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    Koto Y Yo
    Koto Y Yo
    Koto Y Yo
    Ebook103 pages55 minutes

    Koto Y Yo

    By Tim Atkins

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Koto y Yo is a pioneering work about the feelings and intensity of fatherhood that we still rarely read—or imagine is possible—from a male writer.

    Koto y Yo is a travel book that is a voyage around Poble Sec—a working class neighbourhood of Barcelona—and, at the same time, a journey to the core of what it means to be human. It is a love song to the changing seasons, to parenthood, to the passing of time, to language, and to the inhabitants of the city. It’s easy to forget the beauty and magic when you’re a new parent, what with the overwhelming sleep deprivation, mountain of dirty nappies, and hours spent trying to get the baby to sleep so you can finish your dinner while it’s still warm.

    Koto y Yo allows us to slow down, take a breath, and to keep our eyes and senses open to every tiny moment of incandescent beauty in those early days when—for parent and baby alike—the world feels brand new.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateSep 10, 2016
    ISBN9781326778903
    Koto Y Yo

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      Book preview

      Koto Y Yo - Tim Atkins

      Koto Y Yo

      KOTO Y YO

      KOTO Y YO

      (Koto & I)

      Tim Atkins

      CRATER 34

      Poble Sec / New Malden / Kennington

      For Koto Daisy Shimada Atkins

      Crater Press

      ISSN 2014 0948

      ISBN 978-1-326-66809-9 (Paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-326-68821-9 (Hardback)

      ISBN 978-1-326-77890-3 (ebook)

      Copyright © Tim Atkins 2016

      With thanks and with love to

      Laird Hunt

      Sarah Maguire

      Richard Parker

      ‘I think everyone should love life above everything in the world.’

      ‘Love life more than the meaning of it?’asks Ivan.

      ‘Certainly,’ replies Alyosha,

      ‘Love it, regardless of logic as you say, it must be regardless of logic, and it’s only then one will understand the meaning of it.’

      Fydor Dostoyevsky

      The Brothers Karamazov

      First we came to Barcelona

      Gertrude Stein

      It is December 24th.

      Enormous grey clouds are rolling down from the Pyrenees and have covered the city. Past the frozen mountain villages where last winter we drank hot bottles of Cacaolat, across the broad plains of Vic and its dormitory towns, up and over the ridge of the Collserola Hills they come.

      They are almost touching the tops of The Sagrada Familia. The fairground on Tibidabo is long gone.

      High above us tiny flakes of snow are rising and falling in the currents of air, growing in size and beauty until they are too heavy for the clouds to hold. Soon they will be all over Poeta Cabanyes, Carrer Blai and the little roads that lead from our apartment up the hill of Montjuïc.

      We have been waiting for you for so long. From the first days of spring when you whispered your name, through the dog days of summer when all we could do was sit under the fan. Through the high golden autumn as we kicked along the streets and watched the leaves fall. By the time the nights were long and the evening skies filled with golden fire we could barely contain ourselves.

      And you, now, like a snowflake, still hidden in your mother’s tummy, have been waiting for Christmas Eve to make your descent on the wintry city, falling into the world in the dawn. Today is the day, and the old world is stirring.

      Koto, when you come home from the hospital we will be able to slide all the way down Carrer Nou De La Rambla to the sea.

      It is the Nit de Reis, the Eve of Epifania.

      Children are dreaming of opening their presents all over the city. Tomorrow is the day that the books say the Three Kings visited Jesus in Bethlehem. They were called Gaspar, Balthasar, and Melchior. What incredible names.

      Soon, a beautiful boat will sail into the port of Barcelona and the three kings will come down and shower the children with presents.

      You are not even two weeks old. You are too small to go.

      Tonight, we will leave your tiny shoes on the balcony. Perhaps in the morning the kings will have filled them with presents.

      When you look at me, Koto, I believe that you understand every word I say.

      Nobody can see you, tucked away inside my big winter coat as we walk down the road to catch the Barceloneta bus.

      Although there is a bitter wind whistling into the city from the Pyrenees, you have your alpaca hat and fleecy trousers and soft woollen mittens. I have made you cosy in your red cardigan and have done up the tiny white buttons. I am carrying you strapped to my chest and your head has flopped to one side. You are so warm that you are already asleep. Your arms have gone limp by your sides.

      We are going to a restaurant. Noriko and Setsumi and Chi-chan will be already there. The streets are dark already. It is only six o’clock. We will be the first in the restaurant by two hours. The Japanese can never eat late. Noriko will have lobster and crack open the claws. Setsumi will have paella. She’s never had it before. Chi-chan will have chicken and chips. She’s not so adventurous. I don’t know about me. Perhaps I’ll have squid. It is so pure and so white. I might order tuna, but I had that the last time. I definitely know what I’ll eat for dessert. Mel i Mató. It is my favourite. It’s the softest whitest cheese from the Spanish Atlantic mountain peaks and it is covered with honey. It tastes so pure and it looks so beautiful. The cheese is like snow and the sun is the honey. I am always happy when I am eating it with a tiny spoon.

      Overhead there are a couple of seagulls clacking and squawking in the icy wind. I think

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