Carlos Cerdà

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Childhood memories

Index

1. A small house

2. Isolated from the hustle and bustle

3. Some very bare mountains

4. Fishing at dawn

5. Pottery, pouting, and praying the rosary in the dark

6. No cell phone

7. A very big car

8. The hippie beach with luxury boats

9. The biggest party in the world

10. A great catastrophe

11. Literature about the sea

12. The magic mountain

13. The Ghost Tower.

14. Heraldry

15. A graffiti from 1912

16. A buried church

17. The end of great-grandfather

18. A neo-Gothic house on the sand

19. The end of Sant Vicenç

20. The end of can Botana

21. The ghost of great-grandfather

Some may wonder if the house has changed much since great-grandfather built it. Certainly, when I was born, he had already been dead for 14 years. But at that time the changes were slow. In fact, I perfectly remember the smell of paint in his studio, because many of his brushes and colors were still there, in the studio. The biggest change in the house has taken place there, since what is currently the kitchen and living room on the upper floor, was the painter’s studio. The place where he worked on rainy days in autumn or spring, and when the August heat was so intense that it was not possible to climb the mountains without getting sunstroke.

Because as is evident to anyone who rents the house, before it was all one, not two houses like now. You can still see in a window some great-grandfather’s brushstrokes, that one day working he would have run out of old rags to clean the brushes, and he rubbed them on the wood before putting them away.

1. A small house

You may think that how much house for a family! But in reality it was too small. I have three more brothers, two boys and one girl. My parents were both teachers, so we spent the whole summer in Cala de Sant Vicenç.

The six of us were joined by my paternal grandparents, and a single great-aunt who lived with them all her life (they were always three, and when one went to the other world, the other two ran after him). The young family slept upstairs. The three boys slept in the room up the stairs. My sister slept in the small one at the bottom, and my parents in the one under the tower.

Great-grandfather’s workshop was closed, so children shouldn’t touch all those smelly and toxic products. It was the redoubt of the deceased, who continued to work there, although some old furniture had also ended up in the study, gathering dust in the corner. Much later we took a small piece for the bathroom, since as a child there was none upstairs, and when the floors were separated, the kitchen and the upper living room were fitted out in that room.

My grandparents slept downstairs, in a large room next to the living room, which when they died became a dining room (the old dining room became a bedroom). And my great-aunt slept alone in another room next to the kitchen. There was still a small bedroom in case there were any visitors, but as you can imagine the whole house was busy and full of life, except for the “sancta sanctorum” of the great-grandfather.

2. Isolated from the hustle and bustle

The site was also much larger, because years later it was parceled out and the two adjoining pieces were sold. In the one that was next to the sea, a Catalan businessman built a house that was very respectful of the environment and ours. And an Irish citizen recently acquired the plot next to the Oriola hostel.

But when I was little, the neighbors were far away, separated by a forest of pines and holm oaks that gave the house the appearance of a castle, enthroned among the trees. There was plenty of room to run and play hide and seek.

3. Some very bare mountains

It is surprising how arid the mountains that surround Cala de Sant Vicenç are. Although the Formentor area is more populated with pine forests, the rest are just rock and a few surviving plants. But was it always like this? It seems not. An ancestral practice used in the Majorcan mountains was the systematic burning in the winter season. This controlled burning was intended to help stimulate regrowth at the arrival of the spring rains, and served as food for the cattle that grazed on the cliffs.

The aborigines in Australia practiced something similar and some studies make them responsible for the disappearance of the immense primeval forests of that continent. In Mallorca it was practiced for centuries and until not long ago, when it was totally prohibited. Plants such as “càrritx” (ampelodesmos mauritanicus) and “mata” (pistacia lentiscus) survived these practices. The larger plants, no. We keep a photo of the house where you can see the barren land, and the first pine trees that our great-grandfather planted timidly emerging. In urbanization areas, with human irrigation, the pines have grown extraordinarily. The mountains timidly show a few specimens here and there, but it will be centuries before they are dressed again with the arboreal mantle.

4. Fishing at dawn

You may wonder what the whole family was doing in this place during the two and a half months of Spanish school holidays. The truth is that the days flew by. It is true that when there is sea and beach a child does not need much more. But what about the adults? My grandfather loved to fish.

At that time there was much more fishing than now. They had a very small boat and that is why he and my father got up very early. At 6 in the morning they threw the boat into the water taking advantage of the land wind that blows at that time in summer (they call it “terral”), which pushed the boat out to sea. Then, around twelve o’clock in the morning they left when the wind, due to the heat, turned in the opposite direction (“embat”). Of course the boat had a little motor, but the help of the wind was great.

5. Pottery, pouting, and praying the rosary in the dark

My mother is a potter and in the summer she took the opportunity to develop her passion in the workshop that was in the basement. That was in the gaps between making food, cleaning the house, doing laundry, etc.

She had the help of our grandmothers, who at mid-morning followed the eternal ritual of sitting in the living room, with the windows tightly closed (because ancient people did not like the sun at all) and praying the rosary. The custom of sunbathing is very recent. In the past, the Majorcans wanted to be very white.

Only the peasants had color, which had to spend the whole day in full sun, and even so the women of the field wore hats and cloth gloves to avoid it as much as possible. Well-to-do people were very, very white.

It was later, when the bourgeois began to spend their summers along the coast and the rest to work all year in an office, when being dark began to signify status, but for many centuries paleness was beauty, and my grandmothers always avoided the sun.

6. No cell phone

When we were little we played anything, because there was no cell phone, no Internet, and the incipient television only had two channels, the first and the second.

The family watched TV all together. During the day we climbed the trees, we ran around the lot, we painted imaginary cities on the logs cut for firewood, we made tents, we fought, and above all we swam in the sea.

7. A very big car

My grandfather’s car was a Seat 600. At that time it seemed like a huge car. The four brothers sat behind and there was plenty of room.

On Sunday, grandfather brought watermelons, melons, fruits and vegetables of all kinds from the market, an ensaimada to celebrate the Lord’s Day, comics, and whatever wonderful things could come out of that inexhaustible cornucopia, where everything seemed to fit.

Now, when I see some 600 on the street, which are still there, I stare in disbelief at how small it is.

Either the car has shrunk a lot or I have grown a lot…

8. The hippie beach with luxury boats

La Cala also had its hippie beach: Cala Carbó. It’s the last one on the right. Sometimes it has a bit of sand, other years it doesn’t, it depends on the storms. It is full of stones because when building the urbanization road they threw all the rocks from the excavations on the beach and they stayed there forever, the sand never covered them.

As it was an uncomfortable and secluded beach, hardly anyone went, and nudists took the opportunity to sunbathe there. There were also many boats on top, and two spacious piers on its right flank, with large gates to protect the ships. On the right, the Darder family had an important, precious wooden llaüt.

It is the traditional boat of Mallorca, and it is called like this because its shape is very similar to that of a musical instrument. He had a sailor who was dedicated exclusively to taking care of the boat and, when the family wanted to sail, he drove the boat.

Next to this relic of the island’s glorious past, to his left, Mr. Moyá parked a mega launch with two outboard motors that looked like a spaceship. It came out loud, foaming a lot, and when he put the engine to full speed the nose of the boat would rise up and it almost seemed that the whole ship was flying.

Con ese ímpetu podía llegar rápidamente al lugar donde la plataforma continental marina cae en picado hacia el abismo de las profundidades, a un kilómetro más o menos de la costa.

With that momentum he could quickly reach the place where the marine continental shelf plummets into the abyss of the deep, a kilometer or so from the coast. The fishermen say that the biggest fish are caught there. Of course Moyá caught them. Now, when I go to Cala Carbó I see incredulous how the boats are no longer there. The sea has destroyed the invincible gates and the piers are silent, or serve as a refuge for sun-weary bathers.

9. The biggest party in the world

San Lorenzo is a saint who died burned on a grill. According to tradition, he was in such a good mood that when they were roasting him, he would ask them to turn it over so that it would be well toasted on both sides. Things of the saints, who want to go to heaven after having very strong experiences. Surely because of this way of dying, its celebration in the Catholic calendar is on August 10, when it is the hottest of the year.

In Mallorca, the day of the saint (name day) was celebrated much more than the birthday. It is understandable, before they only put names of saints, and everyone knew what day was your saint. On the other hand, the birthday only the intimate ones knew about it until Facebook appeared. The day of San Lorenzo, in a house with four generations of Lorenzo, was the most festive day of the whole year. The whole family was invited, uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws… And they ate fish rice and fish made in the oven.

Great ensaimadas matched the almond ice cream and the wine accompanied the dishes. At the end, Cuban cigars were lit along with coffee and cognac. There were so many people in the house that tables had to be set up in various places. The adults did not sit with the children, like now, when the little ones force the older ones to shut up, but at separate tables. Only the very old cousins had the privilege of sitting with the adults.

There was no music, because the Majorcans are very serious, but there were jokes, memories of the past and political discussions, while the children chased each other around the house. It was a revolution that was prepared days in advance and brought its hangover, making croquettes with the leftover fish, and pieces of ensaimada rolling around the pantry for several days, if the ants that are omnipresent in summer had not discovered them before.

At that time my uncles must have been around forty or fifty years old. They seemed very old to me, and I was afraid to talk to them. Now that I’m past fifty, and I feel so young, I don’t understand how I could see them so far away…

10. A great catastrophe

It seems like a joke, but it happened on Friday the 13th, like in the movie, in September 2002. That night, in just two hours, a huge storm dumped more than 150 liters per square meter in Cala de San Vicenç. The can Botana stream grew with an unknown force. Suddenly, at dawn, there was an explosion like a big bomb, or an earthquake. It was the water, which did not fit in the stone channel that had been built to make the urbanization. The furious liquid ate half the road and invaded all the basements of the houses. Thank God, no one died, but the flood washed away 35 cars. Some ended up in the sea. The next day it was in all the newspapers on the island.

We were stunned to see that the water had not even touched the stones of the wall that closes the plot from the torrent side. The great-grandfather, when making the borders and closing the site, had taken into account the maximum rise of the water. All was well, old wisdom. Later, the Pollença City Council replaced the limestone that closed the channel with concrete. It has not happened again, but it is that 150 liters per square meter have not yet fallen since then. The litmus test of the new channel has not yet arrived.

Ver noticia: Una tromba de agua causa el caos en Cala Sant Vicenç y Pollença

11. Literature about the sea

Not only the painters of Cala de Sant Vicenç fell in love with this place. There was also a German writer who fell in love with her charms. He bought the plot that is to the right of Cala Molins and, in addition to a house, he chose the promontory closest to the sea to build a room where he could write.

A small room with a large viewing balcony, where you can contemplate the turquoise blue of the water, smell the salt and listen to the waves crash against the breakwater. As you walked below, since the street was wedged between the charming building and the rocks, you heard the clicking of the keys of a typewriter, a sound that in the past, before the invention of computers, was the patrimony of all writers. He didn’t write novels, but economics books, so the songs of the sirens at dusk surely clarified addition and subtraction, so that all operations were profitable.

12. The magic mountain

If there is something that makes the Cala special, it is that mountain that closes the bay on the right, the “Cavall Bernat” (Bernardo horse in English). This mountain that fell in love with Great-grandfather, is dark purple before noon, gray and cream during the day, to turn intense orange at sunset. A mass of stone that falls vertically over the sea, its shape is implausible, powerful, and telluric. The name, however, is repeated in other geographies such as Valencia or Catalonia. There, the most famous Cavall Bernat is in the Montserrat Monastery.

This place name is always applied to needle-shaped monoliths and rocks, that is, with a clear phallic reference. There is much debate about the etymology of these words, whose origin dates back to the middle Ages. Some linguists opt for “Carall Armat” (erect phallus) as the origin. Others defend “Carall Baranat” (phallus surrounded by cliffs). But everyone agrees that it was in the 17th century, when moral concerns softened these highly erotic place names and changed them to Cavall Bernat. So, although many look for the figure of a horse in the silhouette of the mountain, even recognizing the eye in its hole, the origins of the place name have nothing to do with this animal.

13. The Ghost Tower.

In the middle Ages, the Mediterranean was a sea full of dangers and piracy. There were many friends of wellness of others, wanting to get rich without effort. The fact that Majorca was at the center of many trade routes it made her a sweet booty. That is why none of the villages on the island are located along the coast. Only Palma, armed with a great defensive wall, dared to stand by the sea. The coastal towns were located five or six kilometers from the coast.

Sufficient time to notify in case of disembarkation, and to complicate the things to the fugitive thieves. These towns had small fishing ports, where there was no wealth and just lived a handful of fishermen who could not be of any interest to pirates. Thus, Porto Cristo of Manacor, Porto Colom of Felanitx, Colónia de Sant Jordi of Campos, Ca’n Picafort of Santa Margalida, Puerto Pollensa of Pollensa, etc. These ports with tourism have grown so much that some are already bigger than their own towns, but this was only a few years ago. Another very useful tool in the middle Ages apart from getting away from the coast were the watchtowers. They cover the entire coastline of the island and there were permanent lookouts on them who warned of any suspicious ship (www.torresitalaies.cat).

These towers communicated with each other through smoke during the day or fire at night, and it is a custom that has been taken up again in Mallorca: once a year all the towers are lit again at the same time. In the old photos of the Cala, one of these watchtowers can also be seen at a strategic point on the coast. My great-grandfather painted it many times, like a mighty Hercules dominating the cliff. Later, at the time of the tourism boom on the island, a wealthy businessman bought that location and decided to build a house there, with the best views of the whole Cala.

He started with the walls of the building, but the tower bothered him, so he had it demolished. At no time did he think that the tower could have been integrated into the house, or that this architectural element was witness to a past of insecurities and struggles, and just for witnessing the cooperation of the inhabitants to defend themselves against the thief, it deserved respect. He brought down the tower unceremoniously. When the neighbors saw the damage, they reported it to the City Council, which prohibited him from continuing with the works. But the tower was never rebuilt.

14. Heraldry

An important house needs a shield. This is how our great-grandfather must have felt when he commissioned a stonemason from the island to engrave his family name in stone. “Cerdá” is not a lineage of noble, aristocratic lineage, but like all ancient surnames it has its logo. A rearing deer. The work was of great finesse. With its horns of plenty, with fruits, leaves, flowers and shell auction. In the escutcheon (small shield located in the center where the knight’s badge is) there was a beautiful deer with its front legs raised, in a fine and very well finished low relief. Surely the painter was satisfied with the craftsman’s delicacy. Years passed, we already occupied the house in the summers, and one dawn, when we were all still sleeping in bed, some loud knocks woke us up unexpectedly.

My father jumped out of bed with a hop. “Thieves, thieves coming up the ladder!” he yelled, but when he came out on the landing, the house was empty. The blows came from outside. We open the windows to see fist-sized hail fall. Real stones came down on the roof and gave the sensation of footsteps. It did not last long, but the damage was tremendous. Many broken tiles, tree branches and some glass. The hood of the family car, which at that time was a Seat 127, was forever marked with the riddled sheet metal. The shield did not escape the war either. In a few minutes he aged several centuries. He went from rearing deer to wounded deer. He survived the battle, hurt but with his feet up, something of the old pride still in his stamp.

15. A graffiti from 1912

My older brother has a friend who is a big fan of hiking. One day, jogging through the mountains of Ariant, a Possessió (as large properties are called in Mallorca) in the north of the island, he found our great-grandfather’s signature stamped on the rock, and next to it the year of the event: 1912. Lover of the painting, he recognized the signature and sent it to Lorenzo.

In addition, he took a photo of the landscape that he could see from there and also shared it “Do you know any paintings with these views of Ariant?” My brother responded negatively. They knew that he had painted many subjects in that area, such as the painting “Cave of the Witches”, which Lorenzo had precisely inherited.

Even so, they tried their luck on the Internet… “Llorenç Cerdà Bisbal, Ariant”… Google offered them an image of a work that was just at that moment for sale in an auction house in Barcelona. It was the same view! The great-grandfather, a tireless hiker, there was no corner of the north of Mallorca that he did not love.

Here he put it in writing. Ver: toponimiamallorca.net – el Rocam

16. A buried church

When I was born, the dictator Franco was still ruling in Spain. At that time going to mass was a political imposition. My father was a devout person; the religious feeling came from his heart. But many others had to go to Mass out of obligation. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why the churches here are empty today. In summer, going to mass in the Cala for a child was a lot of fun. At the back of Cala Barques there was an old “marés” quarry. Marés is the limestone from which most of the island is made. Millions of years ago Mallorca must have been under water, and millions and millions of grains of sand accumulated and compacted more and more until they created this porous stone of a beautiful orange ocher colour. When the island rose from the seas, the stone passed from the depths into the light of the sun.

And the Mallorcans, smart as they are, made open-air quarries by cutting pieces of this material to build everything: houses, churches, stables, warehouses, palaces. The problem is that not all the stone was compacted the same. There is high-quality marés, especially in the Santanyí area, which is extraordinarily hard. And there are many other marés of a waning nature, which fall apart more and more the worse, depending on the quality. The Felanitx marés, for example, is of the latter type. And almost the entire town is made of that stone. So you can already imagine the problem that the people who live in those parts have.

I have a friend from there who predicts that one day Felanitx will disappear, when the walls of the houses will finish disintegrating like a sandy beach. Furthermore, the marés stone is a living being. Because the characteristic of living beings is to breathe, and that is what these stones do. When there is a lot of humidity, they absorb it, and when there is little, they slowly release it. They breathe just like us, but at stone speed. Great-grandfather’s house is evidently made of sandstone. We Mallorcans paint this stone, unaware that it is alive, we drown it, and it takes its revenge by spitting out the paint. It is very difficult for a house on the island not to have chips. Well, except if it’s after the 60s, when the cement brick began to be used, which is dead and very dead, the paint began to stay in place. But in marés houses, painting the wall is the work of Sisyphus.

Well, in the cove there was this small open-air quarry, which fortunately had a quadrangular shape. Some intelligent priest had built a small house in the center where a table, a chair, sacred utensils, some candles, a chalice were kept… The officiant would come a little before the start of the religious act and take all these instruments outside; he dressed in the appropriate clothes and prepared himself slowly. While all the rest of us sat in the stands around. My father had previously blackmailed us with ice cream if we were good. And it looked like we were at the San Francisco table. Everything was humility and simplicity. The hard stone seat, the shade of the pines, the low noise, you had to listen. When the sound of “Blessed are the poor in spirit because theirs is the kingdom of heaven” we all felt that we, right there, refreshed by the sea breeze and accompanied by the songs of cicadas, were one of those. Well, I don’t know if I heard that and the rest, because the children at mass pay attention to anything but what is happening. We would distract ourselves with the trail that a plane had left in the sky, or with the small anthill born between the cracks of the sand. But the experience of something sacred in that simple place hung in the air.

Later the urbanization grew and grew. Surely the owners of the expensive new-build villas must not have found this way of officiating very elegant. And a lot was ceded to build a new church. I think that if the chosen architect was Spanish, it should be the first thing he drew in his life after obtaining his degree. Because any neighbor’s son knows that in the month of August if you lock up a large group of people in a closed area, the first thing you need is good ventilation. This obvious truth was unknown to the technician. A square neo-Gothic building that only had of Gothic the pointed ends of its arches. An entrance door on the main façade, not too big. And some very long and narrow windows, as those of churches must be, from which only a small lower hole could be opened. All the ingredients for a well-defined sauna, the heat was already set by the sun. The fan was essential to attend those Sunday ceremonies. We children, because of the embarrassment, would get so heavy that our parents let us go out to play in the outdoor patio while the trades lasted. In the end, the de rigueur ice cream was not lacking, but in this was no longer a prize, since there had been no effort. It was more of a habit.

I do not believe that God punishes. If the Almighty had thought that something was wrong, he would not have created it that way, as if to punish later. Perhaps it is rather life that punishes. But if anyone still considers punishment an integral part of the eternal plan, the church had its own. Many years later it was discovered that it suffered from aluminosis. The money it cost to repair it was too high and with the decrease in parishioners it was no longer worth it. The hierarchy deconsecrated the temple. It is something possible. A Catholic altar, to be sacred, must have relics of saints, which are embedded on the day of consecration. Conversely, the ceremony in which these relics are removed leaves the place exempt from its religious need. You can already house a parking lot, a nightclub, a restaurant or a warehouse in that building. But with how expensive it is to repair the aluminosis, none of this was done, and the church languishes with the windows broken by some unscrupulous people. A punishment for human vanity, who knows. Once the modern church was finished, the old quarry was filled with rubble and covered with earth, lest someone thought of calling for a return to the old freshness. Now a few stone tables and chairs have been installed that nobody uses, because being able to eat looking at the sea, why stay in that secluded place with no views. When I pass by, I imagine that when the priest picked up the house, he forgot many of the things he used at mass. Liturgical objects remain hidden underground. Maybe even the bread that he used in the Eucharist is down there. And a sacred heartbeat resounds from the depths.

17. The end of great-grandfather

The years went by and in 1955 the great-grandfather had already been walking this earth for 93 years. He was a very strong and healthy man, although short of stature. But at those ages there is always something that does not quite work. The doctor gave him the diagnosis: prostate. He had to operate. Medical science had come a long way, but the intervention was not very successful. Already in his house in Palma, the patient did not improve, on the contrary. The family then requested the presence of a priest. The dying person was to receive extreme unction. This sacrament was a private celebration that took place in the Catholic world when a person was close to parting. It was a safe conduct.

The patient was freed from his sins and he could rest assured that his future destiny would be good, welcomed by the angels in the other world. These things are no longer done. People don’t die, and those unfortunate enough to go through this trance know for sure that there’s nothing afterward, so it’s not worth keeping your passport in order, there’s no border to cross. But formerly everyone wanted to rest in peace, and that is why the servant of God was called. When the great-grandfather saw him enter the door, he exclaimed: “Now already?” Life had tasted little to the painter.

18. A neo-Gothic house on the sand

If you go to Cala Barques, the first on the left, the house with its neo-Gothic façade that presides over the beach will surprise you.

It belonged to the owner of the Sant Vicenç estate. This wealthy owner commissioned a famous architect to design a pantheon for him in the town’s cemetery.

The technician created a beautiful burial mound with a neo-Gothic façade, very suitable for this location. The owner of Sant Vicenç was so satisfied with the construction that he commisioned a house to be built on the beach with the same façade.

19. The end of Sant Vicenç

Our famed builder had a son and two daughters. The first was assassinated in Barcelona, and none of the second married. In the end, very old, they lived between the houses of the Possessió and the one on the beach. My grandfather would go see them from time to time.

The peasant who guarded the lands also took care of them. When they died they made him an heir, and he sold the land, since these large houses are very expensive to maintain, it is necessary to have a healthy economy to pay for these buildings.

20. The end of can Botana

When I was young I would go from time to time to play with the daughter of the peasants who were in charge of can Botana. The people who owned the farm were a couple who had not had children, and the peasants lived in the house and took care of the land. The holm oak forest that began upon entering the valley of Cala Sant Vicenç remained pristine until practically our house by the sea. It was mainly populated with holm oaks (Quercus ilex) and mata shrubs (Pistacia lentiscus).

You could run between the trees, as there was practically nothing else. Some large stone decorated the landscape here and there. The ground was covered with oak leaves and walking on them was like stepping on a cloud. The earth, tender and padded. The owners died without descendants and left the estate to their 14 nephews, who took many years to come to an agreement, until they finally sold it to the Swarovski family. They reformed the house and in a few years they sold it again. With so many bustles of owners, the peasants had to abandon the house and the occupation. Besides, they were older and her daughter went off to study nursing.

Now when I walk through the woods I don’t know them and I am amazed. The ivy has invaded the oaks. All kinds of bushes grow everywhere and the undergrowth has made the forest impassable. The brambles with their spikes reach a height of more than three meters and little by little they block our way. In a few years it will be impossible to walk there. What has happened? The peasants tended pigs and sheep that lived in the forest. The first ate the acorns and turned over the earth looking for mushrooms and tubers, while the second kept all the wild weeds at bay. Only the trees reigned majestically in the forest. Now it is a dirty, very dirty, abandoned place.

To some it may seem romantic and melancholic, but I only see the danger of a great fire that, with so much brush and dry branches, will devastate the place any day and bury the last remaining memory of Can Botana’s glorious past. We cannot imagine how we depend on animals for the future of our planet. If you don’t believe it, listen to Allan Savory:

21. The ghost of great-grandfather

Some friends ask me if I’m not afraid of finding my great-grandfather’s ghost walking through the house one night, taking out his ghost brushes and his smoke colors and painting between the table and the kitchen counter that we have installed in his workshop. Or climb the tower in his soundless footsteps (because ghosts don’t make sound without chains) and enjoy the cool night breeze on his ghost skin. I say that I don’t have the slightest concern of finding him in the house. Because if the great-grandfather has returned to the land that he loved so much, it is not to lock himself in his house.

If you see at night a dim figure moving between the cliffs, going down to the beach that will then be silent and empty, or resting in the moonlight that tinkles in his gray hair, sitting on a cliff, that shadow is sure to be him. Out there, in nature, in his beloved landscape, there he will be.