“Por favor, ayúdame,” The boy said, he needed help. He had a potato sack over his head and he was drenched from head to toe; the rags he wore stuck to his skin. Mother rushed him in, while Father lit a few more candles.

“¿Estás bien?” I asked him as I led him into the small living room.

“Estoy bien,” He’s fine, thanks to God, which made me ask myself why he was walking around in the rain at night. Father walked in with a few blankets to help stop him from shivering.

After Mother fed him and we were sure he was not sick with a fever of any sort, he was sent to sleep in my room. He didn’t say much; he went straight to bed and awoke before me.

The boy didn’t stay long after breakfast, he said he had to go, but he did invite us to the Barcelona Festival tomorrow, and it would have been rude if we denied. After he left, Mother got out the traditional clothing we hadn’t wore in a while and prepared for the festival tomorrow.