First of all, I am very sorry that I could not meet you in Barcelona, it would have been so nice seeing you again after so much time. By now you must be in the process of settling down again in your apartment. Yes, you must be if you have read this letter. I hope you like my landscapes, I look forward to knowing how you feel about them. I tried thicker strokes this time, and using slightly off colors here and there to introduce a sense of movement, of something sprouting from the stillness in the surrounding areas. I am not sure I got it right, in my mind those paintings looked so different from what I actually painted.
I know you well enough, I am sure you have ripped the envelope open before going up the stairs, still mad because I was not waiting for you at the station. I must say, though, that this time I had a good excuse for not being there. My parents have died. A lawyer, or police officer, not really sure, called me from Germany. The conversation was all very official, very confusing, but it seems that they were killed in an accident, or murdered, they don´t really know yet. So they asked me (ordered, really) to get there as soon as possible. They didn´t say exactly why they need me. I don´t think they need me to recognize the bodies, after all my parents basically owned the whole place, any person in that town could identify them. In fact, I think I would be the least qualified person to recognize them. It has been more than twenty years since I last saw them.
So I am writing this letter in the train, we just passed Lyon. I have been sketching fields, low hills covered with orchards, tiny towns with their church towers, and every time I find myself drawing faces between the trees, triangles in the sky, spirals on top of the houses, disfiguring the pleasant image. I am so drawn to landscapes and so utterly bored of them at the same time.
I am going to try to get some sleep. I should arrive to Stuttgard in the morning. Supposedly a car will be waiting for me at the station. I don´t know if they will take me to my parents´ house (a castle, really, at least that´s how I remember it), to the morgue or to some dusty office where I will not want to be. I would think I will need to sign some documents and then I will be in a train back to Barcelona as soon as I can. The frontline will be more than 100 kilometers away, but it is still very unnerving to be in a country immersed in war.
PS: Would you mind going to Piera and picking up the cobalt blue and yellow ochre that I ordered?
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