“I guess I just wanted to see what Spain was like,” I said. I walked over and bent down to pet the dog. His fur was twisted and waxy, sour-smelling. The dog made a sneezing sound, then laid his head in the dirt. When I stood up the old man was beside me.
“You should go home,” he said.
He was standing so close that for a second his certainty felt like my own. But no, I didn’t want to leave. “I’m not going home.”
The old man shook his head. “If I had a country like yours . . .”
I shrugged. “It’s not so great. Not nearly as beautiful as here. And besides, if I go back, I’ll have to go to court. I got into some trouble before I left.”
The old man didn’t ask what kind of trouble I meant. “You should still go home,” he said. “Believe me. It will only get worse if you wait.”
I knew the old
