Chapter 46Barcelona, Spain - 1940I awaken for the first time in years.
At least I think it's been years. I have been asleep for so long, I barely remember what a year is. Or an hour. Or how to think. I barely recognize the sounds that draw me from my deathlike slumber.
The sounds of hammers and chisels.
For a while, as I hear them, I wonder if I am truly awake. I wonder if they are part of a dream.
And I wonder if the last things I remember were part of a dream, too. Civil war in the streets. Bombshells exploding around and inside me. The mobs in my crypt and Gaudí's workshop. Gaudí dragged from his tomb.
No. Not a dream. The longer I think about them, the more sure I am.
And the hammers and chisels are not a dream, either. They ring like bells in the misty morning, loud
