Lime's Photograph Read Online Free PDF

European integration and directives from Brussels about harmonisation, was imperceptibly but steadily changing and becoming less like itself and more like the others.
    I looked for Maria Luisa and my wife. The new ingredient this summer was the appearance of smart rollerblades, making the children’s feet look far too big. A couple of years earlier it had been skateboards. Each year had its new gimmick, but the old games ofskipping or tag, familiar to me from my own childhood, were played by each new generation, here in the warm evening air of Madrid as well.
    I saw my daughter first and the usual warmth filled my whole body. She had rollerblades too, but had evidently abandoned them. Instead, with that almost-seven-years-old fierce concentration, she was skipping, two of her friends turning the rope faster and faster. She looked like her mother, with black hair and olive complexion, but she had my blue eyes and long limbs. She had a delicate, round face and a mouth that was quick to smile and laugh. The rope hit her ankle and I saw her look of disappointment, but she accepted the rules of the game and took one end of the rope so that her friend could have her go. They were wearing school uniform and had ribbons in their hair. And, even though it was impossible, I was sure I could pick out Maria Luisa’s voice above the cacophony of playing children. She was our shared small miracle. It had been a difficult birth. Amelia was 36 when Maria Luisa arrived and the doctors had thought she wouldn’t be able to have any more children, and they were right. Amelia hadn’t reckoned on having children at all. She hadn’t wanted them with her first husband. She didn’t talk much about him, but she had regretted the marriage almost immediately. He was extremely old-fashioned, at a time when Spain suddenly erupted after the dictator’s death. She left him after they had been married for three years and, when the new laws were passed, she divorced him. The years passed and by the time we met one another it wasn’t so easy. We were older and it was harder to conceive a child than we had anticipated. We tried unflaggingly for a year before we succeeded, and then no more children came along. So we were old and therefore molly-coddling parents. But no child has yet died of cosseting.
    I spotted Amelia sitting on one of the benches, talking with the woman who lived in the flat below us. Amelia was the first miracle in my life, and she had come along late as well. We had been married foreight years. Her hair was beginning to go grey, but she tinted it. She was still slim and attractive in an indefinable way. She wasn’t a classic beauty, but glowed in any company. She was at ease with herself and her faith in life, and I found the lines around her eyes and mouth enchanting, because they showed that she was someone who smiled and laughed at life. She was someone who had lived, and I was grateful she had chosen to share the rest of her life with me.
    I hitched up the holdall and walked towards her. She caught sight of me and rewarded me with a smile as she stood up from the bench. I was polite and greeted our neighbour, Maria, with the traditional two air-kisses before I gave Amelia a hug and a kiss on the mouth. Although we lived in a modern society, she was still modest when it came to public displays of affection. I kissed her for longer than she really liked, but the memory of the Minister’s bodyguards was still lingering. She pulled herself free and I let go of her and there was a moment of awkwardness while we tried to decide what should be said.
    “Welcome home, darling,” Amelia said finally. “Did it go well?”
    “It went fine,” I said.
    “Where have you been, Pedro?” the neighbour asked. “Which exotic land have you been to now?”
    “Catalonia.”
    “Ah, the Catalans. But they won’t speak Spanish, so how did you manage?” she said with a laugh. She thought the Catalans were a peculiar people who insisted on