La voz del padre, la voz de la madre

In 1939 my grandfather was imprisoned in the Montjuïc prison. My grandmother moved to Barcelona to be close to him. For eight months they communicated with some little notes that entered and left the prison hidden in their clothes or in their food. The first time I read them I couldn’t sleep all night and the next morning I left a note for my father on the kitchen bench. All the little notes were inside an envelope on which he says “Miniature.”