The Island

(Ah, the Taronjís. The island, the town, the sombre charcoal burners, each kept his eyes firmly on their ankles when they passed by.) The Taronjís took anyone suspicious to the ditch by the side of the road, where the forest began, beyond the square in the old Jewish quarter. Or to the cliff where the road turned, just beyond Son Major.

What would you know about any of this ? What have you ever lost ? You’ve never lost anything !’ We didn’t understand, so Borja laughed. I thought, ‘Have I lost something ? I don’t know. I only know I haven’t found anything.’

In the darkness, moths roved on the air like tiny floating boats, like the ones that passed over the Little Mermaid and made her tremble with longing.

I took every opportunity to show my grandmother that I was there against my will. Anyone who has not been moved around constantly between the ages of nine and fourteen, changing hands like an object, will not understand the hostility and rebelliousness that characterized me then.

the horror that fell from the lips of Antonia, the housekeeper. (‘They say they’re killing whole families over there, shooting priests and putting out their eyes … throwing people into vats of boiling oil … May God have mercy on their souls !’)