It’s as if this man, dressed in his summer garb, coming along the Paseo del Pintor Rosales in the middle of the morning, was always the same age.

It is Víctor García de la Concha. He is 85. He was the director of the Academies, he directed the Cervantes Institute, he made friends with the greats. And here he is, sitting at this bar, unfettered from the responsibilities that earned him the Order of the Golden Fleece and also, smiles and tears, since nothing he has done or does is merely to do with the books he loves, but with the often small-minded country in which he lives.

He sits up like a teenager waiting for questions. His bright, crystalline glasses transmit a look of introspective tangled emotions, as if he were examining himself. How’s it going with the books, Víctor? Everything he says has to do with this country, with his endless gift for writing, with fray Luis de León and the Inquisition, whose memory simmers gently in the Spanish spirit.

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