Notes for Cathy

The beginnings of a story, date 4 Dec 2013, never completed.

Deià was enveloped in mist, the church seemingly sitting atop a cloud as seen from Son Bauzà as we entered the village.  C’an Pep Mosso  was open but only the bar; the colmado was closed on Sunday.  Las Palmeras glowed with interior lights, and through the steamy windows you could see Margarita resting her impressive bust on the counter, staring out the window.  There were a couple of drinkers at the tables, staring out the window at the occasional passing car.  One was John Biram; I wondered whether Cathy was with him.  The last time I knocked on their door in the Clot, she spoke to me through the iron bars of the kitchen window.  John didn´t like her going around loose, she told me.  She was virtually a prisoner of his passion.

I parked outside La Favorita, a combination bakery and grocery store.