The most important celebration for the Christians begins this week. We have come to a town that, unbeknown to its inhabitants, is in the very deep heart of old Castilla, or Castille (the name means “land of castles”). I think I can find more soil, mud and grass in London that here, but people call this place is called town, or village, even though some ancient king gave it the title of city.
The streets have been asphalted, the fountains have been dried. Even roads have been built in places where there were rivers in ancient times. I did come to know one these blinded rivers, I can even see it in my mind, with complete clarity, in the place where it was one day. We went for a little walk today; it is a very nice place, with grass and flowers, and it is so pretty you are not allowed to step on the grass.
In the place where there was a mill there is now a flour factory – and even this exists only thanks to a few people who still take wheat to the place – and where the cattle used to be taken to drink… first they suppressed the drinking trough, where we were the last children waging water wars… a little fountain replaced the big trough, more pretty and civilized, but it was soon afterwards blinded, and after that, when people no longer remembered it was there because it was by useless, it was simply replaced by a block of luxury flats. Of course, the cattle tender had been given an early retirement by then, and the children had already been bought video games and had forgotten how to play water wars.
