An Autumn Rose (In progress, 35%) Preliminary Note Dear Reader, you may have noticed that this novel is narrated in a style similar to a movie script. There’s a reason for this: it’s not a novel inspired by philosophy but rather “revealed,” because, strange as it may seem, this novel emerged from a dream—during a movie screening—and I only missed seeing the final scenes because my cat, Niko, woke me up just as the end was approaching. It’s possible that the author of that dream might sue me for plagiarizing it. I began writing it with extraordinary speed, because I already had the story internalized, but I soon encountered the emotional complexity of Martina’s character, and it took me two years to resume writing once I was in the right mental and spiritual state to tackle it. I hope you enjoy this character as much as I’ve enjoyed writing her. Berlin, September 2025 PART ONE 1. Madrid, Goya Street, in the heart of the distinguished Salamanca neighborhood; 7:00 p.m. on a hot day in early fall. A powerful high-pressure system has been hovering practically over the city for several days, blocking the cool breeze from the nearby Sierra de Guadarrama and causing air pollution levels to rise dangerously. Compounding the problem, further compounded by the heavy traffic in the neighborhood at this time of the afternoon, when managers, top executives, renowned professionals, and specialists in every ailment—real or imagined—afflicting the rich and famous return to their privileged homes; they are the only ones permitted to live in this neighborhood. After a relaxing shower and a complete change into casual attire—leaving the symbols of their high status in the closet—they take an ostentatious little Yorkshire terrier and a bored wife for a walk to the nearby Retiro Park, where they run into another man following the same daily routine with the same bored wife, but with a different breed of dog. 2. Five good friends, all living in the same neighborhood—three widows of prominent ex-husbands, one divorcee, and one single woman— meet at a crowded café on that same street to recount the adventures they’ve had during the two hottest months of the Madrid summer, which they spent at their respective homes in some coastal area. The first to arrive at the meeting is Martina, who has been a widow for two years following the death of the former branch manager of a multinational bank in the neighborhood. Martina will soon turn fifty, but thanks to the care required to maintain the image of a banker’s wife—along with her charm and natural spontaneity—she doesn’t look her age. She has managed to overcome the grief of her husband’s death and regained her infectious charm and natural cheerfulness. With the punctuality expected of a former judge, Julia, sixty-three years old, the oldest of the group, arrives. She is the philosopher of the group, known for her sound judgment and wise advice. It has been ten years since she was widowed by a Supreme Court justice. The two women greet each other with a warm embrace and compliments on how well they both look. They take a table with five chairs, waiting for the three absent friends. They have barely taken their seats when Ingrid and Jennifer arrive, though everyone calls her by her Spanish-style nickname, Fina. Ingrid has been a widow for three years, having lost her husband, a German orchestra conductor who had settled in Spain. After her husband’s death, Ingrid would have liked to return to her beloved Berlin, but she was tied to Madrid by her two children, both born here, each with their own jobs—her son at the German consulate and her daughter at the Goethe Institute. Fina isn’t a widow, but she has turned thirty-two without anyone ever courting her, due to her lack of feminine charms. The latest to arrive is Susana, a former model, divorced, with no interest in remarrying. The waiters know these five women because they usually meet once a week to discuss the highlights of current events; to plan a trip to a play or attend the premiere of a movie in the presence of its director and some of its stars, or perhaps attend the opening of a new painter’s exhibition at the neighborhood gallery. They have unanimously agreed not to discuss politics, except during election season, when they decide which political party to vote for. “What would the ladies like to order today?” asks the waiter once they’re all settled in. “For heaven’s sake, Manuel,” protests Martina, “don’t call us ‘ladies’—that’s so old-fashioned!” “Then what should I call you?” asks the waiter. “Girls! Right, girls?” “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it,” replies the waiter with a chuckle. —What would you like to drink, girls? —The usual, Manuel. In her personal schedule, she has plans today to attend a book launch at a local department store. None of them seems to have anything extraordinary to share. They’ve repeated the same story as last year. Martina at her privileged retreat in an idyllic town on the coast of Almería, Julia at her family farmhouse in Asturias, which is falling into disrepair more and more each year, so she’s spent the last two months battling with plumbers, electricians, and construction workers. Ingrid attended an extraordinary concert at the Berlin Philharmonic and, as she used to do when her husband was alive, went to the traditional Wagner Festival, and spent the last two weeks of August recharging her batteries at a spa in Bavaria. Fina has only enjoyed a month of vacation, because the intensive English course she teaches for executives ends in July. She spent August taking long walks through Retiro Park, in the hope that fate might have a lover in store for her there—in the very same place where, in days gone by, numerous marriages were arranged between naive maids and soldiers. 3. At the entrance to a department store in the area, a small crowd has gathered, waiting for the arrival of a popular author of a best-selling crime novel series to present the latest installment of his never-ending saga. From the Metro station located near the department store, a young man—who will soon turn thirty—emerges, looking a sorry sight. Despite it being a hot day, he is wearing a military-style overcoat, warped from excessive use, faded jeans, and sneakers that must have been white in their heyday. He has a thick, unkempt head of hair, covered by a red baseball cap bearing the logo of a popular soft drink brand, and sports several days’ worth of stubble, which darkens his face of stern features—features we might describe as manly. The character is Leonidas, Leo to his few friends, an overlooked and frustrated writer, which explains his unkempt appearance. He isn’t attending the book launch because he admires the author—quite the opposite, in fact; he detests him—and he intends to confront him, accusing him of being a puppet of his publisher to attract the attention of the media covering the event. The department store security guard has seen him enter and is watching his every move, suspecting he might be a shoplifter planning to commit a theft. The bookstore section where the presentation will take place is still empty, and Leo chooses a seat in the front row because he wants to make sure his presence is noticed. Shortly afterward, attendees begin taking their seats, but the seats next to Leo’s remain empty due to people’s aversion to his scruffy appearance. Only an elderly man, struggling to get into his seat, seems to ignore Leo, sitting in one of the adjacent chairs, while the other seat remains empty. Moments before the event begins, when all the seats are taken except the one next to Leo’s, Martina arrives. She has noticed the empty seat next to Leo’s and is about to take it. When she comes face-to-face with Leo, she hesitates to sit there, but it’s already too late, because the moderator and the guest author are already on stage. Martina decides to take the seat, feeling that all eyes are on her every move, and focuses on the presentation, keeping her distance from Leo. “Is this seat free?” Martina asks Leo, unable to hide a look of displeasure. “Of course it’s free—can’t you see there’s no one there?” This aggressive response confirms her fears about that first unpleasant impression. “Good afternoon,” the moderator greets the audience. “I don’t think it’s necessary to introduce our guest author, since he’s widely known for the great success of his crime novel series.” Leo shifts in his seat and mutters indignantly: “Yeah, it’s a crime novel because of the trash it contains!” Martina has heard the mutter and watched Leo’s expressive gestures of rejection with alarm, and decides to leave the presentation. She gets up and rushes out of the department store. Once on the street, she calms down and decides to return to her apartment, just two blocks away. She hasn’t noticed that Leo has also left the presentation and is following her. “Hey, ma’am… wait…!” Martina is seized by panic, thinking he’s followed her to rob her, and pleads in terror: “Don’t hurt me, I beg you, don’t hurt me!” “Why would I hurt you?” Leo replies, puzzled by Martina’s reaction. But Martina isn’t listening to him, because she’s in the throes of a panic attack. “Look, I have five hundred euros in my purse; I’ll give them to you if you don’t hurt me!” “Are you referring to this purse?” —Leo pulls Martina’s purse out of one of his roomy pockets—, “You dropped it when you rushed out; I just wanted to give it back to you. Why would I hurt you?” Martina can’t help but burst into hysterical laughter. “I’m sorry, I really am, and I beg you to forgive me, but there are so many stories about violent robberies against women that I thought you were one of those thieves!” “And you don’t have five hundred euros—you have one five-hundred-euro bill, three hundred-euro bills, and one twenty-euro bill. Were you planning to haggle with your attacker?” Leo remarks sarcastically. “Did you see what she had and give it back to me?” Martina exclaims, astonished by Leo’s gesture. “Anyone else who found it would have taken the money and thrown the wallet into a trash can.” “Are you suggesting I should have kept her money?” “No, no, for heaven’s sake, that’s not it,” replies Martina, having recovered from her panic attack, “but at first glance, it doesn’t look like you have money to spare!” “No, I don’t have money to spare,” replies Leo, who was offended by the comment, “ but keeping something I know belongs to someone else seems more despicable to me than if I’d stolen it. “What planet are you from?” Martina replies in astonishment, having regained her cheerful and spontaneous nature, “because on ours, there aren’t people like you! Look, you’ve saved me a lot of headaches, because I keep my ID, my driver’s license, and a dozen credit cards of every color in my wallet. I think you deserve a reward. Martina pulls a hundred-euro bill out of her wallet and offers it to Leo. “A hundred euros for bringing you your wallet?” Leo replies, who firmly refuses it.—You don’t have to give me anything; you lost it because of me. I’m really angry at that author, and I just couldn’t help myself. “Don’t make me feel ungrateful—I have to reward you somehow.” I have an idea: I’ll treat you to a pizza at Antonino’s. God only knows how long it’s been since you’ve had a tasty pizza! Okay? Leo feels overwhelmed by Martina’s spontaneity and decisiveness, and he accepts with a slight nod of his head, accompanied by a resigned exclamation: —“Whatever you say!” —“And don’t call me ‘you,’ it makes me feel older than I already am!” she insists, taking the surprised Leo by the hand. —“Come on, let’s go to the men’s department to see if we can find something more decent, and don’t worry about the money—I think I have enough to buy out this whole store! Well, I think I might have exaggerated a little! Martina picks out a jacket suitable for this time of year, a brightly patterned shirt, a pair of casual pants, and sneakers that match the clothes she’s chosen. Leo watches Martina’s frantic activity as she sifts through the clothes she selects and discards, until she finds the one she’s looking for—and she seems to be having fun. Meanwhile, a sales associate takes his measurements to find the right size. Finally, she approaches the bewildered Leo with a subtle look of triumph, carrying all the items she’s chosen: “Here, try these on—I’m sure they’ll look great on you; you’ve got a great figure!” When Leo steps out of the fitting room, Martina can’t contain her admiration for his transformation. “You can’t be the same guy who went into the fitting room a moment ago! Some elf must have swapped you out! Now they’ll definitely let you into the pizzeria!” Martina pays the bill and asks the clerk for a bag to put Leo’s old clothes in. “We’ll toss them in the first trash can we come across,” Martina exclaimed with a laugh. And they left the department store and headed for the nearby pizzeria. 4. Antonino, the owner and host of his pizzeria, greets Martina in Italian with exaggerated gestures of affection. “Dear Martina, it’s been a century since you’ve been to my pizzeria—I’ve missed you so much…!” (Dear Martina, it’s been a century since you’ve been to my pizzeria—I’ve missed you so much…!) He takes her hand familiarly and exclaims with a theatrical gesture of admiration: “When are you going to give me your secret to eternal youth? You’re getting younger and more beautiful every day!” —Antonino, I think you need a new pair of glasses, but I appreciate your compliments. Come on, find us a table for two—I’m here with my friends today. —Right away! It’s a very hot day today; maybe you’d like a table on the terrace. “Yes, that’s a good idea…” “And it’s more romantic!” added Antonino with a subtle look of complicity. “Antonino, it’s not what you’re imagining. You’re always thinking about love, but he’s just a good friend. She could be his mother!” “I get it!” but fate is full of surprises… Leo has been distracted, unable to process everything that’s happened to him in such a short time, and hasn’t been paying attention to Martina and Antonino’s conversation. Antonino takes note of the pizzas they’ve chosen. —Red wine? Martina approves the choice, and Antonino brings a pitcher, pours two glasses, and exclaims, in the same theatrical tone: “Il vino moderato è salute per il corpo e gioia per l’anima.” (Wine in moderation is healthy for the body and a joy for the soul) And he heads to the entrance to greet new customers, with the same theatrical gestures. “Antonino isn’t Italian,” Martina remarks, “but from a small town in the south. He spent twelve years in Italy, where he learned the trade of pizzaiolo. He says it’s good for business when people mistake him for a Neapolitan.” Martina raises her glass and proposes a toast: “Here’s to everyone being as honest as you!” Leo joined in the toast, flustered by the direct reference to him. “Well, Mr. Alien,” Martina says with a laugh, “we’re having dinner together, and I still don’t know your name.” Leo seems to snap out of it. “Leonidas—my name is Leonidas, but you can call me Leo.” “Leonidas? That’s a very unusual name. Where does it come from?” “My father, who’s no longer with us, admired the ancient Spartans and named me after one of their kings.” “Maybe he thought his son would one day become a king.” “A king? No, I’d much rather be a mechanic or a street sweeper. Being a king is the most enslaving job in the world.” “And what profession have you chosen: mechanic or street sweeper?” “A more complicated and lower-paying one,” Leo replies with a smile to Martina’s question. “The profession of a writer!” “Ah, well, now I know the reason for your anger at the book launch: professional jealousy! That writer you detest has sold over a million books. How many have you sold?” Leo is taken aback by the question, but he remembers that Martina went to the book launch, and he thinks she might be one of his millions of fans: “Do you like that author?” Leo asks, fearing she’ll say yes. “I don’t know—I haven’t read anything by him yet, which is why I came to the launch.” The truth is, I don’t know what to read anymore. I don’t like crime and mystery novels; romance novels always have the same plots: boy meets girl, but something keeps them apart, yet the lovers always prevail; in the end, they get married, and they lived happily ever after. What are your novels about? Are they romantic, too? “Yes, some are romantic, but others are about life—about human beings, with their successes and failures; their joys and sorrows; their youth and old age; their hopes and disappointments…” —To write about all that,” Martina interrupts him, “you must have lived life very intensely and have a vivid imagination… Oh, here come the pizzas…! Can I ask you something personal? —Yes, you can; I have nothing personal to hide. —Are you married?” Martina regrets asking this question, because Leo might misinterpret it, and she hastens to clarify. “You don’t have to answer! I just wanted to know…” “I have no reason to hide it,” Leo interrupts her in turn. “I’m not married, nor could I be. I get by on the little I earn from the occasional translation job. How could I support a family?” “Okay, we’ve talked enough about you—now it’s my turn… No one makes a Margherita pizza better than this pizzeria.” “Martina makes this comment to defuse the tension in the conversation.” Something crosses their minds, because Leo doesn’t respond and they both fall into an eloquent silence. Martina can’t bring herself to talk about herself, because she’s unexpectedly been overcome by a heart-wrenching nostalgia for the years she spent with her late husband. Leo wonders, bewildered, if Martina was trying to seduce him. He’d never imagined he’d connect so well with a woman twice his age. Martina feels a sudden urge to cry in anguish at the memory of her late husband, whom she feels she is betraying. “Oh my goodness, I’d almost forgotten that we have a neighborhood meeting today, and it’s my turn to be the president! Tell Antonino to charge all that to my account. She stands up with a swift movement and rushes out of the pizzeria. Leo doesn’t react, because he has no way of knowing what might have caused her to flee. He hasn’t said anything that could have offended her. Antonino has seen her leave without saying goodbye, as was her custom, and approaches the table where Leo remains frozen in place. “What happened to Martina? Why did she leave so abruptly and without saying goodbye to me, as she always does?” Leo shrugs, tells him to pay the bill, and also leaves the pizzeria, lost in a sea of doubts. Antonino simply exclaimed: “Ah, l’amore, l’amore, è una caramella avvelenata!” (Ah, love, love is a poisoned candy!) 5 Martina walks in a state of great anxiety. She wants to get to her apartment as soon as possible and doesn’t even wait for the elevator—which must be on one of the upper floors of the building—and climbs the six flights of stairs. She arrives out of breath and enters the large living room, guided by the dim light streaming through the wide glass doors leading to a terrace, from which one can admire a spectacular panoramic view of Madrid. She collapses onto the spacious sofa and lets bitter tears relieve her anguish. Afterward, she remains lying down, letting her mind go blank—especially the image of Leo stepping out of the fitting room with the clothes she herself had chosen. She stays that way until she feels she has recovered from her momentary depression; then she turns on a table lamp, walks over to a large bookcase, and searches the shelves for the family photo album chronicling thirty years of her life with her husband. She sets it on the sofa to go to the kitchen and make herself a soothing drink. She returns to the living room and gazes at the large album with its gold-embossed cover, not daring to open it. She just wants to be sure that her memory hasn’t forgotten or betrayed her. After a bitter struggle with her conscience, she opens the album and shudders as she looks at the first photo, in which she appears, at nineteen, alongside a young painter who was exhibiting his work for the first time at a well-known gallery in the neighborhood. In the background was the first painting he sold to the smiling young Martina. The photograph appeared in the arts and culture section of a local newspaper and depicted a scene from the Lavapiés neighborhood—the very same one where she had spent her early childhood, until her family moved to the now-distinguished Salamanca neighborhood. Martina attends the exhibition opening and discovers the painting, feeling a wave of nostalgia. Someone is watching her. “Miss,” said the man who would become her husband, “I’ve been watching you, and it seems you’re quite taken with this painting…” “Yes, of course I’m taken with it—it’s the house in Lavapiés where I spent my childhood!” “What a coincidence!” She says nothing more. A few minutes later, while the young Martina remains entranced by him, the painter approaches her and says, to her astonishment: “Thank you, young lady! Your father bought this painting for you because he says it brings back fond memories of your childhood.” “This is the first painting I’ve sold since I started painting.”—and he marked it as sold. Moments later, her presumed father approaches and explains why he did it. “Don’t be surprised, young lady, I intended to help this talented painter by buying a painting from him, and after learning of your interest in the work, I thought my investment would be better spent by giving it to you as a gift. All I ask in return is that you let me treat you to a drink—it’s a very hot day today.” “Yes, you made a good investment—the best of your career!” —Martina whispers, devastated. Then she slowly flips through each page of the album, and on every one she finds a reason for longing, which triggers uncontrollable sobs. 6 Leo decides to walk back to the old apartment in the lively Chueca neighborhood, which he shares with other artists: street musicians, painters without galleries to exhibit in, mediocre actors—all with the same air of failure as Leo. He opens the door as quietly as possible so they wouldn’t notice him coming in, but the person in charge of collecting the rent was waiting for him. After gazing indignantly at his new outfit, he rebuked him with extreme bitterness. “So, Leo, you don’t have money to pay your share of the rent, but you do have money to buy clothes—which, as I can see, aren’t exactly cheap!” “Look, man, I’m not in the mood for your nonsense,” Leo replied indignantly. “ Now leave me alone; we’ll talk about whatever it is tomorrow.” “So, ‘nonsense,’ huh! If you don’t catch up on what you owe by the end of this month, you’ll find your stuff in the stairwell, because…” —Leo doesn’t listen to the rest of his threats; he goes into his chaotic room and slams the door shut. He plops down on a rickety armchair salvaged from the street dumpsters, and asks himself once again what had gone wrong to make that woman—who had behaved with such generosity and kindness—flee without a trace, and how he might get in touch with her. “What grave mistakes have I made,” he laments bitterly, “to deserve this punishment?” He gazes gloomily at the mess in his room, but he lacks the motivation needed to tidy it up. Leftover hamburgers are rotting in the trash can; dozens of books bought at used bookstores are piled on a rickety dresser with no doors. He has sold the books in better condition, by well-known authors; rows of empty beer bottles line the windowsill, protected by a dense net against the voracious mosquitoes, which opens onto a narrow, dark inner courtyard, from which comes the annoying sound of televisions or stereos blaring at full volume at any hour of the day or night; or the shouts and moans of the frequent arguments between a mismatched couple and the pitiful howls of a dog left alone for too long. Distressed by all the negative events of that day, Leo feels that the dramatic moment has come to give up his dream of becoming an acclaimed writer. 7 Martina closes the photo album after looking at the last photograph. It’s a family scene, taken on the spacious terrace of their summer home. Martina takes the photo, holding her cell phone in one arm and wrapping the other around her husband’s shoulder. In the background is the small bay with its deep turquoise sea and the few remaining fishing boats returning to the village. A month after this cherished photo was taken, her husband died of a heart attack during a heated meeting with shareholders. Martina breaks down in tears again, but something tells her it’s not because of that cherished memory, but because of something weighing heavily on her chest—though she doesn’t know what the cause might be. To try to clear her head, she steps out onto the terrace just as the sky turns red in a breathtaking autumn twilight. As if she were being pushed by someone, she approaches the railing and, for the first time, feels a sudden wave of dizziness and an urge that seems to push her into the void. Horrified, she returns to the living room, and, in a fit of nervousness, locks the large windows and tosses the keys onto the highest shelf of the bookcase, so she can’t reach them. She throws herself onto the sofa and begins to sob again, without knowing why. She is deeply depressed and decides to ask Julia for help, because she fears she might do something crazy. Between sobs, she manages to dial Julia’s phone number. “Hi, Martina, how did the presentation go?” Julia asks her. But Martina can’t answer. Julia realizes she’s crying and asks, alarmed: “What’s wrong? Did you fall?” Martina manages to stammer a few words. “Julia… I need your help… I’m really depressed… and I’m afraid I might do something crazy…!” “But what happened to you?” Julia insists. “I don’t know… I just feel like crying…! Can you come over to my place?” Martina pleads, and she drops the phone onto the sofa, but she hears Julia’s reply. “Yes, I’ll be there in half an hour…” Julia replies, concerned about Martina’s state, “but don’t do anything foolish—whatever’s going on with you, everything can be worked out!” Martina remains lying on the spacious sofa. She doesn’t dare move for fear she might lose her mind, because she doesn’t seem to have control over her own will. She feels as if part of her soul had been torn away. Julia arrives at Martina’s apartment ahead of schedule, alarmed by her dramatic phone call, which makes her fear that Martina might be contemplating suicide. She couldn’t understand how a woman who had coped with her husband’s death and seemed to be embracing life with enthusiasm—full of renewed optimism and cheerfulness—could, in just a few hours, have her attitude shift to the point of considering suicide. When Martina opens the door and appears with eyes red from crying, Julia feels relieved; she takes her by the arm, and they settle onto the spacious sofa. “But what happened to you? Why are you crying? Has a family member of yours died?” Martina shakes her head. “Then tell me, and we’ll see what’s troubling you.” Martina feels uneasy, because her behavior toward Leo has been too erratic for Julia to understand or accept; even so, she needs to unburden her troubled heart and recounts her encounter with Leo—his honorable gesture of returning her purse, the purchase of new clothes, and the eventful dinner at Antonino’s pizzeria. “And why did you leave so abruptly without saying goodbye? Did that strange young man say something offensive to you?” Julia asks, having already reached a verdict, as a judge would. Martina shakes her head again in denial and waits for Julia’s reaction; Julia knows the answer but doubts it’s wise for Martina to know it. “Oh, Martina; my poor Martina, you’ve contracted the most painful and yet the sweetest of all the ailments in this world: you’ve fallen in love with that extraordinary young man! After thirty years of love and affection from your admired and respected husband, your nineteen-year-old heart is awakening and discovering love… You have Juliet’s heart, but the body of a fifty-year-old, which won’t seduce your young Romeo, and that makes you suffer. Isn’t that what’s tormenting you? –Yes, it could be… but what torments me is the feeling that I’m betraying his memory, because I loved him… –No, you didn’t love him. You thought that loving him meant being the perfect wife to an important man, pleasing him, and doing what he expected of you. You felt affection for him; you loved him the way men love—with their heads and without passion—but we women love with our hearts, and when we fall in love , we lose our heads and give ourselves body and soul, without thinking about the consequences. You’d like to respond with the same generosity and passion, too, but your large age difference prevents you from doing so. “What can I do? I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again!” “Nothing! Let fate take its course and hope it takes pity on you. I’ll stay with you tonight, and we’ll watch a movie with a happy ending… if there is one!” 8 Leo flops down fully clothed onto his rickety bed, but he can’t fall asleep. From the narrow courtyard come the moans and recriminations of the ill-matched couple, and from some apartment above, the screams and explosions of an action movie. Furious, Leo gets up, walks to the window, and yells. “Turn down the volume on your damn TV!” But the annoying neighbor responds by turning the volume up even higher. Other neighbors join in his protest, and a chaotic racket ensues. Leo can’t stay in his room. He searches all his pockets to see if he has enough for a beer. No sooner has he stepped out the door of his building than a striking-looking young woman approaches him, with long, tangled hair dyed with red streaks, and with a forced smile, she whispers to him: “I’ve got the best weed in… “Shove your weed up your ass, or sell it to your b…!” —Leo cuts her off. “Cut it out, man, I didn’t insult you! If you’re in a bad mood, don’t take it out on me!” the young woman retorts. At the bar’s entrance, a burly man has been watching the scene. He approaches the young woman and asks her, glaring at Leo with contempt. —What’s going on here? What did that jerk do to you? —Nothing, he didn’t do anything to me, but he insulted my mother by calling me a b*tch! He steps closer to the young woman and says practically into her ear. —He must know her… —Is that why you’re giving me a hard time? “Do you want me to slap him a couple of times, or would you rather I snap his neck?” “Don’t talk nonsense—just scare him a little so he’ll show some respect.” He approaches Leo menacingly. “Hey, man, what the hell did you say to my girl?” “Leave me alone!” Leo replies, trying to shake off the thug. “What kind of manners are those? You’d better apologize right now, or I’ll have to leave a mark on that cocky, smug face of yours,” the thug threatens, pulling a pocket knife from his pocket. “Okay, man, leave him alone! You’ve scared him enough already, and put that thing away—someone might see you and call the cops.” “Whatever you say, Chati,” he says to Leo, reluctantly letting him pass. Leo is deeply shaken by the unpleasant incident and returns to his room, giving up on the beer. “I can’t fight my destiny,” he murmurs desolately —somewhere it must be written that I’ll never achieve this pipe dream of becoming a prominent writer, or even a bad one. I’ll spend what’s left of this unfortunate life surrounded by drug addicts, painters who only know how to smear paint on canvas, actors who haven’t read Shakespeare, and postmodern philosophers who claim that truth is an invention of Descartes.” 9 A new day dawns with a refreshing drizzle—light but enough to wash away the pollution from the days of the stifling high-pressure system. Madrid shines with a fresh face, and its residents seem grateful, regaining their vitality and traditional warmth. At the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in the distinguished Salamanca neighborhood, God rises early. In other, more working-class and modest churches, the spaces fill with immigrants who pray in Spanish with their native accents or in other languages, such as Slavic ones; even Confucius and Buddha make an appearance, because in Madrid’s churches, those who pray as their hearts dictate are welcome, without needing to prove their religious pedigree. Accompanied by their prominent ex-husbands, Julia and Martina usually meet every Sunday at the doors of the basilica for the first service of the morning. Both are faithful to tradition and continue to attend the same morning service every Sunday. They know the parish priest and the sexton, a jovial fellow who always has a touch of humor or a popular joke to entertain the parishioners. This Sunday, Julia spent the night with the depressed Martina, so they’re also going to the basilica together. On the way, Martina seems more serene and remains meaningfully silent. “You know, Julia,” Martina breaks the silence, “I’ve been thinking about what you told me yesterday about our destiny, and I wonder: if everything is written somewhere, why should we make an effort to improve our behavior, if it’s already written?” “But, “Martina, the effort is also written in our destiny.” “Then it must also be written in my destiny that I seek out this honest young man and apologize for my behavior at the pizzeria.” “If you look for him, he’ll be there…” “But last night you advised me not to do anything.” “What I meant was that you shouldn’t do anything in the emotional state you were in without consulting your conscience. Fortunately, you you acted with good judgment, because otherwise you wouldn’t be in this world anymore. –If you hadn’t come, I would have lost what little sense I had left. The parish priest of the basilica greeted the parishioners as they arrived from the doorway. –Thank God He has blessed us with this timely rain,– he remarked to one of the parishioners. –Now we can breathe without a mask. –By the way, Father, Martina and I had an interesting conversation: do you believe in destiny? –But why bring up such a complicated theological question on a Sunday at eight in the morning? For me, destiny is what we do that is pleasing in God’s eyes, and going against destiny consists of acts that are not pleasing to Him. The two women seem to be trying to understand the pastor’s point of view. Julia is the first to react. “But, Father, how can we know what is and isn’t pleasing to God? –We’ll know that if we listen to the voice of our conscience and don’t look for an excuse—which we always find. That’s why the sacrament of confession was instituted: to encourage us to open our conscience and discover what we do that leads us astray from our destiny… Well, it’s time to begin the Mass; let’s hope it stops raining… we humans are never satisfied… 10 Sundays are the days when Leo meets up with his younger sister to go to a nearby playground. Ivette is in the late stages of an unexpected pregnancy, because twenty years separate her birth from Leo’s. Both of their parents died as victims of the last COVID pandemic. Ivette—that’s her name— lives with her aunt’s family—a family that already has two young boys placed in a facility that helps families affected by the pandemic. “Leo, I don’t want to live with Aunt Mirta anymore,” little Ivette complains, swinging on the swing where Teo has taken his sister. “She yells at me, and I don’t want her to yell at me.” I want to live with you, at your house. Why won’t you take me with you? You don’t love me anymore, and Aunt Mirta doesn’t love me either because she scolds me and yells at me.” “Ivette, you have to be patient because your Aunt Mirta has a lot of problems. Her husband is very sick and can’t work. She’s the only one supporting the household.” “But I want to live with you. Why won’t you take me with you to your house? You don’t love me anymore!” Ivette swings harder on her swing and seems to be trying to hold back her tears. Suddenly, Ivette begins to sing the aria from *Nabucco*—the chorus of the Jewish slaves by Verdi—as a way to ease her bitterness. –Ivette, what are you humming? –Leo asks, astonished. —I don’t know, I heard it on TV. I really like it. “When did you hear it?” “A little while ago, before you got here. It’s really beautiful.” “And you remembered it?” “Yes, of course… but you don’t want to take me with you, and I don’t want to go back to Aunt Mirta’s house…!” Leo is deeply impressed, because he realizes that his sister is a child prodigy. “Hum it again, Ivette!” Ivette repeats the entire melody of the aria. “My God, my sister is a child prodigy and I hadn’t realized it until now, and here I am wasting my time with my stupid daydreams. That’s it—I have to take care of her future! Leo makes a firm resolution and wants Ivette to know it. “Yes, little sister, you’ll come live with me as soon as I find a job. Be patient and give me some time. I want you to know that I love you very much and that very soon we’ll be together, just like when Mom and Dad were with us. They won’t be able to help us from heaven, where they’ll surely be. Now don’t stop singing. Do you promise me you’ll be patient and won’t argue with Aunt Mirta?” Ivette is deeply moved and simply nods her head. Leo hugs his sister, who can no longer hold back her tears. 11 After Mass, the two women head to the café where they usually meet up with the rest of their friends for breakfast, “How are you feeling? Can I leave you alone?” Julia asks, concerned about Martina’s recovery. “I’m invited to lunch with some retired colleagues from the National Court, but I can cancel… I still have time.” “We could take a walk through the Retiro; it’s beautiful this time of year…” “And romantic!” adds Martina with an amused expression that confirms she’s on the mend. “No, Julia, you don’t need to cancel your lunch—I’m over my funk now.” You were right—I’ve been acting like a teenager, but it’s all over now, because I’m not a teenager—I’m a woman about to turn fifty. How could I have ever thought I could have a romantic fling with a young man I could be his grandmother? Only in dreams can you see yourself as twenty, and as Calderón de la Barca wrote, ‘dreams are just dreams.’ You can go ahead and enjoy your lunch with your former coworkers—I’ll know how to control myself. I think a walk through the Retiro is a wonderful idea, but it’s sad that some things are more beautiful when they die… –That’s right, my dear friend; what they lose in vitality, they gain in spirituality, but it doesn’t work that way with people. In these materialistic times, spiritual beauty has no value, and, yet it is in that beauty that happiness resides. We don’t live happily—we’re merely content. We’re creating a culture in which happiness isn’t even recognizable, because, tell me, Martine, what does happiness mean to you? Do you remember the moments when you’ve been happy? –I suppose there were times when I was happy, like when my daughter, Amelia, was born, or my honeymoon in Mallorca with my husband, or…–Martina doesn’t seem to remember any other moments. –You can count them on one hand. Martina returns to her apartment, troubled by doubts about her emotional state. As a first precaution, she leaves the patio doors closed and doesn’t try to retrieve her keys. She picks up the latest book she’s bought and settles into the spacious sofa to concentrate on reading. But she doesn’t like the book and can’t concentrate on reading. She gets up in a bad mood and randomly picks up Leo Tolstoy’s dramatic novel, *Anna Karenina*, which she dislikes even more than the previous one. Despite these two poor choices, she tries again, but to ensure she isn’t disappointed, she chooses *The Little Prince*. She settles back onto the sofa and amuses herself by flipping through the illustrations. But the effect on her mood is devastating, because she believes that literature is possibly the most beautiful of all the arts—that such a small book had touched the very depths of the hearts of millions of readers across the globe—and she had met, and possibly lost, the author of another small book similar to that one. It was no longer a sudden romantic infatuation but a feeling of guilt for having humiliated a potentially great writer. Once again, she feels depressed and whispers between sobs: ––I have to find him and apologize; he doesn’t deserve my behavior! She decides to go to Antonino’s pizzeria, in case Leo has returned there, even though she knew it was unlikely. Antonino greets Martina with his usual theatrical gestures, but he’s noticed her sad expression—he’s never seen her like this before. “Hi, Antonino, you can go ahead and order a Margherita—I’m starving.” Antonino hesitates over whether to ask her a sensitive question, but he senses that something is off and that showing concern might help her. “Martina, just one pizza?” “Yes, Antonino, just one pizza.” “I know I shouldn’t pry into your private life, but we’ve known each other for a long time, and you’ve never come here alone. Is there anything I can do to help?” “Yes, Antonino, you can help me.” It’s… it’s… “Is it something to do with that young man… Martina doesn’t hide her anxiety over Antonino’s response. “Yes, Antonino, has he been back around here?” “I already told you that fate has big surprises in store for us. Love is blind and knows no age. No, dear Martina, he hasn’t shown up here, nor is it likely he’ll come. You’ll have to look for him at cheaper pizzerias; this one’s too expensive for him. “How do you know? He was wearing designer clothes.” Martina seems resigned, but deeply affected. “When you deal with a lot of people, you know what social class they belong to. Besides, you paid the bill for the pizzas. I’m sure you also paid for the designer clothes he was wearing, because the pants still had a tag on them.” –Yes, I paid for it. With the clothes he was wearing, you wouldn’t have let him into your pizzeria. But I don’t want to find him for “love,” as you say; I just want to apologize and make sure my encounter didn’t hurt his dignity. –I get it; it bothered me too that you left without saying goodbye… Here comes your margarita… Don’t get down on yourself. You’ll see—you’ll find him so you can apologize… and maybe something more… 12 Leo has decided to give up his literary aspirations and devote himself entirely to his sister’s musical training. Luck is on his side, and he finds a job as a driver for a taxi company—but on the night shift. The manager is a huge opera fan, and Ivette’s story has moved him. “I want to help you, but the day shift taxi fleet is full; there’s only one available for the night shift. Would you like to try it out for a month and see how you get along in Madrid?” Leo accepts, and with an advance payment, he’ll pay off his rent debt and cover his sister’s expenses. Leo shares the news with his sister, who welcomes it enthusiastically. “I promised you, and now we just need to find an apartment. You have to be patient; Aunt Mirta is happy now because we’ll give her money so she can take better care of you and not scold you. Leo begins his trial period, and that very Sunday he’s already a new taxi driver cruising the streets of Madrid at night. Although his decision to quit is justified, he still believes in his talent and promises himself he’ll start writing again once he’s managed to establish his sister’s music career—even though he doesn’t have the resources to make it happen. 13 Martina has lost her appetite and turns down the pizza. “Oh, Martina,” protests Antonino with a condescending smile, “you must be very much in love to turn down one of the best pizzas in all of Madrid—not to mention the entire planet!” “All right, don’t feel humiliated yourself—wrap it up to go, and I’ll eat it at home.” “If my customers find out you turned down one of my pizzas, it’ll be the end of me.” “Don’t worry, Antonino, your business is safe—because no one will find out,” she says, returning his smile with the same sarcastic tone. Martina returns to her apartment deeply disheartened, not knowing what to do to find Leo. Once back at her apartment, she checks the Internet for the schedule of new book presentations at the department store and regains hope when she reads about a new book presentation scheduled for that very day. A few minutes before the scheduled time, Martina is at the entrance to the department store, keeping an eye on everyone who comes in, but Leo doesn’t show up. Her heart races when she sees Leo sitting in one of the front rows, and she recognizes him because he’s wearing the jacket she bought for him. She can’t get to the row where Leo is because people taking their seats are blocking her way, so she makes her way to the next row, with her back to Leo. “Leo, I’ve finally found you,” she exclaims, placing her hands on his shoulders. The man she thought was Leo turns around in surprise, and Martina realizes with a deep sense of dismay that it isn’t Leo, though he is wearing the same jacket. “I’m sorry!” Martina apologizes. “I mistook you for someone else.” The stranger accepts her apology, and Martina is so shaken that she decides to give up her search. She doesn’t want to shut herself away in her apartment again and decides to attend the last showing at a first-run theater on Gran Vía. She’s arrived in time to watch the trailers for upcoming releases, settles into one of the seats, and focuses on the movie. As she leaves the theater, the weather has changed, and a cold blizzard with intermittent rain is raging. Luckily, there’s an empty taxi right in front of the theater entrance. She covers herself with the pages of a classifieds newspaper and hurriedly gets into the taxi. –To Hermosilla Street, in the Salamanca neighborhood. The driver starts the car, but suddenly stops and turns to Martina—who is startled by the abrupt maneuver—and asks her: –Martina? Martina is still in shock, and asks in turn –“Leo? Are you the same Leo I met the day before yesterday at a book launch, or are you his twin brother?” –“And you—are you the same Martina who stood me up at that fancy pizzeria in the Salamanca neighborhood, or are you her twin sister?” –“It’s me, and I’ve been looking for you to apologize for exactly that…! and here I find you driving a taxi! “It’s a long story.” “Can we grab a nice hot cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it?” “I can’t—today’s my first night shift as a taxi driver—but we can meet tomorrow at Antonino’s pizzeria, as long as you promise me you don’t have to attend a neighborhood meeting.” –I’m sorry—that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. –Sounds like a good idea. See you tomorrow at the same time as yesterday. –Antonino would love to serve us a wedding cake even more than pizzas! –Ah, l’amore, l’amore! 14 Martina feels as if she’s emerged from hell and is enjoying the bliss of paradise. Her encounter with Leo under those extraordinary circumstances seems to her to foreshadow something more than friendship—something that could turn into love. She no longer sees herself as a mature woman, but has let her imagination run wild to be nineteen again. It’s as if she’d cast a spell, erasing thirty years of being a symbolic woman to become a real woman, with all the weaknesses and greatness of a woman. At the appointed time, Martina and Leo are once again seated across from each other at a table decorated in the colors of Tuscany and filled with the music of Verdi. Leo wonders what it is about Martina that isn’t show the signs of her age, and Martina asks herself the same question, but in reverse: what was it about Leo that already showed the signs of maturity? That’s why some angel, with a quiver full of arrows that pierce straight through the heart, is preparing to shoot them at his two potential new victims. For his part, Martina’s arrival—accompanied by Leo for the second time—confirms to Antonino that l’amore has no age, and the good reputation of his pizzeria is solidified. Leo describes to Martina how he has given up on his frustrated literary aspirations to make of his sister what he himself could not become. –And how do you plan to provide that education? She’s too young to enter the conservatory and too old to delay her musical education. She’ll need a private teacher—or maybe two: one for music and another for singing… Are you thinking the same thing I am? —Yes, I think I know what you’re thinking… —“Then, if you’re on board, you can both come this Sunday, and we’ll have a little party so she can meet my protégée. She’ll share a room with Nanú, the new housekeeper, because she’s also very young and they’ll get along, but above all, she’ll have the chance to learn and practice English, since Nanú knows only a few words of Spanish but speaks English very well.” Martina wants to know what Leo will do, because it would be too hasty a decision to protect him too, as was her wish. –And what will you do? –Of course, I’ll keep working as a taxi driver, because I’ll pay you whatever my salary allows—it’s my duty! –Right, I forgot I’m dealing with the person who returned my wallet with eight hundred euros inside! –All right, Mr. Alien. Martine sees that agreement as the first step toward her future happiness. 15 The friends meet at their usual café. Julia is surprised by her friend’s change in mood, which must undoubtedly be related to her romantic feelings for Leo. Her conversation with Julia has changed her attitude toward her ex-husband. She now realizes that he was using her to get promotions, because their marriage projected an image of stability, harmony, and tradition—values essential in a banker’s family. To complete the positive image, he had Martina learn English and play the piano, because inviting colleagues responsible for promotions to an evening with a financier and an artist was a winning combination. Playing “Für Elise” or “Clair de Lune” on the piano during a family-style evening after an exquisite dinner earned him major points toward his promotions. Martina believes she has more than paid her dues for her devotion to her ex-husband and is now free to rebuild her life as she wishes, without remorse or longing. –I have some news to share with you. Don’t make any plans for this Sunday because I want to throw a little party to introduce you to my protégée, an eleven-year-old girl who could be Madrid’s very own Maria Callas. –And who is this child prodigy? –Haven’t I told you I’ve met an exceptional person? She’s his sister. Just think—I lost my wallet during the book launch with over eight hundred euros in it; he found it and returned it to me without taking a single euro! —What planet did he fall from? –That’s exactly what I told him! On Sunday at the party, God willing and if the devil doesn’t get in the way, you’ll meet him. –So, that explains the good mood… Our dear Martina has fallen in love! But of course, who wouldn’t fall for a man like that… He must be older and well-off, because a young man wouldn’t act that way. –Well, no, it’s quite the opposite; I don’t think he’s even thirty yet, and you could say he’s penniless. –“And what does that rare find do for a living?” asks Susana, who’s suspicious of anyone who doesn’t have at least a hundred thousand euros in their bank account. –“He’s driving a taxi now!” –“Oh, Martina, you’ve fallen in love with a taxi driver!” “When I met him, he was a good writer in a world dominated by bad writers. He’s given up his dreams so that his little sister’s won’t be ruined too. In this world, taxi drivers become writers, and writers, to survive, have to become taxi drivers. “And you’ve decided that he should give up the wheel and pick up the pen again,” Susana insists. “Yes, but he won’t give up his new profession until his sister can be admitted to the conservatory. He doesn’t feel right unless he contributes part of the cost of her education. He’s a real oddball.” 16 The days leading up to the Sunday set aside for the recital were a whirlwind of activity for Martina. She didn’t know where Leo lived, but at least she had his cell phone number. She called him to ask if, if possible, Ivette could sing Schubert’s “Salve Maria,” since she knew how to play the part on the piano and even sing the second voice in the chorus. It only took Leo a few hours to reply that Ivette had already memorized the melody and was memorizing the adapted lyrics. That same day, she went to an organization that helps immigrants to hire a new housekeeper, because the one she’d had before the summer had returned to her home country and wasn’t coming back. The new one was a young woman from an African country mired in a never-ending civil war, named “Nanú.” What convinced Martina was her vegetarian cooking style, because in her country, meat wasn’t a common part of the average person’s diet. Finally, she invited the director of a renowned singing school to give his opinion on the child prodigy’s talent. 17 On the Sunday of the performance, Julia arrived early, an hour before the agreed-upon time. She was concerned about Martina’s romantic infatuation. “Are you happy, Martina?” Julia asked her without preamble. “I’ve never been happier than I am now! Don’t ask me why, but I have a feeling that everything will turn out just as I’ve dreamed!” “But you yourself quoted Calderón: ‘Dreams are just dreams.’” “So dreams can’t come true?” “Yes, but then they stop being dreams, and reality isn’t the way we want it to be.” —Then we’ll never be happy! —You can call me a pessimist, but that’s the reality. —What are you trying to tell me with this? —I’m just asking you to be more realistic if you don’t want that sweet, passionate love you’re feeling right now to soon turn bitter. —And what’s your advice? —To realize that things might not go the way you want them to and to accept that. That way, you’ll be able to appreciate it all the more if your dreams do come true, but you won’t suffer if they don’t go beyond a warm friendship. —Are you saying I shouldn’t act like a woman in love, but rather like a simple, affectionate friend? I’m sorry, Julia, but how can I give up the feeling of love for fear that it might fail? It’s as if we refused to taste a fine wine for fear it might make us sick when there’s no reason to think it’s gone bad. If you’re referring to the age difference, I think we’ve moved beyond biological age and are now in the realm of spiritual age, where there are no differences. –Yes, Martina, you may be right, and I’m getting old and won’t accept the rules of this risky game. So I can only wish you luck and hope you win this big bet. 18 Little Ivette couldn’t be happier. She’s finally leaving Aunt Mirta’s house, and in her new home, no one will scold her or yell at her –What’s this lady like? She won’t yell at me, will she, Leo? –Ivette repeats the same question over and over. –All I can tell you is that she has a big heart, and she certainly doesn’t yell. I’m sure you’ll become good friends. Ingrid, Fina, and Susana arrive, who run into the director of the singing academy and enjoy the vegetarian canapés prepared by Nanú, the new housekeeper and cook, which are praised by all the guests. Afterward, the three of them step out onto the spacious terrace, which offers a breathtaking panoramic view of Madrid—the dome of the Almudena Cathedral stands out, and since the day is clear after the rain that fell during the night, the peaks of the Sierra del Guadarrama are visible. The time has come for Ivette’s meeting with her guardian, and she doesn’t know how to behave.“What should I say if she asks me why I want to live in her house?”“Tell her you weren’t happy at Aunt Mirta’s house, because you want to study music and singing to become a great soprano.”Nanú opens the door, and Martina comes to meet her with a welcoming smile.“So you’re Ivette, Leo’s sister.” Ivette can only manage to nod in affirmation.“Your brother has told me wonderful things about you.” “He deserves them,” Leo replies, convinced of her great talent.All the guests greet Ivette warmly. Martina wants her to meet Nanú.“Come, Ivette, let me introduce you to Nanú, with whom you’ll be sharing a room. She’s from a country in Africa…”“Are there lions and elephants?” Ivette interrupts.“Of course, and many more wild animals…”“And aren’t they afraid?”“It’s better if she answers that herself!”Nanú has understood Ivette’s question and responds with the few words she knows.“Yes, afraid; very afraid”—and she pretends to tremble with fear. Ivette finds this amusing.“She speaks very little Spanish, but her English is excellent. At first you won’t understand each other, but she’ll teach you English and you’ll teach her Spanish. Have you prepared the ‘Ave María’ song, and the lyrics too?”Ivette answers the questions with another nod. She waits for Martina to play the opening arpeggios, and with her childlike, innocent, and warm voice, she sings her part of this composition by the divine Schubert.The guests are utterly amazed, because it’s been barely an hour since Ivette first heard this song. When she finishes, all the guests—still in awe—congratulate the overwhelmed Ivette. To round out her first public performance, she also sings the aria from *Nabucco*, with which her adventure in bel canto began—possibly the most moving artistic expression of all the human arts.“This girl could turn out to be the reincarnation of Maria Callas!” exclaims the director of the singing academy.Susana also congratulates Leo with gestures of excessive intimacy. Martina has been watching her and believes she’s trying to seduce him, and Leo responds to her gestures with ones that are far too physical. Martina thinks Susana still retains the allure and beauty of her modeling days. For the first time, she feels the intense pain caused by jealousy she cannot control. Once again, age and its stigmas stand in the way, and she believes that if Leo allows himself to be seduced by Susana, she will have a difficult rival to defeat. Julia is also observing Martina’s reaction and believes that her fears have come true much sooner than expected. But she doesn’t think Susana’s behavior is a reason for Martina’s jealousy.Using the convenient excuse of suffering from a severe migraine, Martina calls the party to a close. To further fuel her jealousy, Susana asks Leo to drive her to the gym in his taxi—where she maintains her perfect figure—located just three blocks away, and Leo agrees. Ingrid and Fina are concerned about Martina’s unexpected illness, which was unusual for her. Once again, Julia stays by her side because she fears Martina might relapse into another of her sporadic bouts of depression, and she asks Nanú to prepare something to ease her migraine. “It’s not necessary, Julia, it was just an excuse…” “I figured as much. I’ve been watching you, and you think Susana was trying to seduce Leo.” “Yes, and I couldn’t stand it… and in my own home! You saw how they were leaving together… You were right, Julia; reality isn’t like what we’ve dreamed of… What can I do? Susana is more charming than I am; it’s only natural that a young, handsome man like Leo would let himself be seduced by a woman as beautiful as Susana, with whom to start a family, whereas I…” –You have a family now, too—Martina. And I think reality is better than your dreams right now, because I can’t believe Leo is capable of such a despicable act. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this mess. Susana acts that way with every man she meets—it’s just her nature—but there’s nothing wrong with that… —Julia, you can’t possibly know how much jealousy hurts because you’re not in love. –But I have been, and I know very well how much it hurts. What I’m about to tell you is very personal, and I trust you’ll keep it a secret, but I think you need to know because you’re about to ruin what could be your happiness. I had just turned eighteen, was still wearing white socks, and believed in eternal love when I met my ex-husband—may he rest in peace. He was a very shy young man studying law, in the same class as me. I wasn’t in love with him; it was simply a friendship born of sharing the same professional ambitions. Then I fell in love with a real scoundrel who enjoyed making me jealous by pretending to flirt with all his female classmates. I suffered so much from jealousy that I decided to play along, and we had sex—which left me pregnant. When he found out, he disappeared, and I haven’t seen him or heard anything from him. To avoid a scandal, my ex-husband agreed to marry me, adopt my son, and give him his last name, because he was impotent. Jorge is not my late husband’s biological son, but he accepted him and always treated him with affection. No one but he and I know the true paternity of our only son. Jorge found out when he turned eighteen and showed no interest in meeting his biological father, because he hadn’t inherited anything from him. After that, I devoted all my energy to my career, and although my life was filled with peace and harmony, I’ve never been happy again… Don’t make the same mistake! 19Susana called her friends to meet at their usual café because she had some important news to share with them. Martina refused to come, but Julia insisted that she attend the meeting because perhaps the key to her unfounded jealousy lay there.When the five women were gathered together, Susana surprised them all with her news: –Girls, you’re not going to believe this, but I’m getting married again!—“But, Susana, you’re the biggest advocate for freedom, and you’ve always been against marriage!” Ingrid remarked in surprise.“Yes, I was—until I met someone exceptional!”“And who performed that miracle?” Martina asks, making no effort to hide her discomfort.“Leo!” Martina’s expression betrays her dismay, and she makes a move to get up and leave the gathering, but Susana stops her:“Wait, Martina, it’s not what you think—I’m getting married again, but to my ex-husband. It wasn’t me who asked him to take me to my gym; it was him, because he wanted to know how you feel about him. Leo feels great affection for you, but he’s afraid to confess his feelings because he’s worried you’ll react the way you did at Antonino’s pizzeria. He’s a writer, and writers need to understand the depths of the human condition—its virtues and its flaws. According to him, happiness lies only in virtue. And generosity, fidelity, and art are the virtues that make us happy! A wise lesson for me, since I’ve never been generous, faithful, or an artist—quite the opposite: I’ve been selfish, unfaithful, and pragmatic. That’s why, until today, I haven’t been happy, and instead of blaming myself, I blamed my ex-husband, because he did love me and was willing to sacrifice his acting career to support my crazy ambition to become a renowned model. That’s why he was generous, faithful, and a true artist—but I mistook him for being weak, submissive, and unrealistic.Susana falls into an emotional silence. Martina clasped her hands and exclaimed regretfully:“Forgive me, Susana. I hope you’ll be the happiest wife in this crazy world, because you deserve it…”“Thank you, Martina,” Susana replied with a tearful smile, “for bringing to this group of lonely hearts the person who has restored our hope , joy, and imagination that frees us from that harsh reality we so desperately wanted to escape.Julia has listened to the dramatic confession with deep sadness, but she snaps out of it, exchanging a glance and a veiled look of reproach with Martina over her unfounded jealousy. She regains her composure and asks Susana.–And when will the happy event take place?Susana hasn’t heard the question and continues the story of her transformation.–After the divorce, she was able to rediscover her calling, and without anyone’s support—and despite the fierce competition in the film industry—she’s landed a leading role in a blockbuster about the life of Catherine of Aragon. She needs me to help her rediscover the joy of being loved by another person—someone generous , faithful, and creative—and that must be me, thanks to that angel disguised as a taxi driver on the night shift in Madrid.Martina quickly wipes two involuntary tears from her cheeks and, raising her cup of coffee—which she hasn’t even tasted yet—suggests an optimistic toast:“Here’s to the most in-love couple in the whole wide world…!”“—Except for you, dear Martina!” adds Susana conciliatorily. “By the way, there’s a taxi driver at the entrance to the Retiro waiting for a very special passenger.” He told me she still has time to take a romantic stroll through the Retiro, and then enjoy a tasty, crispy Margherita pizza at Antonino.Martina turns to Julia, unable to hide her enthusiasm:“Julia, can you…?”“Go fly off to meet your destiny—I’ll wait for you at home, and Nanú is preparing a delicious vegetarian dinner for us.”20 It was a very emotional reunion with deeply personal revelations. A true upheaval in the routine lives of these five women—five autumn roses. They’ve discovered both the gentle and the hateful sides of love. Julia was the most affected, not only because of her age, but also because she’d spent her life being orderly, reasonable, and realistic—a life that had brought her great professional satisfaction, but not even five minutes of true happiness. She would have preferred to raise a large family that would give her reasons to celebrate some family event every month, and a legion of grandchildren—which would have been more rewarding than judging crimes caused by nothing other than a lack of generosity, infidelity, and realism. Martina didn’t know how she should introduce herself to Leo. Until that moment, they’d had few opportunities to open her heart and confess that she was in love with Leo. It was wiser not to reveal her passion so soon. She would have wished for a more romantic encounter instead of shaking his hand as if he were a good friend or a colleague, but she still felt that not enough time had passed to take such a risky step.“I’ve been told you’re waiting for a very special traveler, to take a romantic stroll through the Retiro and then have dinner at Antonino.”“Yes, but you’ve been misinformed, because that special person is you.”“That’s a huge compliment coming from you, but I think I’m just an ordinary person. What’s so special about me?”“What is essential is invisible to the eye.”“Have you read that too?”“Of course!”“All right, I accept.” Antonino is enjoying our company; when he sees us together for the third time, he’ll give us his blessing—he’s an artist of love. “Maybe he’s right,” said Leo, clearly intending for Martina to interpret it that way—and she did: she took that comment as a declaration of love.21 During the walk, they exchanged only a few words, because they had learned that there are circumstances in which words do not express a feeling better than silence and the contemplation of nature’s beauty. Only when that enchantment fades can words be found again. As expected, Antonino was bursting out of his flashy outfit. From the very beginning, he knew that this unequal relationship would end in a romance, and now he’s already seeing the couple in the church. “When you’ve lived so much and had so many experiences, you know when a relationship that’s merely friendship ends in marriage. Don’t rob me of the pleasure of being one of your wedding witnesses.” “What are you talking about, Antonino?” “When it comes to love, Antonino is never wrong!” Antonino himself exclaims triumphantly. 22 But Martina’s happiness will once again be clouded by a simple conversation with the child prodigy she has set out to protect. That night, Martina felt she had to fulfill her new role properly and approached Ivette’s bed to ask how the little girl was feeling. “Do you like your new home, Ivette?” “Oh yes, it’s beautiful, and very big.” “Yes, so big that you can play hide-and-seek without being found.” The girl smiled at the idea of the game; but this was a moment of nostalgia and longing, and the girl brought her back to the reality she wanted to escape. “I don’t have parents or grandparents. Do you want to be my grandma?” Martina felt a twinge in her rejuvenated heart, but she had to be generous. And even though her answer made her feel like the Martina who was old enough to be a grandmother again—just when she thought she was practically a cheerful, happy teenager—she had to accept reality. “Yes, Ivette, I’ll be your grandma…” “Then tell me a story.” “I’ll tell you the most beautiful story in the world—it’s for children and adults alike, because ‘grown-ups were once children, but few of them remember it.’” “Is it about fairies?” “No, this story is about princes; it’s about a little prince just like you, and it goes something like this: ‘When I was six years old, I saw a magnificent illustration of a boa constrictor eating an animal.’” Ivette barely gets past the dedication before she falls asleep.” Nanú is awake and silently watches the scene between Martina and her charge. She, too, longs for her own family. Before leaving the room, Martina notices that Nanú is trying to hide the fact that she’s crying. –Nanú, are you crying? Nanú denies it with a forced shake of her head. –No, ma’am, no; Nanú isn’t crying! –Yes, Nanú, you are crying, because you’d like someone to tuck you in too, and the ones who could do that are far away. “Yes, Martina,” she says to herself, “you’ve just become a grandmother, and now you have to be a mother, too!” “I’ll tuck you in, Nanú. Just imagine I’m your mother.” Nanú seems to understand and wipes away her tears. Martina tucks her in, kisses her on the forehead, and leaves the room. –Good night, Nanú, and may you dream of your little black angels—the ones Antonio Machín used to dream of, too. The sight of the sleeping girl and the comforted Nanú made her whisper a thought: “How unfortunate are those who have no one to be generous toward, to be faithful to, or to live in an imagined fantasy with.” 23 Martina wants to know where Leo lives, because it doesn’t seem reasonable to her that, with empty rooms in her house, he should have to live alone. She knows it’s a very risky proposition for Leo to move into her home, but since he’s already taken in his sister, it seems reasonable to her that he should take in his brother as well. “Leo, I’ve been thinking that if you want to help cover the cost of Ivette’s classes, you could save the money you’re paying in rent by coming to live with us,” Martina offers. “That way, you’ll be better taken care of, and you might even be able to start writing again.” The room Leo is staying in is so noisy that he can barely rest after driving practically all night, so Martina’s offer is very tempting, but he thinks it’s a very risky solution, because such close quarters would put them in an intimate situation without having had time to get to know each other better, even though they both believe their relationship has been sincere and spontaneous and they already know each other’s essential character. “Martina, haven’t you thought about the consequences for your reputation?” “I don’t think it’s immoral to put up a good friend in your home if you have enough rooms for each of us to have our own separate room,” replies Martina, who doesn’t seem bothered by the criticism. “Besides, the only criticism that would bother me would be from my friends, but they won’t raise any moral objections—quite the opposite, they’ll celebrate it.” –Martina, I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing, but I can’t stand another day in the room I share with noisy, mediocre artists. Your offer would put an end to this nightmare, but it would be a relationship that respects our current independence. –Are you afraid that our relationship would mean the loss of your freedom?” Martina asks hesitantly. “Yes, do you remember that children’s story that we adults don’t want anyone to know we’ve read too? The fox warns the Little Prince that if they become friends, it will be inevitable that he’ll lose his wild freedom in exchange for a domestic slavery typical of humans, and I can quote my favorite philosopher, Erich Fromm, who told us that being free comes with risks and responsibilities that we fear we may not be able to appreciate. If I come to live in this house, it might happen that you tame me and then turn your back on the bonds we’ve created through our relationship. We humans never take precautions to avoid forming emotional bonds that we don’t let take root in our hearts, –I didn’t know that, besides being a writer, you’re also a philosopher. –A writer by vocation, but a philosopher by necessity. We all need to be philosophers if we want to understand reality for ourselves, without letting ourselves be swayed by the opinions of others. 24 Martina PART TWO 24 Because of the attention Ivette and Nanú required, from then on the girls’ get-togethers moved from the café to the spacious living room of Martine’s apartment. Less than a month has passed since Martina and Leo met in a dramatic encounter. In the Retiro Gardens, some trees have already shed their leaves. Those that glowed a brilliant green in the summer now lie rotting in piles, waiting to be removed by the gardeners and turned into compost for flowers or young trees planted in the spring. The rest of the trees are preparing to face another harsh Madrid winter. Gone are the sweltering days of summer. Gusts of wind sweep through the streets and squares, leaving behind a crystal-clear sky and twilights of sublime beauty—the kind that only nature can create. On his first day at Martina’s apartment, Leo sleeps after a long night driving idle, drunken young people from the nightclubs to their homes in the upper-class neighborhoods, while the early-rising factory workers from Getafe or Villaverde begin their shifts. Ivette is reading *The Little Prince*, the dedication of which she could barely hear before falling asleep, lulled by Martina’s motherly voice. Nanú has gone to a neighborhood bakery to buy something delicious to go with their mid-afternoon coffee, just as they used to do at the café during their past get-togethers. Today will be the day Leo is officially introduced to his friends, joined by a new character—Susana’s future husband for the Susana’s second husband, Arturo, who will be part of the introductions, and there will be even more surprises. As usual, Julia is the first to arrive, just as Leo steps into the living room, wearing an outdated bathrobe and about to take a soothing shower. Julia runs into Leo by surprise and reacts as expected, urging him to be careful, because she knew about Martina’s mood swings—she seemed to take everything to heart. –Engagement used to last a year just to solidify the relationship, until they were blessed by the church and signed the marriage certificate. Today, it’s all done in less than a month. Do you think it’s better this way? “I think I’ll be clearer-headed to answer after a good shower.” “Yes, sorry—I don’t know when to keep quiet.” Martina has been sorting through Leo’s meager wardrobe, and most of it has gone into the trash can. She’s also been sorting through his manuscripts, including poems and loose pages she doesn’t know which work they belong to. Ingrid and Fina have arrived. Leo is already here and ready for Julia’s interrogation, a reflection of his professional past. “It’s clear that the tree doesn’t ripen its fruit—it’s time that does,” Leo muses aloud, “which is why we can’t “That’s right, Julia, Leo is just my tenant.” Nanú has arrived with the treats and is serving the steaming coffee. Susana and Arturo arrived just in time, and Nanú serves the new arrivals. His companion cannot deny that he is an actor; his bearing and style mark him as an extraordinary person. Leo greets Arturo and congratulates him on landing the role of Arturo Tudor, the older brother of the bloodthirsty Henry VIII. It’s a small but prominent role, due to his marriage to the daughter of the Catholic Monarchs of Aragon and Castile; he was destined to be the next in line to inherit the English throne, but his untimely death meant the crown would pass to Henry VIII. “With the exception of Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem,” comments Susana’s ex-husband, “I don’t think a non-British actor has ever been cast before for a character from English history.” Not only did the casting take my acting skills into account, but also the curious coincidence of the name, and they assure me that I also physically resemble that character. –Would you have preferred to play the role of Henry VIII? –That would have sparked a popular uprising in England! Ingrid, Fina, and the director of the singing school—who arrived moments later—stepped out onto the terrace to gaze at a spectacular autumn twilight, despite the gusts of wind that grow stronger at that altitude. “These autumn twilights in Madrid remind me of those in Berlin,” ,” comments Ingrid wistfully. “I’ve never seen anywhere else a red more intense than the withered leaves of the oaks and beeches lining the River Spree. How I miss them! “Why did you mention Berlin?” asks the director “Simply because I’m from Berlin!” “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t you the widow of our former German conductor of the Teatro Real Opera Symphony Orchestra?” “Yes, that’s me,” replies Ingrid, surprised by the question. “I am…” “Wait, don’t tell me,” Ingrid interrupts. “Aren’t you the tenor who sang in several operas under my late husband’s direction?” –Yes, what a pleasant surprise! I’m half Spanish and half German; my father, who has since passed away, was German, and my mother—who, fortunately, is still alive and was a well-known soprano—is Spanish. It’s a romantic story. I spent my childhood in Berlin, which is why your comment surprised me. I had planned to pursue my career as a tenor in Berlin, but I stayed in Madrid to take care of my elderly mother. That’s why I founded the singing academy, which, fortunately, has become quite well-known. –And does your family live in Madrid as well? —No, I don’t have a family, because I couldn’t find someone willing to share the responsibility of caring for my elderly mother with me. She’s now in a nursing home where they take better care of her than I could. —“Will you take care of the girl we just heard sing?” —“Yes, of course, and I’d like to make an announcement. Let’s go back to the living room.” —“I want to announce that I’ll take charge of Ivette’s education—that’s her name, right?—completely free of charge, because really, I should be the one paying to have a girl with Ivette’s talent in my studio.” Everyone applauded the generous gesture and congratulated the singing and music teacher. “Even in London’s Hyde Park, the trees are displaying shades of ochre and red, as if straight out of a Renaissance painter’s canvas,” Fina added. Both women returned to the living room and waited for him to introduce them to Leo and Arturo, who were already part of the group. “Yes, girls, this has been the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life. I could never have imagined that that ragged young man with such a terrible appearance would become my best friend—to the point of actually living in my own home. But as Antonino said the first day he saw us together at his pizzeria, ‘Fate has great surprises in store for us .” It was written in my destiny that I would meet Leo at that chaotic book reading for a new novel about secret agents, criminals, spies, and other villainous characters.”—Martina pauses for a moment to gather her thoughts.—“Now Leo has taught us that we live only to satisfy our senses, but not to be happy. Susana, you have no idea how glad I am that you realized how unhappy your selfishness was making you and that you’ve changed your ways. Only now will you have the chance to be happy. “Why don’t you tell us about your novels and how you became a writer?” Susana asks. “I’d be delighted, but first I’ll read you a few poems—they’ll be the best introduction to who I am.” I’ll start with my sad and lonely childhood. But just as manure gives roses their delicate colors and fragrances, loneliness and sadness are the manure of the soul, from which the most beautiful stories spring. The first poem is sad, just as my childhood was; I’ve titled it: “Memories of a Forgotten Child” . Memories of a Forgotten Child who gazed at the sky searching for a friendly star, and who gathered sorrows from lost joys. A child who wept in silence without visible tears, who knew neither the memory nor the lullaby that cradles nor the warmth of forgotten hugs and premature kisses. Memories of a child surrounded by forgetfulness and absences, in an uncertain garden with flowers of his own invention and a wandering, luminous star for a heart. The second is joyful, because it speaks of the birth of the writer. My adolescence was a repetition of my childhood, but by then I was already aware of what was happening to me—that my calling as a writer was awakening— at that critical age when the great projects that will shape one’s youth and maturity are born. It was then that I faced the dilemma of choosing to pursue a well-paid profession and behave as people with common sense do. But I never wanted to have common sense. This is the poem that marked my calling: This morning the birds with joyful songs have awakened smiling, and those with rough, out-of-tune songs have been trapped in the night. At this dawn, the flowers in my garden have sung praises to a single God and have tinged my thoughts with pink and my gaze with sky blue. This morning my desires have arrived riding on white steeds and my most hidden and enduring dreams have come of their own accord. Today, treacherous death has returned to its lair and we artists have been invited to a banquet in honor of the roses whose birthday falls in spring. And with all this, to write a poem of gratitude to dreams to fantasy, to enchantment and to the writer within me. The third and final one is a eulogy to be read after my death—or rather, after my real life ends and I pass into an unreal life, where dreams come true. This is my main inspiration for the plots of my novels, short stories, and poems. Today is the day set aside to write the poem I’ve always dreamed of. Today, when my dawns are already uncertain And the night reaches out its dark hands to me With which I now treat myself as a brother Today, when my sight fades from my eyes And my steps cannot find the path I want to write my most heartfelt poem. Today I want to leave in your memory a flower that will never wither A memory that will never be forgotten. Today I want to write the poem of my dreams To always be by your side When my voice has fallen silent. Today is the day marked by my destiny to play my final game with life though I already know it’s a lost cause. “What more can I tell you about myself that these three simple poems haven’t already said?” “Yes, you’re right; we can already imagine what isn’t written,” Martina remarks, as if emerging from a daydream. –That’s the greatness of poetry,– Leo continues, –it takes just a few words to conjure up a grand fantasy. –And you, Arturo, what do you have to tell us about yourself and your calling as an actor? —Julia asks Arturo, showing great interest in Susana’s ex-husband. “Simply that I’m the double of certain people who invite us to dream and take us on journeys into the fantasies of other worlds. Ever since I was a child, I’d play at being someone else, as if I weren’t happy with myself. I also dreamed of seeing myself on movie screens, playing roles like those in the great Hollywood historical epics.” —It seems you’ve managed to do just that. —It’s just the first step; after this role, I hope they’ll give me others where I don’t die in the second scene of the movie. Now I’m counting on the encouragement and inspiration that Susana gives me. It’s gotten dark. A pale glow still lingers on the horizon. Martina’s friends and colleagues say goodbye to her and set a date for their next get-together. Leo starts his night shift as a taxi driver. 25 Leo has set up his literary retreat in a small attic that, until his arrival, had been used as a storage room. The small space is lit by a window overlooking the rooftops, from which—as from the rest of the spacious apartment—one can take in a panoramic view of the city. Martina wants to convince Leo to quit his job as a taxi driver and focus on writing. “Now you have the chance to focus on writing, and you don’t need to take on jobs that don’t bring you anything new or creative. You no longer need to help pay for Ivette’s classes. We won’t bother you here, and you’ll be able to concentrate on your writing,” says Martina after finishing setting up everything Leo needed to write. While Leo sleeps after another long night driving through the streets of Madrid in his taxi, Martina reads the manuscript of one of his novels, which, like the others, has been rejected by every publisher to whom he’s sent copies. Judging by Martina’s reactions as she reads the manuscript, she doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it; quite the opposite, in fact—she seems to dislike it. Leo has woken up, showered, and gotten dressed, and joins Martina in the living room. Seeing her reading one of her manuscripts, he asks her, convinced she’ll say yes. “Have you read it yet? What do you think?” “No, Leo, I couldn’t finish it!” “Didn’t you like it?” Martina’s response has confused Leo, because he thought he knew her well enough to assume she’d like it. “You mean you didn’t like it?” Leo insists, still incredulous. “Leo, I did like it, but… Leo interrupts her because he’s confused and for a moment thinks he hasn’t judged Martina correctly—at least she doesn’t seem to be the woman he’d created in his imagination. Maybe, after all, she didn’t come to the book launch where they met by chance, but rather to meet her hero. That’s why Leo reacts with a certain bitterness. “Maybe you’d prefer those novels about spies, and evil secret agents—which is why you went to the book signing. Maybe, after all, I’m a better taxi driver than a writer, and I should go back to my dive bar in Chueca, which is probably where I belong. –“ “How can you say that? You didn’t let me finish. It’s good, but too sad!” “Of course it’s sad! Living the way the protagonist of this novel does is very sad. Why not tell her story in a novel?” “Have you ever wondered why that author you detest sells millions of copies, while every publisher you’ve sent your manuscripts to has rejected you?” “It’s not because his stories are cheerful!” Leo replies sarcastically. “They’re not sad—they’re bloodthirsty and violent. His readers don’t care if a psychopath murders his enemy by slitting his throat with a razor blade he’d hidden in his hat. That crime should be sad, but his readers find it entertaining and thrilling—never sad.” What are you suggesting—that I, too, invent a character who’s never sad, but in every book of the series half a dozen enemies die violently, and readers enjoy it because they’re cheerful murders? Isn’t that what you’re suggesting? Martina is on the verge of tears because of the harshness of Leo’s response, and he realizes he’s gone too far. “I’m sorry, I went too far, but for a writer, their works are like a part of their soul and body; criticism hurts as if it were causing physical harm, even though it’s more beneficial than praise.” Martina has recovered thanks to Leo’s sincere apology and tries to defend him. “This sadness is a reflection of your previous state of mind. Now, surely what you write will be more optimistic. You yourself say that art is one of the virtues that make us happy—and what happiness can there be in sadness?” “Touché, dear Martina, but being contradictory is also human.” That was the first time Leo had called her “dear Martina”—one more bead on the rosary of passion and jealousy stemming from her love for Leo. 26 Leo’s presence in the distinguished neighborhood does not go unnoticed by the most conservative residents and defenders of what they consider immoral behavior and a violation of public decency, and it doesn’t take them long to conclude that Leo is Martina’s lover. The most reactionary neighbors form a sort of committee to defend the neighborhood’s morality. A group of elderly women and men—some widowers or widows—who enjoy generous pensions and, some of whom own other valuable apartments in the same neighborhood. “This is the greatest and most serious immorality we have ever suffered in this neighborhood,” declares the woman who appears to be the driving force behind what they’ve dubbed a “crusade”—a woman of humble origins, hailing from working-class neighborhoods and having made her fortune by selling land inherited from her grandparents on the outskirts of Madrid and reclassified classified as urban land. “How can this slut—which is the label she deserves—publicly humiliate the memory of her late and beloved husband, a great man who did so many good things for this neighborhood?” “And as if that weren’t enough,” adds another woman with the same tone of condemnation, “she’s looking for a Black maid who probably isn’t even baptized!” “And she’ll fill the neighborhood with Black people!” declares a widower, a prominent member of a far-right organization. “And that girl—where did she come from?” “I think she’s the daughter of her and the gigolo, because she’s the spitting image of him, but she kept her hidden,” “And, of course, now she can bring her to live with her without any problems.” “It’s our duty to report this immorality to the deceased’s family and to the parish priest of the Basilica of the Conception, where this hypocrite desecrates the church every Sunday with her presence. She can’t squander the fortune she should have inherited from her ex-husband on living a carefree life with a lover who’s twenty or thirty years younger than her.” Leo has his first confrontation with one of the women from the ultra-conservative group when he heads out, as he does every night, to work his shift in the taxi. In the elevator, he runs into a member of the group hostile to Martina. Leo opens the elevator door and invites her to enter first, but the woman, disturbed by Leo’s presence, refuses the offer with a comment intended to offend him. “Go ahead, you go first—I’ ’ll go down later—I can’t share the elevator with a freeloader!” Leo doesn’t react because he doesn’t know how to interpret the comment, but he realizes that the neighbors are openly hostile toward his presence in the building. As for Martina, they’ve refused to greet her and act aggressively when they run into her in the elevator, on the stairs, or in the lobby. Even the building’s doorman isn’t as helpful as he usually is; instead, he seems to share the same opinion about Martina as the rest of the group. “It seems your neighbors haven’t welcomed me with open arms,” Leo remarks, recounting the unpleasant encounter in the elevator. “I suppose they’ve made up some scandalous story about us, but I can’t set them straight one by one and explain your situation in this building. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. “I suppose they think I’m a gold digger.” “And me, an indecent slut in love with a gigolo twice my age, with no morals or decency.” “Leo, I think it would really help improve our image if you came to Mass with us on Sundays –I don’t have to prove anything because we haven’t done anything immoral or scandalous. I’m not a believer, and you could say I haven’t set foot in a church since my First Communion—and even then, I was forced to go. I’m not going to give up my principles for the sake of four hysterical gossips who have nothing better to do than spread false testimonies. 27 As usual, Martina and Julia meet early in the morning at the basilica to attend the first Mass. It’s a cold and dreary morning—a sign of the coming winter. “It’s time to start thinking about bundling up, because the first snows will fall soon,” the parish priest remarks to his parishioners. “Good morning, Martina,” the parish priest greets her. “Do you have a moment after Mass? I’d like to have a brief chat with you about a matter that concerns you.” “What matter, Father?” —Martina asks in turn, suspecting it must have something to do with her disgruntled neighbors. “I can’t tell you what it’s about right now, but after the service I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” “All right, Father, I’ll wait for you, though I can already guess what it’s about: my neighbors’ moralistic complaints.” The parish priest nodded and entered the basilica to celebrate Mass. “Those vipers are already spreading their venom, and they’ve started by trying to poison our parish priest.” He wants us to discuss this matter after Mass. Don’t wait for me to have breakfast with you at the café, because this conversation might take longer than expected. Martina sits down in the only chair in the small office that opens directly onto the sacristy. She’s visibly uneasy because she’s not sure what the parish priest’s stance will be. “Martina, we’ve known each other for thirty years…” the parish priest begins without preamble. “Ever since I officiated at your wedding…” “Twenty-nine, to be exact,” Martina corrects him “Your late husband—may God rest his soul,” the parish priest continues, “was a highly respected figure in the neighborhood. He made many loans to help start businesses that are now large companies, with many employees who are possibly the highest-paid in all of Madrid.” The parish priest pauses briefly, then continues his praise of her late husband, –A group of parishioners who live in your own building believe you’re being disrespectful to the memory of your late husband, because they say you’ve taken in a young man who might be a fortune-hunting gigolo. Personally, I don’t give any credence to the accusations of immorality, and in any case, it’s not up to them to judge you, but I think that if we don’t clear this up, they’ll make your life miserable. Martina is outraged; she shifts nervously in her chair and, holding back her understandable anger, replies:“Yes, my ex-husband was highly respected, but that was partly because I devoted thirty years of my life to helping him earn that respect—because throughout all those years, I was a faithful and perfect wife to a respectable banker. He molded me to his liking, and I never objected, because I was convinced that was my marital duty. Even though he gave me many joys, he wasn’t concerned about my happiness. Today I realize what my husband was really like—he valued his balance sheet results more than he valued me, because he could be sure of me, but he couldn’t be sure of his balance sheet results.That’s why, almost thirty years later, I’ve discovered what happiness is. I don’t think it’s a sin to fall in love with someone who has proven their honesty to you, loves you, respects you, and makes you happy!” —Martina recounts the incident with the wallet to the priest, expressing her amazement with a gesture of admiration.“From what you’re telling me, he’s a very different person from the one those ladies—your friend’s friends—described to me, but as long as he doesn’t leave your house, they’ll continue to believe he’s a gigolo disguised as an honest young man.”“And what can I do ? I’m not going to ruin my life and my happiness just to please four meddlesome, pious women.“Are you in love with that young man?”“Yes, Father, but I’m also aware…”“Of your age!” the priest interrupted. As far as age goes, there’s nothing to reproach you for. Even if you don’t believe it, I’m eighty-two years old and should have retired at seventy-five; I understand that you don’t accept that you’re a fifty-year-old woman now that you have a new reason to feel young. Do you think he loves you too?“He cares for me, but I don’t know if I’d call it love.”“Don’t you see the difference?”“I’m not quite sure; I’m a novice when it comes to love.”“Perhaps I’m not the best person to advise you on this subject, but if you don’t have anyone else more qualified, I can offer you some insight.”The parish priest settled into a relaxed posture, as if preparing to deliver his first lesson on the complex emotion of love.“Friendship is an affectionate relationship between people who share something in common, but it isn’t passionate and can be shared. Love isn’t just an affectionate relationship, but a communion, a total surrender—body and soul; it’s passionate and cannot be shared. If you’ve read the writings of the mystics, the verses of Saint Teresa, for example, can be read as the verses of a woman in love who longs for communion with God—which is why she dies because she doesn’t die.— That must be me!—Well then, there’s no other way out but for you to be united in the holy sacrament of marriage.—Father, you can’t be serious!“And why wouldn’t I be serious?” replied the parish priest, who had been expecting this reaction from Martina. “There’s only one condition for getting married: that it be for love. As for age, it may be a physical impediment, but not a spiritual one. When two people love each other, age no longer matters.” I’d like to meet this young man and have a chat with him about love and marriage. Could you convince him to listen to the opinions of an old neighborhood priest who has married many couples in love, most of whom still love each other as much as they did on their wedding day.–I’ll try, Father, but he boasts that he hasn’t set foot in a church since his First Communion!“Well, that will be a wonderful opportunity for him to do so for the first time and see if it gives him an allergic reaction.”“Are you sure you understood that right?” Leo asks Martina.“It struck me as odd, too… everything is happening so fast that I’m… overwhelmed, bewildered. Neither of them has uttered those two magic words yet—the ones that lead to paradise no matter where you are—because those magic words make everything paradise. Is it really that hard to say ‘I love you’…?”“I’ll tell you. It’s hard to say ‘I love you’ ” because those two simple words transform your life in such a way that you give up something as precious as your freedom in exchange for a few gentle caresses, a few sensual kisses, or an endless embrace against the warmth of a naked body. From that moment on, you lose all sense of time and space, and our entire new world is reduced to whatever is, at the same time, the world in which your beloved lives; everything else no longer exists, To be happy, you have to leave this world behind and live as if it were a happy, eternal dream. The transformation is so immense that there is nothing left of who we were before uttering those words.“I’d like you to talk about this with the parish priest at the basilica,” she pleaded, “so the three of us can meet and have a conversation about love and marriage.” “All right, I’ll go. It will be interesting to hear the opinion on love from someone who has never been in love. 29.Martine has texted the parish priest to let him know about Leo’s decision to attend the meeting, and they’ve agreed on a time when there aren’t usually any parishioners around; he’s waiting for them at the entrance to the basilica.“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Leo. Martine hasn’t stopped raving about your Christian virtues,” the parish priest greets a surprised Leo. “There are so few human beings of this kind left!”Leo graciously accepts the priest’s praise.“But there are even fewer Christians in their eighties who continue to preach their virtues.”The parish priest shakes Leo’s hand and remarks with a playful tone:“I’m sorry you have to break one of your longest-held principles, because to get to my office, you have to step inside the basilica.”“It doesn’t matter, Father; there’s always a reason for a principle…”“Ah, I see that in addition to being a good Christian, you’re also a good philosopher!” observes the parish priest.“Aren’t they compatible?” “According to the Byzantine emperor Justinian, all the evils of our world were caused by Aristotle’s dialectical ideas!“Yes, all of Christendom at the time was Neoplatonic; it prioritized the soul over the body,” Leo comments, surprised to find himself bringing up the subject, which led to a corruption of Christianity.“I see you’re enthusiastic about the subject. Let’s go to my office, and we’ll continue this interesting discussion there.”Once inside the nave, Leo couldn’t help but ask one of his usual questions whenever he gazed upon a religious building. “Why these irrational structures, with such high vaults? It’s just that God wouldn’t fit into a single-story building. And that obsession with building ever-taller towers…”“There’s a reasonable explanation for that.” All Christians assume that God dwells in heaven, so the taller the towers, the closer we were to God. But that view stems from the culture of Babel. They, too, tried to build a tower so tall that it would reach where their gods dwelt.The three of them settled into the office, waiting for the parish priest to begin his talk.“I suppose you’re wondering, ‘Who this old priest is to be lecturing us on love if he doesn’t have relationships with those who could be his lovers, as happens among the Reformed?”“Very good question!” Leo interrupts, seeming to listen with great interest.“The answer lies in the meaning we give to love and what we understand by ‘self-love’; because both ideas must go together, but not be confused. If love is a communion, there must necessarily be a beloved and a lover, and if we accept celibacy, it does not mean we renounce love—quite the contrary—it is to be in constant communion with God, because love for God is the highest state of awareness to which we human beings can aspire, since if we love God in order to be in communion with Him, it compels us to be perfect as well.—“But no one is perfect, not even a religious,” Leo replies—“Indeed, we are not perfect, but we know where perfection lies. Whether we are more or less perfect does not mean we do not know what perfection is.”—“You take for granted the existence of a perfect being whom you call God, but what proof do you have of His existence and, therefore, of perfection?”“Yes, this is the eternal question of whether or not God exists. But why don’t we ask ourselves if perhaps it is we who do not exist, and God’s world is the true and real one? In my humble opinion, we are in this world only to earn an acceptable eternity in God’s world.”—Yes, I’ve thought about that possibility many times…—And that would be the much-debated reason for our existence. We religious see this world as an opportunity for glory, and that is why we cannot distance ourselves from this momentous proposition—there is an eloquent silence in which the listeners seem immersed in deep meditation. The parish priest is the first to react—. But we have strayed from the reason I called you here—to have a constructive discussion about love, marriage, and the three virtues that ensure lasting happiness. I suppose you were surprised that I encouraged you to get married despite the twenty-year age difference, but neither the Bible nor the Gospels contain any mention of whether they approve or condemn age differences. Instead, they focuses on principles such as fidelity, love, and commitment. The wisdom and maturity that come with age are necessary for making such a decision; it values the age of the heart and the mind—the age of the imagination—more than chronological age. But we’re straying from the main topic. The most precious pursuit of a human being is happiness, and the cause of happiness is love; the decision to get married is valued more highly than chronological age. Let’s start at the beginning: people’s ultimate goal is happiness, and the source of happiness is love. I hope our philosopher agrees. “Of course!” Leo exclaims. Shakespeare knew very well what he was writing in *Romeo and Juliet*, since the characters are still teenagers and have no fortune of their own; thus, they are still unaware of selfishness and greed, and therefore their love is sincere and generous. In fact, love is a natural feeling in relationships between teenagers. Since love is a communion, what one possesses must be shared, so that in a marriage based on love there can be no private property, and therefore the separate property clause—which is a denial of love—has no place. “This clause is necessary when divorce is permitted,” Leo points out. “In reality, divorce is proof that our love wasn’t real. If we walk down the aisle certain that, in case of failure, we can always divorce, we are not following the rule. But when divorce is not permitted and the vows are respected, it is a marriage in which divorce is reserved as a last resort if the relationship does not work out. The failure of a marriage is the result of a poor choice. Father, you’ve just laid out the foundations of a dogma. I suppose you were surprised that I encouraged I suppose I encouraged dufzuha to get married, given the age difference between you, but there is no psalm or passage in the Bible that condemns or approves of relationships with large age differences. Instead, it focuses on principles such as fidelity, love, and commitment within marriage, regardless of the spouses’ ages. The wisdom and maturity required to make the decision to marry are valued more highly than chronological age. Let’s start from the beginning: the ultimate goal of human beings is happiness, and the source of happiness is love—I hope our philosopher agrees. “Of course!” Leo exclaims. Shakespeare knew exactly what he was writing in *Romeo and Juliet*, since the characters are still teenagers and have no fortune of their own; therefore, selfishness and greed are foreign to them, and their love is, therefore, sincere and generous. In fact, love is a natural feeling in relationships between teenagers. Just as in a communion, what one possesses must be shared; therefore, in a marriage based on love, there can be no private property, and that is why the separation clause— which is a denial of love. “This clause is necessary when divorce is allowed,” he points out “Exactly. Divorce is proof that our marriage wasn’t solid, because we didn’t make the right decision. A marriage that reserves divorce as an option when the relationship doesn’t work out and the marriage fails isn’t a marriage. It’s like saying, ‘Today I love you passionately, but tomorrow I might stop loving you—but I don’t care, because I can get a divorce and start a new passionate love affair. I don’t care; it’s obvious that if divorce is tolerated, then the institution of marriage would be superfluous—a simple registration would suffice. But in a society as dynamic and constantly changing as ours, it’s impossible for us to change so many times in this information society that it’s no longer comprehensible.” I dared to interject. In fact, we don’t change just once, but many times, and each time we have the right to change in this information society. Love—we change for many reasons that aren’t understandable, he dared to interject.END OF PART ONE (35%)