Stories are made by men and of course women with their desires their interests their needs their dreams their fantasies their forgetfulness... Thank goodness there are forgetfulness! Always living with memory is impossible. Memory is full of generous omissions generous with oneself. Memory should always be generous with memories. There are lives that are not worth telling. Some are not even worth living but we will not go into that... We tend to be excessively critical of ourselves although no one gives up living the way they have lived because ultimately there is no other option! Normal people are not capable of thinking that others might be interested in who we have been and what we have done. Those who think they were born to appear in the history books are something else yes I don't know anyone who hasn't ended up in a different place than others.
The story told here may not be big enough to occupy the pages of a history book or the many biographies that are published but one thing is true for some it surely was. Today the generous memory remains. It is not flesh and blood but the heart that makes CXB Directory us parents and children. Friedrich Schiller The characters told here may have doubted the importance of their existence but judge that for yourself. Now is when it comes to …Once upon a time… a small haberdashery fabric and clothing business at the end of the first decade of the last century. The shops were very different from the ones we know today. What nonsense! Life itself was different. Shelves and counters all made of wood with large drawers which creaked when opened. The “gender” was kept in them: buttons threads needles zippers linen cotton wool fine fabrics. The counters that separated the clerks from the clientele would not be less than one meter.
The waiters in suits and ties gallantly served ladies and dressmakers without making distinctions the rule of the house! Men came in only to have some garment made: shirt jacket pajamas. No work clothes that would have to go to the Fuencarral street area. The surface of the counter was glass always clean which allowed you to see the most luxurious products which also included ladies' hats and some hair clips. The color sought to attract the attention of the public. At the back there was a large arch that led to a back room and a curtain area where measurements were taken for tailoring. It was a space about half the size of the previous one. To the left there was a metal spiral staircase that went down to a semi-basement with windows at the top. Those gaps allowed the entry of light and air. Through its windows you could hear the footsteps and clicking of heels of pedestrians on Calle del Marqués Viudo de Pontejos although for the people of Madrid it never went beyond being and will always be Calle Pontejos.
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