A Crack in the Wall

Pablo Simó is at his desk drawing the outline of a building that will never exist. He has been making the same sketch for years, like a man condemned to have the same dream every night: one about an eleven-storey tower facing north. There's a series of identical drawings in a file, he doesn't know exactly how many, he lost count a long time ago - more than a hundred, less than a thousand. They aren't numbered, but each one is dated and signed: Pablo Simó, Architect.

He moves to leave, then as he's turning the handle thinks better of it and turns to ask her :
"Tell me something, how do you see me?"
"What?" she asks.
"I don't know, I mean - do I look good to you or bad, old or fat, or old-fashioned? How do you see me, Francisca?"
"I don't see you, Dad. You're my father."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Just that I don't see you; I don't look at you."
"So have a look now, and tell me."
"Are you serious?"
"Very serious."
The girl stops what she is doing to study him; for a moment she even seems preoccupied, as if concerned there might be something wrong with him. But with that fleeting interest typical of adolescents, Francisca is soon back in her own world, transfixed by the computer. He tries again:
"Look at me and tell me, please."
She raises her face. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes." he says.
"Pathetic, Dad"
With, that Francisca turns her back and concentrates on selecting a new song from the interminable list in front of her on the computer.