The joints-smoker doctress

Opposite our family business in Gabriel Lobo’s street in Madrid there is a small square which has no name, with trees and benches, little birds and some rather small dogs and cats too. I was seated on a bench rereading what I had written by night the day before, having a joint kind of a little hidden from the view of the few passers-by of a very torrid summer day. At that time I was living in a constant feverish delirium of revolutionary action. I was used to write communications, articles, essays and tales every day. Also I was used to go walking long distances from a place to another throughout Madrid’s streets, with my manuscripts notebook in my hands and my hands ink-dirty. But it was not yet the time to go walking throughout Madrid like every day I used to do when I suddenly saw coming towards me a figure rather small. When I saw her well she was already just beside me. She wore a bony-white polo shirt and clear beige skirt just a little above her knees, new, clean white sneakers and dark-green sunglasses cap’s style. She had her hair gathered in a pigtail at her neck and had combed with a stripe into halves, eyes dark and nose showy. Little mouth but fleshy lips and all her face full of freckles clear brown. She also carried an attaché case which declared her condition of busy.  What’re you doing here, hung up? she asked curiously and smiling at the same time. I laughed because of her spontaneity and her sensitive smile caught me in plain rise of hash very good quality.  Having a joint, I responded showing it to her and standing up. I see. It smells from the distance, she said and looked at me fixedly, still smiling. Can I have a few puffs?, she asked bringing near her hand to take the joint. I gave it to her and she smoked like a novice, taking it with her thumb and her index and putting a disagreeable face every each puff. After three or four she gave it back to me. You must aspire deeply to hung yourself up better, I said.  I don’t smoke much. Only a little now and then, she said. We looked at each other expectantly because of the unexpected encounter. Do you live near?, she asked.  I do not, I said. Then I pointed out the shop. Do you see the shop opposite? It is my parents’ business and I do some days come to help them or to see my friends here. And you do?  I’ve come to pay a visit to a patient at Antonio Pérez’s street. We are very near, I said.  Yes, I know. It’s the second time I’ve come. He’s very ill. An old man. She had become very serious.

Do you want to smoke more? I offered her the joint.  I don’t. I don’t. I can hung over or burst out laughing in the presence of the old man’s family. There was a pause while we stared at each other attentively. She smiled again.  What’s your name?, she asked. And giving me no time to respond, she said: Mine is Teresa. I’m Leopoldo. Listen, she then said. Are you going to stay here? I have nothing better to do now, I said. I’m going to pay the visit and after that I have to go to Barajas village. If you’ve got nothing to do you may come with me..., she said with a bright light in her eyes. I remained silent looking at her. If you want to, she added. Yes indeed. I’d like to go with you. I can have nicer time than going anywhere. Not to this visit, but you may come with me to Barajas. I looked at her as if it was an apparition, kind of hallucinating due to good quality hash. Ok, I said. I shall be waiting for you here. I have nothing better to do... For me it will be like an adventure. I don’t think I will be late, she said starting a march towards the patient’s street. We’ll see when I come back. I had accompanied her a few steps. As if we had already decided it of mutual agreement, I made a halt on the pavement and said: Ok. I’ll be waiting for you. Well then. We’ll see in a few minutes, and she went away hurriedly towards Antonio Pérez’s street and I sat down again on the same bench and left my notebook with my handwritings beside me.

Some fifteen minutes went by when I heard someone calling me. I knew it was her, but I couldn’t see her. Then I heard: Here!, and I saw it was her from a red Renault 5 of a pitiful aspect. I went up to the car with my notebook and sat down in beside my new friend the joints-smoker doctress. We made the route towards Barajas. During our journey I rolled up another joint. I hadn’t thought of rolling it up while waiting. Teresa said she was already hung up. We began to tell us our lives. She was born in Ciudad Real and it had been not long since she was a doctress. She lived with her brother and a student friend, also born in Ciudad Real, in a flat situated in Pinar de Chamartín, quarter of northern zone in Madrid, more graceful than these of the southern zone. Her brother didn’t smoke joints and didn’t like also they were smoked at his place. But student friend had a big bag full of marijuana in his room, and he invited her now and then or gave her a little for her to roll a joint. She told me she’d invite me some other day. I was the family’s black sheep. I liked to write and had political inquietudes. Why this. Because there is much injustice in the world and some of us must compromise with the rationality of social justice. But leaving aside my policies wants I had studied English, French and Photography. And I used to smoke since I was seventeen. She since a year ago or so only, and she became so affectionate because first time she had a joint she had laughed a lot. Like me, I said. Arriving in Barajas we were giving a turn looking for the house of sisters suffering from bulimia. She explained to me it was not a visit’s day, but sisters had telephoned because they were really scared, for they had eaten excessively at breakfast. And actually, when they opened flat’s door, sisters were very scared. They had had a rabbit each for breakfast and were worried because they suffered from stomach’s heaviness and ardours. I feigned so that they couldn’t see me laughing, for I knew the laughter could become strenuous and I felt a kind of suffocation, given the situation and vision of the scene. After she confessed to me laughing she restrained, but she was near to spoil everything when she realized the squeeze in which she had taken me to. On coming back from Barajas to Madrid I asked her if she was in possession of a driving license since a long time. She said she was since two years ago. And that she had a new car, better and more comfortable and bigger than that Renault 5 she used for work. She offered to take me home. I told her I lived in Usera but rather she would leave me in Gabriel Lobo's street again. In Usera? Where is that? I don’t know Madrid too well. I think I’ve never been to Usera. I explained it was a popular quarter of Madrid’s south. She took me to Gabriel Lobo. She gave me her card before saying goodbye. She said to me to ring her up on Saturday, she invited me to smoke at her place the marijuana her friend was not going to deny to her. From her words I inferred the marijuana’s guy was kind of a miser. We kissed our cheeks, I got off the car and she went away.

I rang her up on Saturday and she told me to go to her place at about five. Whispering and with accomplice’s voice: Eduardo is not in, and I know Felipe won’t mind my taking what I want from the bag. Good, I said. Better so, because it’s been a long time since I last had a marijuana joint and I feel like it. Does it make you laugh? I mean your friend’s marijuana. You’ll try it. I get very high because I am not used to it. Well, listen, come at about five, Ok? Ok. I am getting meal ready. Ok. Ok. See you later. See you. I got on three buses in total to reach Teresa’s house. In getting to her doorway I saw through the glass there was a porter in uniform and I tried to open the entrance door. It was locked. The porter heard a noise and saw me. From inside he pointed out with his finger the automatic porter. I rang up the bell of Teresa’s flat. At once I heard: Yes? This is Leopoldo. Come up. I shall open the door for you. Her voice sounded sad, although not distant. I went by the porter’s corner on my way to the lift and said hello to porter, and he looked at me from head to feet from his chair without replying and then asked me: Are you going to doctress’s? I’m going to Teresa’s, I replied halting a little. The porter made a gesture of sufficiency and said almost forgiving me. Oh, yes. Ok, Ok. You can come up. Then I said: Oh, better so, much better indeed. Thank you very much. And I wended for the lift when I heard from behind: I am Saturday’s substitute porter, you know. And one mustn’t trust in everybody. Yes, yes. I understand, I said. I had already pressed lift’s button and porter had left his bureau and had come nearer. Teresa is a big girl. She is valuable indeed, he said. The lift’s door opened. Thanks. So long, I said, and came into the lift.

Even before ringing up the bell I heard voices from Teresa’s flat, and after ringing up, besides voices, steps noise. Teresa opened up. Hello. Come in, she said, rather annoyed. She closed the door and leaded me through a corridor towards a lounge of considerable size. By the wall, sitting on a sofa to our left, I distinguished a type my age with sunglasses and in front of him a woman fifty and some more or sixty with sunglasses too, excesively well-dressed and of stern countenance and an accusing way of looking. Teresa introduced them to me: This is Leopoldo. We met up the other day when I went to visit a poor old man at Antonio Pérez’s street. These are my aunt Herminia and my brother Eduardo. I stretched the hands of both them over the low table. Sit down, Leopoldo, on the sofa or on that chair. Thanks. Yes, I will sit down on the chair, I said, and added as a joke: So Eduardo will be more comfortable alone on the sofa. Reproachful glance from Eduardo. Light-blue shirt good quality, summer beige pants twisted and turn at its ends, Corinthian moccasins, dear and fashionable among posh people in Spain, especially in Madrid, leather belt and sunglasses, everything well known trademarks. We all four were seated. Teresa and Eduardo her brother on the wide sofa on my left, aunt Herminia in front on a wing chair kind of withdrawn from the table we had before us, and I on the chair.  And where is that street?, asked aunt Herminia, whose perfume overflowed the room’s atmosphere and my clothes. I explained where the street was. Do you live nearby?, she asked me again, scrutinizing. No, I don’t live nearby. I live in Usera, a quarter of Madrid's south, near to the place from where the highway to Andalucía begins. Teresa interrupted me:  Felipe told me it was a low and dangerous quarter. Well, I said taken aback. It is not a low quarter. Peopled and working class certainly, but not low under no circumstances... I was going to keep on fighting verbally for Usera, but it was Eduardo who interrupted me looking reproachfully at his sister to say: The Lord does not distinguish between quarters. I at once said that it was true , that the Lord does not, just to laugh a little. Teresa stood up, made a conciliatory gesture to his brother and asked me to go with her to the kitchen. Coffee’s time, she said. I went behind her to the kitchen, choosing words for the kitchen and for the lounge.

She closed the door after I had entered the kitchen. She at once started to talk in low voice so that she couldn’t be heard from the lounge. Well, I didn’t know they were coming. My aunt came to Madrid and Eduardo went to pick her up and took her home. Eduardo put out a business trip. Fill in the coffee machine, do you want to? Well, impossible to have a smoke, though I’ve taken a bit of marijuana and kept it up. We can have a smoke later. It doesn’t matter. Hear, what did Felipe say about my quarter? Pouring water into the coffee machine’s depot. That it is a low quarter, didn’t he? She was getting ready a tray with four mugs. She looked at me, detained her move and said: That it is far too distant. Nearer to Puerta del Sol than from here, I said piqued. Did it take you too long to come here? I did have to take three buses. If you had to come to my place you’d have to take three buses too. She had the tray ready and leaned her bottom on the kitchen’s table, observant and smiling lightly. The coffee machine under my care began to march and the recipient began to fill in. I’ll take you home later if you me want to. Suddenly the plan of taking three buses to get back home made my head ache and didn’t want to lose the occasion of taking advantage of such a better plan. In fact I’d like you to take me home. It’s not the same the plan of taking three buses to come here to take them after to come back, more yet when I have the possibility of saying I’d rather you take me home and it being so. Of course, I will. I’ll take you home. Then I had a brilliant idea and happened to me to ask her:  Listen. Couldn’t you give me a bit of that marijuana you have hidden? I saw her semblance change, and for some moments I didn’t know what to say, but I finally added: To spend the night. She looked at me with sudden seriousness, so much it obliged me to explain myself. The thing is I’ve got nothing to smoke this weekend and I like to have something at nights. But if..., here I shut up confused, for her semblance reflected certain distance, nothing to do with the complicity of her voice when we spoke on the phone. Coffee is ready, she said coming nearer. She took the coffee depot and put it on the tray, and then took the tray. Open the door, please, she said to me. I didn’t know why Teresa’s semblance had changed just when it happened to me to ask her for a bit of marijuana. I couldn’t believe she had bothered about my asking her to give me a little bit of marijuana, but it seemed it had been so. I could have been contented saying to her to take a bit for the “journey” to my place, but I was not clever enough.

In the lounge Eduardo and the aunt were speaking about I don’t know what. Teresa put the tray on the table.  Well, yes, I said beginning the conversation. No wise people would say mine is a low quarter. Expectant looks from the three of them. You should tell Felipe, I went on not joking, that your friend from Usera is a legal type, and there are many girls and boys like your friend from Usera (silence) most of them trying to get a better situation in life hoping it is not a terrible effort. Then silence again for a moment. I took the little spoon to put in some sugar. Then the aunt spoke, and how she did:  We all have a right to live, of course. Eduardo was about to take his mug but rose up his index instead and said: Above social classes there is love for each other. And besides, work dignifies. Of course, I said. And Sundays one must go to church to ask for a much money miracle or a rise of salary from our blessed boss. Or to PSOE’s meetings to applaud the nasty and ugly idea of fomenting undervalued and painfully paid employment and so creating a new social class of poor workers. I haven’t read anything from Leopoldo so far, but he’s told me he is kind of a revolutionary activist, Teresa said, and added: I’ll be back soon,  and she went out from the lounge. Eduardo and the aunt moved nervously and looked at me. Certainly, communist, I confirmed, exalted by the circumstance of being only some days ago that there had been not less than a general strike in Spain against PSOE’s government, which pretended to tolerate and to encourage rubbish contract. There was agitation for a moment, as if suddenly the situation had turned unbearable. The aunt looked at me petulantly. Communist? What a  backwardness! Isn’t it?, she said looking at Eduardo. This looked at me and made a displeasure grin. I sipped up my coffee, not sure they’d tell me to go away from there. It is an ideology with no future, said Eduardo still showing the grin. It is the unique ideology containing all the wisdom, I said trying to impose the words that cause an effect. I was going to keep on speaking but Eduardo took the lead. Classes struggle in Europe at the end of XX century? Yes indeed, I said, and added: The moment has come to begin the revolutionary actions to face the wild capitalism they try to impose on us and to perpetuate.  But, intervened the aunt then consciously, why a revolution? A succession of events in a chain, I said, to encourage the rebellion of armies in countries where privilege and exploitation exist yet. I restrained the laughter and felt the fear of what I was saying inspired to aunt Herminia. But why to come to violence extremes?, she asked with a clear effort to turn agreeable. Come on, give me a reason. Well, I replied, in fact we human beings always knew that in former times there were communities self-governed under a common work will, just richness distribution and a rights equality basis. French revolution first and above all Russian after, helped enormously like we well know to rise countries' conscience level and therefore to nourish revolutionary workers’ organizations soul and lately to forge the method or strategy by which rebellion and attacks to power centers will take place in all the countries of the world where capitalist regimes still last. The aunt seemed to scandalize and not feigning at all she looked in her nephew’s direction, which meant she could stand it no more. Actually, the aunt stood up and said looking at her watch: We are going to be late. Teresa had come back to the lounge and she hadn’t lost my speech, seemed not too sure either, rather touched. She must be saying to herself she has put in the leg, I thought.  We are all coming out, she said. I’m going to take Leopoldo home. I’ve rung up a sick person and I have to be at his place by seven. I’ll take you home first, shall I? I smiled turning my head to see Teresa well, for she was behind me.  It’d be better if you take me home, I said looking at my watch. You still got time, I said, trying not to laugh before the comic agitation I had attained to provoke, first not pretending it, and after on purpose. But it had been only a few days since general strike and I, of course, didn’t swallow, so I always emanated revolutionary fever. She went out of the lounge again, but came back at once, with some keys in her hand. I have the keys already. We shall be going in the work’s car, she said. During the brief absence while Teresa was taking the keys, aunt Herminia and Eduardo had showed obvious clear signs of venom class, annoying faces and kind of what we can do about it. I knew they felt annoyed because surely they both enjoyed a comfortable position due to others’ efforts. It was evident they didn’t have to go, but waited for me to go instead. Teresa started the way out and I went out with her after smiling at both aunt and brother and saying so long with a lazy hand’s waving.

I have the car in the garage, but work’s is in the street, she told me while waiting for the lift, showing me some keys, smiling at the same time like justifying herself. In the lift she told me I could have asked her for a bit of marijuana to smoke on the journey but not to ensure of having something to “spend the night”. I had to leave the iron out of her marijuana business saying still in the lift I was sorry, but I needed badly to get stoned at nights because I used to write crazy tales too. She glanced at me surprised and confused. On seeing the porter, who had looked at her with embellishment like that kind of clumsy ones, changing the subject, more for discretion than for another thing, I suppose, she said she’d never put her hands on the fire for no king or queen in this world. When we were in the car I told her I knew the visit to the sick person was a lie, only a subterfuge. Wasn’t it?, I asked. With her hands on the steering-wheel ready to start the engine and not putting her face aside from the front window she said: The attaché case? The attaché case, I said. We remained in silence for a while. She started the engine. She asked me where could we go to my place through and I responded by the M-30 was very easy and comfortable. She said she didn’t see herself going in work’s car through a road which seemed a highway. Instead, she said, I prefer to go to Plaza de Castilla because I do guide myself better from there and then you will tell me how to get to your place. It’ll take longer, I said, but you are right, it is very easy: We can take Paseo de la Castellana, go straight on up to its end and then go on straight on towards the south. We began our progress. When we were getting to Plaza de Colón a big town’s policemen show was turning aside cars towards Serrano, street parallel of Paseo de la Castellana from where it was supposed we’d get to Puerta de Alcalá, for there was an official ceremony presided by the queen and I made a poo on her mother. Teresa let a chuckle escape and said we were trapped in a traffic jam. I did also have a presentiment that we’d have to suffer until we finally got to my place, because it was Saturday evening in Madrid’s downtown. We stood still for half an hour and then we began to move little by little very slowly. When we at last reached Puerta de Alcalá we saw that the square and beyond in our direction up to where we could see was full of cars and buses and no one moved. It looked as if we’d have to be there eternally. We were there for two hours.

Paradoxically it turned out that in Parque del Retiro, that ocuupies too one of the angles of Plaza de la Independencia, where Puerta de Alcalá is, they were celebrating an Encounter of Comisiones Obreras Trade Unions members, and the enormous coaches fleet which had taken them to the park impeded the way through to everybody. During the two hours we stood still at Puerta de Alcalá the noise was definitely unendurable and Teresa and I could change impressions quite finely in the car. How is it possible to let them paralyze Madrid’s downtown with the motive of a Trade Unions Members  Encounter? Have they hired all the buses existing? I remind you we had been like this for half an hour because a ceremony presided by the queen was taking place just a few meters behind. Moreover, I am nearly sure this traffic jam has been planned. I’d even say the Trade Unions have called their members here and at this time coinciding with traffic jams there are always during the queen's visits to wherever she goes to. Of course, not knowing you were coming this way. She glanced at me kind of saying That is, you become sympathetic.

There was time to speak more than should have been necessary, for in spite of my having revolutionary aspirations and my feeling proud by it, it doesn’t please me that for this reason oral excesses arise like the ones that took place then, because one risks his life to remove a dummy monarch and doesn’t lose time doing proselytism when a girl-case, like the one on this episode, states she’d never put her hands on the fire for no kings or queens still remaining in the world, and that celebrates too, how could it not be so, the case of a girl who does not subordinate, the Bastille’s and the Winter Palace’s taking over, to say at last nothing can be done, my aspirations praiseworthy but reality different, which is the same to agree not agreeing, to lie shamefully, to try to make herself as the intelligent one and to fool herself believing she is nice, because these excesses can enervate yourself when it turned out we had been on a General Strike. I was nervous already and grinning and making impatience gestures. She was desperate and in the mood of going away and leaving the car there with me inside.

She had also got upset with my irony about the opinion many of the Trade Unions members who were there could have themselves on seeing her work’s car, because I told her they would for sure suppose the two of us in the car did sympathize at least with their vindications, if not another two Trade Unions members who had fallen awkwardly in the traffic jam’s trick instead of sharing already potatoes’ omelettes, chops and wine. She kept silence but I realized she thought my intention was not only laughing at it a little just to spend the time and she felt offended. As there was nothing to do and we had to spend the time doing something, I continued: It would not be the same if we were in a Mercedes roofless car, in that case they would glance at us in a bad mood and would do displeasure comments of the kind Well, they’ve been for two hours eating traffic’s jam noise and carbon monoxide, and after they would laugh scornfully and would say offensively Fuck them up, sure. She dedicated to me an icy glance but said nothing. Not pretending it I had alluded to the fact that she had another car which she used only for big occasions, that is, when she had not to work and guessed this was what she had in mind at that moment, no doubt believing my comments had been intentional. I didn’t want the subject to come out not to know either which one the other car was, but I could not but laugh again thinking how I had sewn the thread of the idea about her invisible car.

Little by little all the square surroundings were getting crowded with Trade Unions members wearing red T-shirts and caps who were talking beside the buses, and very slowly, with parsimony, were getting on these. We had to wait a good while yet till buses began to move. When at last we began to move too, Teresa snorted and repeated: What an evening! several times. The truth is, I said, that it’s been quite distressing. With big emphasis she then said: I was about lo leave the car and flee away. Moreover, I think I should have to. I laughed and said: Me too. She shrugged her shoulders. In Atocha’s square the streets were clearer of cars and it was easier to drive ahead. I said to her to go straight on, that it was only five minutes left to reach our destiny spot.  I’m not sure, I said, but I think your attitude towards me changed for reasons I cannot understand. There might be only two: For my political tendencies and for having asked you for a bit of marijuana.  No, no, pretty. In fact another girl in my place could have gotten angry for both reasons, but you are wrong. It is even normal if you think it could have been for your political tendencies but it couldn’t be for that meanness of a bit of marijuana. If you are not mean at all, why didn’t you give it to me? Or why do you not give it to me now?

On seeing the face she wore, which punished me to the bonfire, I had to confess it was a joke, of course. She seemed to doubt. Yes indeed, girl, it was a joke. It’d had been shameful such a daring and I would never be capable of such a larceny. She seemed not satisfied with the explanation. Then I took advantage of the opportunity to say: I liked you and I thought we could be friends. I went to your place to know you better and I think your intention was the same. She laughed and made a face of Oh, yes, enchanting, of course. As she kept silence, I said after: If the blessed marijuana is not reason for your attitude’s change, meaningful it is only to think about it, is it not either because of my communion with Logic?

This time she glanced at me with sudden and special interest. For a moment she seemed amazed, after she moved her head from side to side as if saying So here we are. Well, it is all right. Look, I’ll say what I think. I don’t believe myself better or different by it, but I have a profession and I must accomplish with my work every day. It is not I don’t care for people unemployed or without any income, of course I do. But I can’t have a stop and dedicate all my time to claim an employment or an income for each of those who haven’t got any when it turns out I have my duties and I’d feel fatal if I wouldn’t carry them out. It seemed to me as a matter of fact that she did not realize the proper sense of her words. It is not it hurt, I knew a lot of people used the same argues and almost identical words. I remained dumb for a while, but I wasn’t to get depressed either. Not even for the utter and hurtful I’d feel fatal. It doesn’t surprise me from you, I said finally.  What do you mean? Are you insulting me?  I’m not, I replied. I only said I am not surprised with what you said. It is you who interpret I hint something hurtful when it is supposed you have explained as your thoughts dictate your feelings and you and everybody is obliged to understand these must never be poisoned or corrupted.

That’s what was missing! Now you are getting too far!, she said. Well, don’t worry. We have arrived already, I said, and pointed out a wide gap beside the sidewalk when getting to Legazpi’s Square. Park over here, I suggested. Have we arrived already?, she asked as if nothing had been said. Is this Usera? I am very near to my place. Usera is the area you see at the other river's side. I prefer to walk a little. She then said: It doesn’t look a low quarter like Felipe says. It is quite normal. There are many like this in the world. Then she said: I must admit that, well, we all know people from chic areas despise or avoid as a general rule the populations of areas like this, I mean peopled, let us say, of poor architecture. Listen, she continued, it is not like that..., I mean I do not consider myself chic at all. I laughed.

Well, I said, perhaps we’ll meet again in the small place if you go to visit again Antonio Pérez’s street ill old man. I don’t think I'll go to visit him again because they are going to take him to a residency and besides I’ll be away for some time. Ah! Me too, I said. I’m going away for one year, but I’ll be coming back now and then for some days, I added. We didn’t have time to speak about it in the evening, I said later with my hand already on the door, ready to get out. I made an approach movement, but with no intention of saying goodbye with kisses, while the door was half opened. I think she took notice of this and made a sign with her thumb stretched up. Good luck, she said. Thanks. That’s it, good luck, I said, and I got out closing the door after. I didn’t look back but I knew she hadn’t moved the car yet. I took out the wallet from my pants pocket to ensure I had a five hundred pesetas bill. There it was. After, I put my fingers into the pant’s small pocket where I keep the coins and unexpectedly my fingers touched something that couldn’t be coins and I took it out, it was a piece of hash. I had forgotten it even when I had to take out coins to pay for the three buses. How might I have forgotten? Of course it had been an absence of mind. I looked back at the car. It was in the same place. I had already gone away from the car and didn’t hardly see more than a shadow of the joints-smoker doctress at the steering-wheel. Not knowing if she could see me or not, I began gesturing towards the car, trying to let her understand I had found the hash. I repeated my gesture several times pointing her out the small piece and simulating I was smoking it. I never knew if she saw me or not. What I knew at once I was putting in the leg. What would she think of me if after so much time dedicated to the business, that even reached suspicions and mistrust, she got to know I had a small piece? If she had seen me, I couldn’t deny I had been awkward and repented of the signs I had just made.

What a hung-up!, she would say. Now it turns out he did have hash. It is sure that if he writes crazy tales at nights like he says he is capable of writing about me, and if he’s stoned he will exaggerate things to sink me down. I wended to my place and while I was crossing out La Princesa’s bridge over Manzanares river I was rolling a joint, for paper and cardboard I always take with me, although I haven’t got hash, just in case I need both. I kept a little bit for writing. I had a lot of ideas, I always have a lot of ideas to write short stories, tales and essays. But at that time I had a fixed idea: writing about what happened that evening, not changing facts, not inventing anything, not exaggerating. I was sure I might write a story, not knew at the end of XX century, but interesting and loaded of meaning. What I did have clear is everybody would stand in their place and everybody deservedly: PSOE’s government treason, the queen of Spain or whoever she was and her mother, the Comisiones Obreras members complot, the suspicious joints-smoker doctress, the arrogant Eduardo and aunt Herminia, and mean and disdainful Felipe, and even the strict porter, the showy car and the invisible one. I would write too about the advantage it is not being always thinking if you have a piece of hash or you have not, that one must not give so much importance to this and out of the blue find out you have a little bit kept to have two joints, one to let your imagination flow while writing and another to sleep.