In the corner there was a man sleeping on a mattress. I tried to move as quietly as possible; I had removed my tattered shoes and I still remember how cool the stone floor felt against the soles of my feet. I was holding my shoes in my hand when I realised that I had walked into a shoe shop. Shoes were stacked up on shelves along the wall. On another wall I found what I was looking for: a map. I found Alameda de Cervera, then traced my way to Toledo and realised that I had only come a short distance from the camp, even though I thought I had been walking for ever. I started crying, silently so that the sleeping man wouldn’t wake up.
What I then did I can only recall in unclear images. The heat, the dogs, the sharp white light that was reflected on the whitewashed walls. I walked into a church, it was cool in there, and I drank the stale water in the baptismal font. Then I forced open the cash box sitting on a table for people to put money for postcards that they bought. There was not much money, but I thought it was enough to cover a bus ticket.
‘Toledo,’ I said to the driver who looked at my dark skin with distaste and desire.
But my smile did nothing for him. Somewhere inside me a deep rage was born at these stolid European men who were not able to appreciate my beauty. I don’t remember much from the bus trip. I slept and was woken up by the driver who shook my shoulder abruptly and told me we were there. The bus was parked in an underground garage. I walked through the fumes, through the people who were crowding to get on and off the buses and at last found myself out on a street with so much traffic I became afraid. It was evening and I took shelter in a park. Suddenly I became convinced there were wild animals in the park. I don’t know where this feeling came from but it was very strong, stronger than the rational part of my mind that said there were no dangerous animals in Europe.
