This is Can Guerchu where I wrote Maggie Scratch. In fact, I wrote a great deal of it lying on that very same sofa where my daughter is having her bottle. In front of that sofa was the big glass door where I had a view of Benimussa and the neighboring hills. The jacket on the table was called Chista. “Chista! Chista!” my daughter would squeal, and it meant, “Let’s go out!” We roamed the hills of Benimussa in a fairytale come true. I held a little hand, a darling child, by my side. I named her “Niña del bosque” as we climbed through the forest. Who knew! Who could imagine! She would grow up! She’s a grown woman now in her Norwegian Woods. Look at the fireplace hanging on the left. Everyone came to Can Guerchu to sit there and rest. It was our hearth, the heart of our home. It lit our life, our souls and our bones! This was a time when the world was all right. When there was a balance, so it seemed, between wrong and right. I never took this fairytale for granted. It was always a gift. It was always a treasure, fresh air, sweet water, almond blossoms and oranges, that sense of being free. There are so many stories in those golden yesteryears. Friends, lovers, land and sea, my daughter’s eyes beaming still, my daughter’s eyes seeing me.