An Autumn Rose (Currently being written, 35%. Due to health issues, I have not been able to finish this novel) 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 philosophically inspired novel but rather one that was “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 as the end was approaching. It’s possible that the dream’s author might sue me for plagiarizing his dream. I began writing it with extraordinary speed, because I had already internalized it, 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, preventing the cool breeze from the nearby Sierra de Guadarrama from reaching the city and causing air pollution levels to rise dangerously. This is further exacerbated by the heavy traffic in the neighborhood at that 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—the only people allowed 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 a showy 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 close friends, all living in the same neighborhood—three widows of prominent former husbands, one divorcee, and another single woman—meet at a bustling 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 caused by 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 and 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 from a Supreme Court justice. The two women greet each other with a warm hug and compliments on how well they both look. They take a table with five chairs, waiting for the three absent friends. They’ve 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 and with jobs of their own—her son at the German consulate and her daughter at the Goethe Institute. Fina is not a widow, but she has turned thirty-two without anyone ever having courted, due to her limited feminine charms. The last 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 an exhibition by a new painter at the neighborhood gallery. They’ve unanimously agreed not to discuss politics, except during election season, when they decide which political party to vote for. “What will the ladies be having 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,” the waiter replies 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 department store in the area. None of them seems to have anything extraordinary to share. They’ve repeated the same stories as last year. Martina in 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, attended 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 maidservants 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 that we might describe as manly. The character is Leónidas, Leo to his few friends—an ignored and frustrated writer, which explains his unkempt appearance. He isn’t attending the book launch because he admires the author; quite the opposite—he detests him and 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, because he suspects he might be a shoplifter planning to commit a theft. The area of the bookstore 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 ones next to Leo’s remain empty, due to the unkempt appearance of the person sitting there. Only an elderly man, struggling to get into his seat, seems to ignore Leo; he sits 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 spotted 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 because she feels that all eyes are on her every move; she focuses on the presentation, keeping her distance from Leo. “Is this seat taken?” 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 uneasily 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 overcome with panic, thinking he’s followed her to rob her, and pleads, terrified: “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—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!” “Do you mean 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. “You saw what was in it and gave it back to me?” Martina exclaims, astonished by Leo’s gesture. “Anyone else who found it would’ve taken the money and tossed the wallet in a trash can.” “Are you suggesting I should’ve kept her money?” “No, no, for heaven’s sake, that’s not it,” Martina replies, 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,” Leo replies, taken aback by the comment, “but keeping something I know belongs to someone else seems more despicable to me than if I’d stolen it.” “ “But 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 in my purse I carry my ID, my driver’s license, and a dozen credit cards of every color. I think you deserve a reward. Martina pulls a hundred-euro bill out of her purse and offers it to Leo. “A hundred euros for bringing you your purse?” Leo replies, firmly refusing it. “You don’t have to give me anything—you lost it because of me. I’m really angry at this guy, 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 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 this whole store! Well, I guess I exaggerated a little!” Martina picks out a jacket suitable for this time of year, a brightly colored patterned shirt, some casual-style pants, and sneakers that match the clothes she’s chosen. Leo watches Martina’s frantic activity and the constant shuffling of clothes she picks up and sets aside until she finds what she’s looking for, and he seems to be enjoying himself. Meanwhile, a sales associate from the department 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 mall and headed toward the nearby pizzeria. 4. Antonino, the owner and life of the party at 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 will you share your secret to eternal youth with me? You’re looking younger and more beautiful every day!” “Antonino, I think you need a new pair of glasses, but thank you for 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 thinking.” 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: —Wine in moderation is health for the body and joy for the soul. (Wine in moderation is healthy for the body and 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, taken aback 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 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 worse-paying one,” he replies, smiling at Martina’s question. “The profession of a writer!” —Ah, would you believe it—now I know why you were so upset at the book signing: professional jealousy! That writer you hate 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 signing, and he thinks she might be one of his millions of fans: —“Do you like that author?” Leo asks, fearing she might say yes. —“I don’t know, I haven’t read anything by him yet—that’s why I came to the book launch. The truth is, I don’t know what to read anymore. I don’t like detective and mystery novels; romance novels always have the same plots: boy meets girl, but something keeps them apart, but the lovers always win out; in the end, they get married, and they live 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 scrape by on whatever 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… They don’t make a better Margherita pizza than at this place.” Martina makes this comment to lighten the mood. Something crosses their minds, because Leo doesn’t respond, and both fall into an eloquent silence. Martina can’t bring herself to talk about herself, because she’s suddenly been overcome by a heart-wrenching longing 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, overcome by the memory of her late husband, whom she feels she is betraying. —“Oh my, 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 leave so abruptly. 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 motionless. “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 charge the bill to his account, and also leaves the pizzeria, lost in a sea of doubts. Antonino simply exclaimed: Ah, l’amore, l’amore, è una caramella avele! (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 lies there, letting her mind go blank—especially the image of Leo stepping out of the fitting room with the clothes she herself had chosen. She remains like this 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 the 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 comes across the painting, feeling a pang 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 really 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!” He says nothing more. A few minutes later, while the young Martina remained entranced by her discovery, the painter approached her and said, 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 supposed father approached and explained why he’d done 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 soft 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 his 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 rebukes him with extreme bitterness. “So, Leo, you don’t have money to pay your share of the rent, but you do have enough 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, nagging, 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 walks into his chaotic room and slams the door shut. He plops down on a rickety armchair he salvaged from the street dumpsters and wonders once again what had gone wrong to make that woman—who had behaved with such generosity and kindness—run away without a trace, and how he might get in touch with her. “What serious mistakes have I made?” he laments bitterly —“that this punishment has befallen me?” He gazes gloomily at the mess in his room, but 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 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 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 photo, taken on the spacious terrace of their summer home. Martina took the picture, 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 fishing boats remaining in the village returning to shore. 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 impulse that seems to be pulling her into the void. Horrified, she returns to the living room, and, trembling with anxiety, 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 presses. “I don’t know… I just feel like crying…! Can you come over?” Martina pleads, and drops the phone onto the sofa, but hears Julia’s reply. “Yes, I’ll be there in half an hour…” she replies, concerned about Martina’s state, “but don’t do anything foolish—whatever’s going on with you, everything can be fixed! 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 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 overcome the death of her husband 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 reddened 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 torn, 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; as a judge, she already had a verdict. Martina shakes her head again, and waits for Julia’s reaction; Julia has 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, maybe… 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 your head 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, too, would like to respond with the same generosity and passion, but the huge age difference between you 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, goes 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 commotion breaks out . 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—her long, tangled hair streaked with red—and with a forced smile, she whispers:“I’ve got the best weed in…“Shove your weed up your ass, or sell it to your wh—!” Leo interrupts her.“Stop it, 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 loser do to you?”“Nothing, he didn’t do anything to me, but he insulted my mother—he called me a b*tch!He steps closer to the young woman and says practically into her ear.—You must know her…—Is that why you’re giving me attitude?—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, buddy, leave him alone! You’ve scared him enough already, and put that away—someone might see you and call the cops.“Whatever you say, Chati,” he says to Leo, reluctantly stepping aside to let 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—not 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 canvases, 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 the people of Madrid 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, they fill with immigrants praying in Spanish with their national accents or in other languages, such as Slavic ones; even Confucius and Buddha, because in Madrid’s churches, those who pray as their hearts dictate are welcome, without needing to prove their religious pedigree. Thanks to 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 and the sexton, a jovial fellow who always has a touch of humor or a folksy 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 strive to improve our behavior, if it’s already written? –But, Martina, that effort is also written in 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… –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 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 judgment 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 fate?” “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 priest’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 latest COVID pandemic. Ivette—that’s her name—lives with her aunt’s family, a family that already has two young sons 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 don’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 hum the aria from *Nabucco*, from Verdi’s chorus of Jewish slaves, as a way to ease her bitterness. –Ivette, what are you humming? –Leo asks in amazement. “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 aria. “My God, my sister is a child prodigy and I hadn’t realized it until now, while I’ve been wasting my time on my stupid pipe dreams. 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 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 Park—it’s beautiful this time of year…” “And romantic!” adds Martina with an amused expression that confirms her recovery. “No, Julia, you don’t need to cancel your lunch—my depression has passed.” You were right—I’ve been acting like a teenager, but it’s all over now, because I’m not a teenager, but a woman about to turn fifty. How could I have even thought I could have a romantic fling with a young man I could be his grandmother? Only in your dreams can you see yourself as twenty, and as Calderón de la Barca wrote, ‘dreams are but dreams.’ You can go ahead and enjoy your lunch with your former colleagues, because 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 lies. 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 were 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 last book she bought and settles into the spacious sofa to read. But she doesn’t like the book and can’t concentrate on it. She gets up in a bad mood and randomly grabs 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 this time she makes sure it won’t disappoint her and 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 planet, 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 sense 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’d 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’s off with her and thinks it might help if he shows some concern. “Martina, just one pizza?” “Yes, Antonino, just one pizza.” “I know I shouldn’t meddle in your private life, but we’ve known each other for a long time, and you’ve never come here alone.” “Can I help you with anything?” “Yes, Antonino, you can help me. It’s… it’s…” “Is it something to do with the young man…?” Martina doesn’t hide her anxiety as she waits for Antonino’s answer. “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 been around here, nor is he likely to 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 run into him out of “love,” as you say; I just want to apologize and make sure my encounter didn’t hurt his dignity. –Capito, 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 taxi fleet for the day shift is full—there’s only one spot left 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 this, 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 the trial, and that very Sunday he’s already a new taxi driver cruising the streets of Madrid at night. Although his decision to give up writing is justified, he still believes in his talent and promises himself he’ll start writing again once he’s managed to launch 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—just wrap it up to go; 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,” —and she returns 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 upon reading about a new book presentation scheduled for that very day. A few minutes before the scheduled time, Martina is at the entrance of the department store, keeping an eye out for everyone coming 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. When 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 wraps herself in 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? “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 you are driving a taxi! “It’s a long story.” “Can we have 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 association 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. –More than pizzas, Antonino would love to serve us a wedding cake! –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; instead, she has let her imagination run wild, making her feel 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 sitting across from each other at a table decorated with the colors of Tuscany and the music of Verdi. Leo wonders what it is about Martina that makes the signs of her age invisible, and Martina asks herself the same question, but in reverse: what was it about Leo that now reveals the signs of maturity? That is why some angel, with a quiver full of arrows that pierce straight through the heart, is preparing to shoot them into his two potential new victims.For his part, Martina’s arrival—accompanied by Leo for the second time—confirms to Antonino that l’amore knows no age, and the good reputation of his pizzeria is further cemented.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 take him under my wing as well, as he wished. –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’d forgotten I’m dealing with the person who returned my wallet—with eight hundred euros inside! –All right, Mr. Alien. Martina 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 involvement for Leo. Her conversation with Julia has changed her attitude toward her ex-husband. Now she 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 round out that 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 cozy family gathering after an exquisite dinner earned him major points toward his promotions. Martina believes she has more than paid the price 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? 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 said! On Sunday at the party, God willing and if the devil doesn’t get in the way, you’ll meet him. –So, that’s the reason for the good mood… Our dear Martina has fallen in love! But of course, who wouldn’t fall in love with a man like that… He must be older and well-off, because a young man wouldn’t act that way. –Well, no, it’s just the opposite; I don’t think he’s even thirty yet, and you could say he’s penniless. –And what does that rare gem do for a living? —asks Susana, who’s suspicious of anyone who doesn’t have at least one 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 dreams 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 to get him to 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 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 it would be possible for Ivette to sing Schubert’s “Salve Maria,” since she knew how to play the part on the piano and could even sing the second voice in the chorus. It took Leo only 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 hadn’t come back. The new housekeeper 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 worried about Martina’s romantic involvement. “Are you happy, Martina?” Julia asks her without beating around the bush. “I’ve never been as happy as 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?” —I’m just asking you to be more realistic if you don’t want that sweet, passionate infatuation you’re feeling right now to soon turn bitter. —And what’s your advice? —To accept that things might not go the way you want them to. That way, you’ll be able to appreciate it all the more if your dreams 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 on the feeling of love just because I’m afraid it might fail? It’s as if we refused to taste a fine wine for fear it might upset our stomachs 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. Then 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, of course, she doesn’t yell. I’m sure you’ll become good friends.” Ingrid, Fina, and Susana arrive; they 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—with the dome of the Almudena Cathedral standing out—and, since the day is clear after the rain that fell overnight, 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 greet her with a welcoming smile. “So you’re Ivette, Leo’s sister.” Ivette can only manage to nod in agreement. “Your brother has told me wonderful things about you.” “He deserves to,” 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…” “Aren’t they afraid?” “It’s better if she answers that herself!” Nanú has understood Ivette’s question and answers with the few words she knows. “Yes, scared; very scared”—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 Schu bert. 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 that are overly intimate. 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 that 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 lets himself be seduced by Susana, she’ll have a tough rival to beat. Julia is also watching Martina’s reaction and believes 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 familiar excuse of suffering from a severe migraine, Martina calls it a night. To intensify 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 what we dreamed it would be…” “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 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 temperament—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 all too well how much it hurts. What I’m about to tell you is very personal, and I trust you to 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, and 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 from him since. 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 the biological son of my late husband, 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! 19 Susana called her friends to meet at their usual café because she had some important news to share with them. Martina refused to go, but Julia insisted that she come to 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 felt about him. Leo has deep 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 deepest aspects of the human condition—its virtues and its flaws. According to him, happiness lies solely in virtue. And generosity, loyalty, and art are the virtues that make us happy! A wise lesson for me, since I’ve never been generous, loyal, or an artist—quite the opposite: I’ve been selfish, unfaithful, and pragmatic. That’s why, I haven’t been happy until today, 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 replies with a tearful smile, “for bringing to this group of lonely hearts the person who has restored our hope, joy, and imagination—freeing us from that harsh reality we so desperately wanted to escape.” Julia has listened to the dramatic confession with deep sadness, but she reacts, exchanging a glance and a veiled gesture of reproach with Martina over her unfounded reasons for 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 vocation, and without anyone’s support—and despite the fierce competition in the film world—she 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 person 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 for a romantic stroll through the Retiro, and then to 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 gathering 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 has been the most affected, not only because of her age, but also because she’s spent her life being orderly, reasonable, and realistic—a life that has 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 a 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 their hearts 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 rooting for us; when he sees us together for the third time, he’ll give us his blessing—he’s an artist of love.” “Maybe you’re 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 their 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 couldn’t contain himself in his flashy attire. From the very beginning, he knew that this mismatched relationship would end in romance, and now he can already picture the couple in the church. “When you’ve lived so much and had so many experiences, you know when a relationship that started as mere 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!” –exclaims Antonino 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 that 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 once again like the Martina who was old enough to be a grandmother—just when she’d come to see herself as 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’re crying, because you’d like someone to tuck you in too, and the ones who could do it 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 thinks she understands 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 a comforted Nanú made her whisper a thought: “How unfortunate are those who have no one to be generous toward, to be faithful to, and with whom to live in an imagined fantasy.” 23 Martina wants to know where Leo lives, because it doesn’t seem reasonable to her that, with empty rooms, he should have to live alone. She knows it’s a very risky proposition for Leo to move into her own home, but since she’s already taken in his sister, it seems reasonable to her that she 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 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 relationship 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 what they’re like at their core. “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 losing 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 has its risks and responsibilities that we fear we won’t be able to appreciate. If I come to live in this house, you might 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. 24MartinaPART TWO 24Because of the attention Ivette and Nanú required, from then on the girls’ get-togethers moved from the café to the spacious living room of Martina’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 lost their leaves. Those that shone with a brilliant green color in the summer now rot 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. The sweltering days of summer are now behind them. 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 is capable of creating.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 barely heard 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 her friends, joined by a new character—Susana’s future 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 just about to take a soothing shower. Julia runs into Leo by surprise and reacts as expected, urging restraint, because she knew Martina’s mood swings—it seemed like everything got to her.“Back then, a relationship lasted a year just to solidify the courtship, 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 sparse 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 her 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 steaming coffee. Susana and Arturo arrived just in time, and Nanú serves the new arrivals. His companion can’t deny that he’s 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,” remarks Susana’s ex-husband, “I don’t think a non-British actor has ever been cast before for a character from English history. The casting team not only took my acting skills into account, but also the curious coincidence of the name, and they assure me that I also bear a physical resemblance to 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—have gone 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,” Ingrid remarks wistfully. “I’ve never seen anywhere else a red more intense than that of the withered leaves of the oaks and beeches lining the River Spree. How I miss them!” “Why did you mention Berlin?” asks the conductor. “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 ex-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. 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, too?” “No, I don’t have a family, because I never found someone who would accept my responsibility to take care of my elderly mother. She’s now in a nursing home where they care for her better 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 be taking 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 initiative 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,” adds Fina. Both women return to the living room and wait for him to introduce them to Leo and Arturo, who are now part of the group. “Yes, girls, this has been the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life. I never could 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 for the satisfaction of our senses, but not to be happy. Susana, you have no idea how happy it makes me 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 an education leading to a well-paid profession and behaving as people with common sense do. But I never wanted to have common sense. This is the poem that shaped 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 arrived 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, as 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, as 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 chosen by my destiny to play my final game with life Though I already know it’s lost. “What else 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,” says Martina, 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 to live out 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 achieved 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 have the encouragement and inspiration that Susana gives me.” It has grown dark. On the horizon, there is still a pale glow 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 cramped space is lit by a skylight 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 offer 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 focus 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 his 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 liked it, but…” Leo interrupts her because he’s confused, and for a moment he thinks he hasn’t judged Martina correctly—at least she doesn’t seem to be the woman he’d created in his imagination. Perhaps, after all, she didn’t attend 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 spy novels, assassins, 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 aren’t 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—but 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; 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 them 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. It is 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 endured 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 the working-class neighborhoods and having come into wealth through the sale of land inherited from her grandparents on the outskirts of Madrid, which had been rezoned as urban land. “How can this harlot—which is the term 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 that’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 it up with a lover who’s twenty or thirty years younger than her. Leo has his first run-in 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 remark intended to offend him. “Go ahead, you go ahead—I’ll come down later. I can’t share the elevator with a deadbeat!” 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 that 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 rumors. 27 As usual, Martina and Julia meet early in the morning at the basilica to attend the first Mass. It’s a cold, 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’s the 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 Mass 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 expect me us to have breakfast together 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 granted many loans to help start businesses that are now large companies, with many employees—possibly the highest-paid in all of Madrid.” The parish priest pauses briefly, then continues his praise of the 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 the ones who should 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 his 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 prudes.” “Are you in love with that young man?” “Yes, Father, but I’m also aware…” “Of your age!” the priest interrupted. As for his age, there’s nothing to hold against you. Even if you don’t believe it, I’m eighty-two years old and should have retired at seventy-five. I understand that you can’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 loves 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.” “Maybe I’m not the best person to advise you on this subject, but if you don’t have anyone else more qualified, I can give you some ideas.” The pastor settles into a relaxed posture, as if preparing to teach 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 desires communion with God, and so she dies because she does not die. “That must be me!” “Well, then there is no other way forward 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 correctly?—Leo asks Martina. “It struck me as odd, too… everything is happening so fast that I’m… overwhelmed, bewildered.” Neither of them has yet uttered those two magic words 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 say it to 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 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 what is, at the same time, the world in which the beloved lives, and everything else ceases to exist. To be happy, you have to leave this world behind and live as if in a happy, eternal dream. The transformation is so immense that nothing remains 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. “He’s asked the three of us to meet and have a conversation about love and marriage.” “All right, I’ll go. It’ll be interesting to hear the opinion on love from someone who’s never been in love.” 29 . Martine called the parish priest on her cell phone to let him know about Leo’s decision to attend the meeting, and they agreed on a time when there aren’t usually any parishioners around; he’s waiting for them at the entrance to the basilica. “Pleased to meet you, Leo. Martina 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 compliment. “But there are even fewer eighty-year-old Christians 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 walk through 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!” —the parish priest observes. —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 have brought up the very topic 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 are, the closer we are to God. But that view stems from the culture of Babel. They, too, tried to build a tower so high that it would reach where their gods dwelt. The three of them settled into the office, waiting for the pastor to begin his talk. “I suppose you’re wondering, ‘ who this old priest is to lecture 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 doesn’t mean we renounce love—quite the opposite. It is so that we may be in constant communion with God, because love for God is the highest state of awareness to which we human beings can aspire; for 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 person, 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 God’s existence or non-existence. But why don’t we ask ourselves if it might be 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 people of faith 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 group seems to be lost 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 conversation about love, marriage, and the three virtues that ensure lasting happiness. I suppose you must have been surprised that I’m encouraging you to get married despite the twenty-year age difference, but neither the Bible nor the Gospels contain any mention that approves of or condemns age differences. Instead, they focus on principles such as fidelity, love, and commitment. The wisdom and maturity that come with age are necessary for making such a decision; they are valued more than physical age, the age of the heart, and the chronological age of the mind—the age of the imagination. But we’re straying from the main topic. The most precious pursuit of a human being is happiness, and the source of happiness is love; when making the decision to marry, these factors are valued more 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 affirms. Shakespeare knew exactly 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; thus, 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 was not real. If we stand before the altar with the certainty that, in case of failure, we can always resort to 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 an alternative only 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 gaps. 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 !—says Leo. Shakespeare knew exactly what he was writing in *Romeo and Juliet*, since the characters are still teenagers and have no fortune of their own; thus, 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 has no place in it, as it 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 is not 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.’ It doesn’t matter to me. 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’ve dared to speak up. 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%)