The Scroll of Seduction Read Online Free PDF

knew how to make me laugh. She seemed surprised to see me. That morning, Mother Luisa Magdalena had told her I was sick.
    â€œI see you’re feeling better.” She smiled.
    â€œIt didn’t last long. I had a headache, a migraine. But it’s almost gone now. I’m just going to the bakery and coming right back.”
    To get there I had to walk up the narrow steep street that intersected with Atocha, by the Antón Martín metro stop. The school was in one of Madrid’s oldest neighborhoods, close to the train station, the botanical gardens, and the Lavapiés district. It was almost the end of May and the days were getting longer. But at that time of the afternoon–a little after five–there weren’t many people wandering about. In Spain people ate lunch at two or three, so most of them were either finishing up their extended Sunday lunches or having a siesta. The cool wind blew in my face. I walked past Castilian-style buildings in the bright afternoon air, looking up at the wrought iron balconies that stuck out at regular intervals. The street level of what had once been stately homes were now shops, businesses, and bars. Regardless of whether it was sunny or overcast, there was always a sorrowful air on that street. Probably because just in the stretch next to the school there was a convent of cloistered nuns, cut off from the rest of the world for life, a hospital with high walls and gloomy architecture, and the municipal morgue. I had stopped absentmindedly to look at a pair of shoes in the window of a small store when I heard a voice beside me.
    â€œI can’t believe it! What a marvelous coincidence.”
    When I looked up I saw Manuel. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time I’d seen him, and he was carrying a portfolio. I remember I stood there looking at him, not knowing what to say, not daring to think he might have been hanging around hoping to see me, though it was hard to believe he was actually there by chance. His friend Genaro lived nearby, he said by way of explanation. He was the man who was supposed to have been our guide at El Escorial, the reason why we had met in the first place. Manuel said he was returning some papers to him. Then he asked me which direction I was headed. As soon as I recovered from my shock I told him I was just going to the bakery and then back toschool. He offered to escort me, and we started up the street. He was smoking with relish and looking around as if he’d never taken a Sunday stroll in his life. He told me he spent most weekends reading in his aunt’s library or assembling models of some sort. He was a big fan of models and jigsaw puzzles. He did not enjoy the multitudes wandering aimlessly like robots summoned by an invisible command to have fun. Instead, I loved going out on Sundays, I said. The school was like a fortress, and being locked up in there made it hard to remember the city even existed. That day, though, my headache had kept me in bed. “Poor thing,” he said gently, placing his right hand lightly on my back for just a second. “Wouldn’t you be better off staying away from pastries?” I smiled. On the contrary, I said, the sugar would do me good. The way I saw it, just walking into the bakery was a delight. After all, the nun who was taking care of me had been the one to suggest it. Desserts, chocolates, sweets, were my weakness. What I missed most from my country was a thick guava jelly that we used to eat at breakfast. My grandparents had a guava tree in their garden, and it smelled incredible. “You’ll have to teach me about tropical fruits. I’m sorry to say I’ve never even seen a guava.” When we crossed the street, Manuel put his hand on my back again, near the shoulder. “I really enjoyed your letter,” he said. “You write very well. I forget how young you are when I hear you talk, and I forgot it even more when I read your letter.