Lime's Photograph Read Online Free PDF Page B

speaking Catalan instead of Cervantes’ beautiful language.
    “It’s not as bad as that, Maria,” I said. Maria was a food columnist, married to a lawyer and no more than 32 years old. She had gone against the trend and already had three children playing somewhere out on the plaza. Most young Spaniards today stop at one or at most two children. Maria came from Andalusia and had kept her regional Spanish, clipped and fast with her “s” sounding like a soft “z”.
    I looked across at Maria Luisa. She was skipping earnestly again.
    “She’s missed you a lot this time,” said Amelia.
    My daughter caught sight of me and stopped mid-hop. She broke into a run.
    “Papa, Papa!” she shouted and rushed into my arms. “Papa, you’re home!” I hugged her. She smelled clean and good. She put her hands round my neck and pulled the little ponytail I had grown years ago when my hair had begun to thin. I suppose it was because I didn’t like getting older, but it was my little vanity, and my daughter thought it was fun and Amelia said it suited me. She liked me looking a bit tough. She didn’t have anything against men who looked like rough diamonds, but she did have something against men who behaved brutally or callously and selfishly, especially towards women. Her first husband had been like that. He was of the opinion that the way to earn a woman’s respect was via a few beatings. I might have looked a bit on the rough side, but Amelia knew that where women and children were concerned I was as soft as butter.
    I put Maria Luisa down and listened to her outpouring, which within a couple of minutes got me up-to-date with stupid teachers, idiotic boys, not-to-be-trusted girlfriends and a knee that was dabbed with iodine because she had fallen over and bashed a hole in it. Amelia and Maria sat down on the bench again and I sat next to them, with Maria Luisa on my lap. She nestled against me while we talked about the good warm weather that had finally arrived, how my flight had been, and how Maria Luisa also wanted to go to the seaside and swim soon. Amelia was well aware that she shouldn’t ask about my work in detail. She knew me well enough to know that, even though I said it had gone well, there was something that wasn’t quite as it should be. After a while Maria Luisa jumped down from my lap and ran across to her friends.
    “ Bueno ,” said Maria. “I’d better go and finish getting supper ready.Juan will be home soon.” She called her children who protested violently about having to go in already.
    “I’ll bring them in,” said Amelia. “We’ll stay a bit longer. I’m only going to grill steak.”
    Maria left and Amelia leant against me, my arm around her.
    “Well, my love. So how did it go?”
    I told her about the day. She didn’t interrupt. My job was probably the most ambiguous aspect of our marriage. I didn’t know what Amelia really thought about my work, whether deep down she held it in contempt, but didn’t dare voice this contempt because she knew that it was my work which enabled us to live as we did. She was aware of the large part my career played in my life, that I couldn’t give it up. I loved my family, but I knew, and Amelia acknowledged, that they weren’t enough to fill my days. I still needed the excitement I got from hunting my prey.
    “Will this cause you problems?” she asked when I had finished.
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “Oscar and Gloria and her lawyers will handle it.”
    “You could always not publish them.”
    “Are you taking sides with a right-wing Minister?” I asked, drawing her closer to me.
    She laughed.
    “No. No. They deserve what’s coming to them, but I don’t want you to get into any kind of trouble.”
    “I’m a big boy,” I said.
    “I know, but all the same.”
    “You don’t need to worry,” I said.
    She straightened herself up.
    “A Danish woman rang,” she said. “She didn’t speak Spanish, but good English of course. She said