The Third Reich

SEPTEMBER 25. BAR CASANOVA. LA JONQUERA

With the first light of day I left the Del Mar; in my car, I rolled slowly along the Paseo Marítimo, careful not to make too much noise and disturb anyone. When I reached the Costa Brava I turned and parked in the lot where at the start of our vacation Charly had shown us his windsurfing board. On my way to the pedal boats I saw no one on the beach except for a couple of runners in track suits who vanished in the direction of the campgrounds. The rain had stopped some time ago; by the purity of the air one could sense that it would be a sunny day. The sand, however, was still wet. When I reached the pedal boats, I listened for any sound that might betray the presence of El Quemado and I thought I caught a very soft snore coming from inside, but I can’t be sure. In a plastic bag I was carrying Third Reich. Carefully I set it on the tarp that covered the pedal boats and returned to the car. It was nine in the morning when I left town. The streets were half-deserted, which made me think it must be some local holiday. Everyone seemed to be in bed. On the highway the traffic picked up, cars with French and German license plates headed in the same direction as me.

Now I’m in La Jonquera…