Salon Interview Thank You

One story, one more.

I think it is 9. From my house I hear the Angelus and inevitably reminds me of a story.
My father said that in his village there was a lady that every time it crossed was held at the same dialogue:
- Do you still play? - she asked.
- If you still play it.
- Ah! Be bastards.
The lady went on his way, and my father, his.
That lady heard the Angelus three times a day that put him here in Zaragoza, from the women's prison. That woman is already dead, and I remember her every time I hear that song creepy.
That glorious song, that song that survives to those who were forced to recite it from misery, horror and hunger.
No sir, no. It is not acceptable in the name of peace this woman, this and many others!, have died without anyone ever gave you the opportunity to tell their story.
Spain's history, you say when you want to remove the tributes to those who caused the horror, and lack of respect alegáis when we want a simple praise or a hug to those who do not bowed their heads, thinking of his own freedom, but also in ours. Disrespect, you repeat, when we give the bones a decent soil in which to settle.
But how can you be so hypocritical. How injustice can not hurt you at gunpoint over the culture, equality and freedom. Ours. Our culture, our equality, our freedom.
Oh no ... I is not going to steal memory.