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"
Oh
,
get
out
of
here
,
you
old
maid
,
"
the
woman
of
Pablo
said
.
"
Get
out
of
here
before
you
make
me
sick
.
In
Valencia
I
had
the
best
time
of
my
life
.
Vamos
!
Valencia
.
Don
’
t
talk
to
me
of
Valencia
.
"
"
What
did
thee
there
?
"
Maria
asked
.
The
woman
of
Pablo
sat
down
at
the
table
with
a
bowl
of
coffee
,
a
piece
of
bread
and
a
bowl
of
the
stew
.
"
Qué
?
what
did
we
there
.
I
was
there
when
Finito
had
a
contract
for
three
fights
at
the
Feria
.
Never
have
I
seen
so
many
people
.
Never
have
I
seen
cafés
so
crowded
.
For
hours
it
would
be
impossible
to
get
a
seat
and
it
was
impossible
to
board
the
tram
cars
.
In
Valencia
there
was
movement
all
day
and
all
night
.
"
"
But
what
did
you
do
?
"
Maria
asked
.
"
All
things
,
"
the
woman
said
.
"
We
went
to
the
beach
and
lay
in
the
water
and
boats
with
sails
were
hauled
up
out
of
the
sea
by
oxen
.
The
oxen
driven
to
the
water
until
they
must
swim
;
then
harnessed
to
the
boats
,
and
,
when
they
found
their
feet
,
staggering
up
the
sand
.
Ten
yokes
of
oxen
dragging
a
boat
with
sails
out
of
the
sea
in
the
morning
with
the
line
of
the
small
waves
breaking
on
the
beach
.
That
is
Valencia
.
"
"
But
what
did
thee
besides
watch
oxen
?
"
"
We
ate
in
pavilions
on
the
sand
.
Pastries
made
of
cooked
and
shredded
fish
and
red
and
green
peppers
and
small
nuts
like
grains
of
rice
.
Pastries
delicate
and
flaky
and
the
fish
of
a
richness
that
was
incredible
.
Prawns
fresh
from
the
sea
sprinkled
with
lime
juice
.
They
were
pink
and
sweet
and
there
were
four
bites
to
a
prawn
.
Of
those
we
ate
many
.
Then
we
ate
paella
with
fresh
sea
food
,
clams
in
their
shells
,
mussels
,
crayfish
,
and
small
eels
.
Then
we
ate
even
smaller
eels
alone
cooked
in
oil
and
as
tiny
as
bean
sprouts
and
curled
in
all
directions
and
so
tender
they
disappeared
in
the
mouth
without
chewing
.
All
the
time
drinking
a
white
wine
,
cold
,
light
and
good
at
thirty
centimos
the
bottle
.
And
for
an
end
,
melon
.
That
is
the
home
of
the
melon
.
"
"
The
melon
of
Castile
is
better
,
"
Fernando
said
.
"
Qué
va
,
"
said
the
woman
of
Pablo
.
"
The
melon
of
Castile
is
for
self
abuse
.
The
melon
of
Valencia
for
eating
.
When
I
think
of
those
melons
long
as
one
’
s
arm
,
green
like
the
sea
and
crisp
and
juicy
to
cut
and
sweeter
than
the
early
morning
in
summer
.
Aye
,
when
I
think
of
those
smallest
eels
,
tiny
,
delicate
and
in
mounds
on
the
plate
.
Also
the
beer
in
pitchers
all
through
the
afternoon
,
the
beer
sweating
in
its
coldness
in
pitchers
the
size
of
water
jugs
.
"
