Woes of the True Policeman

don’t read poetry, he said. Rosa—who, standing next to Jordi, looked much smaller than she was—said: it’s never too late to start, though I would choose something more classic, more solid. Like what, for example? asked the poet Pere Girau, who next to Jordi looked smaller, too (even smaller than Rosa), and who was hurt by the word solid . Padilla cast his gaze skyward. Amalfitano seemed to develop an interest in the fine print on his boarding passes. Catullus, said Rosa, he’s quick and fun. Oh, Catullus, said Anna, I read him ages ago, in college, I think, wasn’t it? Yes, said Antoni Carrera, we read him, of course. Jordi shrugged, but that was a long time ago, I’m sure you don’t remember any of it now. I haven’t been published yet, said the poet Pere Girau with a smile, though this year a collection of mine is coming out with Cavall amb Barretina, the new Catalan publishing house. And do you write poetry too? Anna asked Padilla. Yes, ma’am, but in Spanish, which means there’s no chance I’ll be published by Cavall amb Barretina. But there are other places where you could be published, aren’t there? Or so I imagine. What do you think, Toni? Of course there are other places, said Antoni Carrera, trying to give her a look that explained who Padilla was. Are all of your students poets? asked Rosa. Amalfitano smiled without looking at her. Not all of them, he said. Jordi thought: I should ask Rosa to come with me to the café for a drink, I should get her alone, I should bring her with me to the newsstand and say something, anything. Oh, these are students of yours, said Anna Carrera, at last understanding who they were. Yes, said Amalfitano, and then he smiled: former students. Shall we go get something to drink? Jordi asked. Rosa, after hesitating for a few seconds, said no, there wasn’t time. No, there isn’t time, said the Carreras and Amalfitano. Amalfitano was the only one to notice the boy’s dejected slump and he smiled, youth is the pits. Well, well, well, said Anna Carrera. Yes, the hour approaches, said Amalfitano. I’m so envious, said the poet Pere Girau, I’d love to be on my way to Mexico tonight, wouldn’t you all? I’m starting to feel that way, admitted Antoni Carrera. Padilla gave them a smile that was intended to be ironic but was only tender. It must be the moon, said Anna Carrera. The moon? asked Amalfitano. The moon, the moon, said Anna Carrera, the moon is huge, the kind that makes people go wild or take long trips to exotic countries. There are no exotic countries left in Latin America, said Rosa. Oh, no? asked Anna, who had always liked Rosa’s wit. No, Anna, there are no exotic countries left anywhere in the world, said Jordi. Don’t you believe it, said Amalfitano, there are still exotic countries and there must be one or two of them left in Latin America. Catalonia is an exotic country, said Padilla. Catalonia? asked the poet Pere Girau. The moon is certainly exotic, said Antoni Carrera sadly. Not even the moon, said Jordi, the moon is just a satellite. I love the full moon when I’m at the beach, I love to listen to the tide—is it coming in or going out? I’m never sure—while I’m moon gazing, said the poet Pere Girau. It’s coming in, said Antoni Carrera, and it’s called high tide. I thought high tide was when the water stopped rising, said Padilla. Actually, it’s the time it takes it to rise, said Antoni Carrera. I adore the ebb and flow, said the poet Pere Girau, rolling his eyes back in his head, though low tide is more practical because you can find treasures. He rolled his eyes back in his head, thought Rosa, disgusting! Do you remember our honeymoon in Peniche, Toni? asked Anna Carrera. Yes, said Antoni Carrera. The tide was very low, hundreds of yards out, and in the early morning light the beach looked like some extraterrestrial landscape, said Anna. In Brittany you see things like that every day, said the poet Pere Girau. But what you’re talking about has nothing to do with the moon, said Antoni Carrera. Of course it does, said Amalfitano. I don’t think so, said Antoni Carrera. It certainly does, said Amalfitano. Peniche is an exotic place, too, said Padilla, in its own way and with its government workers. Have you ever been to Peniche? asked Anna Carrera. No, but a third of Barcelona has camped there, said Padilla. Funny, it’s true, now everyone has been to Portugal, but when we went it was unusual to see another Catalonian,