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from Canada.” Laia shook her head in wonder. “They were the same age as us and they were in a war. Perhaps young people grew up more quickly in those days.”
    â€œI guess they had to,” I said. “And I thought coming here on my own to look for Grandfather’s things was a big adventure.”
    â€œIs this what he wished you to find?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œGood, but I do not think you should read the whole journal right now. I know some things that might help you understand better, and I have an idea.” Laia glanced up at a large clock across from us. “But we have been here a long time. Do you like pizza?”
    â€œYes,” I said, surprised by the sudden change in topic.
    â€œGood,” Laia said. “I know a place on the Ramblas that will interest you.” She stood up. “Shall we go?”
    â€œSure,” I replied, standing. I looked at the clock. It was after eleven and I had eaten only the pastry since yesterday. “Pizza sounds awesome.”
    Laia smiled. “On the way, I shall show you some history.”

    â€œYou speak very good English,” I said as we walked along narrow streets between ancient buildings that seemed to be reaching above us to block out the narrow strip of blue sky.
    â€œThank you. Maria spoke a little English—perhaps she learned from your grandfather—and she taught me when I was small. My mother insisted I take English in school. She said it was the language of the computer, the Internet, and that speaking it would open up more opportunities for me. I spent a summer in England and an English boy spent a summer with us, so I had plenty of practice. And I love languages. I speak Spanish, Catalan, English, some French, even a little bit of Latin, but I don’t get to use that much.”
    I felt completely overwhelmed—and impressed. The few Spanish words and phrases I had learned for this trip had been a struggle. I couldn’t imagine learning three languages. Something Laia had said gave me the chance to change the topic. “Where are your mom and dad? You don’t live alone, do you?”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Laia said with a grin. “I live with my mother, but she is away just now helping my grandmother. Grandfather has”—Laia’s brow furrowed as she searched for the right word—“a confusion of the brain.”
    â€œAlzheimer’s,” I volunteered.
    â€œYes, that’s what it’s called. He cannot live at home anymore, so he must go into a home. My mother and my grandmother are moving him this week. I was going to help, but I stayed because you were coming.”
    â€œThank you,” I said, feeling ridiculously happy that she had. “Is your dad helping as well?”
    â€œMy parents separated when I was five years old.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, feeling stupid.
    â€œNo need,” Laia said. “Mother says that she married my father too young. They were not well matched and it took some years, and my arrival, I think, for them to see that. He lives in Sevilla. I visit him sometimes, and he sends me presents at Christmas and on my birthday.”
    The street we were on abruptly opened out into a small treed square with an ornamental fountain in the center. It was empty apart from a group of small boys kicking around a soccer ball in front of an ornate doorway. The walls on either side of the doorway were heavily chipped and pitted. Even with the noise of the boys, the square exuded a sense of peace and quiet after the bustle of the narrow streets we had been walking along.
    â€œThis is cool,” I said.
    â€œIt’s your first history lesson,” Laia explained, walking over and sitting on the rim of the fountain. Water ran over the lip of a raised stone bowl and splashed into a green-and-white-tiled basin. “This is Plaça de Sant Felip Neri . It is very old.”
    â€œAnd peaceful, even