In the spotlight...

Memoirs of the prodigious writer

Abstract

[Text's beginning]

I remember it being summer and leaving for the south. When classes ended, I would take a boat and then the train, hours and hours that seemed like an eternity until I arrived in Faro where Guida and her mother were waiting for me. We were going to Olhão. The house they lived in was single-storey, whitewashed, with a wooden door and windows, a cool, familiar place where the summer seemed endless.
One day in September, it was time to go home. It was like that until I went to college. From then on, summers became smaller and life presented itself in other ways and in different forms.
It was during one of these summers that I heard, for the first time, words by Jorge de Sena said by a friend who was doing an evening program on the radio in Faro. What I heard left me on a kind of alert. I didn't know who the author was, not even my friend said his name, but only that I would discover these words when it was time for that.