[O]ne night, as I was having my supper in the square, three young men invited me to a brothel. They addressed me as ‘Maestro’, and introduced themselves formally: Antonio, Amistad, and Julio… Somewhere out in the suburbs we came to an old dark house, windowless, with a heavy door. The boys kicked it delicately with their pointed shoes and made low-pitched animal cries… ‘We've brought music,’ said Julio. ‘Let us in, Consuelito.’… When we were comfortably settled, the old man took the violin from my hands and returned it with a little bow. ‘Enchant us,’ he said, and slipped me some money. The girls rose slowly to their feet and joined us. I remember the whoosh of the wine going through my limbs, the throbbing and familiar fires, as I sat with my feet across the table scraping out waltzes and pasodobles. Julio beat time with a couple of spoons, Antonio tapped his teeth with a knife, while Amistad, already as pink as a prawn, sang away in a sickly tenor. …Grandpa found an accordion, which he gave to Antonio, and together we kept up our wheezy concert. Meanwhile the beaming old man half-drowned us with wine and said we were an honour to the house. << less