Because of these photos was arrested on his return to Spain for a border police suspicious that registered with zeal in those days all the baggage of returning from Portugal, particularly if they were young. He was at the police station three days and three nights until he was released without giving further explanations. He called his photos and a uniformed guard badly told that if she wanted to annoy more receive a wafer. A policeman of the political police, however, took pity on him. He took photographs of a drawer and gave them: "Your girlfriend, right? "Yes," said a dejected Manuel, broken by three days of detention. "Keep it. But listen to my advice, that girl does not suit you. That girl, the photos, was now there at the table next to that cafe.
Thirty years later. But just like then. Manuel, with old snapshots in his hand, could not avoid contact to the girl: "Rose … Rosa Couto said, louder than I had expected. The girl turned, looking surprised. – What do you want? "You … You … Are you Rosa, Rosa Couto? He asked, knowing it was impossible.
-No. You are confused. My name is Rosa, Rosa Carvalho. Rosa Couto is my mother. He said no. As a tear fell from his right eyelid and slid into the path of your cheek, put his photos. They still had not been thirty years since. There were still a few months. Rosa dismissed him on the outskirts of Lisbon.