'I still remember that dawn when my father took me for the first time to visit the Cemetery of Forgotten Books ...' (1).

I doubt very much that when Carlos Ruiz Zafón thought about his Cemetery of Forgotten Books, imagine that maybe, I just say maybe, that cemetery actually existed. Or maybe not. Perhaps-in the end, it all boils down to a simplified question of uncertainties-such a brilliant idea would be romantically suggested by a cemetery, at least as peculiar as Noya's.

A magical cemetery -like the sweet sadness of Rosalía de Castro-, in whose walls are piled, as if they were old cardboard destined to be collected and recycled in a bland new product, dozens of fabulous stone books, whose enigmatic message, there is no currently master who knows how to decipher.

They are authentic, genuine stone books, written in the language of dreams - this may be, after all, the incomprehensible language of birds - that which we no longer understand and which, possibly, past generations They will record with an intention that, unfortunately, we are also unable to really value.

But they are there, cornered like old clothes, exposed to the caress of the wind -which sometimes arrives emboldened, coming from the Ria-, cowering in front of the rain from which the thick savannah of moss that covers them, thirsty in front of the sun of a few days that dora, and in some cases, even cuartea.

The loss of memory, referred to anonymous characters, among whose ranks perhaps -I repeat, that uncertainty is a sensation with which one lives constantly against the messages of the past- exerted many of the masters who worked magic with their hands and that, with no more glory than the satisfaction of seeing his finished work, they wondrously planted that Way of the Goose, that regardless of the route or paths chosen, always has as destination Galicia.

On the other hand, and as determined by a distinctly Darwinian selection, there is another collection, oblivious to the existential forgetfulness of the weather, which forms the main leitmotif of the next entrance: the permanent exhibition of sepulchral slabs located in the annexed church from Santa María to Nova, and that I invite you to visit, peacefully sitting in front of the screen of your computers, in the near future.

Who knows, perhaps among them someone like the great writer Matilde Asensi can smile mischievously remembering those that served as a model to take the initiation of his main character -Galcerán de Born, aka the Perquisitore (2) - to the seventh heaven of the elect; or perhaps the most, as a server recently, can get a better idea of everything they have read and have not had the opportunity to witness with their own eyes.

I think that, after all, obviating the comments and even the opinions that each one may or may not form on the subject, the most objective, after all, will remain an image. And you know, that a picture is worth a thousand words.

Notes, References and Bibliography:

(1) Carlos Ruiz Zafón: 'The shadow of the wind', Editorial Planeta, S.A., 2008, page 13.
(2) Matilde Asensi: 'Iacobus' and 'Peregrinatio', Editorial Planeta.

NOTICE: Originally published in my blog TRAS LAS HUELLAS DE LOS MEDIEVALES. Both the text and the photographs that accompany it are my exclusive intellectual property. The original entry, where you can check the authorship of juancar347, can be found at the following address: https://canterosmedievales.blogspot.com/2013/09/noya-el-cementerio-de-los-simbolos.html