A YOUNG MAN, already showing a few grey hairs, walks through the streets of a shadowy Barcelona under a moon that spills in a silver ribbon over Rambla de Santa Mónica, guiding his steps. A girl of about ten holds his hand, her eyes full of mystery at the promise her father made her in the evening, the promise of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books.

“Alicia, you mustn’t tell anyone what you’re about to see today. No one.”

“Then it will be our secret,” she says in a whisper.

Her father sighs, hiding behind that sad smile that has followed him through life. “Of course. It will be our secret, always.”

It is then that the sky explodes into a tree of light, and for a moment the fireworks of the closing ceremony capture the night of a Barcelona that will never return.

Shortly afterwards father and daughter, like figures of vapour, merge with the crowds that flood the Ramblas, their footsteps forever lost in the labyrinth of the spirits.