An InterludeCalle Manuel Velázquez Cabrera was as desolate as ever. No people. No cars. It was as though life in the village ended at the intersection, the last street light marking the end of civilisation. When I reached my block, I mounted the kerb and parked behind the barn.
After our deliciously pleasant day in El Cotillo, the arrival was a let-down. As I unbuckled my seat belt, I wasn't sure what to do next, invite Paco in or thank him for the day and bid him farewell.
He walked me to the house and we stopped beneath the scaffolding. The night was warm, all that stone radiating the heat of the day. The wind, blowing from the northeast, wrapped itself around the building, moaning, whistling through cracks. Plastic flapped, a plank somewhere above thumped lightly then stopped. Then th
