A small glass
My seamstress was named Leonor, and she was from Jerez, though she lived in Córdoba. When I say she was my seamstress, I mean she was the seamstress who came to my parents’ house three days a week to do mending and ironing. My seamstress was young, a bit older than my parents, and more modern. She’d have a little glass of brandy after every meal. “It’s from Jerez,” she’d tell my father. My father would have his little glass too, but only on Fridays. “Pour me some from that bottle we share, Miss Leonor.” At the beginning of every month, Leonor would show up with the bottle, which she would place on the bar cabinet in the living room. My mother drank nothing but water, sometimes a soda. One day my mother told me she was going to see my father a little less often, and Leonor never again. And she had a little glass.
Ignacio Elguero
