Many other vivid memories of Pamplona remain with me, never to be
forgotten. I remember a lad of our own age who died, leaping from the
wall, and then there were our adventures along the river.
Another terrible memory was associated with the cathedral. I had begun
my first year of Latin, and was exactly nine at the time.
We had come out of the Institute, and were watching a funeral.
Afterwards, three or four of the boys, among whom were my brother
Ricardo and myself, entered the cathedral. The echo of the responses was
ringing in my ears and I hummed them, as I wandered about the aisles.
Suddenly, a black shadow shot from behind one of the confessionals,
pounced upon me and seized me around the neck with both hands, almost
choking me. I was paralyzed with fear. It proved to be a fat, greasy
canon, by name Don Tirso Larequi.
"What is your name?" he shouted, shaking me vigorously.