My friend A.M. made me a political animal. Before him, I was a child. German Yanke, a liberal at the time, made a good impression on me, on us; liked his manner of telling jokes on air. I remember the sweet moment, one Friday night, driving back from Madrid to Salamanca. I have dropped C. in her sister's house so she could go to the course on Saturday. I just drove all the way, a couple of long hours, dropped her, and come back. "I wish I had friends like this", her sister's boyfriend said. C. had a boyfriend and I was in the middle, but in reality C. is the only women I have truly loved. In a sense, I still do. Kind of a problem, though, to be so stupid. But I have never feel so happy, so alive. C. was my truly killer.

Anyhow, German Yanke tells the story of this young journalist writing for a local newspaper who gets mistaken about the fate of an important, ill local figure and writes: "X passed away on the night of Saturday". Immediately, he gets a phone call: "You silly, stupid bastard, he is sick but still alive". After a couple of days, X passes effectively away and the young journalist writes: "Finally, X passes away".

Something happened later to German. From a liberal (in the European sense), he came later to work for El Pais' network. You must know, this group is not what is used to be. It is pure shit now, pure irresponsible, socialist crap, as it has been for the last 25 years. In German's good times, I remember this demonstration in Madrid's Puerta del Sol against Castro's regime. German was supporting then the Cuban exiles. Perhaps it was there or around the date when he blurred: "you have to study much to become a liberal".

But, oh, holly mackarony! I am enjoying these days Vargas Llosa's Conversacion en la Catedral, and I came across this statement one of the characters make: "to become a communist, you have to study much".

So it was a cliche!

**

Nice novel, that Conversacion en la Catedral, you know? It is set in Peru, written by a Peruvian, but so close to that lost time in Spain so, so close. The stories, the hopes. "Le dieron guantes de jebe, un guardapolvo, le dijeron eres envasadora. (...) A las que colocaban las tapas les decian tapaderas, etiqueteras a las que pegaban las etiquetas, y al final de la mesa cuatro mujeres recogian los frascos y los ordenaban en cajas de carton: les decian embaladoras"... Oh, what a familar world!

I came home today and I could not open the door. I promise I was not drunk... So I went to the pub, the one with the fox hunters. Had a couple of pints and read the novel. So peaceful, so quite, I could hear the tic-tac of the clock, the strikes of the time and the damped conversations around. Loved it.

Our lives are full of orgiastic moments that lasted only a fraction... But in our memories they are expanded a whole eternity.

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