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pharmacy and Sr Comes took an ancient, incredibly large key out of his pocket. We bid each other good night; he opened the door and disappeared into the darkness.
    I stayed on in the village a few weeks more, doing nothing, breathing the fresh air, going to the springs to drink glasses of water. I tried to discover if the village or the surrounding countryside was home to any archaeological remains but failed to find out. In fact, the most interesting part of my stay was the tale from the Central Tavern – an experience from the early days of my travels as an inveterate nomad.

Though We Count for Nothing, Far Be it From Me …
    Although he was exceptionally tall and stout, people always called Sr Pere Ametller, Sr Peret. The diminutive stuck when he was young, and for ever more he was Sr Peret.
    At the beginning of this true story, Sr Peret, the owner of two farmhouses, a house in Torrelles, and a large amount of land he rented out, is reputed to be a wealthy man. Perhaps, however, he isn’t really wealthy, in the usual meaning of the word. In this country nothing could be more relative than wealth. Anyone who is poor, genuinely poor, thinks everybody not in the same state is wealthy. A properly wealthy man, one dripping with money,thinks nobody is. This kind of snooty person disparages the wealth of others, sticks his nose up.
    By dint of his situation, Sr Peret was able to lead the life he wanted. He married in the normal course of things and over ten or twelve years gave his good lady five children: four girls and a boy. Obviously, they wanted a boy, and finally they produced one. His good lady, who was very pretty when she married, evolved naturally. The moment came when it seemed she could either turn to fat or to lean. Finally, leanness won out. White, plump, and golden haired as a young woman, she became dark-skinned, big-boned, and black-haired. Her loss of fat led to a change in her character, and that was probably very positive for Sr Peret’s family interests. If his wife had been fat, sluggish, and disagreeable, he would probably have been forced to sell the farmhouse. As she was now skinny, energetic, and active, he had no need to worry, because his wife always toed the line.
    An active individual, interested in what life had to offer, she performed almost a miracle a day. Husband and wife, their five children, Sra Ametller’s two unmarried sisters, and a maid managed to live on Sr Peret’s rather modest income. The whole tribe had fallen on its feet.
    When I first met him, Sr Peret did practically nothing. He got up at half past ten. After lunch he’d go to the café and play dominos with his friends. At three o’clock, in good weather, he would sunbathe. He owned a large plot of land on the outskirts of town that a gardener looked after for him. There was a vineyard on a slope at the top of his land. Ostensibly, it was said that Sr Peret tended his vines. He didn’t tend them at all, nobody had ever seen him touch his vines. He simply went there to pass the time, because he liked it and felt good there. A small house and stone bench sheltered from the wind were near the vines. He sat for hours on this bench. He’d sometimes read the newspaper. He wasn’t in favor of reading in artificial light or whenthe light was poor. He read his paper in the bright sunlight, in the open air. That way he didn’t tire his eyes or have to wear glasses. On the other hand, he never worried about the date of his paper. Sra Ametller used the paper for the most urgent needs of the family. She was always short of paper. Her husband read the paper he could find, the one spared from the fire or the need to wrap a parcel. At sunset he’d walk back to town and spend a while in the casino until it was dinnertime. It was very cosy in the casino in winter because they had a splendid fire. At eight o’clock, it was time for supper and he’d head for home. When he walked in – such a tall, sturdy presence – he looked as if