The common view

- He chose this picture," I said, staring at the picture of Poolside Gossip. I knew that, even if I wanted to back out, it would no longer be possible. That image opened the door to our next collection and the Lo de Manuela team was not going to let that opportunity pass us by.

- Manuela, who is he," Martina asked me, trying not to lose patience.

- "Where did he fall in love with you" .... - Sofia crooned, shutting up as the others glared at her. - Sorry.

- His name was Max and he was a classmate of mine from the photojournalism course I had started in San Francisco - I sighed. - This photograph was his final year project. Until the day before the end of the year vacations I hadn't even noticed him, but circumstances forced us to spend the next few days together.

- Circumstances?

- Let her continue, don't harass her! - said Joaquín as he passed me a glass of water.

- Mr. Galagowski, the subject tutor, was that circumstance - I said, and drank the whole glass at once.

The air in the office had changed. There was now an atmosphere of intense concentration.

I took the book that Joaquín had taken from me and looked at the photo. I went over the silhouette of the house and the two women with my fingers, sorting out my ideas.

***

Dorothea Lange, one of the most renowned photographers of the last century, had been one of the reasons I had studied journalism. Oratory and syntax ran in my family's veins, so my decision had seemed obvious. It wasn't clear to me until I came across Lange's images, her stark snapshots and her ability to show realities different from her own. Her best known work, the Migrant Mother, turned out to be the little push I needed to turn my studies to this discipline. The look at the emptiness of a helpless mother surrounded by her children in an America without answers had become an obsession. Dorothea Lange had trapped me with her way of narrating in images the realities she observed. This flow of inspiration had led me to San Francisco, where I had temporarily dropped anchor, seduced by a course in the history of photography.

***

- And where does Slim Aarons appear? - Sofia asked me anxiously. Instantly the looks from the others made her shut up again. By then I couldn't stop. The words were flowing.

- I don't know if you have ever been lucky enough to meet a great teacher, one of those who help you to open your mind, to identify your passions and pursue them. Mr. Galagowski was one of them and since he knew that most of the students in his class would not be going home for Christmas, he decided to propose a project to us. We all thought it was a fabulous idea to avoid the nostalgia of the holidays by doing something we enjoyed the most. Each student was to choose a Californian photographer and go in search of the exact place where one of his or her works had been taken. In that place we had to analyze the angle, time and light as well as the historical and personal circumstances of the artist at the time. I stayed with Dorothea Lange, of course, and for my work I chose a photograph called Road to Los Angeles.

***

The afternoon classes were over and I gathered my things. I planned my schedule for the day, trying to escape the Christmas spirit that threatened to engulf me. It was my first Christmas alone.

On the way to Los Angeles it was a safe distance from San Francisco, so I could visit the place without any problems; but first I had to visit the library, where I would have to look for more information about the photo.

- Manuela - I heard, and when I turned around I saw the teacher, who had approached my table. - I want you to do the work with a classmate.

- How? Why? - I asked. That threw all my plans into disarray. I must admit that the idea of a few days alone with my camera chasing Dorothea had seduced me.

- Well, it turns out that this fellow has chosen a photographer who has something in common with Lange," he replied. - And I'd like you both, as an extra assignment, to find out what it is. 

- And who is the photographer?

- Slim Aarons.

The professor looked up. I followed, forcing myself to turn around to see who he was watching. I had never spoken to him, as he usually sat in the back of the class and I preferred the front rows. He was quiet, and so I didn't remember hearing him answer any of the professor's questions either. He was still sitting in his place, even though the class was over, and was listening to music while drawing in an ochre-colored notebook. He seemed to notice our glances because he lifted his pencil and his eyes peered through a lock of hair that fell in his face. As he met our eyes, he lifted his head from the drawing, removed his headphones and nodded his head almost imperceptibly to us. 

- I am sure that together you will do an excellent job - said the professor.

That look of strangers began my journey, in search of another deeper and more common look; that of two photographers who also did not seem to have something that united them. A journey that would lead me to unravel the secrets of Calafia in the California desert.