8In the small church where I had been baptised years earlier, the family received condolences on Grandfather’s death. Many people had come from places far and near to console us and say goodbye to Mendoza after he was gone. It’s strange to say your farewells after someone’s departure.
I sat next to Mama Aida, who turned up reluctantly after my mother and Uncle Pedro insisted. She told me how she had learned of her father’s death. ‘It was horrible, horrible, José,’ she said, looking towards the coffin where Mendoza lay. ‘I was in my room smoking, late at night. The old dog Whitey started barking. The barking soon changed into a howl like a wailing. My head felt numb and I felt an itching like ants in my scalp. I shook my head like someone trying to wake up from a bad dream. But Whitey didn
