Chapter 32

Through the window

Every now and then, as I passed and feeling a little guilty, I stopped to look at him through the window.

Standing in front of a pile of books with the typewriter on it, he moved back and forth, slowly, like the painter with his painting.

In the distance, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed as if in an effort. Close by, he held his fingers suspended over the keys for a brief moment, then began tapping softly.

When he gave me his Royal as a gift in Venice, I immediately declared that I wanted to take typing lessons. "In our profession, you don't have to be in a hurry, partner," he told me. "While typing, you need to have time to correct the words, the thoughts that follow. With experience you will understand how important it is."

It didn't look like he was writing a book. At 10 in the morning, often even earlier, he was already ready to participate in the life of the Finca. I asked him when he found the time to write a lot. "I am an early bird" he explained to me. An early bird. "I start at 6, sometimes even earlier, and after 5 hours of work I stop. It is not good to work long afterwards. You risk getting too emotionally involved or being too tired."

I also asked him how he always knew the exact...