Hoy me ha parecido verle: bajaba por la calle Victoria en dirección a La Fontana de Oro. Al cruzar por La Cruz de Malta, me fijé en él más a fondo y me decepcionó, en parte, observar que siendo un escritor tan grande, fuera tan bajito de estatura. Quizás se debiera al peso de los años, que le hacían parecer un Prometeo con la enorme piedra a cuestas, pues caminaba encorvado, la cabeza mirando con desaprobación a un empedrado por donde corría un pequeño reguerillo, cuyo color amarillento tal vez se debiera a la proyección de los primeros rayos del sol de la mañana. Hacía frío, por cierto, por lo que deduje que se había calado el sombrero y anudado al cuello, como una soga, su bufanda, que por cierto, era tan eminentemente parda como el color de la irrelevancia, a la que le sacara una canción Joaquín Sabina, titulada ‘El hombre del traje gris’. Pero su bigote, tintado con el color de las primeras nieves del otoño, le delataba. Cuando quise reaccionar, ya había atravesado la cancela de La Fontana de Oro. De manera, que seguí mi camino y llevándome, ceremoniosamente, la mano a un sombrero imaginario, simplemente alcancé a decir: ‘Adiós, Señor Galdós’.

Today I thought I saw him: he was going down Victory Street towards La Fontana de Oro. Crossing La Cruz de Malta, I took a closer look at him and was disappointed, in part, to see that being such a writer big, he was so short in stature. Perhaps it was due to the weight of the years, which made him look like a Prometheus with the enormous stone on his back, since he walked hunched over, his head looking disapprovingly at a cobblestoned path where a small stream ran, whose yellowish color was perhaps due to the projection of the first rays of the morning sun. It was cold, by the way, from which I deduced that he had pulled his hat down and tied his scarf around his neck, like a rope, which, by the way, was as eminently brown as the color of irrelevance, from which he drew a song Joaquín Sabina, entitled 'The man in the gray suit'. But his mustache, tinted the color of the first autumn snows, gave him away. When I wanted to react, I had already crossed the gate of La Fontana de Oro. So, I continued on my way and ceremoniously raising my hand to an imaginary hat, I simply managed to say: 'Goodbye, Mr. Galdós'.

AVISO: Tanto el texto, como las fotografías que lo acompañan, son de mi exclusiva propiedad intelectual y por lo tanto, están sujetos a mis Derechos de Autor.
NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and therefore are subject to my Copyright.