Manolito birthday today.
I call. A France . Where was running away from all this, forty years ago. Is greater, is angry with me, I challenge him to return to the Sanabria, Zirbaaaaaantes , where I met him when the world was still so recent. It was the home of the grandfather Pedro . The gazebo, diagonally to the Forge. Here he worked, watching the valley Told me one day. Talk, I talk about politics, so little I care, I speak of his theories: " the gentlemen of your people from the world Visigoth." He speaks of his fears, to go blind, for example, tells me about his obsessions, their domestic quarrels. He speaks in short, the journey that continues to procrastinate. almost ten years ago I have not been there, I do not know if I'll live . I accuse clinching, as usual, as if I were standing to accuse anyone of anything. I'm an autodidact, and that those who have gone through the university does not never will understand, I remark, as if I had it clear that the most interesting people is always self-taught. Rice with hare remember his mother, aunt Worship. Perdiu remember stories she told me walking in the mountains ( this was the sacred mountain of the SAPIs , said as evening fell, a beautiful late August and blazed Lisbon). We talk about the mess on account of the book of the castle, how can I be angry with you, Manoluá ...
We said goodbye.
has sixty-five.
I'm afraid that some people think I care and I have considered as part of my life is going to be dying in the coming years. I always thought that age does not was an obstacle to building lasting relationships between people, and now I realize that, as usual, I have sinned optimistic.
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