Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

Madrid-The Redencia(191 7-1925)BEFORE I went to Madrid in I 9 I 7 with my parents to lookfor a school, I'd been there only once, for a brief visit withmy father. I remember being paralyzed by my provincialism, andspending my time trying to imitate the way people dressed andacted. I can still see my father, in his boater, explaining things tome and punctuating his speeches with his cane on the Called'Alcal6. I was so mortified I put my hands in my pockets andturned my back, pretending we had absolutely no connection.We tried several ordinary boardinghouses, the kind where youeat a daily coctdo a la madrilefia-chickpeas and boiled potatoes witha bit of bacon or chorizo, or an occasional fragment of chicken-butmy mother was adamant. The relaxed moral standards she associatedwith these places'were not for her son. Finally, thanks to the recommendationof Don Bartolome Esteban, a senator and a friend ofmy father's, I signed on at the Residencia de Estudiantes, where Iwas to spend the next seven years. My memories of this period arerich and vivid; without the Residencia, my life would have been verydifferent.