because of the failure of his first love, but because of all the difficulties, misunderstanding and rejection he was suffering due to his homosexuality. My father, despite his good intentions, took a long time to come to understand what his son was really like. Only a few months later, when Sergio intended to marry his last boyfriend, did he realise his mistake, and above all shortly before he passed away, because Sergio was by his side until he breathed his last. My brother did not blame our father for his lack of understanding, because given the prejudices of his time, he recognised that he had been a tolerant father. Despite everything, Sergio always felt great admiration and affection for our father. A Forbidden Love (Narrator: Sergio, son of Guido and María) Whilst I discovered my sexual orientation at the age of 12, at 36 I finally found the person with whom I wish to share the rest of my life. For that reason, and for other more practical reasons, we are thinking of getting married. I had already overcome the deep depression caused by the failure of my love for Jesúa, and I even had other lovers, some of whom ended in tragedy. Like that of a talented but utterly deranged painter. I met him whilst visiting an exhibition of his latest works, because the review I’d read in the press was illustrated with images of naked male torsos, which caught my attention. When the painter saw me at the exhibition opening, he was captivated by my beauty, which only an artist knows how to appreciate. Barely giving me time to look round the whole exhibition, he approached me and, without further ado, asked me to be his model. I felt deeply flattered because he was a renowned painter and agreed without the slightest objection. He barely waited for the exhibition to close before inviting me to his studio to, as he put it, do some preliminary sketches. When we entered his dilapidated and dirty studio, he suggested that I undress, which I did without suspecting that he was not interested in art, but in my body, and he tried to abuse me. I reacted violently and had to cause some damage to his studio to get away from him. A few days later I read in the newspapers that he had committed suicide, but it wasn’t because of me; rather, he suffered from a chronic illness that caused the depression which led him to take his own life. My violent rejection must have aggravated his condition. The other lovers were less aggressive, but all of them‘until I met my current partner, who saved my life when I was going through a deep depression‘ended in failure. . My parents never knew about my romantic escapades because at the time I was living in the neighbourhood. The suicide attempt (Narrator: Sergio, gay) Mikel, my current boyfriend, saved my life. We’d been neighbours for over a year. He lived in the flat above mine, so I could hear practically every sound he made. I also knew when he had visitors, with whom he’d often stay up partying until the early hours of the morning. He was also gay, but I don’t find him attractive; however, he felt attracted to me from the very first day we met. He was a good neighbour; before the events of that night, we’d bumped into each other on numerous occasions on the stairs or in the lift, and he was always friendly and overly polite. He was trying to get my attention, but I wasn’t interested in him, at least not during those difficult times. He never got into the lift first; he’d hold the front door open for let me go first. He never forgot to wish me a good day or a good weekend when we met. The very day I moved into my studio, he came down to greet me with a bottle of wine as a welcome gift, and on numerous occasions he reminded me that, as good neighbours, I should ask him for help if ever, for whatever reason, I needed it. And on that fateful night I did need him, the day Jesúa married my sister Marta. My state of mind was dreadful, and made worse by the beers I’d drunk, I sank into a deep depression, and nothing seemed to make sense to me anymore. Was it worth going on living? No; it wasn’t worth it! The failure of this first love seemed impossible to get over. Either him or death, and it was obvious that the answer was death. I was in no state to appreciate the gravity of what I was planning and looked for a way to take my own life, which was no easy task. I could only try to hang myself, because I didn’t feel capable of other methods, such as cutting my wrists and letting myself bleed to death . But hanging myself was also a violent death, and this inability to take my own life exasperated me even more. I wasn’t afraid of death, but I was terrified of the suffering the pain might cause me. Then I remembered that my neighbour had trouble sleeping and might be able to provide me with enough sleeping pills to put an end to my suffering. I was so dazed and depressed that it didn’t occur to me that Mikel would immediately understand why I wanted the sleeping pills. ‘Can’t you sleep? I suffer from insomnia too. I can give you a few tablets. Two will be enough. ‘Can’t you give me a few more? Deep down, I was hoping he’d talk me out of it, because I wouldn’t be able to do it myself. “Hey, do you want to sleep or kill yourself? But you’re drunk as a skunk! What on earth is the matter with you? You’d better not go back to your flat tonight‘ you can stay with me, and tell me what’s wrong! And that’s how I fell in love with Mikel, because he’d shown such good sense‘something I was lacking! A month later I left my flat and went to live with him. Since then we’ve lived together with hardly any arguments. I think we’re a happy couple, and now that same-sex marriage has been legalised, we’re thinking of getting . Sergio’s boyfriend (Narrator: María, Sergio’s mother) Sooner or later it had to happen: my son intends to marry his partner, with whom he has been living for over 10 years now, and he wants us to give him our blessing. He has asked me to invite his boyfriend round for dinner one of these days at our house to discuss this delicate matter. He already knows that I understand and accept him, but for Guido it is a more difficult situation to accept. Sergio has earned his trust when it comes to the bookshop and now he is practically the one running it, and quite successfully. Especially among young women, there is always a few in the bookshop. Despite being 46, he’s still very attractive. We’ve never sold as many romance novels as we have since he’s been in charge of the bookshop. Sergio doesn’t live with us, but with his partner in our old neighbourhood, just a stone’s throw from the bookshop. Our old neighbourhood has become a favourite haunt for gay people. Lots of stylish new cafés have opened, along with exhibition spaces for talented young artists, and entertainment venues such as a concert hall, several small theatres and private clubs for gays and lesbians. It’s the ideal neighbourhood for him! ‘I don’t know if your father will approve. You must understand that he finds it hard to bear seeing you together and, above all, seeing you kissing like two lovers. Your father is from a different era, and you can count yourself lucky that he’s accepted you as a partner in the bookshop. ‘You’re from that same era too, and you’ve accepted me! Why can’t he accept me as well? ‘Darling, I think it’s beyond his strength, and he’s at the limit of his tolerance. Don’t push things! Give him time to get used to the idea. ‘I’m afraid Mikel will leave me if we don’t formalise our relationship... ‘Why would he do that? ‘Because he wants us to get married now that it’s legal, and he doesn’t want to feel rejected by my family! His family has already accepted him, and they think I’m a good match. ‘Isn’t that a bit too fast? ‘Mum, I’ve turned 46, and Mikel is 48! ‘If only I were your age. Look at me, already 61! ‘You’re more beautiful than ever. ‘You’ve always been such a smooth talker! I’ll speak to your father and see if I can convince him, but you’ll have to be patient. If you’ve been living as a couple for over ten years, I don’t think it’ll matter if you wait a little longer. Yes, I’m more tolerant than Guido, but deep down I too would have wished that Sergio had been straight, and not had to go through these complicated situations. A marriage between two men, or two women, is hard to accept, even if it’s your own son and his at stake. But that’s just the way nature works, and we can’t blame them or deny them what constitutes their happiness. If they love each other and have decided to marry, it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to do so. Why can’t we give them our blessing just as we would for our daughter? Life forces us to be prepared for whatever fate may bring, and I take comfort in the thought that it would have been far worse if he’d born with a mental or physical disability, but in that sense he is a normal person, and, fortunately, he is in good health and does not need special care. I believe Guido will eventually accept it, but we must give him time. An Unusual Wedding (Narrator: María) Sergio has decided to marry his partner without his father’s blessing . Guido is not opposed to it, but he will not attend the ceremony, nor does he approve of this union, which he considers to be against nature. I have tried to convince him that our son is a man, but only God and he himself know why he prefers the company of a man to that of a woman, and we must accept him, because, regardless of his sexual orientation, he is our son; we brought him into the world and we are solely responsible for him. ‘Our son didn’t choose to be gay,’ I tell him in a final attempt to make him understand his son, ‘he realised he was, and he cannot change his sexual orientation. We have no choice but to accept him with all that entails. “Have I not accepted him? I have never reproached him for being gay. But why does he want to live a life like a normal person and plan to marry another man? If he wants a lover, let him have one, and live the life he sees fit! But he mustn’t, on top of that, try to bring him into our home and get married. That’s going too far! I’ve lost all hope of persuading him to accept this wedding, at which he will be conspicuously absent. But I will attend, even if I feel uncomfortable. I cannot abandon my own son at this critical time. The day has arrived and we all feel nervous and confused. I’m getting ready just as I did for his sister’s wedding; after all, it’s just another wedding. Marta won’t be attending either, because deep down she thinks like her father. They both believe there’s no need for them to get married; after all, they’ll never be able to start a family. They could live as a couple just as they have done until now, without the need to force things. We meet at the doors of the Magistrates’ Court. It’s a splendid day, ideal for a wedding, but not ours. Only my son and his boyfriend seem happy; in the others I see confusion and perhaps also doubt in their expressions, as if they weren’t sure they were doing the right thing. The groom’s parents seem resigned and accept this marriage with equanimity. As do some of his friends. The justice of the peace doesn’t seem to be having a good time either. As the moment to sign the register approaches, I notice a certain sadness in his expression. I think he is waging a deep internal struggle. Suddenly he turns and comes towards me with a distressed look on her face, and makes a surprising confession: ‘Mum, I can’t get married! Not without your blessing! I couldn’t be happy in my marriage! ‘and she approaches her bewildered fiancé‘. Forgive me, darling, but I can’t marry you. I’ve always had my father’s approval for all my important decisions, and this is the most important one of my life. He doesn’t understand me; he can’t grasp that I’m a normal man, but I can’t‘and don’t want to‘help feeling more protected and loved in the company of another man. Perhaps it’s my fault, because I haven’t been able to justify my way of being with reasons and arguments, because I don’t even know it myself! We’re all confused. The judge seems relieved to avoid having to perform this wedding. But, surprise! Guido has entered the courthouse, dressed in the same dark suit he wore at Marta’s wedding. Marta and Jesúa have come too, and I think some of our old friends are outside. ‘Your Honour, I would like to say a few words of congratulations to the couple. Sergio hugs me, completely astonished, and I don’t know if I’m awake or dreaming, but it really is Guido . ‘Your Honour, one of those about to be joined in matrimony is my son. Ever since he turned 14, I knew he was gay. Although I had resigned myself to it, I felt deeply affected; I had hoped he would be a real man! This morning my beloved and understanding wife said something to me that took me some time to accept: ‘Our son didn’t choose to be gay; he found out that he was. We have no choice but to accept him, with all that entails.’ One cannot be a father only to the children who bring us joy, but above all to those who need our support and understanding. It may be against nature for two men to be joined in marriage, but it is even more contrary that two people who love one another cannot be united in marriage. My son is a man who, for some reason I am unable to understand, prefers the affection and company of another man, but I no longer wish to know why, for the human mind is not capable of understanding either the longings of the heart or the desires of the flesh. I trust my son and I know that he does have a good reason: the one dictated by his heart. Your Honour is not marrying two men, but two people who love one another, just as I loved my dear wife on my wedding day. Wild nature knows nothing of human feelings; it understands only desires and gratification. It does not love, it does not think, it does not reason, but nor does it need to, for animals do not enter into marriage; we do. Your Honour, you may proceed with the ceremony; that is all I wished to say. They used to say it in the neighbourhood: ‘Guido is a gentleman!’ I have had many reasons over all these years spent with him to admire him, but today I have more than enough reasons to feel like the luckiest woman in the world, because I have the most tolerant and fair husband in the world! Sergio remains clinging to me, unable to react. ‘Come on, Sergio, go to your father and let him give you his blessing. Isn’t that what you wanted? But it is Guido who approaches us, and places his hand on Sergio’s shoulder. ‘Well, Sergio, your fiancé is waiting for you, and I give you my blessing. I only ask that you be as good a partner to him as your mother has been to me. And if, for whatever reason, things don’t go well for you, remember that you have a family and a home you can always return to whenever you need to; your mother and I will always welcome you with open arms. Sergio is so moved that he can’t bring himself to say a single word. He hugs his father and stays like that for a few seconds. Guido exchanges a look of approval with me. I return a smile meant as my response to his noble gesture. Our son’s fiancé is just as bewildered as the other guests. When Sergio steps away from his father, he approaches him, takes his hand and whispers almost into his ear. ‘Now I understand why you wanted your father’s blessing: he’s a saint! Everything has ended happily. Sergio is now a married man to the person he loves, and we believe we have done what we ought to have done. On the way home, Guido makes a comment that surprises me: “I wanted to have a heterosexual son, but today I’ve realised that we must never use our children to fulfil our own desires; rather, our duty as parents is to support them so they can fulfil their own.” ‘I think they’ll be going to the Côte d’Azur for their honeymoon. Mikel is the manager of a travel agency, so it’ll be cheap for them. I’ve got an idea: now that we have a son-in-law at a travel agency, why don’t we take advantage of it and go back to celebrate our second honeymoon on the Côte d’Azur too? Guido doesn’t reply, but he understands that I’m trying to make him see that life goes on and that we’ve acted sensibly. The Intruder (1)(Narrator: Linda, Isabel’s mother) Isabel has us worried. She barely speaks to us and no longer visits as often as she used to. It’s as if she’s trying to avoid us. She lives alone in a small flat in our old neighbourhood. She and Sergio are practically neighbours, and they often bump into each other on the terrace of Café Berlin. She has completed her PhD in Social Sciences and is hoping to secure a teaching post at the new secondary school in the neighbourhood. I know something is troubling her, but she doesn’t want us to know. If she doesn’t confide in her mother, it must be something serious. What can we do? I’ve phoned her to beg her to come to our house this weekend, because it’s the local festivities in our community and we’d like her to join us at the street party and the performance of a popular French comedy of errors. A bit of a distraction will help her get through whatever she’s going through. ‘I don’t know, Mum, I’m not feeling well..‘Are you ill?‘No, it’s not that, just a bit stressed about the competitive exams. I’ll be fine.‘Well, all the more reason to join us at the festivities. What you need is a bit of a distraction.‘I’m not in the mood for parties; I’d rather stay at home and sleep without setting the alarm. Maybe I’ll come and visit you next week.‘All right, darling, you know what’s best for you, but your father and I miss you. We would have loved to spend the holidays with you.‘Yes, Mum, I know. I miss you too, and I would have liked to come as well, but it’s just not possible...‘Darling, do you need any help? Would you like me to come round and cook you something? I’m sure you won’t feel like cooking if you’re not feeling well.‘No, Mum; there’s no need for you to come. ‘Isabel, lately it seems as though you’re avoiding us. I’m worried about you. Something must be wrong, but you don’t want to confide in your mother, and I don’t know why.‘Don’t worry about me. It’s just a phase. I’ll get over it.‘You’ve never behaved like this before! ‘Don’t insist, Mum, I’m '‘All right, I won't press you, but if you feel any worse, give me a call. Will you, darling? ‘I promise! There’s definitely something going on with Isabel that she doesn’t want to tell us. I think I should pay her a visit and have a proper chat, woman to woman, because I suspect I know what it is: she’s probably pregnant! The Intruder (2) (Narrator: Isabel, daughter of Marcus and Linda) Should I trust my mother? There’s no need to upset her like this. In a week’s time I’ll have had an abortion and everything will be back to normal. I know she wouldn’t blame me for being so stupid as to get pregnant, but she might insist on me having the baby, regardless of who the father is. What would they say if they knew that the father is black? And really black! How far would their tolerance go? Are they racist or not? And how can I know? We’ve never had anyone of another race in the family. Not even a foreigner! We’re all fair-skinned and blonde-haired. Not even anyone with brown hair. Would they invite me to their community parties if I turned up on David’s arm? Would they be happy to have a mixed-race grandchild, or perhaps a black one? I don’t know, but at the moment I don’t have the strength to face a possible rejection. Nor is this the time David and I had agreed on to have our first child. We agreed that I should get the job first and then take maternity leave. But this pregnancy is ruining all my plans. That’s why we’ve both agree that I should have an abortion. There will be a better time for me to be a mother. The world isn’t going to end the day after tomorrow! David is waiting for me on the terrace of Café Berlin; he wants to know what the gynaecologist thinks about my abortion, whether it’s safe or carries any risks. I could never have imagined that I would fall in love with a black man. I admit it wasn’t love at first sight, quite the opposite‘at first sight, he attracted me at all. But we value the soul more than the body. And David’s soul is too big for a cathedral. When I met him, I was at the bus stop and it was pouring with rain. To make matters worse, I hadn’t chosen the right clothes and, as well as being soaked, I was freezing. David was at the same stop and noticed my pitiful state. He didn’t say a word; he simply took off his coat and put it over my shoulders. Then he wrote down a phone number and slipped it into one of the pockets. “Call me on this number when you no longer need my coat.” Just then his bus arrived. He waved a friendly goodbye to me. When the bus pulled away, I still didn’t realise what had happened, because I wasn’t able to react until, thanks to his coat, I managed to warm up. The next day we met at Café Berlin. I think he knew that in that meeting he wasn’t just going to get back a valuable item of clothing, but also the heart of the woman who returned it to him. David is a cultured, generous, kind and intelligent man. What more could I ask for? At that meeting, I was literally blind and unable to make out the colour of his skin. It could just as easily have been black, white or pink. It wouldn’t have mattered to me! The Intruder (3) (Narrator: Linda) I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but my daughter is going through a rough patch, and if she’s anything like me, she won’t ask for my help. I remember calling the man who saved my life a scoundrel. I don’t want my daughter to make a mistake she’ll regret for the rest of her life. I have to turn up at her house unannounced and find out what’s going on with her.A taxi drops me off at her door, but she mustn’t be home, because no one answers the doorbell. I may have made the trip for nothing, but I can wait. Café Berlin isn’t far from here. A walk will do me . They used to serve excellent tea there; I wonder if it’s still the same.This new terrace in the square is lovely. It didn’t exist in my day.But I have the feeling that my daughter Isabel is sitting there, and she’s with a young black man! I think I’m beginning to understand what’s going on! My daughter in love with a black man! Well, so what? Fifty years ago, I walked into this very same Café as a prostitute who had fallen in love with a white man! It was no less controversial! I think my daughter is in for the biggest surprise of her life:‘Isabel, my dear, what a coincidence! I’ve come to the neighbourhood to visit an old friend, but she wasn’t here, so I thought to myself, ‘Why not have a cup of tea at Café Berlin?’ But don’t just stand there gaping‘aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?My poor daughter choked on the piece of cake in her mouth, and it took her a while to clear her throat and say anything. And I think her friend was about to get up and run away. But he finally reacted.‘Of course, Mum, it’s David; he’s also sitting the competitive exams to get a post at the new school as an English teacher.‘Pleased to meet you, David. Are you the child’s father?My risky question had the desired effect. My daughter looked at me in astonishment and didn’t think twice before answering.“But Mum, how did you know?”“You’ve just told me yourself. When is it due?”My daughter’s reaction to this question has just revealed to me the cause of her problems. I think they don’t want it to be born!“Mum… The truth is… Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”‘Don’t say another word, I agree! If the foetus has a malformation, you’re right to have an abortion!‘But Mum, it’s not that it has...!‘So is it you who couldn’t cope with the pregnancy?‘ No, no; Mum, it’s not that either!‘Yes, I get it now, you don’t want to have a mixed-race child!‘Please, Mum, don’t talk nonsense!‘Well, I can’t think of any other reason.‘It’s just that it’s coming at a very inconvenient time!‘Is And is that his fault?‘Mum, you don’t understand. We’ve worked so hard to get to sit these civil service exams, and if the baby were born now, I’d have to give them up.‘Yes, darling, I understand; that’s exactly what I thought when I got pregnant with you. Your father had just opened the jewellery shop and needed me to serve the customers. I thought the best thing would be to have an abortion because you were only a week along, and there was no risk involved. And do you know what made me change my mind? I said to myself: ‘Linda, of that foetus, only the flesh is yours; the soul must belong to God. How can I dispose of something that isn’t entirely mine?’ And that’s why you were born; otherwise, you’d be a piece of flesh thrown into a hospital bin.My daughter is on the verge of bursting into tears, but we’re surrounded by people who might think we’re arguing. I hug her and let her cry without anyone noticing. Her friend David looks bewildered and doesn’t know what to do. Yes, he strikes me as a good man too. Isabel quickly wipes away her tears and tries to carry on as normal. She remains silent. I don’t think she knows how to respond. Finally, she sighs as if trying she’s managed to cast old ideas from her mind, and says to me in a resigned tone:‘Yes, Mum, perhaps you’re right and I’m behaving like a complete egoist...‘Darling, your mother still has the strength to hold a baby in her arms and give it a bottle. We’ll raise him together, and you’ll be able to get your place at that school!‘Mum, I love you; I wouldn’t know what to do without you!“Well, you’d better get used to the idea, because I won’t live forever!”And thanks to that brief heart-to-heart between two women, Isabel’s son was born. A beautiful mixed-race baby with cinnamon-coloured skin, and all his mother’s features. As for his name, they named him after his grandfather, Marcus. A Black Man in the Family (Narrator: Marcus) That day, Linda was in our old neighbourhood visiting Isabel and brought me some disturbing news: ‘Is Isabel in love with a black man? ‘That’s right, Marcus, and she must find him very attractive, because she’s pregnant! “Pregnant by a black man!” “Yes, and if I hadn’t thought to visit her, she would have had an abortion.” “Perhaps that would have been the best thing!” “You can’t be serious, Marcus, you’re talking about your future grandchild!” “Who’ll be mixed-race!” “And what’s wrong with that?” That was the second time I’d reacted negatively because of my prejudices. The first was when I met Linda. I’d never faced this dilemma before! Unconsciously, I believed that the white race was superior in every way to any other race, and my future grandson would suffer from this deficiency. It was like prostituting our genetic purity by allowing the influence of an inferior race. At that moment, I wasn’t proud of my daughter, because I couldn’t understand what she could possibly find attractive in a black man. I certainly wasn’t racist! ‘Marcus, I’ve invited Isabel and her boyfriend over for dinner today so you can meet your future son-in-law, David. I agree with Isabel that he’s a good man, and from what she’s told me, I understand why she’s in love with him. That invitation completely unsettled me, because I didn’t believe a black man would have any normal topics of conversation and surely we wouldn’t understand each other. But Linda insisted we meet. At the agreed time, Isabel arrived with her boyfriend, and my impression couldn’t have been more negative. It simply seemed to me that I was looking at a direct descendant of the monkey. I wasn’t very cordial in my welcome, offering only a forced, formal greeting. But I think he was expecting it, as this wouldn’t be the first time he’d been rejected. Isabel was very upset, because she realised I hadn’t welcomed him with the warmth that was usual for me. Linda tried to break the ice and make David feel welcome in our family. ‘Make yourself at home, David. Are you going to tell us how you met Isabel? But first, let’s have a drink to liven things up. Fancy a beer?’ She poured the beers and then we all for someone to suggest a topic of conversation. And it was David himself who started the conversation, surprising us all: ‘You are very kind and I know you respect my relationship with your daughter, but I understand your husband’s surprise. If I were him and Isabel were my daughter, I would have reacted in the same way. I wouldn’t accept a black man into my family either. Even if he were black, he wouldn’t accept a white man into his family. It’s a natural reaction; each race is only attracted to those of its own race. You must be wondering how it’s possible that Isabel has fallen in love with me, and I, in turn, wonder how it’s possible that I’ve fallen in love with a woman who isn’t of my own race. I suppose there’s an explanation, because there’s something in both of us that’s the same colour, or rather, that has no colour. For do you know what colour a black man’s soul is? And a white man’s? Your daughter has not fallen in love with the black man but with his soul, which is exactly the same as hers, and I have fallen in love with Isabel’s soul, which is exactly the same as mine, not with the white woman. And I hope this serves as an explanation. I confess that this was the second time I had realised my mistake, and there is no doubt that I had behaved like a complete racist. Nor did I fall in love with the prostitute, but with the soul of that extraordinary woman. Isabel made us feel like a family again, now with one more member, and soon we would have another, a mixed-race child , the fruit of this union. ‘Well, enough of this chatter, because what’s in the oven must be ready by now. Take your seats at the table; I’ll serve it straight away. It was a magnificent evening. Guido and David chatted about a thousand things over after-dinner conversation. David certainly had interesting topics to discuss. As for my daughter, whilst we were washing up after dinner, she told me, unable to hide her joy: ‘I wish it had been a girl so I could have named her after you, because it’s the name of a great woman and an extraordinary mother. Bad news (Narrator: Marcus) I fear that from now on, not a year will go by without us hearing of the death of one of our old friends. Today I have been told of the deaths of Adela and Lorenzo. Poor Julia, how lonely she must feel! As for Adela, I am sure that even in heaven, where she must be, she will find a way to catch up on the gossip of her kindred spirits. Poor woman! Her gossip was not malicious. She never hurt anyone; on the contrary, in her final days she was of great help, even saving the wretched Aura from a the wretched Aura, who, if she’s still alive, must be around a hundred years old by now! She also spread the word around the neighbourhood that Guido and María made a good couple, despite their age difference, so they were accepted and respected. Which, in those days, was absolutely essential. I’ll always remember her in her neat and tidy bakery, where she wouldn’t sell a single loaf of bread without serving it with one of her specialities! May she rest in peace! As for Lorenzo, we misjudged him. We thought he was a reserved and unsociable man, but his only problem was that he couldn’t stand being alone. When he joined forces with Julia, he showed us who he really was: an honest politician committed to his community. Between the two of them, they managed to make many of the neighbourhood residents’ aspirations a reality. There are few politicians like Lorenzo left, because I believe that politicians are there to work for the good of the people, and not as it is now, where the people are there to work for the good of the politicians! Lorenzo was a socialist. But who can say they aren’t a socialist? Don’t we all live in society? Well then, we’re all socialists! Moreover, what happened with Lorenzo showed us how women can change the world simply through their positive influence on us. We men have the capacity for action, but we lack the practical sense to turn our actions into something of real use. Without this influence, we either become passive, idle and wicked, or create useless and worthless things, polluting and destroying the very sources of life itself. Women are more passive, but they have a practical grasp of reality. I believe their main mission is to steer men’s idealistic and dreamy actions towards women’s practical sense. Lorenzo and Julia were an example of this truth. Our city council paid tribute to Lorenzo and asked Julia to write a eulogy for her late partner, which I read in the local newspaper: ‘Dear partner. Wherever you may be, you will always live on in my memory and in the hearts of the people of this neighbourhood who had the privilege of knowing you. You were my partner and my lover ; the aloof and solitary man, who harboured a generous heart and a clear mind, who only awaited my positive influence so that that heart and that intelligence might be transformed into initiatives that contributed to the well-being of our community. If your example were to serve future generations, young people would not dream of grand ideals and ambitious projects, but would be more concerned with the limited space where human beings coexist. And all together, dedicated to the well-being of our community, we could change the world and make it more humane and liveable. All great things start small; a great nation is not one that has the most and best motorways, but one that has more pedestrian crossings and more public parks. Today we wish to pay tribute to you, to remember you and in the hope that your example will inspire the politicians of this new generation. Rest in peace ». It is a brief eulogy, but there is no need for it to be any longer; this is enough for those who wish to listen, and too long for those who turn a deaf ear. Rodolfo has also passed away, though to us he will always be Rodolfito. What began with a kiss of life must have ended with a kiss of death. He was the soul of the neighbourhood. He made us feel proud and dignified. His recitals were proof that a genius can be born into a modest family of butchers. I believe that the soul is not inherited, but comes to us from some mysterious place we shall never discover, because it belongs to worlds inaccessible to human beings. It is an inheritance that only God knows where it comes from. Artists are the soul of a people; a people without artists is a soulless people. And without a soul, one cannot be happy. Rodolfo had two great loves: his piano and Luisa. I don’t know if Luisa was jealous of the piano, because he spent more time with it than with her. But the wife of a musician is like that of a doctor; they are devoted to their audience and their patients, because Rodolfo’s recitals cured many people of their despondency or sadness. It is possible that in a few years’ time no one in our neighbourhood will remember him, because other child prodigies will have taken his place. It will be one of those stories that has not been written, but in which they are the true protagonists. All those anonymous people who wake up every morning with the same thought: to survive! Another painful death is that of Jacinto. Not only has a friend died, but also a sense of duty and true justice. It must have left Margarita and Luisa utterly devastated. What is friendship? What makes men brothers? Why do we know someone is innocent, even if they provide no evidence? Jacinto knew when a person was guilty or innocent just by looking into their eyes. That is a quality possessed only by exceptional people; people who understand the language of the heart, paying no heed to the deceptive language of words. Because the heart does not understand what is said to it, but how it is said. That is the language Jacinto understood, and that is why he had to give up being a policeman, to swap it for flowers, whose language he understood better than that of humans. As for Margarita, I have never met a woman with more fighting spirit than her. Someone capable of facing adversity with a smile. Of forgiving the insults and snubs of her neighbours, without rancour or a desire for revenge. But life rewarded her with a close-knit and happy family. May she rest in peace! Aura has also left us. Darío’s mother. She knew when she was going to die, because she had a vision of her own death, and unfortunately she was not mistaken. At least she was able to live out her final days happily, alongside her recovered son Darío. The neighbourhood misses her Another unexpected death was that of Calixto, the beggar. We all knew that one fine day we would find Calixto dead on a bench in the square where he used to doze, but one never expects it to actually happen. This morning the neighbourhood street sweeper found the lifeless body of this poor alien, without him having brought about the end of the world, as he had so often threatened us. The Council has taken charge of his cremation, as we do not believe any relatives will come forward who care about him. I attended the simple cremation ceremony and said my final farewell. We were wrong! Calixto has a son who has been searching for him ever since he disappeared one fine day from the care home where he had been admitted, and heard nothing more of him until he read a brief obituary in the local newspaper. Apparently, the son is a well-known author of science fiction novels, from which he drew the idea of Galikea and all his other fantasies about the Central Galaxy, and all his other ideas about the origin and future of that world. Be that as it may, his life has not been entirely in vain, for with his outlandish ideas he made us reflect on the unpredictable fate of humanity, and on the end of the world and the Last Judgement-but not as a divine punishment, rather at the hands of foolish politicians and the crowds who cheer them on and support them. The world is in the hands of the stupidity of some and the foolishness of their opponents. Goodbye, Dad! (Narrator: Sergio) My mother doesn’t seem to be in this world anymore. She has been sitting in front of the coffin where my father’s body lies for over six hours. She hasn’t moved, not even to go to the toilet. She has barely shifted position and doesn’t even blink; it even seems as though she isn’t breathing. Friends try to offer their condolences, but she neither sees nor hears them. I wonder what she might be thinking. I suppose she is recalling the happy times spent with that local bookseller, who was jealous of the children who played with my mother when she was still a girl‘the prettiest in the neighbourhood! He was a good father, even though it took him so long to accept me with all that entailed. His generation has seen real friends turn into virtual friends; honesty confused with deceit; sincerity with pretence; generosity with greed; community with individualism. There have been too many changes to take in. He would have needed another lifetime to fully adapt to them all . But he strove until his very last breath. I often long for his world, that of his dear friends: Marcus, Linda, Jacinto, Margarita, Lorenzo, Julia, Laura, Aura, the good Berlinh priest Serafín, even the gossipy Adela! But her best friend was undoubtedly my mother. A great man deserves a great woman! With Marcus and my father, an era comes to an end‘one that began with destructive fury and ends without the causes of that madness having been resolved. It could all happen again tomorrow, but infinitely more destructively, because we have forgotten the most important thing: we did not come into this world to learn to listen , but to learn to tolerate. We have learnt nothing from history. It seems as though the new generations spring up spontaneously, without a past and without history. We human beings have to suffer the consequences of our mistakes because of our poor memory, and we never learn from our predecessors. It seems as though we are ashamed of them. No past era is better than the present. But every past era is also in the present; we must not forget that! My father and my whole family, myself included, do everything in our power not to forget; which is why we run a bookshop, because it is in books that history lies dormant. We simply have to read it to awaken it and make it an active part of our lives. My dear father will no longer be able to enjoy strolling amongst the shelves crammed with books. Nor will he be able to display in his shop window the latest book by a local or debut author, which was another of his passions: helping young authors make a name for themselves. Without people like him, who loved his work and enjoyed helping others, the world will soon become a market of fantasies sold by the minute. Generosity and friendship will vanish, and in their place will prevail merely a banal and uninspired virtual relationship between complete strangers, who will recount to one another their frustrations and unfulfilled desires, because we will no longer know the meaning of the word ‘reality’. Marcus’s Last Dream (Narrator: the author) Marcus sensed that his end was nearing, for every night he had the same dream, albeit with slight variations. He dreamt that for years unrest had been spreading amongst the peoples of the world. Two great ideological blocs had formed, irreconcilable: on one side stood the party of the Good, and on the other that of the Bad; yet the paradox was that the party of the Bad considered itself the party of the Good, and vice versa, so any attempt at dialogue was utterly futile, and everything was confusing; in reality, no one knew who the good were and who the bad were. On the side of the Good in one camp, they were distinguished by a flag bearing a loaf of bread on a red background, whilst the other Good in the other camp were distinguished by a flag bearing the image of one of the most valuable coins of the time, on a sky-blue background. So the only thing that distinguished them were their flags; everything else was similar in both camps. But the unrest grew until it became untenable. The Good on one side and the other were already on the brink of war against the Bad on both sides. And street demonstrations began to take place, calling for war to be declared and for an end to that tense situation. The Good on the red-flag side chose a leader to lead them to victory over the Bad, and the Good on the blue-flag side did the same, with the same ambitions of domination and extermination of those they considered to be the Bad Guys, their historical enemies, for whom there was no possible understanding. Finally, the leader of the Reds decided that the time had come to take action and declare war on the Bad Guys. He called a mass rally and rallied them to the final battle in a passionate and fiery speech, justifying the need to declare war on the Bad Guys of the Blue Party: ‘Comrades, workers of the world; good and just men and women; sons and grandsons of these good men and women ; intellectuals who are also on the side of the Good; artists and professionals who are part of this party of the Good, are we going to allow the Bad and their wicked people from the Blue Party to dominate the world and pervert it with their bad laws, their bad customs and their bad ideas? The crowd responded as one: ‘No, never! Death to the Bad Guys of the Blue Party! Death, death! ‘Yes, that’s what I expected to hear from you! Death also to their wives, their children and grandchildren, and all their offspring, so that the Bad Guys cannot reproduce! Let us eradicate evil at its root! ‘Let us eradicate them, let’s exterminate them!” shouted the crowd. “When the world is rid of the Bad Ones of the Blue Party, peace will flourish across the world and prosperity will reach everyone without exception. From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs. That is why we must declare war on the Bad Ones!” “War, war, war!” shouted the frenzied crowd . By the next day, the message had reached every corner of the planet, and all those who sympathised with the Good Party of the red flag signed up as volunteers, forming the largest army ever seen in history. Millions of men and women of all ages, nationalities and social classes volunteered for this cause and swore to fight to the death to exterminate the Bad Guys. As there were not enough weapons for everyone, many would go into the great battle armed with sabres taken from war museums; butchers with their sharp knives; tailors and dressmakers armed with their scissors , the peasants with their pitchforks, the bureaucrats with their letter openers, the construction workers with pickaxes, the children with slingshots, and the madmen, who also enlisted, came with pins and needles, which they believed to be deadly weapons. The generals arrived mounted on deadly missiles with nuclear warheads. Those of lower rank arrived armed with sophisticated tanks, cannons, machine guns and millions of pistols of all calibres and models. The rank-and-file troops were given a rifle with this inscription on the butt: ‘I bring peace to Good men of good will, and chaos and death to the Evil Men of ill will’. A phrase they were to repeat every five minutes whilst in the thick of the final battle. But once the Good men of the Blue Party had been alerted to the aggressive intentions of the Bad men, they too mobilised their supporters with a message broadcast on television and radio by all stations aligned with their party. The message was delivered by their leader, a shrewd old man and a gifted orator: ‘‘Dear men and women of the Good Party! Citizens of the free world! The Bad guys have mobilised and armed themselves with the intention of destroying our values and imposing a radically evil system. Our party is without the slightest doubt the party of the Good, because we represent the free world, where every individual is free to express an opinion on what they believe is not good; therefore, you must agree with us that they are the bad guys. We also defend private property, so that everyone may freely enjoy what they have acquired with their own money, and respect for the law, so that we all have the opportunity to defend our honestly earned privileges. Today is a historic day, because we, the Good of the Blue Party, must also mobilise and fight against the party of the Bad, until the last drop of blood is shed on the battlefield. The leader of the Blue Flag Party believed himself to be the messenger of God, the God of the Good of his party, from whom he claimed to have received the mandate to declare war on the Bad, and he made known to the crowd. “I have seen it in a revelation: God is on our side; on the side of the Good of the Blue Party, and He has commanded me to exterminate the Bad. Praise be to the Lord who protects our people and will lead us to victory!” ‘May He be praised forever and lead us to victory!’ shouted the people, thrilled by the divine support. ‘Free citizens of the world, the Good Party needs you! All against the Bad until they are wiped off the face of the Earth and we can live in a new world where there are only Good people! Long live the war! That brief but impassioned speech by the leader of the Blue Flag Party managed to mobilise millions of supporters. Weapons were plentiful on this side and no one had to turn up with ridiculous and ineffective arms, so they were utterly convinced of their their superiority was overwhelming. The next day, everyone was mentally prepared to face the army of the Bad Guys, and they knew they were the winners. Within a few hours, an impressive army had been formed, superior in numbers and weaponry to that of the Red Flag Bad Guys. Nevertheless, the latter decided to give battle, because they had the advantage of being more motivated, as they were convinced that they were the good guys. In the early hours of the following day, dawn was barely breaking and both armies were already in position to begin the battle that would decide the fate of the world. At the command ‘Charge!’, both armies set off towards each other amidst deafening shouts. When they clashed, the initial shouts turned to howls of pain, wails, cries and shouts of ‘Death to the Bad Guys! Long live the Good Guys!’ , which was repeated on both sides, until not a single combatant remained alive. Only the leaders remained, mounted on their respective horses, decked out with their respective flags, they approached one another and glared at each other like two rabid dogs. ‘Now there are only the two of us left to decide who will rule the world... ‘Only the Good shall rule the world! E Death to the Evil!E Death to the Bad! And they stabbed each other with their sharp sabres, for both were convinced they had killed a villain. After that bloody battle, a terrifying silence fell. Not even the birds dared to sing their cheerful songs. Not even the rustling of the wind through the leaves of the trees could be heard. Nothing‘nothing could be heard! It was as if the world had stopped moving. Night fell and that deathly silence continued, whilst millions of bloodied bodies lay upon a field of daisies, bluebells, hyacinths, hydrangeas , gardenias, anemones, and other wildflowers, refreshed by the dew of the following dawn. And the silence continued! But suddenly Marcus appeared in that bloody field of slaughter, and gazed in horror at the aftermath of the battle. Moments later, small wings began to emerge from his back, growing until they became two great wings capable of lifting him into the air. Marcus clumsily practised the wing movements needed to fly, and after several failed attempts, he finally found himself suspended in the air with the agility of a bird. Back on the ground, he wondered what significance those great wings that had grown on his back might hold. But he had no reasonable explanation. Dawn was breaking and the dew made the petals of the simple wildflowers glisten in the place where the world’s final battle had been fought, with neither victor nor vanquished. Millions of men and women, including some teenagers, barely more than children, who had sympathised on both sides, lay lifeless, with no one to bury them. Not even their mothers would be able to recognise their children amongst so many bodies, all uniformed by the red colour of blood. Marcus roamed the battlefield hoping to find a familiar face; an old neighbourhood friend who might have taken part in that bloody battle, but he found no one he knew. He lacked the strength to spread his wings once more and leave that macabre landscape, and he let himself fall, dejected, onto one of the few patches where there were no corpses. Suddenly he was startled by the sound of flapping wings that could not have come from a bird, and in the faint light of dawn he made out someone who, like him, was winged and was approaching, flapping them at a slow but steady pace. Moments later he recognised the winged man as he alighted on the fresh grass. It was Calixto, the beggar from another planet! ‘Calixto! Are you the beggar from my old neighbourhood? Why do you have wings too? do I have them? You were dead! I saw them take you into the crematorium! ‘Calm down, Marcus, I am the very same beggar! You saw an empty coffin! I told you I had supernatural powers. I started this war! Now stop asking questions and get up‘we’ve got a long journey ahead of us. You no longer belong to this world, and in the one we’re heading to, men have wings. You couldn’t have come to this world without your wings. ‘To another world? What world? So you’re the one responsible for this slaughter? Why, Calixto? ‘ Not a single one of these dead men did not deserve this punishment! They were willing to kill their brothers simply because their flags were different colours. None of them knew the enemy they hated and were burning with the desire to kill. They blindly followed a deranged leader who hated himself, and he projected his hatred onto an imaginary enemy. But those on the other side were no better. They needed only an excuse to become murderers. Nor did they know their enemies, only the colour of their flag, which was enough for them. Both sides were the bad guys. The good ones did not enlist. They stayed at home, with their wives and children. They scorned the leaders’ power of suggestion, for they are leaders of themselves. They need no one to guide them, for they are their own guides. They do not hate those they do not know. They do not kill, even for a just cause; they do not chant revolutionary slogans along with the crowd, for they are not part of the crowd; they do not cheer their leaders because no one is righteous enough to deserve praise; they do not believe in a common God, but in the personal and unique God. They do not recite psalms learnt from holy books, but prayers they have created themselves, according to their spiritual needs. But these, Marcus, are neither good nor bad; they are simply human beings striving to be themselves, to listen to what their conscience dictates, to believe in what faith inspires; they think reasonably; they do not imagine beyond what is tolerable; they enjoy no pleasures other than those obtained with consent. And of such men or women there is not a single one on this battlefield! And now, enough talk‘let us take flight! Marcus did not awaken from this dream. He died peacefully, dreaming that he was flying to a world inhabited only by angels, for he had more than earned his angel’s wings. Linda was lying in bed when he died, but she did not know until the first light of the new dawn. When she discovered that her husband had died during the night, she covered his face with the sheet and whispered in his ear: ‘Let this be the last time you go to sleep without giving me a kiss!’ Then she wept silently so as not to wake Isabel, her husband and her grandson, who were spending the weekend at her house, because that day was Marcus’s 93rd birthday, and they had planned to celebrate it together. The Letter (Narrator: Luisa, Margarita’s daughter) As I had promised my mother, I have written a book about the history of our old neighbourhood, where she was born and spent her youth. It has not been an easy task. There are so many characters involved in this story that at times it became confusing and I didn’t know how to proceed. But I believe I have finally achieved my aim, and there are those 200 pages of the history of a forgotten generation, who had to rebuild their lives amidst the rubble and ruins of a neighbourhood whose destruction they themselves had brought about. Those men and women ended their days marginalised by history, because history had condemned them. But I don’t believe my grandparents were responsible for that catastrophe. They were unaware of their mistakes, because a bunch of fanatical madmen had hijacked their consciences and their wills, and they were in no position to react and free themselves from the tyrant and his gang of fanatical followers, until it was too late! Sergio has produced a small edition of the book, which he sells exclusively in his bookshop. I’d like the grandchildren of this generation to read this story, so they can get a better idea of what their grandparents’ neighbourhood was like. He rang me today to say he’s got copies ready, and we’ve agreed to meet up with my daughter Linda, Marcus and Guido this afternoon at Café Berlin, and he’ll bring copies for everyone. Guido is already here; Marcus and my daughter will be coming straight from their acting classes, as they’ve both decided to become actors. I think Marcus has the talent, personality and looks to be a great actor. His parents are delighted and support him in everything. I think my daughter has more determination than talent. But I know Linda is heavily influenced by Marcus’s strong personality. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day they spring a surprise on us!Marcus and Linda were on time, but Sergio hasn’t arrived yet. I wonder why he’s late? Perhaps some last-minute setback has cropped up and he’s still at his bookshop. At last, here comes Sergio, accompanied by a young woman I don’t recognise. She certainly isn’t from the neighbourhood.‘.Hello, Sergio, you’re a bit late, but who is this young woman with you accompanying you?“That’s Anna, a friend. She’s doing her PhD at our university. Her parents are Russian immigrants, but she was born here.They greet each other with an endless flurry of kisses.“Luisa, first of all I’d like you to see a family photo of Anna’s.”“I’d love to!”Sergio’s friend shows us a photograph of a healthy-looking, smiling man, holding the reins of a beautiful horse in one hand. He is wearing riding riding gear.“He was a great rider,” says her friend, “he won practically every equestrian competition he entered.”“Who is he?” I ask her.“He’s my grandfather’s brother, Sergei.”“Is he still alive?”“No, he died in 1945, a few months before the armistice was signed. He was seriously wounded during the assault and was taken to a field hospital located behind the front lines; he died the following day. His mother never knew this, and after some time had passed without any news from him, she assumed he was dead. The person who was supposed to deliver the letter to his mother was killed by a sniper before he could hand it over, and the letter, along with other documents, was kept in the War Archives of this city, as it was a testimony to the war. And that is where I found it. Almost no one knew its contents or to whom it was addressed, because it was written in Russian. I made a copy of it and have translated it. I’d like to read it to you...‘Yes, please! His letter reads as follows: “Myere love‘because time did not wish to be generous to two lovers in the midst of a hateful war. In that world I will soon leave, the harmonious song of nightingales can be heard, but it is drowned out by the roar of bombs. It is inhabited by angels who are driven out by demons. It is filled with light that is extinguished by darkness. In its fields, wildflowers grow, choking out thorny brambles. In its homes, the laughter of children can be heard, silencing the weeping of the elderly. Immaculately white cumulus clouds float across the sky, displaced by threatening storm clouds. Tomorrow you will be a lonely lover of that deranged world, because all you will have left of me is a memory; the rest will lie in some meadow turned into a cemetery, without headstones or graves, just a wooden cross with a name that time will irrevocably erase. Our son or daughter will never know where his or her father lies, just as will happen to thousands of other sons and daughters in the same circumstances, and you, my beloved Margarita, will not even have a photograph of me to place under your pillow each night, to carry you to me in your dreams. I am sorry to say goodbye to you in such a bitter way, but bitterness is the offspring of war. Take care of our son or daughter and speak to them of me as if I were alive. Describe to them how I loved you, so that they too may feel loved. I do not know if there is a place in heaven reserved for lovers separated by war, but if there is not, I will wait for you at the gates of Paradise, and together we will enter, hand in hand. Farewell, my beloved Margarita, I have not betrayed you; it was the war, which hates lovers, just as death hates life. I know I am asking you for something almost impossible, but I beg you not to forget me, for I will not die as long as I live in your memory! A warm embrace from your beloved, Sergei.” We are all deeply moved by this letter. I feel particularly touched and happy, because now I see that I was conceived out of love; though it was brief, I can only bring myself to say: “My beloved father, my tears cannot bring you back to life, but at least I know that you have already been reunited with my mother, your beloved Margarita, and holding hands, you have already entered Paradise beloved Margarita, wars are conceived by minds that wish to separate lovers. By the time you receive this letter, I may no longer belong to this world‘the world that witnessed our brief but sinc.” ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I can’t think of a better note of thanks than the reproduction of the email I sent to my dear friend, Jaime Nubiola, when I held the first printed copy of the manuscript of this novel in my hands: “Dear Jaime, I can never thank you enough for your help. I now have the printed manuscript and have read it through in one sitting, and I would read it ten times over, because thanks to your corrections, it is a delight to read it without typos. Thank you, Jaime!” To write a novel, inspiration is just as important as having a suitable workspace. I must thank my neighbors for their respect and kindness, which have allowed me to maintain the state of mind necessary for my work. Thank you, neighbors! But the person to whom I am most deeply grateful is my dear Maritza, for her critiques of the chapters dealing with the complex world of homosexuality in the novel’s first draft. Without her profound and intelligent observations, the message I intended to convey to the reader with this novel would have had the exact opposite effect. Thank you, Maritza!