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Book Intro
3rd page of 4

One day, I decided to explore the old town, built on a hill by the Phoenicians and surrounded by huge stone battlements. Thinking I’d get some nice sunrise shots of the fortress walls and cobblestone streets, I brought my girlfriend’s camera along. The streets were deserted. It was that time of morning when the night people had gone to bed and the day people had not yet risen, giving the ancient town a few moments to itself.

I wove my way up the steep, narrow streets into the less traveled area of town. Turning a corner, I found myself in a cu-de-sac, the crumbling buildings at each side of me almost an arms width apart, seemingly connected by a web of clothes lines that hung across the alley. As I was looking up, I almost tripped over some children who were lounging on a mattress at my feet. I stopped short and stared.

Ibiza, Spain, Summer of 1989.

 
   “What do you want?” one of the children asked, also taken by surprise. He was about seven. In his arms, he held a very fat and happy baby.

     “I want to sit down?” I replied, out of breath. It was already getting hot and the hill had been steep.

He moved over to give me space on the mattress.

We said nothing at first, him playing with the baby and his little sister, and me catching my breath. Then he started talking, partly to me, partly to the narrow alley walls.

It was hot that summer and they had dragged the mattress out of their small apartment onto the street to sleep in the fresh air. They were Gitanos, or Spanish Roma. Sometimes the cops came in the night and bothered them.

One or two Gitano drug dealers gave the rest a bad name, and the police did not care enough to make distinctions. His father was in jail for something he did not do, and the police had it out for his mother because they said she should be there too.

    “Sometimes I get scared.” He was no longer talking to the walls.
    “I understand.” I said.

Then his mother came back from buying fresh bread. She sat down, a huge woman who managed the hill badly, and nodded to me. She took the baby, who had begun to cry, and lifted him into the air above her head, making him laugh, then she brought him down and kissed him. That was the first photo I took.

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