1950’s. The pale light of the winter morning illuminated the small provincial town wedged in the embrace of the valley whose dark green foliage and dense humble bushes still held onto the previous night’s rain. The two mountains, one to the left and the other to the right, appeared to be hugging the houses, roads and orchards below them in an embrace of stone. One mountain, almost vertical, rose up darkly, menacingly, totally stripped of vegetation with its back bent as if hunched over, kneeling in prayer. Depending on the play of the sun’s rays the strange colour of its rocks and its crevasses made up of precipitous gorges one moment were blue and the next grey, and black in their depths. The other mountain, lying sensuously on the horizon and covered with dense vegetation sucked life from the red earth that covered it like a mother who would never deprive her suckling children of her breast, reminding everyone that it would not stop nourishing its children, the trees and plants,.

      And in the distance, the sea. Restless, a traveler, greedily licking the white pebbles on the shoreline, covering them with seaweed juices and the taste of salt, and then withdrawing, sated, in a light swell that crashed noisily on the weathered rocks of the two headlands.

      A frosty breeze slid over the red tiled roofs, rhythmically slamming the half-open window shutters and quietly whispering secrets hidden behind the frozen window panes to the wide open ears of fireplaces, and they, in turn replied with a puff of smoke and a promise not to cave into to temptation and disclose any of these revelations.

      The small town was almost totally