I was unable to continue reading now. Her book still lay open, page 118. I turned toward the window: green pastures, olive trees, endless rows of vines, whitewashed houses, cattle – were there donkeys? I had never seen real-life donkeys, this was interesting. I squinted and stared out the window. We were the only ones in the compartment now. Did my foot touch hers? Or had we been in this position since she moved? Was it her foot that had moved? I did not understand these thoughts. Why had the inner shivering stopped? Why didn't the unfamiliar scenery interest me any longer? How far were we from Santiago de Compostela? Two hours?
I noticed that she was looking at me.
That her eyes were large and brown.
That her skin was smooth and golden.
[Fra en engelsk oversettelse, del I]
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