“He was directed to a house a short distance up a narrow street, like Consuela’s, formerly a noble town house, now let out to a variety of tenants whose barefoot brown children darted in and out of the old carriageway into a laundry-hung courtyard. Señor dos Cerritos himself—like the original owner of the house in which Consuela lived—retained a few rooms in the rear, above the kitchen court. The servant woman who answered January’s knock looked him up and down warily, as if holding his black sk...in and African features up next to his subdued European dress and spotless linen. She took his letter of introduction and went in, leaving him in the harsh spatchcocked light of the bare arcade. A moment later she returned with the grudging information: “Señor dos Cerritos will see you.” January tipped her and went in, to find a fragile, elderly gentleman who rose politely from his chair in the bare and tiny sala and offered him a seat on the other side of the clean-swept hearth. “Thirty years ago, of course, there would have been no need to even ask about inheritance,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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