“ONE RAINY spring afternoon, while María de la Luz Cervantes was driving alone back to Barcelona, her rented car broke down in the Monegros desert. She was twenty-seven years old, a thoughtful, pretty Mexican who had enjoyed a certain fame as a music hall performer a few years earlier. She was married to a cabaret magician, whom she was to meet later that day after visiting some relatives in Zaragoza. For an hour she made desperate signals to the cars and trucks that sped past her in the storm, ...until at last the driver of a ramshackle bus took pity on her. He did warn her, however, that he was not going very far. “It doesn’t matter,” said María. “All I need is a telephone.” That was true, and she needed it only to let her husband know that she would not be home before seven. Wearing a student’s coat and beach shoes in April, she looked like a bedraggled little bird, and she was so distraught after her mishap that she forgot to take the car keys. A woman with a military air was sitting next to the driver, and she gave María a towel and a blanket and made room for her on the seat.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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