Read The Retrospective: Translated From the Hebrew by Stuart Schoffman for Free Online Page B

wife.”
    â€œBut in the film, there is also a real dog?”
    â€œYes, of course, the dog who played the husband.”
    â€œA metaphorical dog, as in Buñuel’s
Chien Andalou
?”
    â€œA real dog, not metaphorical.”
    â€œThe film still exists?”
    â€œNo. Film preservation was so bad then, all that’s left is a sticky pile of celluloid.”
    â€œYou should know, Mr. Moses, that we at the archive are able to resurrect even films that have been given up for dead.”
    â€œThis film you could never resurrect.”
    The windows of the office are rattled by trumpet blasts and the pounding of drums. The sanitation workers have brought in musical reinforcements, finally snapping the mayor from his tranquillity. With a wave of his hand he summons his aides. Moses seizes the moment and rises to his feet, poised to take his leave. He is unaccustomed to talking at length about himself, especially to foreigners whose intentions have yet to be made clear. The others also get up. “Maybe you should advise him to raise their pay,” he jokes to Pilar as the mayor gives orders to his staff. “After all, in such a holy city, sanitation workers are little angels.”
    But Pilar furrows her tiny brow, disinclined to translate for her mayor the advice of so foreign a guest.
7
    T HEY EXIT THE municipal palace, and Moses hurries toward the sanitation workers to congratulate them on their spirited performance. And in light of the day’s crowded schedule, he suggests that Pilar postpone till tomorrow the visit to the cathedral museum, and that before the meeting with the institute teachers, they take a walk in the Old Town. It is a great pleasure to wander aimlessly in narrow streets that suddenly become little plazas with statues, to peek into hidden gardens. The pure, refreshing air reddens Ruth’s cheeks, and her eyes shine. Outside of Israel she does not expect to be recognized; she can walk around relaxed, without wondering if someone will come up and ask if it’s really her.
    The souvenir shops here are so numerous and well stocked that it seems sinful not to take home some knickknack, proof for their twilight years that the trip to Santiago was not just a dream. Moses chooses two traditional walking sticks of blackish bamboo, each with an iron tip to stick in the ground for support, and topped by a big reddish shell, the shell of Saint James, in honor of the angel who steered the shell-shaped ship bearing the body of the saint to the shores of the village of Padrón.
    â€œWhat do I do with a stick like this?” She laughs.
    â€œYou can lean on it when I’m no longer at your side.”
    When they return to the hotel they find de Viola in civilian clothes, waiting beside his small car. They quickly deposit the walking sticks with the desk clerk, who has not forgotten the request to clarify the source of the painting
Caritas Romana
hanging by the bed but also reiterates his offer to replace it with another, more modest picture. “Certainly not,” insists the visiting Israeli, “this picture is important to me personally.”
    The director of the archive was gratified by the conversation in the mayor’s office. It’s good that foreign artists honor the city fathers, since unlike the locals, the guests cannot be suspected of ulterior motives. Spread under the sharp blue sky, the vast pilgrim plaza is empty now. The sanitation workers have gone for their siesta, and a bored lone policeman waits for them to come back.
    The drive to the film institute takes a while. It is located outside the city limits but exploits its famous name to attract students and visitors. The car heads west, toward the Atlantic coast.
    During the reign of Franco, a native of the region of Galicia, the building that now houses the institute functioned as an army barracks. Located in an open area that offers a plethora of parking spots, it provides ample