The Delirium of the World
Shortly after the war ended, my uncle got me a job as a bellhop at a hotel in downtown Madrid. For two long years, I had remained hidden in a damp, dark basement, staving off hunger with the shadow of fear. I was summoned to a sunny office, where I was briefed on my duties. The pay was meager, but it included three generous meals.
Of all the clients for whom I carried luggage, I have a special memory of Azorín, the famous writer. On one occasion, as a tip, he offered me a glass of brandy from Jerez, with this toast: “To the theater!” To which I replied, clinking our glasses: “To lost causes!” And we drank the world’s madness without batting an eye. Later I learned that, years earlier, the premiere of his play *Brandy, Much Brandy* had been a resounding failure.
Joan Graell Piqué
