The First Story: Houses That No Longer Exist

There are Houses in my memory that no longer exist on this earth, but that have remained unbreakable fortresses in our hearts forever. In some of them we were only fleeting guests; in others, we lived through entire chapters of our lives. And it seems it was all, somehow, only just recently.

So strange…

There was, for instance, a wonderful summer house right by the deep blue sea. Low-slung, typical of its region, it announced its southern character at once with the deep, rich terracotta-red of its walls. In front of it stretched a neat green lawn, where an old, gracefully curved olive tree grew, wrapped at its roots in a lush ring of purple flowers.

The space inside was woven from sunlight, coziness, and family warmth. The heart of the house was a beautiful living room with a fireplace and soft striped sofas, flowing smoothly through an elegant arch into a compact, bright kitchen and dining room. Beyond lay the bedrooms: a spacious, dignified master bedroom with an antique wooden vanity by the window, a children’s room, and one more room — a very small one, with two narrow beds covered in soft floral bedspreads.

On the outside, the house hid a modest but remarkably secluded garden, without any bright flowers, from prying eyes. Its chief ornament was a magnificent, enormous camellia bush with dense, glossy emerald leaves. The garden was so reliably hidden that on a velvety southern night you could swim carefree, completely naked, under the stars in the cool pool. This was a place where people truly rested. Family celebrations rang out here, Christmas was celebrated, glasses clinked on La Noche Vieja, the barbecue smoked, and long, unhurried evenings passed over a glass of ice-cold cava. The character of the building itself and the characters of its inhabitants wove together into one harmonious, deeply solid picture of the world.

We lived in that terracotta paradise for an entire summer and an entire autumn. They were wonderful, radiant holidays. I remember noisy children’s parties with pirates in bandanas, treasure hunts, enormous cakes, and balloons right there on the garden paths. I remember quiet evenings with friends and good wine. And, of course, the enormous garden toads that our youngest son, with indescribable delight and incredible gentleness, would gather up into his t-shirt to carry out onto the lawn — to a place where they could live in complete safety and absolute comfort.

The house had neighbors too… Very pleasant people. A man we could never see behind the fence often called out, very loudly, for someone named Marina, explaining something to her emotionally and passionately after her quiet response, which was completely inaudible to us. One day, this mysterious Marina knocked on our door. She turned out to be a genuine society lady — sweet, refined, and impeccably put together. Marina, with great warmth, offered us simple neighborly help: “If you ever run out of salt or Coca-Cola — come straight to us!” After that first meeting, she would sometimes gracefully drop by for a morning cup of coffee — to talk about the weather, the news, and ballet. As for her loud, invisible man, we never once saw him in all those months.

Now, through the lens of time that has slipped away so mercilessly, you understand: that was true, aching, absolute happiness. A blessed time, when the children were still truly children, and everything most important in life still lay ahead. That house remained in our memory forever as the very standard of el ocio — true rest, filled with deep peace.

But that solid, living House no longer exists.

In its place now stands a faceless, modern monstrosity, taking up almost the entire plot of land from fence to fence. Perhaps, technically, it’s equipped with the latest technology and flawlessly meets every modern architectural standard. But it has no face. It has no character — like most of its soulless, cookie-cutter siblings. And most importantly — no one lives in it… It was built cynically, for a sale, not for a living family with traditions, children’s laughter, toads in a t-shirt, and a carefree summer life.

And yet, in our memory and in our hearts, the old terracotta house has endured. Its former owners managed to generously share their warmth and peace with us. And we will keep that memory carefully.

There were other houses too…