The toilet key hasa wooden spoon attached.So no one takes it away.They take it away every day.It's not behind the tap.
Who's got the spoon?The big one, the useless one.
Fede opens the drawer for me.There are spoons in three sizes.None has a string or a key.Julián goes out to check the ficusand finds a green lighter.
Nati waits in the passage.She says she's in no hurry.She tells me four times.I'm on my third drawer already.She stays beside the door,her bag between her knees.Rosi points at my pocket.I pull out a pencil and two rubber bands.
Who's got the spoon?The one with the red cord.
I hear a knock against a leg.Then three against a chair.Nico is conducting an orchestra,his hand beneath the ham.Every time his arm comes down,something knocks against the wood.
I ask him to stop a moment.The whole rhythm stops.He points with the spoonat his father, still tapping away.The key hangs from the handle.Nati gets up on her own.
I pass it to her across the table.She takes it without saying thanks.From the far end of the passageonly her arm comes into view.“This opens the storeroom.”The other one's on the same ring.
