Love in Lowercase by Francesc Miralles

Author:Francesc Miralles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-12-15T16:00:00+00:00

Alice in the Cities

When I reached my street, my head was pounding like a drum. As I was about to enter my building, I realized that, despite the cold, I didn’t want to go home. All that was waiting for me there was a cat and tasks to deal with—both my own work and what I had to do for Titus.

Acting on a rebellious impulse, I pulled the key out of the lock, turned around, and walked off to the Verdi movie complex to see what they were showing.

I was amazed to discover that they were screening Alice in the Cities, my favorite of all Wim Wenders’s films.

It’s a very special kind of road movie. A German journalist, Philip Winter, is traveling the United States on an assignment for a magazine. He takes such a long time trying to find something to write about that his editor cancels the deal and Philip decides to return to Germany. At the airport he starts chatting with a young German woman with a nine-year-old daughter named Alice. Just before departure, the woman leaves the child in Philip’s care, promising to meet up with them later, but she fails to appear. After they land, Philip rents a car and he and Alice set out to find the only relative the child has in Germany: her grandmother. But Alice can’t remember her name or the town where she lives. The only clue she has is a photograph of a house that looks like millions of others in Germany, and could be anywhere. They set out on their desperate journey, showing the photo to people in every town, to no avail, as Philip’s money runs out.

—

I was in an emotional state when I walked out, perhaps because I’ve always felt like Alice in the cities, a waif hoping to find warmth somewhere.

Before going home, I went to have a bite to eat in one of the many Lebanese restaurants in the neighborhood. I had a minibottle of wine and indulged in the fantasy that I was Philip Winter. I liked the man: he had a clear goal at least, which was to find the grandmother so he could free himself of the burden of the little girl. My goal was much less clear.

—

In the darkness of my living room I could see that my answering machine was flashing. I imagined that it was one of those messages urging one to change one’s telephone or water company, or whatever.

But the voice in the message was deep and sweet. It said something wonderful.

“Hello. We have your Barenboim CD. You can come to get it when it’s convenient for you. Thank you.”

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