I spent the next year in one of those sordid narrow streets in the sleazy working-class area of Barcelona down by the harbour. The rented flat I was hiding in belonged to a taxi-driver who lived there with his wife and son.
A few month later the taxi-driver took his wife and son to join he parents in Lleida. I was now entirely alone in the flat, but as the neighbours were under the impression that it was empty, I was unable to move around in case I gave myself away.
Three times a week a girl brought me food otherwise I just sat there tormented with fear of discovery. I became so depressed and withdrawn, so utterly miserable, that I lost over twenty kilos. I began to look like a decrepit old man of forty although I was only twenty-five.
As I grow weaker, I became desperate and knew I could not hold out much longer. The girl who brought me food finally managed to obtain some false identity papers from Socorro Blanco making me out to be too old for the army.