Read Autumn in Catalonia for Free Online Page B

walked through without even looking.
    She turned in at Uncle Victor’s building, and climbed the narrow stairs to the apartment, knocking and then entering without waiting, calling out a ‘ Holà ’ as she shut the door behind her. Nobody was expecting her here, but in a way, as she knew, she was always expected.
    Hugging her travel bag to her she went down the narrow corridor to a small living room. There was a bare, brown-tiled floor, walls covered with a worn, patched floral wallpaper, some ill-assorted chairs, a sideboard, and a central dining table covered with a beautifully ironed, flowered cloth, and all around were Grandma’s knick-knacks, her small treasures brought from a previous life, crowding every available space. And of course the picture of the Mother Mary in pride of place above the table.
    Over by the sideboard Uncle Victor was bent over an ancient radio, trying to get better reception through the crackle. He didn’t seem to have heard Carla coming in, and she took the time to study his gentle, lined face, cocooned and content after his day’s work, fully concentrated on his task. There was no sign of Grandma, but a rich, savoury cooking smell pervaded the entire apartment, and Carla guessed that she was in the tiny little kitchen which led off from the living area.
    She stood waiting until Uncle Victor raised a tune from the radio – a lively piano piece which Carla vaguely recognised, and which had hints of flamenco in it. Victor would know it, she was sure. After a moment he looked up, and took in Carla’s presence with a little surprised shake of the head.
    ‘Carla! My dear! Welcome, dear child. Com estàs ?’
    He came across towards her as he spoke, and she dropped her bag to step into his arms. It was typical of Uncle Victor that he didn’t even ask her why she was there. It was a simple, embracing welcome from a man of few words, who had spent most of his life in the silence of the hills. Carla held him and breathed in the soap smell fromhis neck, newly washed before Grandma would let him sit down to eat.
    ‘Maria!’ Victor called, from just above her shoulder. ‘Come see who is here!’ He would hand her over to Grandma for questioning, Carla thought, with a half smile. And Maria emerged from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on a cloth, and stood still for a moment watching them as Carla slowly drew back to face her.
    ‘Carla! Carinyo ! What are you doing in Girona?’
    She bustled forward and took Carla by the shoulders, looking anxiously into her face.
    ‘ Avia !’ was all Carla answered – Grandma. And surprised herself in a flood of unbidden tears. Grandma said nothing, and just held Carla close until her tears subsided, which wasn’t long. After a few minutes she shook herself and raised a rueful face from Grandma’s shoulder.
    ‘I’m sorry!’ she said. ‘That was stupid! I just had a bit of a bruising encounter with Papa!’
    Grandma smiled at her, and drew her forward to the table, pushing her gently into a chair.
    ‘Bring the child some brandy or something, Victor,’ she said over her shoulder, and then took a seat opposite Carla. She was like her brother Victor, darkly Catalan in colouring, with high cheekbones and clear, amber brown eyes that watched the world from deep within her. The age lines around them only drew your gaze to them more, Carla thought, but there was nothing challenging about those eyes. They were intelligent but tranquil, and you felt they saw you without judging. And there was a serenity about her which clad her every movement.
    Carla reached out her hand to stroke back some grey strands that had escaped from Grandma’s flowered scarf, and then took the glass which Victor was holding out to her.
    ‘I don’t need this, really I don’t!’ she protested, but took a sip anyway. She nearly choked on the rough brandy, and put the glass down in a hurry.
    ‘Phew! No more of that or I won’t be able to think!’ she expelled. ‘I’m all right,