When she got back from work we would talk for a while, but what did a man of letters and a mailwoman have to say to each other? I would talk about what I’d written, what I was planning to write: a commentary on Manuel Machado, a poem on the Holy Spirit, an essay taking its first sentence from Unamuno: Spain hurts me too. She would talk about the streets she’d been on and the letters she’d delivered. She talked about stamps, some of them very rare, and the faces she’d seen in her long morning carrying letters.
