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The House of Infinity

by Sorin Nina

Preface

Sorin Nină is the author who manages to astonish his readers through each of his
books. Whether poetic, eccentric, or filled with dark humor, his prose, written with
ease and never the same, turns him into a landmark in contemporary Romanian
fantasy and science fiction literature.

"The Infinite House" is perhaps among his most profound writings. The novel
possesses fluency, fluidity, capturing the reader from the first pages, paradoxically
containing a density of ideas quite unique, somewhat synonymous with the
density of ideas in Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "Citadel," even if presented in an
entirely different register. "The Infinite House" is an odyssey, similar to Homer's,
endlessly inexhaustible (as all myths, I believe). It is the odyssey of self-discovery
and the exploration of one's limits.

From the beginning, it must be noted that it is not Stan's new house, the friend of
the main character (the author, as the story is written in the first person), that
marks the beginning of the narrative, but the old, ancient house. This transition
from common temporal history to atemporality, to the transcendent, sets the
stage. The very dog the protagonist is seeking, representing the reason for
entering the house, is symbolically linked to the likes of Victoria Lipan's dog or, in
other words, to the jackal Anubis, a chthonic animal guarding the barrier between
worlds or perhaps the worlds beyond. By entering the house, the main character
embarks on a dual quest, external and internal: the exit from the space of the
house and the entrance into the space of the self. Thus, the narrative transitions

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from a strange story, perhaps as bizarre as it seemed to the ancient Greeks in the
days of Ulysses' journey, to another story, even more peculiar.

The dialogue between characters often carries grotesque, tragicomic touches,

heading towards the absurd theater of Ionescu (the author excels in this aspect in
the chapters "The Spy," "The Astronaut," or "The Man with the Torn Sock"). It
abruptly begins with the story of paid television viewers who could even act in the
movie they were watching. An unreality permeated by another unreality,
suggesting that the everyday reality from which the character enters the story is
merely an unreality for other worlds, ultimately just as unreal.

Each adventure is somehow dedicated to a human weakness. A saraband of fears,

errors, sins, temptations, and hopes: the desire for wealth, fear, anarchy, false
wisdom, voluntary madness, venality, absurd militarism, etc. In the key sentences
of each encounter, almost aphoristic phrases, the author synthesizes the existence
of the second character, the one with whom they converse: "fear saves lives,"
"great things are not done with small people," "diversity means inequality," "a
gentleman is a title, wisdom is a quality," "normality is increasingly difficult to
define," "freedom is a state of mind," etc.

In each chapter, the reader can discover a hidden meaning that often continues to
remain partially concealed, a situation defined by the Wise One who narrates:
"Long ago, I reached the Zen garden of a temple. A marvel like that has no trees,
no water. Only sand and stones for you to sink into meditation. The Grand Master
asked us to count the stones. How many are there? We agreed there were 10. And
yet, the master told me with a smile, there are 11. I counted again. There were 10.
The garden's architect was so skilled that, no matter from which angle you looked,
one of the stones was hidden behind the others." Each chapter of the volume
speaks about the limits of perception and knowledge. Perhaps the 11th stone is

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the one you stand on, and that's why you don't see it—or rather, it's the one you
are.

Is the House the Universe? asks the new Ulysses at some point when he meets the
Old Man. "The house is my need for order, for limitation," the Old Man, or God,
explains. The Universe is just one of the rooms of the House. And, of course, if each
chapter is dedicated to a human limit, then God must have limits to exist, for a
God without limits would have nothing to relate to.

But there is one place that God has come to detest: humanity. "What do I do with
you? You have a terrible inclination towards wrongdoing. Before you appeared,
everything was perfect. Nothing ever happened. Where are those times?!... The
world was happy. Now, so many terrible things are happening. You brought fear,
debauchery, madness, rebellion, secrets, expansion, servility, false faith,
aggression into the house. A terrifying noise is heard. Do you hear it!? Crushed by
hatred, the house creaks in all its joints. If we don't isolate you, you will destroy
everything on this path you call humanity, perceiving it as something good."

Earth falls so low in the eyes of the Old Man, compared to other worlds, that when
asked, "How do I get there?" he responds: "Ask where Hell is."

Ulysses finds his place and origin. The character of Sorin Nină's book does not.
Hence, he chooses to continue the journey through worlds, and the false return
home from the middle of the book ends up emphasizing the impossibility of return.
As in Tarkovsky's "Stalker," the journey through the Zone is unique, unrepeatable,
and unfolds in one direction only. The Zone is an equivalent of the subconscious,
and, at the deepest level, so is the endless house of multiple universes described
by the author. The subconscious that Carl Gustav Jung somewhere proposes as a
reflection of the image of the starry sky—meaning the Universe as a whole.

Mircea Liviu Goga

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 1. The Story of the Golden Fish

An old Chinese legend tells of an innocent golden fish that proclaimed its
happiness to the world, swimming freely in a bowl of water the size of a palm.
Only 3 seconds. That's how long the poor fish's memory lasted, then everything
was new again, and that's why it lived with the impression of absolute freedom.
But no one believed it.
You can't be free in a wretched bowl, they shouted!
Are you blind or very stupid not to realize that you're swimming in a jar
when outside your window stretches a vast ocean? Jump out the window, and
you'll truly be free!
Funny, isn't it?
I feel exactly like the poor fish, except I wouldn't be happy... Will I find a
window to get out of here? Am I blind or stupid because I don't see one?
I entered this bowl 3 years, 4 months, 5 days, 6 hours, and 77 minutes ago...
My story is closely related to a close friend, Stan, who brought me here to
show me his house, in a courtesy visit.
When I saw it, I thought: it's so small that it can't be lived in... I was amused,
thinking that to enter, a significant number of objects must be taken out the
window... I entered the house, despite Stan's warnings, the owner of the house.
Since then, I've been wandering through these cold walls, desperately searching for
a window and regretting that I'm not like the poor fish, to at least have the
sensation of freedom.

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 2. Stan

About Stan, what can I say!?...

He's a literally extraordinary guy, for whom the extraordinary is part of
everyday normalcy. An epitaph for him (may he live long) would sound something
like this: He loved people, but infinitely more, he loved dogs. He had around 20,
each with its own touching story, each with its personality; he adored each one
individually and suffered terribly for any of their troubles.
I always loved him like the brother I never had, sometimes the older brother
whose advice is invaluable when you're in need, other times like the younger and
vulnerable brother, whom you must protect from life's hardships, especially from
himself and the elements arising from the shadow of his soul.
Beyond all the noble feelings I had towards him, Stan had a very annoying
side. From time to time, and in old age, very often, he would disappear without a
trace.
– Where are you going, man? I questioned, frustrated.
– To the countryside, my friend. I bought an old house and have some things
to take care of. Still working on it... Almost done.
So, this story went on for a good few years. Increasingly intrigued, I began
to wonder if perhaps Stan was isolating himself in the house, intentionally
pretending to be away. I even speculated in my mind that maybe he was building
some palace unlike any other or some marvel that would turn with the sun.
With Stan, anything was possible...
One day, when I had come to believe that my friend was pulling my leg, I
got a phone call.
– Hey, old man, what are you doing today?
– Working on the house, I sarcastically replied.
– Take a break, he cut me off.
– I don't know... I'm hesitating, damn it.
I held onto my annoyance and was hard to get out of the house.
– I know, brother. The time has come.
– The time for what, Stan?
– To see my house. You're the first city person invited.

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 – I don't know what to say... I feel overwhelmed. The honor is too great,
really.
– Leave the fuss, come on, before I change my mind.
I accepted, as otherwise, he might invite me in another 20 years.
The hour-and-a-half drive by car went smoothly until we reached the
entrance of the village. At that moment, warned by my friend, I saw a bizarre
creature that, according to zoology books, had no business being there. It had a
respectable tail and resembled a furry kangaroo the size of a dog. It crossed the
street hopping, but didn't seem in a hurry; on the contrary, it behaved like an urban
animal, accustomed to the cars in traffic.
– What was that? I asked, puzzled.
– A local oddity. I've seen a few like him recently, but it's so newly appeared
in the surroundings that we, the locals, haven't had a chance to name them yet.
– Haven't you called anyone to study it and see what's going on?
– It's pointless. They wouldn't have seen it.
– Why not?
– Here, people only see what they need to see.
– I don't understand. What do people need to see?
– The normal, familiar things. Nothing else. But at the same time, many
untold things happen. Most things can be observed only out of the corner of the
eye and only when you're ready to accept their existence.

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 3. Stan's Hut

Located between hills, the village was small and rundown, exuding an air of
abandonment.
I took in a deep breath. It smelled different from the city air. Lord, this air
had the scent of fruits, fresh greenery, and jams, like the ones made by grandma.
The abundance of color, the proximity to nature, infused a sense of harmony that
could only be a great delight for any mortal.
Enchanted, I looked around.
In the grassy yard, filled with puppies wandering around, wriggling
enthusiastically between our legs, eager for affection, I spotted a small, white
house, similar to those in childhood fairy tales.
I liked it, or better said, I would have liked it if... the grace minute hadn't
passed, and I hadn't mentally declared myself satisfied with so much bitterness of
silence, interrupted only by the chirping of unbearable crickets, the rural noise, and
the swarm of aggressive bugs that hunted me, buzzing persistently around my
hands, nose, eyes, ears, giving me the certainty that I had no business being here,
that I disrupted the predetermined order of things by intrusion.
Yes, I admit it. I'm profoundly urban, dependent on the conveniences of the
apartment building. I know! It's unpleasant; nature lovers will sigh disappointed,
but that's how it is. I sighed from the depths, longing for the comfort of the empty
armchair waiting for me, booming with the sadness of my absence. Then I looked
long and melancholy at the car that brought us to this forsaken and forgotten
village.
I found myself grinning at a subversive thought.
What if Stan proposed to go back immediately, without touring the house,
without honors and traditional brandy, without having to admire his flower beds
and lie that they are superb...
Maybe if I wished intensely, it would happen...
– I'm quite tired. Let me stretch for a few minutes, then we'll cook something
good on the grill, Stan asked me drowsily.
– Why don't you go inside? I wondered.
Stan scratched his head, then awkwardly confessed:
– I never go in there. I prefer to sleep on a blanket in the grass.

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 – You're hard to understand, man. You struggled so many years to build it...
– You're wrong. I struggled to build the house behind the hut. Until I give
you the grand tour, with explanations, you can visit it yourself. The door is open.
– And what do you do with this one?
– I'll take it down. I don't like it. I'm a bit afraid of it.
– Why? It looks so small and harmless...
– It looks... My dog disappeared in there. I swear I saw him going in, but he
never came out.
– Weird! How many rooms are there?
– Two, large and wide.
– How could something disappear in two rooms?
– I still don't understand. But I haven't told you the strangest thing. From
time to time, I hear voices, music from inside the hut, and a couple of times, I
could swear I heard my dog barking. All of this lasted until about two weeks ago,
when I heard a groan from the house. I opened the door, and a black monster as big
as a donkey sprang out, then jumped over the fence as if it didn't exist and got lost
in the weeds.
– What was it? I asked wide-eyed.
– It was a dog, no doubt, but it wasn't my dog.
Once these words were spoken, Stan spread his blanket in the grass, sleepily
asked me not to leave him for more than half an hour, then grumbled something to
the dogs trying to lick him, and fell fast asleep, leaving me to savor the pleasures
of country life alone.
Determined to respect his rest, I strolled through the backyard, glanced at the
newly built house to understand what my friend had wasted so much time on, and
was delighted. He did a good job. The rooms were large and bright, and the house
also had a beautiful wooden porch.
I looked at the clock. It was time to wake him up, or else he would be mad at
me. When I reached the front of the old hut, where he had spread his blanket, the
door was wide open, and from somewhere in the room, I heard a dog barking.
I didn't stay to wake up Stan.
Since his story didn't scare me, I quickly entered to recover my disappeared
friend. The room had many old pictures on the walls, an old-fashioned bed, an ugly
wooden wardrobe, a cracked terracotta stove, and a small table covered with a blue

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cloth. Nothing more, nothing scary. I looked under the bed, but there was no dog
there.
I heard the barking again, beyond the door of the second room.
Without hesitation, I rushed in, not to lose him.
Beyond the door, there was no room, just a narrow hall that seemed to turn. I
crossed it and found another door that led to a larger hall with many doors. I
opened one of them, which led to an orchard different from Stan's.
I quickly returned to the large hall so as not to get lost.
I retraced my steps, but didn't find the small hall I had come from. Since
then, I enter rooms, open doors, and live with the acute sensation that each door
takes me further away from where I started. This is because, until now, despite
finding countless entrances leading me deeper into this absurd house, I haven't
found any way out...

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 4. The Spectators

Doors... Useless when wide open, mysterious when slightly ajar, unsettling
and full of promises when closed. I've developed an obsessive gesture: whenever I
see a door, I rush to open it. I have thousands of them on my record. You can never
predict what awaits you behind them.
If only you knew...
In a parade similar to flipping through channels on an illusory television
remote, I witnessed bloody battles, dragons galore, mysterious cities built on
icebergs, and terrifying creatures ready to attack anything that moves beyond the
threshold. I felt my skin burning in a fierce fire behind one of those doors I hastily
closed, wondering how it didn't catch fire.
I didn't linger, content with a hurried glance from the threshold, as those
rooms were far from what I remembered in my world, and time had started to
squeeze me mercilessly, like a constrictor snake wrapped around my body.
Other doors concealed shabby rooms, garages with rusted cars kept inside
uselessly, unable to be taken out through the narrow exits, or even tiny storerooms
where I could barely stand because of the neatly arranged jars of canned goods on
the shelves.
If you only knew how many doors had their threshold bricked up, as if
someone from the outside wanted to isolate that room forever. What was in there? I
shudder at the thought.
The strangest door had another, smaller door behind it, and behind that, an
even smaller door. At the tenth open door, about the size of my palm, I was
terrified because beyond it, there was a huge eye staring at me.
On the night I'm telling you about, behind the door I opened, there was a
living room waiting for me—not too big, not too small, not too luxurious, not too
shabby, not too clean, and not too... clean. That's all I could see in the flickering
light of a television screen. In the middle, on a sofa and two armchairs, an entire
family was frozen, fascinated by an adventure movie neither too good nor too bad,
one of those with handsome, overly well-behaved pirates.
I felt somewhat embarrassed for intruding uninvited into people's living
room, disrupting a family scene.

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 – Good evening. Please excuse me for entering your home without
knocking.
– Ssssst! Speak more quietly, we have nosy neighbors, and one or two might
knock on the pipe. Come in, take off your shoes, and have a seat. We'll talk after
the movie.
Without formal introductions, without asking me anything, they seated me
on the worn-out leather couch and placed a huge bag of popcorn in my hands, from
which everyone served in turn, reaching over each other, careful not to lose track
of the story. I was between a dozing grandfather, peacefully purring, and a tiny and
ultra-sensitive grandmother, sobbing loudly during romantic scenes. The old lady
had a constant monologue with the characters in the movie, trying hard to help
them with advice and biases overcome the challenging moments they were going
through. Since the grandmother's monologue muffled the voices of the
protagonists, it was hard for me to concentrate, and maybe that's why the good
pirates continuously lost in the confrontation with the corrupt and petty authorities.
– I told you he's no good and deceives you, she reproached with an
educator's voice. You didn't want to listen to me, and now... Beat him, don't spare
him, he took your girlfriend and keeps her hidden in the basement, that evil
governor with his henchmen! the grandma exclaimed, throwing two bony fists
through the air and one directly into my ribs.
– What's the old lady saying? the suddenly awakened grandfather wanted to
know.
– Talk to the sad pirate in the movie, I clarified.
– Speak louder; he's deaf as a post, a little granddaughter, blonde and curly,
advised me without taking her eyes off the screen.
– She says to beat the bad guy, I shouted politely into the grandfather's ear.
– Aha! Nonsense, the old man brightened up and fell back asleep, like any
grandpa propped up in front of a screen.
The action was in full swing when the light emitted by the TV went out.
What followed was beyond any imagination. The fight scene continued unleashed
in the room, with the actors performing in front of us in flesh and bone. Before I
could marvel, the Governor dodged a devastating attack from the pirate, hiding
behind the couch, then attempted a sneaky counterattack to pierce the chest of the
courageous pirate.
Things didn't stop there.
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 Grandma threw herself, like an experienced jiu-jitsu fighter, at the
Governor's leg, biting it furiously, while the father delivered powerful blows with a
handy figurine. Meanwhile, the mother shamelessly flirted with the charming
pirate to boost his morale, and the children tried their best to steal the sword from
the Governor's hands.
Soon, the not too big nor too small TV showed the commercial break, and
the actors disappeared as if by magic, just as they had appeared. The light came on,
but the grandfather continued to snore peacefully.
– What kind of TV is this? I asked with my mouth wide open.
– An older model, the father informed me, then felt the need to specify: With
these, you can participate in the entire movie as the main character.
The mother got up from her chair and counted:
– We have fifteen minutes to go to the bathroom. Let's get organized to
solve our problems in a timely manner.
– First, the selfish father said and quickly wiped himself on a neither too
long nor too short handkerchief.
Taking advantage of the temporary absence of the father, the mother
embraced me hospitably, clinging to me with too much warmth, in a somewhat
lascivious way that embarrassed me.
– Good evening, she said. Welcome to our world.
– Is your house a world? I wondered.
– Yours, isn't it? she wondered in turn.
– Unfortunately, no. My house is just a house. Do you always have guests?
– How could you not? Yesterday we had a hockey team, coaches included. I
had to keep the windows open all night after they took off their shoes. Together we
watched a touching love story. They all cried until their livers hurt, then got lost in
the yard. Didn't you look for them? Maybe they're hungry.
She shrugged helplessly.
– It would be difficult. Our yard has twelve continents, as far as we know.
– Is it that big?
– Oh, yes. It came with the house, and since the offer was good, what could
we do? We accepted. But we don't go out in the yard much; we don't have time.
We tried to sublet, but so far, we haven't found any takers. Maybe they got scared
of the savages.
– Oh, do you have those too?
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 – A few tribes, but they're scattered beyond the seas. Some extraordinary
people with beautiful feathers on their heads. Poor things, they probably think
they're masters. They have no idea we bought them in installments, along with the
house. We send them holiday gifts, but the canoes take a long time to get here.
The father returned relieved and whispered:
– I opened the window, but it will be risky for you to enter. Next!
The mother hastily appeared and announced:
– Next!
While Grandma got up and sluggishly headed to the bathroom, the
commercials ended.
– Ready! Let's get to work; the movie is starting.
I got up from the couch myself.
– Do you need to use the bathroom?
– No, thank you. You're very kind and hospitable. I felt at home, but it's
getting late, and I have to leave.
– Go down to the yard to see our savages? Come on! You lead, and when
you cross the sea, keep to the right. You know that some beasts offered us money
to hunt them? We kicked them out barefoot. How can you do such a thing? Our
savages are friendly and ticklish.
– It's tempting, but I'm looking for another room, with just five continents.
That's my world.
Then Grandma appeared. When she saw me standing, ready to leave, she
became sad.
– Aren't you staying to see the ending? It will be epic and full of lessons. I'll
give you a handkerchief. You'll cry with sighs, I guarantee it.
– Did you know the movie?!
– I've seen it eight times, and yet I still don't know it. There are things that
catch my eye as if I'm seeing them for the first time. It would be so nice if you
stayed. We could talk about the movie. You know? Everyone understands
something different. Only Grandpa doesn't understand anything. Plus, after that,
we make donuts with cottage cheese and raisins, not to mention bird's milk. You'll
ask for ten servings, at least. And I'll give them to you!
I swallowed hard, but I keenly felt that my place wasn't here, among
spectators.
– I'd like to, but the night catches me on the road.
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 We parted with handshakes, hugs, and kisses, with the mother in the
foreground, not too bothered by the presence of the father and the rest of the
family. They wanted to wake up Grandpa too, but it was impossible. We waved as
if we were lifelong friends. At the doorstep, the father whispered politely:
– If you change your mind, I'll reserve you an eastern continent with the
associated savages. All for the price of a studio apartment, as you're one of us, he
emphasized, complicit. I have some there with long nails and small eyes, laughing
all the time, especially in the afternoon. Maybe it's something... I don't know. It
will give you a good overall feeling, expressed through smiles and games.
– I'll consider it, I gestured towards the screen, so they wouldn't miss
anything important. Enjoy the show!

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 5. The Frightened One

An endless stretch of plain, filled with shrubs, unfolded before my eyes.

Nothing picturesque; everything was oppressively outlined in a certain way. It
wasn't a shrub here and there, but a multitude, blocking the path with thorny
branches ready to scratch you if you were inattentive. Under the hostile assault of
vegetation, the place was soon to be covered, and the path was about to be lost
forever. From where I was, I barely glimpsed a dense oak forest in the distance.
I was walking on a country road when the sky, gloomy and stormy, suddenly
lit up.
I hadn't seen him from the beginning, in fact, I hadn't seen him at all until I
literally bumped into him. He was a strange character: tall, hunched, all skin and
bones, with a translucent skin as a vivid memory of life and tangled, reddish, and
lice-infested hair. He wore a kind of kabuki mask made of clay on his face. He was
dressed in an oversized, worn-out coat, probably used more to dress a scarecrow, a
sweater of uncertain color, and rubber boots, partly torn. He had no pants, and his
legs were deeply scratched by the thorny shrubs.
When he saw me, he froze, like a rabbit caught in headlights. He was about
to run with his disheveled hair, as if he had seen death in person. He stopped
abruptly, gasping, as if hitting an unseen obstacle, then with an incomprehensible
gesture, he turned towards me, abandoning his retreat.
He hiccupped, then screamed with a sharp voice:
– Oh my!
– Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I replied, also screaming.
The Frightened One, for that's what he was, begged me, frightened:
– Don't reveal my face, if possible, I have oily skin...
I always appreciated a person concerned about their appearance, but in this
case, this excessive concern seemed ridiculous. So, disregarding the tension of the
moment, I burst into laughter.
– So what? I don't see why it would matter. Your face is covered in dirt.
The character felt compelled to explain in a slightly offended tone.
– It's a soothing mask for oily skin, and you're going to ruin it with your
fists...
I listened with undisguised pity, then ruthlessly punctuated.

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 – All in the name of beauty... When did you go insane?
– What's it to you? he replied aggressively. He saw that I was approaching
and took three urgent steps back. Oh, what a face you have!
– I have a freckled face, but an honest one, like its bearer, I assure you.
– No one believes you! he countered. You have the face of a highway
robber. You seem like a bloody guy. Know that you have nothing to take from me
except lice. Stay away, I don't want trouble. If you move, if you blink, I swear I'll
turn the tables.
I frowned. His tone bothered me.
– Is this some kind of threat?
He looked at me seriously and somewhat solemnly.
– It's an oath. I'll wet myself...
How could you resist that? I bit my upper lip, then asked in mockery, on the
verge of a hysterical and inappropriate laugh, imitating, to my shame, fear:
– Will I be in danger?
The Frightened One seemed to contemplate for a moment, then, analyzing
the consequences in all their complexity, insisted:
– No, but you'll feel embarrassingly silly for a long time. He squirmed
embarrassed. The threat became a fait accompli. Hand on heart. What should I do...
You scared me horribly. You came step by step.
Oh, poor man, he was right. I felt that I had been very impolite and assumed
my guilt.
– Sorry, I was walking carefully to avoid falling into a pit. Next time, I'll
whistle.
The Frightened One calmed down a bit, and to my surprise, he suddenly
shifted to confessions made in a friendly tone.
– I thought it was over for me until here.
– I have nothing against you. Why would I harm you?
It seemed that my argument did not withstand his life experiences.
– Isn't that what everyone does? he replied.
– No! What world do you live in? And you scared me with that smeared face
of yours. Besides, you smell like death.
He squirmed embarrassed.

17
 – I thought it wasn't noticeable. I slept on a slightly rotten ferret. They're
soft, so there's a demand for them. He turned bewildered towards me. Were you
afraid of me? Be honest, be honest, be honest!
– Yes! I admitted. You screamed so loud that... I thought that... You scared
me really badly.
He agreed, satisfied.
– Fear is good, it saves lives. Intelligent people are afraid.
Somewhere nearby, the reverberation of two almost simultaneous explosions
was heard.
– What was that? I got scared.
Interestingly, the Frightened One greeted this noise very relaxed.
– There are exploding birds. Don't worry; that's how the flyers around here
do it. They stay what they are, and suddenly, boom! Nothing remains of them.
– Boom like that... for no reason? I insisted.
He didn't know much either, so he guessed:
– Maybe they get negatively charged or swell somehow, but the result is a
beautiful explosion that doesn't scare anyone except you... You're even more
scared than me, and that makes you a bearable guy, which pleases me.
I frowned. His tone bothered me.
– Is this some kind of threat?
He looked at me seriously and somewhat solemnly.
– It's an oath. I'll wet myself...
How could you resist that? I bit my upper lip, then asked in mockery, on the
verge of a hysterical and inappropriate laugh, imitating, to my shame, fear:
– Will I be in danger?
The Frightened One seemed to contemplate for a moment, then, analyzing
the consequences in all their complexity, insisted:
– No, but you'll feel embarrassingly silly for a long time. He squirmed
embarrassed. The threat became a fait accompli. Hand on heart. What should I do...
You scared me horribly. You came step by step.
Oh, poor man, he was right. I felt that I had been very impolite and assumed
my guilt.
– Sorry, I was walking carefully to avoid falling into a pit. Next time, I'll
whistle.

18
 The Frightened One calmed down a bit, and to my surprise, he suddenly
shifted to confessions made in a friendly tone.
– I thought it was over for me until here.
– I have nothing against you. Why would I harm you?
It seemed that my argument did not withstand his life experiences.
– Isn't that what everyone does? he replied.
– No! What world do you live in? And you scared me with that smeared face
of yours. Besides, you smell like death.
He squirmed embarrassed.
– I thought it wasn't noticeable. I slept on a slightly rotten ferret. They're
soft, so there's a demand for them. He turned bewildered towards me. Were you
afraid of me? Be honest, be honest, be honest!
– Yes! I admitted. You screamed so loud that... I thought that... You scared
me really badly.
He agreed, satisfied.
– Fear is good, it saves lives. Intelligent people are afraid.
Somewhere nearby, the reverberation of two almost simultaneous explosions was
heard.
– What was that? I got scared.
Interestingly, the Frightened One greeted this noise very relaxed.
– There are exploding birds. Don't worry; that's how the flyers around here
do it. They stay what they are, and suddenly, boom! Nothing remains of them.
– Boom like that... for no reason? I insisted.
He didn't know much either, so he guessed:
– Maybe they get negatively charged or swell somehow, but the result is a
beautiful explosion that doesn't scare anyone except you... You're even more
scared than me, and that makes you a bearable guy, which pleases me.
6. Maybe it gets negatively charged or swells somehow, but the result is a beautiful
explosion that doesn't scare anyone except you... You're even more scared than me,
and that makes you a bearable guy, which pleases me. Without wanting to, I took a
step towards him. Don't get closer! I can't stand being too close to people. It's
natural to be cautious. Maybe you have some illness or something. Good defense...
What are you doing here?
- Nothing! I replied. I'm heading to the other room!

19
 - Don't go, The Frightened One advised me. Those in my room might be
scoundrels, but they're devout nuns compared to the neighbors. It's better to stay
here, and we'll tremble together. We're soulmates. We hide behind each other.
Besides, we can make good money.
- Are you making fun of me? Who pays us to die of fear?
- The state. They also feed us for the holidays. They say we're useful in
agriculture... But I don't do it for the money, but out of faith. We are passing, but
fear remains. That's our mission. To keep it unaltered and pass it on intact to the
next generation.
I shook my head, bewildered. It was unbelievable. In this man's view, fear
became a kind of sacred inheritance, and we were its messengers.
- How long should we tremble? I wanted to know.
- Until the fear passes. Let's somehow choose the bad ones from the good
ones. Let's get rid of the murderers, those who do strange things with our brains,
the mobsters, the thieves, the scammers, the bullies, the arrogant ones, and... the
scared ones.
Despair enveloped me. Perhaps he didn't understand...
- Unhappy one! That means forever!
- Sure! What's wrong with that? There are a few small aspects to learn, but
you'll master them quickly because you have talent. You'll learn how to be
invisible and insignificant. Only they live. The others, the fighters, those who
courageously face their fate, perish. It's true, they end up in their gilded graves,
amid the respectful applause of the crowd. But that post-mortem arrogance doesn't
matter to them because they're dead. And the one who doesn't see himself even if
you pass by him will be alive and will enjoy his bounty. If you calm down, I'll
arrange the microchips inside you...
This man had an incredible gift for conveying his anxieties.
- My sins, do you really think I have any? Sometimes my ears ring... I
confessed to him.
- We all do, The Frightened One confirmed my fears, then continued
reassuringly: but I know a salty brine that will spoil them. Keep you in brine for 4-
5 hours, and you'll be as good as new. Then I'll teach you everything I know.
You'll become a survivor. We live well until the meteorite comes, and then we'll
burn like candles.
He had an incredible way of transmitting his anxieties.
20
 - Meteorite? Is it approaching us? When is it coming?
- From moment to moment... If you don't believe me, read the news! There's
always a meteorite coming.
I calmed down. In certain newspapers or on the internet, there are always
catastrophic news announcing how the world will disappear that year.
- Oh, but you're really scared.
- Oh, what beautiful words! The Frightened One showed himself moved. I
didn't expect it... Thank you very much! I'm also afraid of loneliness. That's why
I'm happy that we can tremble together.
- Together... I repeated in a half-whisper, without hiding that the prospect
didn't appeal to me at all.
- What can be more poetic? The Frightened One tried to convince me in a
lyrical key. During the day, we'll hide in the woods from the bad people, and at
night, we'll take refuge in the fields so that the animals won't slaughter us. He
continued sweetly: But think, you'll fall asleep to the song of crickets. What could
be more...
- Terrible?! I'm afraid of crickets to death!
- You surprise me! I didn't think it was possible, but you're even more scared
than me, The Frightened One declared admiringly.
- Once one got into my ear. It never came out. When these madmen start
singing, it wakes up, and he starts singing too, I justified myself. The problem is,
he sings out of tune, the scoundrel. Having no other solution, I start yelling like a
donkey so I don't hear him anymore. We disturb everyone...
The Frightened One listened to me calmly.
- I'll tie your mouth when it starts singing, plus some of my places are
soundproof.
- Are there places where you can't be found? I doubted.
- I have hiding places that would blow your mind. Burrows, holes, tunnels.
We can sleep non-stop until the storm passes.
- What storm?
- Anything! Freezing, thawing, famine, diseases, wars, epidemics, zombie
invasions. I'm prepared for everything, The Frightened One reassured me. Only in
floods do we drown like rats. Otherwise, we have an 11% chance of surviving,
which is great, I assure you.
- If we hide, as you say, we'll die of hunger, I objected.
21
 - We eat roots and acorns like wild boars. In summer, we feast on crickets
and caterpillars, and in autumn, we indulge in forest apples. Winter is harder, but
tree bark saves us.
- Some little rabbits would help us a lot... I dreamed, greedy.
- Slap yourself over the mouth! The Frightened One rushed at me. They
have scabies, and I heard they now bite. I think they've become carnivores. If you
see one, scream as loud as you can, then run as fast as you can, maybe you'll
escape.
- Wouldn't it be easier to get something from a grocery store? I proposed
with the desire to find a solution.
Poor Frightened One put his hand over his mouth to hold back a terrified
gasp.
- Beware of ordinary food. The world government has filled it with
chemicals so that we die inflated. We stick to what we know. It's harder at first,
you lose teeth, but you get used to it. The good thing is that they come back, and
you can chew them again. You get satisfied twice.
- How can you make such gestures? I asked him amazed. I'm a stranger. You
don't owe me anything. What do you want in return?
Frightened One closed his eyes, enchanted, as if he had met the golden fish.
- I want one thing. To be afraid of me.
I made a wide gesture of amazement.
- Unhappy desire! Why would you want to terrorize someone?
- To feel human! The Frightened One replied with a sad smile. Around here,
I'm the last in the food chain. I've forgotten what it's like for someone to tremble in
front of me.
- I don't agree! I protested. I'd rather die than live like this!
A loud bang was heard. I saw The Frightened One change color.
- You idiot! You mentioned death. You cursed us. Look, they found us.
- Are you scared of a bird? I asked him amazed.
The Frightened One explained to me terrified: There are explosions and
explosions. That's not a bird. They're hunters.
- Let's tell them that they shot two state employees, I tried a way out.
- I forgot to tell you, The Frightened One remembered: We are hired to give
hunters something to shoot. Let's wipe it clean because I have too beautiful a face
to have holes drilled into it by these guys.
22
 - I'll stay to hold them off, I firmly replied.
- Let's talk like two adults, The Frightened One asked me, seriously. You
can't stay here.
- Yes, yes, yes! I contradicted.
- You're influenced by a passing fit of stupidity, he diagnosed me. If you
escape the shooting, you'll be captured, and they'll roast you or make meatballs out
of you. It is said that we, the scared ones, are more fragile if marinated in balsamic
vinegar.
- How lucky I am, I replied fearlessly. I won't leave, peace! If you ever eat a
very spicy meatball, know that you've met me again.
- Wait! He brightened up. Did you come to give me lessons?
- What do you mean? I wanted to understand, his unexpected change of
mood.
- The fact that you help me face those who scare you...
- Well, you're in my place because we're in the same situation, and we could
happily boil in the same pot. Be brave and admit your fear. Come with me! Do the
hero thing another time.
What could I say? I parried decisively.
- I can't. I have an irresistible impulse to stay. I can't stand so much
cowardice anymore!
- Cowardice sweetly whispers to me that it's better for you to suffer than for
me! I don't understand you, but... I love you, man. Life is unfair, but I wish you a
superb death.
Strange fellow. Such a wish... I didn't even know how to react, so I
shortened it:
- Does it matter how it is? Frightened One, we all die in the end...
I congratulated myself when The Frightened One ran away as fast as his legs
would carry him, without looking back. A day that had started horribly had a
magnificent ending. Explosions were heard from nearby, to which I had no
reaction. I muttered under my breath:
- What a big deal... they're just exploding birds.

23
 6. The Rebel

I finally arrived in a large city, from a room of equal measure, spanning two
continents, mostly mountainous, separated by a turbulent ocean. Until then, I had
consistently avoided urban crowds, with the preconceived notion that where there
are many people, there is also much foolishness. Furthermore, solitude had tamed
me, and urban congestion irritated me.
The city was filled with monumental buildings with architecture leaning
towards the African style, imaginative and somewhat organic. No building
resembled another, yet together they formed an incredibly spectacular whole.
Everything unfolded without too many straight lines, with a composite material
that insistently reminded me of desert hues. The windows had opaque glass that
didn't reflect sunlight.
It seemed like a happy city. The people were friendly; when you spoke to
them, they looked you in the eye and listened with smiles, without making you feel
like you were bothering them.
Here and there, statues of black marble depicting unknown deities gave the
whole place a mysterious, open-air museum atmosphere. Everywhere there was
something to discover, something to admire. Strangely, the statues weren't static.
Sometimes they moved surprisingly, finding other places to exhibit themselves.
The world was accustomed to the movement of statues, but I was scared to death
when one of them apologized and walked heavily across the street in front of me. It
wasn't a living being, like those actors who imitate statues. The gleam of the stone
and the noise made by its steps on the pavement with metallic interspaces betrayed
it. Was it a robot? It represented a nude woman and was twice my height. It settled
in a semi-aquatic small park with suspended walkways, offering advice or
information to passersby.
Nature had a lion's share in the lives of the inhabitants. The buildings had
real rooftop parks, the terraces were adorned with flowers, and shrubs and
decorative trees beautified people's lives.
What immediately captivated me was the absence of any vehicles with
internal combustion engines. No motorcycles, no buses, scooters, or trolleybuses;
the city was like no other. People moved around on monocycles or flew with the
help of backpacks attached with shoulder straps.

24
 To avoid unwanted encounters, I tried to slip through less crowded side
streets and behave like an ordinary passerby there.
I don't know how I was spotted. I received a crude blow below the belt. The
term left a bad impression on me. I find it extremely annoying to be rudely
addressed, especially since lately, I felt like a "Yo" (dude), but I didn't want to be
reminded, so I pretended not to hear.
– Hey, are you one of them? the voice insisted. I turned and identified the
owner. I measured him meticulously, as if I were about to tailor a suit for him. He
wasn't too handsome and didn't seem too smart either. A guy of medium height,
with long chestnut hair that reached his buttocks, disproportionately short legs,
around 30 years old, chubby, with a pimply and unshaven face, partially covered
by an unfortunate green-leek beret sitting unhappily on his head, like a wrongly
interpreted Che.
An insufferable guy! He had that insolent air of a hater or a professional
rebel, the kind that starts every sentence with "no" and lives with the certainty that
everything he says is epic. I don't have a tendency for quarrels and scandals, but
here I made an exception. I confronted him strongly because it seemed to me that
the rascal was asking to be punched due to his insolent attitude.
- Hey, is it really you, although you look more like a dude. How do you
know which side I'm on, huh?
The rebel looked at me disdainfully.
- Don't take it so personally, it causes wrinkles. You have that stupid air of
superiority that only they can have. Many people doing small things. Suddenly, he
became accusatory. Admit it, you think you're important, but you live in vain.
I walked so much, went through so many rooms just to end up in an ordinary
city to be called an ordinary guy, stupid. My fuse was lit.
- Say what you want... You are unbelievably unpleasant. How are you so
different?
- We want big things, and we're capable of anything to achieve them, he
slammed me.
- Wait until you grow up. Big things aren't done by small people.
- As I see it, you have the gift of proverbs... which is somehow good. It's
pleasant babbling, I won't deny it, but let's summarize: are you with us or with
them?

25
 - I'm not with anyone. I don't know you, and I don't like you, I specified with
unrestrained hostility.
- You'll like us. You'll like us a lot... You have no choice. Either you're with
us, or you're against us! The rebel emphasized with determination.
- Is that a threat? I asked with a renewed desire to hit him.
- You lose your temper too easily. I see you clenching your fists when we
have an exchange of ideas. Only opponents think we're troublemakers. Good
people have joined us. The rest will be taken for re-education. Are you a
deviationist?
- I belong to the group of those who don't belong to any group.
That sounds dubious and intriguing. Are there many of you?
We're growing... For now, it's just me. What about you? What do you want
from life? You have one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen in my life, and
I've visited many. Plus, you live well.
I understand what you're saying, but we have a saying here: when everything
is good, it means something is wrong. We want to go from a warm room to a cold
one, then to a random one.
Is that literary... Do you want everything to be random?
My remark delighted the Rebel.
You got it, or you stumbled upon it by sheer stupidity!
I can't believe it. You advocate for randomness in everything.
Yes! That seems right to me. Look at the city, and you'll understand that we
are decadent.
To me, it seems like you're at the peak.
The peak announces the fall. We have to stop it somehow, or humanity will
become just a memory of no one. And we have found the way. We will do the
opposite of what is happening now. No more inequality!
Do you want to eliminate injustices with an even greater injustice?
That's how it seems when you don't understand. Uniformity is, without a doubt,
sensational. Everything must be portioned, weighed, and distributed equally to
everyone. We fight for one season, one type of clothing, and one room. Without
dividing walls, without doors. One and good. Of people, without distinction of
race, intelligence, and other nonsense that separates us.
I had sworn not to approach cities and specimens infected with hatred. I
couldn't stay silent, so I delivered my opinion to the citizen:
26
It's utopian and absurd, in my taste. Wouldn't a little diversity hurt?
No! Diversity means inequality. The big ones will never be equal to the
small ones. In the future, we want people to have the exact same face, the exact
same name, and why not, the exact same gender. Raise a finger and announce
dramatically: Equality through identity!
I realized I had no chance to open his mind. He was too indoctrinated.
You're a complete guy.
That's what I think too! he admitted naturally, as if anticipating my praise.
Completely crazy... It applies to your radicalized group as well.
He didn't hear me or didn't seem to care. He was too caught up in the turmoil
of his soul.
Appearances... Nothing can stop the change.
I was overcome by an uncontrollable shiver.
Beat yourself over the mouth! I can't swallow this nonsense.
The Rebel looked at the clock.
No way! It all starts now. He announced proudly: Victory is near. We've
planted bombs everywhere. We will change this miserable society, even if we have
to destroy it from the foundations. In a minute, the walls of all rooms will fall, and
justice will be done. We'll save you all, whether you like it or not...
That's why I don't like big cities. I tried to gain some time:
Couldn't you postpone it a bit? I was just leaving, and I wouldn't want...
He flashed a sardonic smile.
It's too late. The moment I've been waiting for has come, exclaimed the
Rebel. You can't escape fate... 4, 3, 2, 1... Ready! Everything will be fine. A dream
fulfilled!
An awkward silence followed as we stared at each other tensely. I couldn't
stay quiet:
What happened? Your guys aren't very punctual with the bombs.
I had never seen such a rapid transformation, from satisfaction to tense
anticipation, then to cruel disappointment. He made a tired gesture of annoyance.
When he began to speak, he was flushed and made visible efforts to keep his anger
in check.
It happened that absolutely nothing happened. Horrible! How incompetent
they are, brother, criticized the Rebel, outraged. Then he came with explanations: I

27
asked them not to get second-hand bombs... But they... nothing! Stingy! And now,
look! We missed the moment, and we made fools of ourselves.
What did he expect? Pity for not blowing up this splendid world?
It's over! I agreed without hiding my satisfaction. Your revolution has pretty
much come to an end. What do we do, take advantage of the countdown, kiss and
wish each other a happy new year?
I don't have any reason to kiss you, he replied gloomily. The revolution was
defeated from within. We were probably betrayed. How sad! Everyone for
themselves!
The aversion he inspired hadn't disappeared, but to my shame, I felt a
condemnable need to encourage him.
That's right! Don't worry; you're young. You'll only catch one or two
revolutions in this room.
Forget about revolutions! He confessed unsurely. I feel like something has
changed in me. Can you take me into your party? begged the Rebel, forcing a
smile, then added modestly and meekly, trying without much success to appear
likable. It would do me good.
I looked at him in disbelief. In just a few minutes, I had become a viable
solution. Hope shone in his eyes.
I beg you! Fill the void in me! he insisted. Without political affiliation, I feel
uprooted. Just let me stay near you. You can't refuse such an opportunity. I will
adore you 25 hours a day, serve you faithfully, and be loyal like a dog.
Look at how this Rebel clings to me! His behavior made me marvel. His insolence
had completely subsided, like a seasonal allergy, but he couldn't fool me. He had
enormous toxic potential.
I find the speed with which you jump from one political boat to another
unacceptable. You need a period of reflection. So as not to hold a grudge, I will
keep an eye on you, and if I see that you are worthy, I will contact you in writing, I
retreated.
It was difficult with the individual. He sensed it immediately. He froze,
metamorphosing into a living statue of disappointment.
Do you want to get rid of me, he got angry.
Yes!
Maybe I was impolite.
I thought you were human, the Rebel got upset.
28
 Excuse me! I'm in shock, lied with ease. I escaped from an explosion.
Which didn't happen, poof, the Rebel burst out. Damn it! We were counting
on you.
Patience, I'll recover! Where can I find you? I awkwardly tried to leave him
some hope.
I don't really know. Rebels will be hunted. Consequently, I need to lose my
trail urgently. I'll hide in some obscure room, and I'll be a model citizen until
people forget about me.
I nodded, mimicking foolishly that I understood him.
It's better this way! Everyone has their place in the sun.
Don't sleep on it. Rebel hasn't really calmed down, so he started shouting
slogans: Long live the failed revolution, death to the old society! I'll come back
stronger and more determined, and the bombs will eventually explode... He looked
at me once more as if he wanted to imprint my features in his mind for a later
meeting. I leave you in this sordid world, which you have contributed to, you man
without a group.
Saying this, the Rebel turned his back on me and disappeared around a street
corner.

29
 7. The Sage

I found myself in a Japanese garden as the sun was setting. The austerity and
subtle blend of elements symbolizing the universe gave me a special feeling of
harmony. The human-like asymmetry and the sense of imperfection in the universe
embodied by the garden deliberately directed my soul towards the perfection of the
creator. Freed from daily worries, I took a deep breath and then gazed spellbound
at the miracle beside me: the blossoms of a cherry tree, seemingly incandescent in
the reddish play of light.
Dressed like an Asian ascetic, the Sage passed by me, absorbed in his
thoughts. He stopped a few steps after passing me. He turned around, surprised, as
if suddenly aware of my presence, scrutinized me for a moment, then
ostentatiously turned his back on me and snorted disdainfully.
- You don't exist! You're a nobody! A projection of my mind meant to
disturb my meditation. What audacity! Just when I delve into exhaustive
introspection that will reveal essential truths about my higher self? Have you come
to distract me from my inner self?
I would have minded my own business, but I realized that the man was
talking to himself and vehemently challenging my materiality. In turn, I was
obliged to reaffirm it.
- I apologize for disturbing, but I am someone because I exist.
The Sage grinned at me with superior incredulity.
- Define existence! Your argument is just a petty sophism. If you're just the
dream of a mosquito dreamt by a sleeping elephant in a puddle in a mirage, located
in a nonexistent desert in an improbable reality? You don't exist, hoping
otherwise... Someone is only me.
Oh, what bad luck... Instead of meeting a beautiful girl with whom to share a
smiling moment of serenity in this corner of paradise, fate tries me by bringing me
together with a man tormented by existential problems.
- Labyrinthine philosophy... Are you mocking me to make me feel foolish? I
have no inclination for such things in the middle of nowhere. Please be nice, sir...
- I'm not a sir, I'm a sage, he clarified undisturbed.
- Sages can't be sirs?

30
 - No! Because they're too wise. A sir is a title. Wisdom is a quality. Titles
are fleeting, qualities are eternal. Sages stand aside and look understandingly at sirs
trying to validate their title and making fools of themselves.
- Differences of opinion are forgivable, I said lucratively. Whatever you are,
get me out of here, I beg you... I want to go home.
- What is home to you? A country? A place? A family? A building?
- Yes!
- Yes, what? the Sage insisted.
- A little bit of everything, I estimated.
- Remarkable! It means you're already at home in this house.
- No, I'm not until I leave the labyrinth. I'm tired of rooms and hallways.
- Do you want to leave the premises... It's a problem worthy of a nobody.
He raised his voice and communicated to me coldly and impersonally, like a
judge delivering a verdict:
- I can't help you. It's your trial, it doesn't concern me. Everyone with their
own labyrinth.
I gestured with disappointment
- It's a common problem. Look! We only have walls around us. With your
mind and my determination, we'll eventually find a hole in the wall or make one
ourselves.
- Your mind, Mr. Nobody, builds walls and creates barriers, retorted the
Sage. We can't collaborate. We speak different paradigms. For you, to be means to
escape together, for me, to be means to contemplate. In solitude...
- Contemplate once more! I pleaded. You could change the world...
The Sage became saddened.
- Once, I hoped that through my teachings, I would make the world better,
but they refused to listen to me. Disappointed, I left civilization, dividing the world
into someone, namely myself, and nobody, meaning the rest of the world.
– You've turned into a selfish scoundrel, I remarked coldly.
– You all did that, defended the Sage. But every cloud has a silver lining.
Now I have a different mission. I discover my deep self to achieve perfection
because I am someone.
Here? I intervened with disdain.
The Sage looked around as if just realizing where he was, then shrugged
nonchalantly.
31
 Yes. That's what destiny wanted. It's my path.
How are you going to do that? I wanted to know.
Step by step. First, I need to understand perfectly where I begin and where I
end.
What's so difficult about that? You start from the feet and go up to the
head...
It doesn't work that way, Wanderer. I'm not like you. Sometimes I am
immeasurably larger than my skin can contain. I start from the belly of the earth
and end beyond the high sky. My shadow darkens the earth. Other times, I am very
small. I haven't even started, and I'm already finished. Thousands of me could fit
into me. When I become big, I'll take the house to a sunny beach, under a palm
tree, and I'll go my way to the limit of the universe's expansion. Unfortunately,
without me, the last someone, the world will remain depopulated because nobody
can be relied upon.
Oh, what a man! I felt like a negligible quantity.
What about me then? Can you give me at least a piece of advice?
Why would I do that when I challenge your existence? he grumbled.
So I can leave your new and meaningful life, Sage.
- It's a solid argument. Let me tell you a story, as if you were. Long ago, I
arrived in the Zen garden of a temple. A marvel like this has no trees, no water.
Just sand and stones to immerse yourself in meditation. The Great Master asked us
to count the stones. How many are there? We agreed that there were 10. And yet,
the master said smiling, there are 11. I counted again. There were 10. The garden's
architect was so skillful that from any angle you looked, one of the stones was
hidden behind the others. The stones had rounded from people staring at them,
searching for the missing stone. But in vain, the poor people struggled. The stone
could only be seen with the eyes of the mind.
- What does that have to do with me? I asked puzzled.
- You're looking for the missing stone, which is an exit, but the absence is
only in your mind...
Profound! I enlightened myself. Thank you for the story. Goodbye, Sage!
- I don't bid farewell to anyone! the Sage replied indifferently, then walked
away passing by me as if I didn't exist.

32
 8. Pure Gold

The hallway I had entered was narrow and shabby. In the dim light cast by
dusty bulbs, the shadows gave the whole place a mysterious and antiquated
appearance. The cracked walls, the smell of mold, and the dust on the floor
indicated that the area was not frequently visited. My steps echoed unnaturally,
reverberating for a long time, creating the illusion that an army of people was
moving chaotically behind me. I quickened my pace to reach a larger hallway
when, from one of the walls, I saw a sliver of light emerging. I stopped, intrigued.
- What could be there? I wondered aloud. A secret door?
I felt the wall, then randomly pushed against it, but nothing happened.
Annoyed, I kicked the wall, and it gave way with a creak, like a swinging door.
Another room awaited exploration inside.
As I stepped beyond the door of that room, I immediately sensed that I was
losing something of myself. Terrified, I took a step back and regained my
composure, feeling whole again. I realized the change was reversible. Should I try
again? Oh, yes! I craved intense sensations, and I hadn't experienced anything
similar before. Driven by curiosity, I risked entering the room again to reencounter
that strange absence and discover what other peculiarities this special place held.
I understood what was happening and why I felt the way I did, facing the
first obstacle: I had lost a dimension. I was like an animated drawing stretched
across an endless length, a sheet that happened to be the fascinating universe of
this world.
How bizarre... in some unclear and inexplicable way, even my thoughts,
perception, and feelings seemed flat. Now, with everything stretched inside me, I
could still breathe with my flat lungs and feel my heart pulsating weakly. It didn't
beat as I was accustomed to but like a dull throb, ready to stop at any moment.
Everything was overwhelming in a flat and distorted way.
I lay back to quietly enjoy for a few seconds a sky different from the ones I
had gazed upon until now.
In the praises of cloudless skies, in the atmosphere saturated with blue, an
almost red sun hung unreal, radiating oppressive heat. I imagined myself as a flat
snail, lost in the grass, then in my thoughts, I boiled and dried in the shell for the
sake of the red sun. Unpleasant feeling. Loaded negatively with my little failed

33
experience, I jumped to my feet, watching how the drought had yellowed the fields
reduced by the two dimensions to a mere stained smear.
I started walking with long strides, afraid of dying like the snail I had
imagined.
The celestial body, resembling a spiked leaf in a notebook, mercilessly
attacked me, hitting my head until my thoughts turned into a black puddle that
soaked my feet. The small bundle, for which I had swept a stable, felt as heavy as
the Himalayas if I had to carry it on my back. I touched my forehead. I was
boiling. Fainting lurked with every step, and a source of shade in the field full of
thistles that bordered the road could only be a mirage.
Lacking saving ideas, I mechanically started counting my breaths,
intoxicated by the fixation that if I interrupted my counting, my lungs would revolt,
then give in, and unventilated, my body would succumb to suffocation.
Can I catch fire faster if I have fewer dimensions?
That's all I thought before seeing black in front of my eyes and fainting. I
was awakened by the words of individuals talking about me:
- Two... If it had been one, I would have been in the ninth heaven, but two is
already a sign. We must repent or something.
- Two ears mean wealth.
- Do you want me to cut off your ears? I shuddered.
- Silence, slave! Ears without you alive between them are worthless. The
strangers who usually come here don't have ears, and those like this one burn
immediately in the heat of this sun. Come on, move!
They dragged me more, until a house with a peasant appearance but dazzling
brilliance appeared before my eyes. Arriving at the fence, my body betrayed me
without remorse, and I literally fell on my flat bottom.
- Amazing! I exclaimed loudly. Then doubts attacked me. Do you see what I
see? Could it be sunstroke? Am I hallucinating?
The building was entirely made of gold. Not just any gold, red, whitish gold,
but pure gold, the kind that drives the mind crazy with its glimmers and turns a
person into someone else.
A very tall individual, wearing a felt hat, orange shorts, barefoot, and
holding a large comb in his right hand, appeared from beyond the doors of the
building.

34
 - Good day, he greeted with a hoarse voice. I regret that I welcome you with
a stick, but that's our tradition because people can become irresponsible in the
brilliance of gold, swiftly.
- Hello, sir, we know how things go, as we are of the same chamber. We
assure you we are responsible citizens, so we don't intend to cause you any trouble.
Do you want a ear-notched slave?
- An ear-notched one hasn't appeared in our lands for a long time. How
much do you ask for him?
- A sack of potatoes.
- Never, it's not like he's a good fairy.
- Half a sack, as he has two ears.
- Six large potatoes. That's all I can give you. No more.
- Add a red onion, and we'll agree that we are human.
They shook hands in a sign of agreement and left me to the mercy of the
master. Crushed by the unrelenting sun, I took a moment of respite, stuck to the
golden fence that seemed, in turn, stuck in places by patches.
- You are about to do the undoable. Be careful; the fence is unstable, and
you can fall with it on the house.
- I didn't know, I articulated, struggling to detach myself from the fence.
- I should write somewhere, but it would be a shame to tarnish the brilliance
of gold. That's why I come out from time to time. I sit by the window, and when I
see a passerby, I quickly come out and warn him not to complicate things.
I understand.
Are you from the world of the thick ones?
Yes, you could say that.
As you may have noticed, you are my slave. It will only last for 3 hours, and
then I will bury you with respect up to your waist, right here in front of the house,
in a favorable position so that your ears can be seen.
Why in 3 hours and not now? If you've already spent a lot of vegetables to
make me a statue, it would be more humane to hit me with that flat stick on the
head immediately and not make me suffer for so many hours in the sun.
I purchased you for work, sir. In 3 hours, you will die from the sun, and only
then will I dedicate you to art so that people can enjoy seeing your bust in the yard.
Alright, but what if by some miracle I survive after 3 hours?
You will be free, sir. I am a man of my word.
35
 I asked for water, a hat, and then I dug in the yard among some wilted
tomatoes, despite the fact that I was drenched in sweat. After 3 hours, the owner of
the house stopped me and announced that I was free.
Tell me, what is this place called?
For us, it's home. For you, El Dorado.
I've heard of it. Everyone has been searching for it passionately for a few
hundred years.
They haven't been lucky with the right door.
Since I'm around, I can help you, as a bonus, anchor the fence better.
I don't want to anchor it, but to take it out completely.
Why?
To take it outside of this flat room.
Why?
Because it has value there; here, everyone lives in golden houses, and
everyone struggles in needs, poverty, and famine.
Why? You have gold, vast fields, water, forests.
It would be, but no one can enjoy them.
I don't understand...
When travelers from other rooms started coming, we were ordinary people,
living in unusual houses, but that didn't matter. We minded our own business,
living our lives, which were like yours, if you have a life.
Did something so terrible happen to turn your life upside down?
Yes! We found out from strangers how precious our building material was.
I'm surprised they told you.
They enlightened us only after we gave them our golden furniture for glass
beads. The drama unfolded when we realized what we had on our hands.
What happened?
We caught the gold fever and all went mad, prey to greed. Before, we were
poor, but after we became enlightened, we became poor and wicked. People, until
yesterday generous, overnight turned into scoundrels. Lawlessness became the new
law of the land. First, they ravaged abandoned houses, then greedily took from
each other, by any means.
Horrifying!
There were many conflicts ending in murders, and since then, we've lost our
peace. Now everyone stays inside, on guard, to watch over their wealth.
36
 Don't you die of hunger?
Oh, yes! Of hunger and diseases, but what can we do? We live on what we
cultivate in front of the courtyard; it's little, but it keeps us going from one day to
the next.
I looked beyond the fence and saw a backyard as big as all outdoors, which
would have allowed a Christian to fare better.
I see there's more space in the back.
Yes, there is, but it's useless. If I work in the back, the villains come from the front
and steal from me.
What do they steal, gold?
They're not stupid; everyone has gold. They steal my food because no one
else has that.
I understand why you want to leave.
I'm leaving because gold took my life, and I'm taking as much as I can with
me to buy a new life elsewhere. If you want to work for a year on your hands with
me to remove the fence, I'll give you about eight dreve from it, so you can live well
for the rest of your life.
My eyes gleamed. Pure gold... I could feel greed, hand in hand with
madness, circling me like friendly vultures. And eight dreve, so flat, like a tinplate
beaten with a hammer, would have enriched me. The man in shorts saw me
hesitating and insisted:
Come on, enter... what's a year?
I would go further to see with my own eyes what the real El Dorado looks
like.
Don't do it! I've seen many travelers going further, but none have ever
returned. The neighbors mentioned that there are more untouched and abandoned
villages somewhere.
Probably everyone found their own golden house and now stands guard over
it.
It's a sad thing. They became prisoners of their homes.
And you're in the same situation, don't you realize?
Yes, but at least I'm digging... Well, are you in?
No, thank you.
How come? I know it's a lot of effort. If you're not satisfied with the gain, I'll
give you a larger share.
37
 It's not about the share. No matter how substantial it is, it's not worth it. It
wouldn't make a dent as big as the basin. I have a long and difficult journey ahead.
Laden with gold, the road would become even longer and much harder. I wouldn't
sleep well at night from fear of thieves, and in the end, I would die of exhaustion,
full of pure gold in my pocket.

38
 9. The Man with the Ripped Sock

It took me some time to forget that obsessive gleam of gold and to feel my
third dimension, so as not to bump into things. Just when I thought I had seen it all
and nothing could surprise me, I came across him...
I was wandering in a young grove on the outskirts of a settlement, looking
for a quiet spot away from the hustle and bustle of people. The wind rustled the
leaves as if to annoy me specifically. It was getting dark when a short man, around
40 years old, unexpectedly appeared in front of me.
The timing was far from appropriate; he was dressed in a somewhat short
and faded hospital pajama, topped with a quirky hat with ears, and had a large
bunch of curly hair that seemed overdue for a wash. On his feet, he wore brown,
worn-out shoes with the sole detached at the front, exposing two injured and dirty
toes.
The peculiarity wouldn't have been complete if the man hadn't carefully
pulled on a string attached to a black and partially torn sock. It was like something
out of the old jokes about lunatics, and it made me burst into laughter. I struggled
to divert my gaze, trying not to succumb to uncontrollable hilarity.
He noticed me and began to fidget, then shouted from a distance:
Have you seen her?
Who?
The crow!
No!
She attacked me sneakily, that thief.
Are you serious?
As serious as it gets.
And what did you do?
I defended myself, what else could I do? She attacked, I fought back, even
though I'm not a violent person.
Are you injured?
A little, on the eyelid.
Darn it! He had a big, blood-swollen bruise under his eye.
Horrible! What did she take from you?

39
 Serious stuff. I would go straight to the police, but who trusts them
nowadays? In this country, things are stolen, my friend. And not just anyhow, but
exactly like in the forest.
Did she steal your clothes?
No, but those would be trivial matters. Ugh! It breaks my heart when I think
about it. She tried to kidnap my offspring. I take care of him, wash him, walk him,
invest feelings, and then someone, an unscrupulous crow in this case, comes to
take everything away and leave you alone and deserted!
The one you walk on a leash?
I moved closer to get a better look at the little one. My unexpected
movement agitated the man horribly.
Stop! Can't you hear, you fool? The Man with the Ripped Sock scolded me.
If you don't understand, I'll draw you a picture, and you can color it yourself. This
little one is terribly scared, and if she escapes, she despairs, jumps into the water,
and drowns. He gestured violently: Watch out! Do you want to have that on your
conscience?
I froze but cautiously reached out to the small one in the leash:
Excuse me! Does it bite?
He didn't let me touch it.
It would make me happy... You'd be the first. For now, I'm just teaching her
to fetch. She's stubborn, and progress is slow. What are you doing here on the
lake? Fishing or looking for a boat to row?
I hesitated. I had learned that the people here could be quite bizarre at times.
A new check clarified everything. There was no lake around. This guy in pajamas
wanted to convince me of a fabrication. Yet... A vague intuition made me reassess
the problem. Maybe there was something with me, maybe something with him,
maybe something with the world. It was time to find out, so I decided to tackle the
issue head-on.
Neither! I was passing through. What lake are you talking about? I don't see
any.
The Man with the Ripped Sock waved his hand mournfully and commented
on the sock with an air of expertise:
It seemed normal, but it has the aura of lakes.
It was a great injustice. I got involved because that's how I am; what can I
do?
40
 Does she ever respond to you?
He spoke cautiously, making me aware through his gestures that the sock
shamelessly pulled on his ear:
Always. She never shuts up. Then he exploded. She drives me crazy
sometimes.
I widened my eyes.
I thought she was mute...
He immediately snitched on me, looking at me disdainfully:
She made you mute. He shook his head doubtfully toward the sock. I don't
trust him. He's like the others.
I felt awkward. Being like the others didn't seem like a good thing in that
situation.
It depends... How are the others? I wanted to know.
Deaf and blind, The Man with the Ripped Sock confessed without
enthusiasm.
To interrupt the series of absurdities served by The Man with the Ripped
Sock and the strange conversation that gave me a bizarre sense of post-normality, I
intervened.
I hear you...
Don't make jokes with us, or we'll get upset. It's a sock, I told you.
It's wonderful to know so much about your sock! What's her name?
Miruvisacavaloverdecalmi, he amusedly confided. Strange parents...
And you call her by name?
No, she gets upset. She prefers the short version, Mimi.
It's a good name. Is she friendly?
She's a lover, The Man with the Ripped Sock burst out. I was about to say
something, but he abruptly interrupted me, putting his hand-made funnel to his ear:
Quiet! Try to tell me something. To the sock: What do you say, little one? Aha! He
turned to me. How much do you want for the sock? I don't want both. My sock
needs a friend.
I'm sorry... I care about you, respect you as a person, but I must categorically
refuse. I need each one separately; otherwise, my boots will wear out.
He didn't seem to hear me or care.
You'll manage with one. Hop on one foot. Look, I'll make you an irresistible
offer. For your sock, I'll give you a meter of chaos.
41
 Darn it! He was sly! That's what I get for engaging my mind with him.
Chaos by the meter... I pondered. I cut him off grumpily:
I don't need it! What am I going to do with chaos?
It's not chaotic chaos. It's the name of my journal. He smiled enticingly, trying to
convince me. You'll discover the great secret. Few know it, and they're dead. I'm
not advertising, but I'll inform you - your life will be enlightened. Then you can act
with knowledge.
It's very tempting, and I would like to know, but I have to refuse. I care a lot
about my soles.
The Man with the Ripped Sock leaned towards the sock, which seemed to
have whispered something to him.
Leave him alone? Why would I do that? Because he's a good person?
Maybe, but don't be fooled. He's not one of us. Look! He's ready to wet his socks
in the lake, and he doesn't see it. He turned to me with jealousy. He smiled at you!
He told the sock, without enthusiasm: Alright, I'll be nice to him for your sake.
Speaking of the lake, what are you doing here with the duckling? Are you taking it
through the reeds?
- Which duckling?
- So you know you're pulling a sock with a string...
- I'm aware, of course! he replied bored, then continued as if he were a
student brought to the board. I'm towing a size L polyester sock, slightly torn at the
big toe of the left foot.
He shrugged.
- With me, yes! And he never takes his eyes off me.
- Naturally! But you love it too. You're taking it around the lake...
- If pulling a sock around an invisible lake seems normal to you, it means...
- It means what? Normality is increasingly hard to define.
- These are terrible times, a trial. The sock and I have experienced
unimaginable things together. Heart-wrenching dramas! Poor thing had a twin
sister who met a tragic end. I was with both of them... in contact. That made the
bond between us unshakeable. When I escaped, I didn't want to leave her alone in
isolation.
I shivered. Could I be dealing with some furious lunatic, capable of reckless
actions, or perhaps a serial killer?
- Where did you escape from?
42
 - The asylum. Irritated. I thought it was obvious.
He was right. It was evident from a mile away.
- Why did you run away?
- Because of the inversion!
- What? What inversion? I don't understand a thing...
He regretted letting it slip.
- Pfuuu! I've revealed the great secret. Here's the deal. About two years ago,
a great atrocity occurred. The inversion! Such a horror is inconceivable in civilized
times, but it happened. Normal people, like me, were thrown into chaos
everywhere, and the crazies were put in charge of the world. That's how madness
shifted from bottom to top.
Respect! I admired him in my mind, then verbalized, That's a conspiracy!
How so?
- I have no idea. Someone high up whispered to me that if it works out,
they'll leave things as they are.
- And if not?...
He hesitated for a moment.
- If not... well, then they'll leave things just as they are. But regretfully...
- Either way, it doesn't matter, I concluded, meditatively. It seems our fate is
sealed. So? Did you run away because the new masters of the hospital treated you
badly? Were they mistreating you?
- Not at all! They were very careful with each of the sane-lunatics. But life
without a bit of madness is monotonous. I was bored to death in that controlled
environment. I started gaining weight, so I wanted to see what it's like outside the
fence, in this new and insane world.
I had to admit, his seemingly crazy story had captured me.
- And? What did you see?
- The madness beyond the asylum surpasses any imagination. When I saw it,
my blood froze. Beyond the fence, they eat anything that moves. It's the law of the
jungle. People raise animals, kill them, and eat them. They cultivate insects, milk
them, and swallow that juice they call honey.
- Alright, but what do you eat? I wondered. No meat and plants...
- I don't accept them because they're alive. They also have a soul. So... I only
eat fruits: popcorn and hamburgers. Look at my pockets, they're full of these
things. They're delicious, especially the hamburgers when they're crispy. I tried
43
others. Paper tasted decent, but when I found out it's made from wood, obtained by
cutting down living trees, I had a calcium deficiency. I tested plastic masses, but
the chemicals bloat me.
I nodded awkwardly. There are good, principled people in the world, but
poorly informed. But to be this clueless?! Where had the Man With the Torn Sock
lived until now? Someone, somehow, at some point had cruelly played a trick on
him. I wanted to enlighten him.
- But hamburgers...
- What divine fruits...
The moment of truth had come.
- In popcorn and hamburgers...
- In popcorn and hamburgers, I know. My sock told me...
I sighed, defeated.
- You're wise, and the sock is genius, so it can't be contradicted... I lied,
hoping that God wouldn't count these philanthropic acts as sins.
- If I can live like an ascetic, only with hamburgers, why do they feed on
life? Do they enjoy ending up in someone else's thick gut?
- They are the food of worms...
- And they're okay with that? Eeeeh?
- I don't think they care anymore.
- They should care! We weren't created to kill. Let them all switch to
hamburgers! Back to my adventure in the city, I preached to passersby about
healthy food with a hamburger in hand, but they didn't listen. I accepted my defeat
and watched them stuff themselves with junk. When the sock got tired, we decided
to go back home.
- To the asylum? I asked with regret. In an inexplicable and irrational way, I
really liked this guy with his absurd universe. It would have been a pity to know he
was going to be institutionalized again.
- No! I'm going back to my dimension.
- Take me with you? I don't feel adapted to this dimension.
- It depends... Do you have a pen, a can of fish in tomato sauce, and a
window hinge? The Man With the Torn Sock questioned.
- Of course! I'll show them to you right away! I replied as if I were 100%
sure I had them.

44
 I leaned towards my bag, wondering why I had lied so shamelessly, but
fortunately, the Man With the Torn Sock stopped me and became demanding.
- Is the hinge working?
- Perfectly! I grease it every evening... I explained.
He grinned disdainfully,
- So? Now that you have everything, how does it help you?
Pfff, he had made fun of me.
- You never know what might happen, I retorted. I hoped this would be my
entry ticket to his dimension.
- Forget it! I don't want you to feel bad, but in this world, you don't get in
with material goods. I don't want to make you feel bad, but my dimension is only
mine because it's only in my head. How can I explain it to you? I'm its only
inhabitant. Look down at my sock: sorry, dear. We are two—me and Mimi, my
sock. We have a complicated relationship because she, I don't want to gossip, but
she's very possessive, so three would be too many.
I sighed. His refusal saddened me deeply.
- What a shame! I wouldn't want to come between you...
- You can't! She looks at me differently. You seem like a person of integrity.
It would be better to create your own dimension. It doesn't make sense to spend the
rest of your life in a world made by others just for them because, in the end, the
system will shatter you, as it does to everyone. You'll be dead, and tragically, you
won't even know it.
- And what should I do?
- Take refuge! It's not a big deal, I'll teach you. Design a world in your mind,
after your own image, and it will be because any thought, no matter how absurd,
creates. Then perk up your ears; you can't miss it! You have one more sock than
me...
I shrugged, disarmed.
- Damn it! You rejected me so elegantly that I liked it too.
- I'm just a well-mannered person, the Man With the Torn Sock insisted.
I wouldn't vouch for that, but I wanted to know.
- How do you get there, to your world?
- There's a fog around here. I step into it, and... done! It takes me!
Is the Man With the Torn Sock perhaps normal? I was starting to believe
him.
45
 - Where is the fog?
- Somewhere around here, but it's invisible.
- How do you find it?
- My sock sniffs it, and it starts barking.
O voice began to speak unclearly through a broken megaphone. We looked
at each other disoriented.
- Hey, is anyone there?
I had to respond urgently.
- Hey?! Hey to everyone...
The voice continued to speak unclearly through the megaphone.
- What are you doing there?
- Nothing more, nothing less than what any Christian with a pure heart
would try... and a decent bowel movement. I'm just busy here among the trees.
A voice spoke unclearly through a broken megaphone.
- Are you praying? insisted the voice, consumed by curiosity.
- These people are truly foolish, I thought.
- If I'm praying? No, I'm not praying, but I'm asking... Do you happen to
have a newspaper? I'll even accept a scandalous one, no problem. I had glorious
plans for tonight, but some overly ripe pears got in the way...
The voice from the broken megaphone wanted to know:
- Have you seen a man with a torn sock?
- A man with a torn sock?
- He escaped from the psychiatric hospital.
The Man With the Torn Sock gestured frantically, indicating a refusal.
- I have no knowledge of a man, but a sock would come in handy because
I'm sensitive, and these leaves are scratching me.
- Thank you for sparing me a conversation in an absurd key, he
hyperventilated. The doctors from the hospital are very insistent and can be
convincing. A distinct whimper was heard. Wait a moment!
To my surprise, the light dimmed, and in an instant, the man and his torn
sock disappeared into the darkness. I stared after them for a while, then spoke to
myself to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
- He vanished! It's like the fog swallowed him! I hear noises like water from a
lake. There must be a lake around here... it means the man wasn't insane. Then,
how are we, the others?
46
 10. The Spy

I was deep in the heart of the mountains, immersed in thick fog, walking on
a narrow path winding through rocks, carefully placing one foot in front of the
other to avoid falling into the deep ravines around me. My attention was diverted
by movement to my right, and then at a short distance, I glimpsed a furtive
silhouette behind some struggling fir trees.
I squinted my eyes and spotted him.
It was a presence that couldn't be ignored. Clad in black, wearing sunglasses,
and with the pallor of a sickly person accompanied by brown spots that age the
skin, yet the individual did not betray his age, a sign that the rejuvenation experts
had done their job impeccably. The spy advanced with ridiculous caution towards
me, in an absurd attempt to avoid being seen by illusory observers hidden absurdly
in the treetop canopy. When he got closer, he glanced around once more, then
smirked at me briefly and dangerously.
- Do you want to die? he asked abruptly.
How could I take seriously a man who slinks around like that? I replied in a
joking and mocking tone, as one does with people who aren't quite right in the
head and earnestly spill all sorts of nonsense.
- Not today, I'm not feeling too well! I retorted.
- Then why are you staring at me, you scoundrel? the Spy yelled at me, then
questioned me cautiously. Do I have a tuft of hair in my nose?
Look at this ninja impersonation... I had some epic comebacks on the tip of
my tongue to cut him down, but I restrained myself, telling myself with a bit of
cowardice that it would be better to maintain a reserved and conciliatory attitude
with strangers who look like spies, so as not to upset him.
- To some extent... but don't worry. I tend to stare at people without any
specific reason.
The Spy stared at me, maintaining an expressionless face.
- Don't insult my intelligence. You threw vague words around to avoid clear,
manly answers. But I catch on; I'm no fool. I flirt with the impression that you're
pursuing something subversive... Come on, it's time for major revelations. Tell me,
buddy, who do you represent?
Slippery individual. I didn't feel comfortable around him.

47
 - I have nothing to do with others. I can barely represent myself, I confessed,
suddenly feeling guilty for no reason.
- Cut it out! A moment of honesty might do you good and get you out of this
alive. Can you tell me what you're doing here?
- No! I replied laconically.
- Is it a secret?
- Not at all, but you wouldn't like the answer.
- Insist!
- Okay, I'm looking for my home, my life, and the world.
- You were right. I hate enumerations; they distract me. I lost you right after
'home.' But... one thing is one, another is another! You're asking for too much.
To some extent, he was right.
I asked him disoriented,
- What should I do?
- Prioritize!
- Fine, I choose the world.
- Hmm. Are you independent?
- Yes, I'm on my own, I honestly admitted.
- It's very dangerous, but there are advantages! You can shoot randomly
because everyone is your enemy, the Spy joked, then became serious again. It's
better to have commitments with everyone. That way, you have some idea of who
the enemies are.
- And who are the friends? I was pleased to ask.
- What's wrong with you? They should be killed first! There's no such thing.
- Your opinion... I didn't agree.
- Where are you going? the Spy set me straight, then specified, Here, only I
interrogate. What do you care?
- Relax, I'm not interested in your purposes. I was just making conversation,
I reassured him with a soothing voice to calm him down.
- If I tell you, I have to shoot you immediately, he confided. To keep you
from being naive, know that it's in the line of duty. No hard feelings. Those are the
orders. I can't even introduce myself. I'm not allowed to pronounce my name, even
when I try to remember what the heck it is. You don't know who might be
listening, and I could compromise myself.
A spark of foolishness glinted in my eyes.
48
 - Why are you trying to remember your name?
- You've asked another question, the irritated Spy warned me. Because I
forget, man!
- You're in serious trouble, I told him with pity, then bluntly directed him,
You should look for yourself...
It seems my advice bothered him because he came up with clarifications.
- You don't understand! My head is filled with passwords, classified
information, subliminal messages, and strategies to help me accomplish the
mission. I can communicate using only my ears. I know 489 methods to
incapacitate an enemy; 74 of them are my own inventions. I also have 14 backup
plans in case problems arise.
- You have an important mission, I presume... I couldn't help myself.
- Es-sen-ti-al! Ca-pi-tal! Fun-da-men-tal! the Spy raised his hands in
helplessness. But I can't tell you more, believe me. Everything is classified. Only
the president has the necessary access level to take a look at the mission file, but
even he has to gouge his eyes out afterward so that the mission data remains in a
restricted circle.
- I suspected...
I responded understandingly.
- Don't tell me anything. I don't want to know.
But the Spy was unstoppable.
- You're really provoking me! I have to reach an ultra-secret location in a
sensitive area that is located... He took out a compass and stared at it carefully. In a
room in... this building. I've been looking for it since I penetrated the house, but...
it's elusive. There, I'll slip in unnoticed and do something important for those who
sent me. That's about it. It's my last mission.
– I think you'll manage! I encouraged him.
– It seems simple, but I assure you it's not, competent Spy confessed to me.
– Without action, without danger, you'll get bored...
– No! he contradicted me. I'll forget everything and become an ordinary
person. I can't wait!
The Spy looked at me suspiciously.
– You've told me quite a lot, he noted. He made a short pause for self-
analysis. Odd! I never do that. But you have this trustworthy face. I made a
childish mistake. Could you be a counter-spy?
49
 I became defensive.
– Do I seem like one?
– Shut up! he snapped. You play the fool too well to be actually stupid! You
have at least two faces. What are your orders? Weren't you sent to extract key
information from me?
– You're really getting on my nerves now... I replied irritably.
– Confess! the Spy demanded accusatorily. You want to know what I
know...
– I'd rather not, I insisted to calm him down, then added. You're making too
much fuss. I can live without these swirling thoughts in your head. Just tell me
where the exit is...
– Hehe! The Spy tapped his forehead. Things are connecting. You squeeze
me like a lemon, using reverse psychology and clear innocent-looking eyes. You're
a big bandit. I felt that you wanted something, and I played along to see how far
you'd go.
– You're exaggerating! You say it as if showing me the way out of a
wretched house is the information of a lifetime. I pouted.
– Let's say it like this? If I wanted it to be found, I'd publish a map, a guide,
something. I didn't do it because it's key information and it's classified.
– You're pathetic! Everything is classified for you.
– Especially such information. You know why? Because where the exit is,
there's also... the entrance! If you know the location, hordes of soldiers and spies
will invade the place.
– It sounds rational what you're saying, I conceded. But can you show me?
Don't you trust me? Look, I'll raise my right hand. On my honor as a non-spy.
– May your eyes pop out if you lie? the Spy ask me.
– May my eyes pop out if I lie! I swore without hesitation.
– Get out of here! he cut me off. I read every microgesture. And you...
hesitated! Are you trying to fool me? That's what any agent would say. If I look
closely at you, you have spy ears. They're pointed, not the floppy kind. I bet you
can even rotate them. You can hear an ant crawling in a tree.
– You're making fun of me! I got angry. And you have badger eyes!...
– Forget the small talk! The Spy relaxed. Crossed his arms. You're
dangerous! Probably now you're thinking of changing the interrogation method.
You won't get anything out of me. Remember, I've been trained to resist torture.
50
 I didn't like how he was looking at me.
– Why are you staring at me like a fish at a block of flats?
– I was measuring you! he told me. I'll have some work burying you.
– Aren't you afraid you'll answer for your deeds? I asked scared.
– I'm fearless, the Spy boasted. My deeds will answer for me. As for you...
You know how it is! It doesn't give me any pleasure, but I have to bury you to
erase your trail. I started to laugh. Why are you laughing? he wanted to know,
annoyed.
– At your paranoia, I said amused.
– Did I miss something? the Spy insisted.
– Honestly, no. You've been spouting nonsense and ambiguities all along.
– Can you be more specific? What nonsense have I told you so far, you
cheeky one? the Spy quizzed me.
– I don't remember anymore, you lost me after the second sentence, I
admitted calmly.
– Tell me, and I'll shoot you! he threatened playfully. Who am I, who sent
me, and where am I going?
– In a room... I confided with a lost voice.
– Oh, I missed that! the Spy lamented. You already know half of what I'm
about to do. As smart as you seem when you look at me, I think you've also figured
out the mission. What am I going to do?
– You remind me exactly of my grandmother, who always told me she knew
I was smart when I looked at her like that... I confided, with a tremor in my voice.
The Spy looked at me for a long time, then admitted shocked:
– And you remind me of a grandson with an intelligent look.
I shook myself like a wet dog.
– Sir, you can't be my grandmother. She used to call me "little one" and
forgave all my pranks. Poor thing disappeared a long time ago, drowned. I only
found her clothes on the shore of a lake.
– Little one... are you? the Spy asked with the voice of an old woman.
I knew that voice too well from my childhood, so the shock was gigantic, and my
amazement knew no bounds.
– Grandma?! I marveled. It can't be. You look so young...
– Yes, it can, little one. I look like this because I eat only pickled cabbage.
She wrinkled her nose in a way only she did. You, on the other hand, have matured
51
badly, but what can I do... you're still mine, eat, my dear, she attacked my ego
without mercy.
– Don't say that, grandma, unless you believe you're a wreck, because
everyone told me I look like you, just more beautiful. Or should I call you grandpa
now? I teased him in return.
– Call me whatever you want; I don't even know what I am anymore, he
replied indifferently. I've changed my gender several times to lose my trail.
It was too much. Fallen prey to emotions, I started to cry and sob, then asked him
with a child's voice beaten:
– Why did you leave us, grandma?
– Who knows, dear? That happened 1,000 years ago, and since then, I've
lived 1,000 lives, been 1,000 people, each with their own invented history for
cover. Along the way, among so many lies, I forgot who I am. She stopped
abruptly. Wait, it's coming.
– Who is coming, grandma?
– The memory. I left to protect you. How I missed you, little one!
We embraced emotionally, and then the Spy froze.
– Oops! he exclaimed shaken. I was too relaxed and forgot my mission. He
started shaking all over. Woe is me! It was extremely important. That's what I
remember! Many things, people, and countries depended on me. And I don't know
what I know anymore. I've forgotten everything. Livid: Pah! Without information,
I have zero added value. Let me redo my last route; maybe I'll remember.
He humorously retraced his last movements, then froze enlightened.
– I think I know what to do! I'm not 100% sure, but what's sure today? What
did I want to ask you?... Do you happen to know my name? Phew, I swear I knew
until a few moments ago.
– Your name is Petra, grandma. I'll never forget your name.
– I wasn't asking about my first name, little one, but about my Spy name.
– I don't know, grandma; you didn't tell me.
– It's deadly serious! I've also forgotten the last 11 passwords I was
supposed to use when I met my own people. I have to leave urgently; otherwise, all
sorts of disasters will fall upon you. I'll change my gender again, my teeth, maybe
even the color of my skin.
– I don't want to lose you again, grandma.
He looked at me with care and advised me:
52
 – You must, little one. If you see an African who looks like me, avoid him!
Forget you've seen me, little one; get thick winter socks and ask someone older to
help you cross the street.
We embraced once more, then I asked him with filial love:
– Show me how to get out of this house, grandma.
It was as if I had pressed a button. Something clicked in her. She
transformed instantly, becoming cautious, suspicious, and cold again.
– We're relatives, but not friends or colleagues from the agency, little one.
Find the exit yourself; your education allows you. And don't forget: it's not where
you're looking, but on the side where no one would think to look.
– Grandma, this is a riddle!
– If I tell you, I really have to kill you, and it would be a pity because I have
no other grandson!
I looked gaily at the spy-grandma and promptly offered him a sample of the
intelligence inherited from the family:
– Let me tell you something, grandma. Don't be mad at me, but when
everything is a secret, nothing is a secret because the secret itself loses any
importance.
– Profound... I'll try to remember your saying. I have to go; otherwise, I'll be
late! Act as if I don't exist, and watch out for cars! Did I tell you that already?...
What was my mission?!

53
 11. The House of the House

Lately, consumed by homesickness, I pitied myself. Nothing had become

more bearable with the passage of time. The question tortured me: if all my
wandering was not in vain and I had to accept the idea that I would be forever a
wanderer? Was it time to stop being carried away by the road and settle
somewhere to build a life?
As soon as I entered the room and discovered the scene, I stared without
admitting it, then tears filled my eyes, my knees softened, and I was seized by
intense pain in my chest. Finally! I was home, more precisely in front of Stan's old
hut, which awaited me lounging in the grass, dressed exactly as when I got lost in
the maze of the house. The weariness of the bitter journey, which I had not wanted
to acknowledge, surfaced all at once. I staggered, weakened.
When Stan laid eyes on me, he didn't seem surprised by the reunion.
He looked sleepy but calm.
It surprised me a bit, and for a moment, I was disappointed that he didn't
seem thrilled to see his long-lost friend again, but I quickly got over it. I embraced
him, crying happily, as at the end of a 1,000-episode soap opera.
I never thought I would see him again in this life.
He looked slightly puzzled by my sentimental outburst, but I moved on from
that too.
- Did the orchard, the snails, or memories make you cry?
I ignored the sarcasm, nodding in agreement because all the statements had
their share of truth, even if they seemed to point in different directions, then I
suddenly felt light, as if I were about to float like a balloon into the sky. I had a
thousand things to tell him and a thousand questions to ask.
Did the world inquire about me, did it worry?
Maybe they thought I was dead, maybe they mourned me, maybe they
offered prayers...
I was eager to reach out to each one individually, to reassure them and tell
them how much I missed them.
- I was getting ready to go after you through the orchard. You let me sleep
quite a bit; Stan scolded me, smiling. I thought you got lost.
- You guessed right. I got completely lost, brother.

54
 I shook my head ambiguously, without telling him more. How could I tell
this man that while he napped on the grass, more than three years had passed in my
life, I had met a myriad of people, explored strange worlds with unseen customs,
and all for one reason: to find my way back home.
- Impossible! You can't possibly get lost here. I have the only tiny house in
this microscopic village.
- If you only knew how long I looked for you and what I went through to
find you...
- Jokes, right? You were gone for only three-quarters of an hour. Have some
brandy to recover, and then we'll have a barbecue.
Three-quarters of an hour... I looked around. Something was missing.
- Where are the dogs? I didn't hear them.
- Which dogs? Have you forgotten! I only like ducks; I never liked dogs
because a hysterical mutt bit me when I was little. Why are you looking at me so
strangely? Are you okay?
It dawned on me. I felt like the ground was slipping from under my feet.
- Oh no!
I didn't comment on anything else, but it was clear. I wasn't okay at all.
Nothing was okay. I took two steps back, then ran away, with Stan yelling at me to
stop. I didn't stop until I reached the hallway again, slamming the door of the room
behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I wasn't in my world.
That man wasn't Stan, or at least not my Stan.
He was waiting for another friend, someone who looked just like me and had
gotten lost somewhere, perhaps even in the hut.
What was my alter-ego in that room like?
Happy, peaceful, eager for life? With a family, children, a dog, and a pig?
It was a good thing I didn't enter the hut in that room. For a moment, I was tempted
to do so. It's one thing to be lost in the rooms of Stan's hut and a completely
different thing to get lost in the rooms of Stan's hut within the room of Stan's hut.

55
 12. The Astronaut

The astronaut cautiously approached me. I was sleeping in the darkness of

the room, stretched out on the floor, exhausted after a day of walking through a
desert full of cacti and snakes. Deep in a dreamless sleep, I heard nothing. I don't
know how others have sleep problems. Since I got lost in the house, I fall asleep on
the way to the pillow, and as soon as I wake up in the morning, I feel like lying
down again.
Awkwardly, the astronaut touched something, which crashed loudly. He
already had his hand on one of my shoes, and when I saw him, I reflexively threw
the other shoe at his head. I turned on the light after grabbing a rod I found in the
room.
I shouted at him,
- Did you come to steal footwear, you bandit? Wait until you see what
beating you'll get! For the poor astronaut, the shock was enormous. He froze, then
seemed to recover, trying to protect his equipment with awkward gestures. He
pleaded with me, with a pained grimace,
- Don't attack me with hatred! I am unarmed, and your shoe almost cracked
my helmet.
This whining irritated me.
- If you enter someone's house like a thief, it seems natural for me to resist
somehow and kick you! Your fault!
He groaned and massaged his bald head.
- Leave the brush alone! I snapped. I'm very attached to my shoes, especially
the right one, so you have to swear never to touch them again.
- I swear and apologize! the sensitive astronaut added, then continued to
berate himself. I didn't mean to cause you any harm. I am devastated! I ruined
everything. I'm not a troublemaker, and even though it may seem so, I didn't come
here on my scooter to make a living.
I couldn't bring myself to harass him further because he already seemed
tense. Moreover, his clothing made me curious, so I took a gentler approach.
– I have that gift too...
– I'm overwhelmed. I would have been happy to find a fossilized bacterium,
and here... I broke the protocols and made a fool of myself.

56
 – We all make mistakes.
The astronaut sighed deeply.
– In the end, the first contact will go down in history as an attempted theft!
It's not in my character, but the suit is very heavy, and a pair of leather lace-up
shoes would have been useful. The room seemed uninhabited, and when I saw
them, I couldn't resist and acted instinctively.
My heart couldn't bear to torment him further, especially since he seemed
tense. Besides, his clothing made me curious, so I tried to be more accommodating.
- Relax, it's passed. How can I help you? When did you come from a
masquerade ball? You almost look like an astronaut.
– This is because I am an astronaut, he confirmed seriously. Sorry, it's
somewhat deplorable, but it didn't occur to me that you have the gift of speech...
It seemed like he was trying to charm me, so I admonished him.
– Alright! Come on, I'm getting sleepy... Be careful with your hands and go
about your interplanetary business outside my room.
It seemed I couldn't get rid of the individual, who declared enthusiastically:
– What a sight... I found what I've been looking for for so long!
Extraterrestrial life. He looked at me with scientific curiosity. I'd love to put you in
a jar and show you to the world.
It seemed like he was trying to charm me, so I admonished him.
– Alright! Come on, I'm getting sleepy... Be careful with your hands and go
about your interplanetary business outside my room.
It seemed like he was trying to charm me, so I admonished him.
– Alright! Come on, I'm getting sleepy... Be careful with your hands and go about
your interplanetary business outside my room.
It seemed I couldn't get rid of the individual, who declared enthusiastically:
– What a sight... I found what I've been looking for for so long!
Extraterrestrial life. He looked at me with scientific curiosity. I'd love to put you in
a jar and show you to the world.
– Don't you dare! I worried, pointing at him.
– Relax! I was just saying... out of enthusiasm. It's a fabulous moment in the
history of humanity. Instead of a scuffle, some uplifting music would have been
good, a fanfare, or at least a hymn, something... I would sing something, but that
would completely ruin the situation.

57
 – Uffff, you woke me up! I realized, displeased, then curiosity struck me.
Are you a robot?
It was a tough question. The astronaut fidgeted, as if this question tortured
him, then hesitantly communicated:
– As far as I know, no! Am I too handsome or too virile that I gave you that
impression?
I spoke without sparing his feelings:
– It's not the qualities you listed that made me ask, but others. You're boring
and too polite for a normal person.
– I have my moments… Have you ever encountered robots in your existence
that steal shoes? The astronaut sighed from the depths of his being. – After all, the
first contact will go down in history as an attempted theft! It's not in my character,
but the suit is very heavy, and a pair of leather lace-up shoes would have been
useful. The room seemed uninhabited, and when I saw them, I couldn't resist and
acted instinctively.
No, but with proper programming, this is perfectly achievable.
He saddened, as it seemed he didn't expect my response. He controlled his
breathing, as if recovering from a solid blow below the belt, and then, when he
replied, he became defensive and troubled.
You affect me emotionally. The resemblance to a robot is both honoring and
embarrassing. It's true, I was born polite. But I can swear, spit, and aggressively
kick, just to prove my humanity...
Are humans uncouth?
Most of the time, yes. They react in a primitive and instinctual way. I wish
to be cerebral, but I don't always succeed. I get angry, long for someone else's
good, and afterward, when I analyze the mess, I regret it.
Then you're human.
I'm glad you say that. And yet... I've had terrible moments, before getting
here, when I wondered if I might have been modified without my knowledge to
face the journey.
Let's move past the moment. For better or worse, you are my first
astronaut...
And you are my first Martian, he said with a trembling voice. Now I think
I'll cry a little to compose myself.

58
 I remained indifferent to the Astronaut's excess of emotion. Something was
itching me.
Do I look like a Martian?
You are Martian, sir!
I felt offended. Me, a Martian... I put my hands on my hips.
How did you come to that conclusion?
Simple! I found you here, on Mars.
Well, alright, but how did you get from Mars to this storage room?
The short version - through the door, he threw at me curtly.
No, I want the romanticized version, I grumbled.
The Astronaut sighed, then proceeded to narrate.
Uffff, it's hard to explain. I landed a few hours ago, then I exited the module
to stretch my knees and collect some rocks for scientific purposes. I tiptoed around
the ship until I filled a bag, then when I was about to complete a full circle, I
bumped into a wall. I started feeling it, and I found a handle. I opened a creaky
door and entered a room to gather myself. It was your room.
With all due respect, Mr. Astronaut, you are not on Mars now. Does my
bedroom look like Mars? I asked mockingly. It's a bit messy, but not that much!
It's just a room, with a creaky and dirty bed, nothing more. Try again!
It's a shabby Martian bedroom!
Prove to me that it's from Mars!
How can I not, right away! Let me put on my helmet.
It took him a few minutes to screw on the marvel, then he signaled me to
follow him and opened a door, leading me to a red soil with a pronounced desert
appearance. The air wasn't great, and the temperature was around 5°C. I gestured
to go back. I helped him unscrew his helmet, then said:
You were right about one thing. Beyond this room is Mars, I can't contradict
you. I had no idea... I'll give you another piece of intergalactic breaking news. At
the risk of disappointing you, know that I am not a Martian. Not even my mother,
father, or a distant granddaughter. I see that you're looking at me somewhat
incredulously. Look again, this time with different eyes, meaning better! Am I
small and green? Do I have antennas? Do I have big eyes?
These are trifles, he contradicted me, with shining eyes. You are most likely
a denial Martian. Just a second... I memorized the speech at home. I'm not very
good at spontaneous speech. That's why I note it down... Don't rush me. He
59
feverishly searched the pockets of his spacesuit, from where he eventually pulled
out a crumpled note. He squinted, then gave in with a desolate face. Oh, I forgot
my glasses.
I took the paper gently and read it aloud:
On behalf of human civilization, I send you a warm greeting!
Exactly! That was it, warm greetings.
Do we really have to play this? I replied without a trace of enthusiasm,
raising my right hand:
Greetings to you too.
Can't we take a color photo?
Here? You're making a fool of yourself. They'll say those guys took a picture
in the garage with some friend, at the bar.
Correct! You're a great help. Let's do it on Mars then, so I have something to
show at home, because, just by word of mouth, they won't believe me.
We'll do it, fine, I accepted. But a bit later, so I can tidy up a bit.
I'm looking for your leader, the Astronaut blurted out.
And I'm looking for him too, I told him a bit irritated. What do you want
from him?
To inform him that I came with peaceful intentions, the Astronaut stated
solemnly.
And to steal my shoes... I added maliciously. Alright! If I see him, I'll tell
him. Anything else?
The Astronaut looked around disoriented.
Don't treat things so superficially, he continued as if talking to himself.
Everything seems beyond logic. Am I hallucinating, huh?! I'm a bit confused.
Maybe due to the lack of oxygen. I had a tough flight... He threw me a vacant look.
I'm on Mars, right?
Not now. Mars is beyond that door, as you've demonstrated. This is
something else entirely.
Something else, what?
It's a house. That's all.
Stop joking. You're playing with my feelings.
Do you want me to lie to you!...

60
 It would be regrettable to lead a naive and well-intentioned Astronaut by the
nose. I beg you to consider the fact that I crawled my way here. Don't imagine that
the journey was easy.
Don't be sad. It could have been worse! At least you're in a civilized house.
It would be good to take off your shoes; they look all Martian dusty, and they'll
make us both mop...
I protest! I didn't spend 6 months on the rocket to mop around all sorts of
sordid, Martian rooms. And no! I won't take off my shoes! The suit is everything,
and I would remain naked in front of curious extraterrestrials.
It wouldn't be a problem, I emphasized nonchalantly.
Yes, it would! On my planet, we value protocol.
Where do you say you're from, Astronaut?
From the neighborhood. From Earth.
Really? I deflated. You're right next to Mars. A commuter? I was hoping
you were from another dimension, or at least from another galaxy, where no one
has reached here before. What's new over there?
Great excitement! Humanity eagerly awaits news from me. You'll see how
happy they'll be when they find out that Mars has intelligent life.
I hope you're not counting me in. Know that I'm not that intelligent.
I suspected!... Now I'll leave. Do you know where Olympus Mons is?
Vaguely... Is this a general knowledge question? What are you looking for there?
I left the module in the area, and I want to retrieve it, the Astronaut specified. It's
parked in a weird place, and if I leave it unattended for too long, I'll be darned
without it.
Don't worry, here, only shoes are stolen...
It was a confusion. I apologize. I thought you'd moved past that.
Calm down! I served it cold. I hit you with my shoe on reflex. I don't intend to
repeat that, unless you go for the footwear again.
I made a mistake, and I was punished, but I'm not upset to that extent, said
the Astronaut. Otherwise, I've learned my lesson. And don't gift me the shoes; I'll
refuse.
It might sound absurd, but you could have reached the Red Planet by
casually walking through the halls of the house we're in, without the need to fly.
You don't have to take my word for it; I'll show you to convince you with your
own eyes.
61
 He looked at me like at a crazy person. His mouth hung open like an old
lady in front of a Lamborghini, a new model. Then he started to breathe heavily, as
if he were suffocating.
Unbelievable! Such a thing doesn't exist! It defies common sense and all the
laws of physics.
I know! Forget the laws of physics. This house has its own logic and its own
laws, inexplicable.
Where did you say you came from?
Like you, from Earth.
In the halls!...
Yes, yes. I got here by walking without any hurry.
The Astronaut became saddened and started to whine.
I thought I was the first person to set foot on Mars.
Well, you are, I reassured him. I didn't go there until you took me. I'll take a
shower, and we'll go for another round later if you still want to take pictures and if
I find something thicker to wear.
What pictures are we going to take?... If you're from the home planet, it's not
funny. They want extraterrestrial intelligence, not our smart folks.
Whatever you want. I'll still take a tour of Mars because I don't know when I'll get
another chance.
Okay, but after that, are we heading to Earth? And he menacingly slapped
his open palm with his fist. I have a word or two to exchange with those from
Houston, and I have a bag of Martian rocks to throw at them. Wretched souls! I'm
going to make a scene.
I had given him more than he could handle. He turned pale, trembled, and
held his hand to his heart. He was boiling. I got worried. I understood that from
that moment on, I couldn't talk to him anymore. I tried to calm him down:
You took it very personally. Is it okay?
I have a morbid sense of futility. I was deceived by some scammers. I went
through terrible training, where they spun me until they shook my brains. As if that
weren't enough, they kept me in a flying chest for so long, where I slept with my
head down like a bat, and I collected crap with the pump when I could have
reached Mars in sweatpants, running leisurely through the halls.

62
 It's a shame! It's worth making a fuss, so I'll take you with me. But leave the
suit; people will laugh at us. If you want to go out dressed fancy, I have a fantastic
zebra suit, forgotten by someone in the closet. You'll be adored...
I can't leave it, really. I would like to, as it's very heavy and difficult to carry
around. If I leave it here, some Martian pauper might steal it... I took it on credit,
and I don't want to pay for it anew. You know how it is! Better to be cautious than
whistling a loss.
Wait here, I calmed him down. I'll go to Earth and tell them I saw you stuck
in this darn suit. If it's so expensive, they'll send someone to extract you.
Go! I deserve a nap. Tell them that their obedient and patient Astronaut is fed up to
his neck with the endured mockery, so if they don't have the common sense to
come and get him, he'll set fire to the suit in protest and come out naked, proudly
representing the home planet...

63
 13. Black and White

Black and white...

To watch an old, scratched film, created in those two non-colors, can be a
pleasure for those who crave the scent of antiquity and the aroma of forgotten
times.
To spin in a room where everything: the sky and earth, things, people,
creatures, even yourself, is reduced to this paradigm, becomes, after a while, very
frustrating. You look at your hand and discover with repulsion that it's a gray, dead
hand. You long for a drop of color; its absence hurts, and you feel like manually
coloring everything or at least the sky where you can rest your eyes when your
brain has narrowed due to such a lack of variety.
For three days, I agonized in such a place, trying with tenacity, in my mind
and with little success, to color my sky in shades of blue.
- If I stay here much longer, I'll forget what colors are, I muttered depressed.
I walked on the border. On my right, white fences, people dressed in white
with dark thoughts. On my left, black fences, and behind them, people dressed in
black with equally dark thoughts. A white sun radiating a friendly glow was
hanging in the white zone, while, in the black zone, leaden clouds were preparing
for a storm.
A person from each camp adjusted their steps to mine, trying with all their
persuasive power, while walking, to convert me to their own camp.
Come to us, invited the white one, smiling attractively. You'll only eat good things;
there will be music, dance, friendship, and you will live in the white light of the
sun. We're preparing the most beautiful white suit we have saved only for special
people like you.
Don't listen to him, said the black one, with a diabolical gleam in his eyes.
Too much white upsets your stomach, and believe me, it seriously affects your
nerves. After a while, your vision will deteriorate, and then you'll surely go blind.
The whites are blind like moles; I see them bumping into each other, but they don't
want to admit it.
The mentioned bump is called an embrace for us, and it's a manifestation of
affection, not ophthalmology, smiled the white. Look at the blacks: they are just
vague silhouettes lost in semi-darkness. With us, you'll find love.

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With us, passion.
Don't go to the dark ones if you care about your perspective. I see everything
in black, and you'll end up in chronic pessimism, then depression. Over there, the
sun is hidden in clouds all the time, and you'll stumble, hitting holes and futilely
searching for a ray of sunshine.
Come to us if you want to truly live. Hardcore rock, brother, with tattoos,
pogo dances, and random sex. Boys, girls, whatever you get. Almost forgot: we
drink like crazy from beers to spirits, sugary carbonated drinks, and we eat donuts
and fatty pork, until it overflows from our ears.
We also have white pigs.
Whites have pigs they walk on a leash and kiss on the neck. They are
fanatical vegetarians, and your ears will lengthen after a steak. For better
information, in the meantime, you'll eat sweet parsnip purees or long mushroom
soups. If you want to improve yourself, get ready: you'll drink bitter teas, without
number, until your blood type changes.
At least, we have good intestinal transit, no stomach gas. Not everything is
about what you put in your mouth. At the whites, you sing in ethereal choirs that
will cleanse your aura, and you hear enlightened people speaking gently to you
about the joy of nature, about love for fellow beings, about becoming beyond life.
How boring! From the second speech, you'll want to end your days or knock down
the fool who speaks just to show off. With us, you see real fights in the cage with
real men and educational mud fights, with decent ladies who know what they want
to feel from a man.
People there are cruel and kill each other ferociously. It's beyond bearable;
it's beyond any moral norms.
The black world is the world of the future, with good but especially with
bad. The white world is the death of the future. There, people are bleached by
relaxing music, which, in large quantities, makes you stupid.
With the whites, we take care of each other. We care.
Only fools die of concern for others. You'll be stalked, assaulted, suffocated. You'll
wish to hide in a snake hole to be spared from their exhausting kindness. But you
won't succeed. With their gentle, begging faces, they'll stick to you wherever you
go, as long as you exist. In the black world, no one will notice you, and you'll be
able to speak freely about whatever you want, with whoever you want, whenever

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you want; you'll be able to curse as much as you want or remain silent forever if
that's what you want.
Do yourself a favor: Ignore him! With us, you live beautifully.
With us, you die splendidly, and you won't regret that you lived.
Now is the time to choose, the white gate or the black one.
I had listened to them without a word, without any expression, as they tried
to charm me with the good faces of the same evil, monochrome. I looked ahead;
the corridor I had advanced through was ending, and in front of me were three
doors, not two.
What's your opinion? the two of them asked me in unison.
I pondered for a moment, while I felt each one looking at me with the
tireless hope that my choice would be in favor of his camp.
Mix yourselves! I told them and rushed through the third door, which was
the exit from the room.

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 14. Picolo

That's how I ended up in a medieval town. Marked by the encounter with the
Rebel, I patiently waited for nightfall before daring to enter. Inspired idea. At that
hour, close to midnight, the streets beneath my steps were deserted, as if I were the
last living inhabitant of the citadel. It was a silence that drives you mad. I delved
into the labyrinth of streets, adorned with large river stones, bordering noble
houses decorated with paintings almost faded by knights exuding warrior vibes and
young ladies with melancholic expectations.
I don't know how I ended up in a hexagonal square with an impressive
bronze statue illuminated a giorno in the center. I approached with predominantly
tourist curiosity. I read a grandiose name with Teutonic resonances, followed by
the nickname: the brave one.
I furrowed my brow: brave means fighter, fighter means victorious,
victorious means, to me, criminally successful. No! I decidedly don't fancy heroes
perched on statues. I avoided his stern gaze that seemed to demand an account
from the whole world, something like: passerby, I haven't stood still for a moment
in my life, but I have committed so many grand crimes worthy of being memorized
from history textbooks. What about you?
He entered the square like a big movie star. He looked impeccable, a big
house servant with a fluffy, white wig, and only a cherry wood cane vaguely
betrayed his true occupation. It was Picolo. The man approached me very
naturally, bowed with one leg behind, with a greeting that in the 17th century
would have created chaos among the courtesans in the manorial courtyards, then
took out his notepad and addressed me in a neutral tone.
Your order.
I looked at him perplexed:
What order?
Picolo elegantly took out a leather-bound notebook from inside his clothes,
put on some high-class glasses, then began to recite in a Frenchified manner.
You have a Stocafy a la monegasque, a Normandy bleu lobster accompanied
by an Aber-Wrac’h turbot, bouchot mussels with a 24-year-old Bordeaux wine,
and finally an infallible mousse au chocolat.

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 I thought sadly: This is premeditated cruelty. I don't have a penny in my
pocket, and my stomach is growling from hunger. What should I do? With my
blood sugar dropping below sea level, with my stomach screaming a lugubrious
intestinal aria, I pretended to be important and told the guy:
No, really! They sound decent as names, even though I haven't heard of
them since my mother gave birth to me. Are they organic?
He offered me a glossy magazine smile and specified:
Guaranteed. I raised them myself, only with Bach and Stravinsky. They
wouldn't eat without music. They were adorable when they were little. They even
won a lot of beauty awards. I searched and pulled out a small album from the back.
I have writings and photos... If you want, a few films... so you know what you're
consuming.
I waved my hands resignedly.
Forget it, I believe you! It sounds good, but it's probably a mistake.
Excuse my arrogance, but we never make mistakes. It says 19:04 for the
client in worn-out shoes in the statue square? Look around - you're the only one
wearing shoes in the square.
I don't care, I refuse! I don't need your food.
He was not impressed by my vehement reaction. He probably had
experience with difficult customers. He smiled professionally, then began to charm
me.
About these delicacies? ... They're something special.
I care about my silhouette! I mumbled with clenched jaws.
There was no way to fool him. Picolo frowned, like a judge in deliberation,
then gave me the verdict.
Your eyes say otherwise. Sparkling, so you know what you're missing.
I'm craving, I said vexed, but I didn't order those appetizing things. Honestly, I
don't even know what they mean! Maybe I can't digest them. Maybe they're
poisoned or they melt my guts.
You're teasing! I will taste each one to reassure you.
How can I be reassured? You wouldn't bring some salami and bread; I
would have eaten them calmly. But like this... You horrified me. Those goodies
cost more than a fortune. And now I'm a penniless, stomach-burned person.
Stomach-burned? Picolo repeated, puzzled. He didn't know the expression.

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I mean... I have a small lack of liquidity. Who knows what you're asking for in
return, and I don't want to make a fool of myself.
He explained distantly:
Good food costs, sir. Then he calmed me with a smile: But you can enjoy it
in peace, there's no trouble. Your order has been paid in advance.
Who paid for me? I wanted to know, bewildered.
I don't have that information, declared Picolo, impenetrable. Maybe it's a
secret admirer. With this first-class menu, someone is smitten with you.
You're wrong! Nobody admires me, I confessed sadly.
Picolo took out a handkerchief from his bag and unfolded it tactfully.
Look, it can happen, sir! I admire you. He tried to justify himself,
embarrassed: You have a certain...
Chic? I helped him. He nodded. With this air, I have to decline.
Poor Picolo. I saw his face becoming a mask of despair.
If you refuse, I'll be fired. He pulled out a pistol and decisively pointed it at
his temple. After so many years in the profession, to experience something like
this... Shame is unbearable, so I see myself forced to shoot myself. To die in peace,
I have only one wish. To be buried with the dishes, the cutlery, and the food from
the tray. Goodbye!
Calm down, man! I got scared. It's not nice to fool around with firearms. I
took a deep breath, like a martyr facing necessary sacrifice. Fine, okay. I accept!
No one dies today.
Picolo tucked his pistol back, then continued unabashedly:
I am deeply grateful that you saved my life! He then returned to business, as
if nothing had happened: Where would you prefer to enjoy the feast?
On...on...on... I looked around. On the statue's pedestal.
Picolo began to critically examine the statue of the brave knight next to us.
After a round, he gave his approval.
It's a perfect choice, sir. The marble might cool your bladder, but I assure
you the view makes the hospitalization worth every penny.
Picolo spread the handkerchief, then, with elegant gestures of a magician,
pulled out a set of shiny plates and cutlery from the tray, neatly arranging them on
the immaculately white cloth. I watched mesmerized.
You are very skilled at what you do, I sincerely appreciated.
He responded modestly, unaffected:
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 Some people are born to paint, others to make airplanes. I was born to be a
Picolo. I cried for the first time, two hours after I was born, when the doctor poured
water into my mother's glass. It bothered me that he didn't do it with style.
I inquired, puzzled:
Picolo means waiter's assistant?
Yes! And what's wrong with that? Picolo replied, undisturbed.
With your skills, I see you as a big waiter, I tried to praise him.
I was offered, but... I refused, he confided. It seemed odd. The man really
knew what he was doing.
Isn't it a kind of promotion?
For some, he agreed. Not for me. I like what I do. My philosophy is simple:
Rather than being a run-of-the-mill waiter, I'd rather remain a memorable Picolo.
What more can I say...
Congratulations! Few people follow their calling.
It's chilling! he affirmed. I see people on the street, and I read talent in their
eyes. They are made to be Picolos, nothing else. And they miss their vocation by
becoming doctors, engineers, or heads of state. Whatever they do, they feel
unfulfilled without knowing why.
Why don't you open their eyes?
Because I'm discreet and don't interfere, he explained reservedly. But the
world would starve and thirst if we didn't thoroughly and timely uncork wine
bottles and perfectly arrange cutlery on the table. We are the invisible gears that
keep the world in balance.
I respect you for that! I assured him.
Thank you on behalf of the guild. Have you heard of the War of the Ice
Bucket?
Not really... I had to admit.
Because a Picolo, who made our guild a disgrace, forgot to put ice in the ice
bucket, a diplomat got up so angrily from the table that he disrupted peace talks
and slapped his counterpart twice. The war between the two states became
inevitable and was declared on the same day.
Such a thing... I said, astonished.
Understanding the importance of our group for people's happiness, I
remained a waiter's assistant. The last napkin was placed. Picolo inspected the

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empty plates once again with a critical eye. Ready! I have prepared your meal.
That was my mission. A waiter will appear to complete the service.
Couldn't you do it yourself? I insisted. I feel that a bond based on trust has
been created between us, and why hide it, I'm getting a bit hungry...
He looked at me gravely:
I don't do that. It's not within my abilities, and besides, it goes against the
principles I've embraced. Society is going wrong because too many Picolos think
they are waiters. I know my place and value. My mission is to neatly and elegantly
arrange the dishes. Nothing more.
It's not that serious, I tried to appease him.
But I hit a wall. He almost scolded me:
I am not trained to put your food on the plate. For that, there are schools, exams,
and certificates. Competencies must be respected. We don't do it haphazardly
because we are not at the communal buffet.
Okay, I understand. Some things need to be done by the right people to
succeed.
Confirm! he said solemnly.
Picolo bowed with aristocratic elegance, then said to me:
It was a great honor to serve you. That being said, allow me to withdraw and
leave you in the care of the waiter. Bon appétit! Picolo concluded, then left the
square with dignity and style, taking his tray with him.
Because I am an honest person, and the words of Maestro Picolo had
touched my heart, I complied with his advice, but I waited long and in vain. The
waiters were not as well organized as their assistants. In the end, famished, I
became unfairly without too many moral burdens, and I served myself from the
food that had become stale from so much waiting.
Despite the French names, all the dishes tasted like stale stew.

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 15. The Most Holy

We were crossing one of the endless hallways of the house, illuminated with
neon lights, as wide as an avenue and crowded with people. It was market day.
People of all kinds and some strange creatures, like dried octopuses, coming from
various rooms, were rushing back and forth, fervently searching among the stalls
filled with necessary things.
Perhaps I inspired pity because several chivvies generously handed me
something from their meager offerings on the stalls. I didn't refuse; there was no
reason to. When you're a wanderer, you accept with gratitude whatever life offers.
I don't understand why acquaintances from my world always found similarities
between me and Doubting Thomas. I felt profoundly unjustified, perhaps because I
have always loved God and consistently detested only the priestly caste. I found all
possible faults in them, especially the unforgivable one: lack of faith.
But everything that had happened to me since I entered the house had left deep
traces in my soul, and I was full of difficult questions still seeking answers. When I
saw the man of God, I pushed aside my resentments, approached him, and greeted
him.
Good day, Father.
We are called Most Holy, the priest corrected me. Just to clarify, there can
be many fathers; holiness is rarer among the rooms. May your heart be well! You
don't seem too happy, son! Are you, by any chance, a free-thinker?
The way he asked the question already conveyed a sense of incipient guilt. I
felt obliged to make a demonstrative sign of the cross.
God forbid!
Amen! What troubles you?
Should I tell him... or not? I decided with hesitation, fearing that he would
judge me without helping me, without even enlightening me.
I am filled with anxieties and dubious questions about the world and life.
Like all of us, my child... the ecclesiastical face reassured me. In this house, there
are many confused people trying to confuse me as well.
Oh, how good, I thought with a surge of piety. He didn't judge me; maybe
he's the man I need.
I want to leave my fate in the hands of the Lord.

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 Like all of us, my child...
Phew! That's how my hopes deflated over time. I pondered: He washed his
hands, the scoundrel. Something in me recoiled. I couldn't let him carry on carefree
with his business.
You should intervene here, holiness. It's in the job description, isn't it?...
Everyone wants that, my child, but I can't do much. The hallway is not in my
jurisdiction, and I don't play with sacred things. True, God is one, but we, his
servants, are many. We don't tread on each other's toes to avoid conflicts. I am the
Most Holy of the second room at the back. I provide divine services beyond that
green door where you can hear clarinet music. I came out to the hallway for a
smelly cigarette. I can't smoke in my room; it diminishes my presence, and it
shows in the commemorations and tonsures. Here, I am just a simple civilian.
I began to calculate in my mind: administrative-territorial excuses, cowardice,
refusal of Christian consolation, behavior of an onerous distributor, accountant
morality...
I wasn't in the mood to stay around him.
Does the hallway have another Most Holy?
You guessed it. Each room has its Most Holy, doing their job where they
were assigned. If I receive a prayer outside my parish, I enter into unfair
competition and get into trouble. Not only do I decrease my chances of becoming
the First Hierarch, but it also leads to excommunication if they catch you in the act.
Muttering with a lump in his throat: 2,6,5,3,5,9.
Do you pray?
He looked at me for a long time, as if contemplating whether or not to
confess, then admitted with a shiver:
It doesn't help me much... I repeat the digits of pi from the fifth decimal. It's
a kind of mantra that soothes me. People are obsessed with magic, sports, and
various other things. In my humility, I must confess that the Lord blessed me with
an obsession for numbers.
How so? I wanted to know, intrigued.
They are clear and reliable, and their sequence gives us infinity.
This character suddenly became interesting to me. At least this man did not
hide his faith; he had gone far beyond it, enriching the dogma absurdly. I
interrogated him without reservation:
So, Most Holy, do you still believe in God the Father?
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 I believe both steadfastly and unswervingly! And let me tell you what else I
believe: God has established a mathematical formula, and the entire universe
moves according to it.
Everything, everything, everything?
Absolutely everything! Planets, eggs in the frying pan, and people. Our
purpose is to decipher the equation, but it's difficult because stupidity eats away at
us. After years of turmoil and systematic research, I understood that pi, praised be
its name forever (here the Most Holy made the sign of the cross), is the
mathematical embodiment of divinity.
And how does that help you?
It helps, how not? The first step has been taken. Now I must discover the
equation of life, in which God introduced pi to bring order to the primordial chaos.
I feel that there's also a plus, a square root, and maybe two parentheses involved in
the calculation. The rest is a blur. But I haven't lost hope. I know that God will
gradually enlighten me.
Complicated are the ways of the Lord, I thought, marveling.
May the good Lord help you...
But the Most Holy had entered into acute jabber, so he indulged in gossip...
Look for his Holiness in the hallway, and you'll get a blessing that will make your
hair stand on end. The incense is free; everything else is charged by the minute.
You can't miss him. He has a belly as big as a dump truck, divided into four by a
golden cross, as big as your head. I haven't seen him in a long time.
I couldn't resist, so I voiced my opinion.
Maybe he added up the sum and ascended.
The Lord arranges everything. Then he continued pretended. Maybe he went
to a better place. God forgive him! He added maliciously. The guy was a disaster,
believe me. He swiped pilgrims' coins, trafficked indulgences like crazy, held
services with contraband candles, and mimed the singing. This is malpractice. A
big sin!
If there's no Most Holy in the hallway, could you give me a little religious
attention? Not just words! I pulled out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and
tempted him with the goods on display. They were very expensive and sought after
in the area. I don't want to cheat you. I'll make a gesture too!
The gleam in his devout eyes immediately betrayed his interest.

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 I'm not boiling, pondering! Spit! He exclaimed. I've yielded. God save and
protect from temptation. He sighed resignedly. I'll have to repent. I'm not made of
iron. Take a voucher for incense, come to the room with the clarinet, and I'll take
care of you.
I can't afford it, I murmured. I'm just a wanderer with sunshine in my soul
and wind in my pockets.
Keep searching! I offer you spiritual counseling and resolve your sins at an
unbeatable price since I have nothing to smoke. I'll overtax you for business
prayers, that's how it goes. If you want miracles or instant healing, the price goes
crazy, but we'll agree, added the Most Holy with a huckster grin. Come on, I've
finished my cigarette, and I'm going back to work; the faithful are yelling after me.

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 16. The Island

My first island...
Not just any island, barren and rocky, but an exotic one with fine golden
sand, palm trees guarding the beach, and brown water... This didn't quite match the
wonder of the mainland.
The island was nestled in a bay, separated from the ocean by a tiny strait.
Only small boats could enter the city through it.
As twilight began to fall over the shore, I approached to get a better look at
the water. I was hit by the smell of petroleum products, emitted by the waves, as if
an active but severely malfunctioning refinery lay submerged on the sea floor.
I dipped my hand into the dirty liquid that blistered the sand, and I
confirmed: severe pollution had irreparably damaged the ecosystem, and most
likely, flora and fauna had completely disappeared. Not far from the shore, hideous
blocks could be seen, haphazardly stacked on top of each other in seemingly
perishable and obviously absurd amphitheaters.
- What the hell are you doing here? a harsh voice attacked me.
- Nothing special! I replied without turning around.
- I told you not to come here, the individual warned me.
As the man came parallel to me, I saw him. He wore rubber boots, like
fishermen facing storms in coastal areas, greasy overalls, and a long white beard
like Santa Claus.
- Not me, I retorted.
- You're lying! The Fisherman cut me off, then put his hands on his hips.
Come on, make an offer, so we can end this stupid game quickly. But tell your
bosses that my decision is unchanged, no matter what you propose.
- Offer... For what? I wanted to know.
- For the island.
I stood up and opened my arms wide.
- I have no offer. I'm not interested in buying.
- Nor am I interested in selling.
- Perfect, I calmly replied. We have no reason to argue.
- Yes, we do! You have no business here! The island is private property, the
Fisherman exclaimed.

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 Then madness began. Extremely loud music, combining unhappily African
drums with oriental wind instruments, beating in a kind of misunderstood free jazz,
tilted the palm fronds as if in a storm and wounded our ears. The Fisherman looked
for some earmuffs and put them on his ears with trembling hands. I covered my
eardrums as well to protect them somehow.
- So, they want to drive me away, he shouted. I've owned this property for
six generations, and look at what they've turned this paradise into. My folks fled
three years ago and left me alone here to cope.
- You should sue them. You can't live like this, I suggested.
- I've been in lawsuits for eight years. I'm agonizing; my soul is torn, my
nerves are shot, my heart hurts constantly, but I won't give up. This place is a part
of me, maybe the only part that's still alive. I won't be driven out of my home
whenever they want, the Fisherman thundered. No one supports me anymore; they
don't want anything to do with me. Whether you want to or not, you must realize
when you've lost and abandon a fight where you have no chance anymore, they all
said, suggesting that I had become irresponsible.
- I suppose you don't feel like them...
- Not at all! Soon, I'll die, and it pains me because no one will be left to
fight. I don't leave my house when they want, the Fisherman roared. No one backs
me up; they don't want to know about me anymore. Want it or not, you have to
realize when you've lost and abandon a fight where you have no chance, they all
said, suggesting that I had become irresponsible.
- I'm very sorry.
The music stopped as abruptly as it started. Night had swiftly fallen over the
island and all around, a short distance away, thousands of lights pierced the
darkness.
- There will be peace for 22 minutes, the time it takes the DJ to eat his steak
and drink white wine, then the noise resumes until morning. I'm sorry I yelled at
you, but when you live a life among enemies, you forget to be human.
- Don't worry. I understand the situation. From the lights, the city seems
enormous.
- You can only see a small part from here. The port is ten kilometers away in
the industrial area. We're not talking about a city but a megalopolis. It has 85
million inhabitants, and more are coming. This world, although overpopulated, is

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predominantly mechanical and constantly needs millions of workers to work on the
assembly line. We do the dirty work of the house.
- Why not colonize other rooms? I've seen countless deserted continents.
- Why would we? The action is in this room. Nowhere else pays as well.
Immigrants come from all over the house to get rich. The lowest salary here equals
the highest in other rooms. For this reason, a new city has been built over the old
one. It's on tiptoes. With new skyscrapers over the old ones, new streets over the
old ones, and now with flying houses floating on balloons over the houses on
tiptoes. And still, there's no room. In about two generations, they'll want my island.
- There would be room for six more skyscrapers, plus another six on tiptoes,
I estimated.
- That's not what they care about here. They want the island to destroy it, to
shatter it.
- Why?
- Under it is a gigantic diamond deposit.
- Which rightfully belongs to you.
- That would be normal, but... listen!
I didn't hear anything.
- Put your ear to the ground.
I did it. A muffled sound of machines drilling deep into tunnels could be
heard.
- They're digging, I understood.
- They want to reach the diamonds, the Fisherman confirmed.
- Do you let them?
- I don't care about diamonds. Let them take them and wash their heads with
them. I won't give up my island for all the wealth in the world.
At that moment, the music poured its fury over us again. I made a supportive
gesture to the man and turned back onto the hallway.

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 17. The Marshal

I was in an ugly village, like any other village. Dressed in a tattered military
coat that unhappily accompanied a track suit with stripes and a chest covered in
decorations, the Marshal, a rather poorly preserved old man showing small signs of
senility, advanced hesitantly toward me with a dubious marching step, singing
loudly and off-key a military march. He stopped a few meters away and saluted me
militarily.
- Long live, intruder!
- Cheers! Are you okay?
- More or less. Tell me in your words, did you like the parade? Was I
memorable or... what?
How could I put it? He was looking at me with an eagerly smiling face,
waiting for a qualification, from excellent upward. I didn't want to destroy the
wonderful opinion he had of himself, but on the other hand, I firmly advocated
discouraging those who publicly exposed themselves like this, expecting praise. I
decided to tell him the truth, at any risk.
- You were unforgettable, what can I say. At first, I held it together, then
when you unleashed your voice, I succumbed, and I fell into an intense experience.
Words are poor. I'm sweating all over, and my nostrils are trembling.
- Calm down! I know that greatness can disturb weaker spirits.
- My blood rushed to my head, I admit. I consider that I survived only by
sheer luck. I'll remember you only with a prolonged treatment, administered in a
calm and friendly environment.
- You'll recover, my friend. God is merciful.
- Perhaps... Still, I beg you to restrain yourself as much as you can and spare
me a repeat. I'm left with sequels, and it's a pity since I'm young and want to enjoy
life more. Disturbing. Your legs seemed like they couldn't stand each other.
- My legs have been improved, especially the left one, which is titanium.
The right one is wooden, creaks more, and swells when it rains. Any other
impressions?
- No! More like feelings. At every step, I hoped you would collapse... so you
wouldn't suffer.
- You're funnier when you're silent! he retorted, stinging.

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 - What should I do to satisfy you? Applaud? Wave? Throw flowers?
- Not a bad idea, the Marshal admitted. That's what civilians do. In the face
of the rolling of a military display, sometimes they faint, other times they cry...
according to each one's soul.
- Fine, fine, but I don't have flowers, I apologized. I didn't know! I would
have prepared. And neither does crying pass over me.
- Oh yes, I am armed and dangerous! the Marshal snapped at me, then
insisted on clarifying. You are in an area controlled by my army. Tell me, are you a
peace envoy?
I denied with a determined gesture.
- No? Per-fect! Smile broadly, you're surrounded!
I looked around, curious, but not a soul.
- For love? Because there's no one around...
My innocent joke bothered the soldier, who became judgmental.
- I don't waste words with prisoners, he declared arrogantly. Look to my
right, in the bushes. Keep grinning foolishly. Snipers would greatly appreciate a
positive attitude and a friendly face. If you grimace, you're a dead man. Did you
see any movement?
How could I believe him?
- Really?... Are you making it up, or maybe you have visions. I saw
absolutely nothing! What are your soldiers doing? Are they picking rose hips?
Don't give me schoolyard nonsense.
The Marshal couldn't bear such an affront to his credibility. He pulled on his
military coat to make his medals jingle, then straightened his creases and charged:
- Do you want me to sketch you a rough drawing? Maybe a watercolor...
You weren't paying attention, and the movement was delicate. Better to be a
ruffian than to accept it as true, that helps your health. My soldiers are shy and
more likely to shoot than come over here.
- And they won't shoot?! I shouted, furious, then reproached him: You're
lying to my face! Where are they, so I can eat them up?
Tactfully, the old man fished a cabbage stump from his pocket and gestured with it
in his hand as a wand:
- They are everywhere. Where you least think. Raise your little hands and
surrender. Mine shoot with bullets, not with grapes. Leave the food, toilet paper,
and weapons, then wipe, otherwise...
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 - A serious man and playing dirty, I exclaimed disappointed. You're
confusing hikers with imaginary soldiers...
The Marshal didn't make any trouble, caught red-handed.
- I'm not lying, I'm misleading, so no one, somehow, thinks they have
numerical superiority and attacks me by surprise, he admitted, then added
satisfactorily, With you, it worked, boy. You trembled all over.
- I was trying not to burst into laughter.
- We laugh, joke, but tell me, haven't you seen an army around here? The
Marshal queried.
Oh, that was beyond stupid. I entered the game.
- It depends... I replied ambiguously, as if I crossed paths with lost armies
four times a day. What did it look like? I asked for details.
The military man put a hand to his head and closed one eye, wishing to be as
precise as possible:
- Neither big nor small, but very successful. Have you met them?
- Maybe! I replied, looking at him sharply. But when I walk... I walk! I don't
think... I could have passed by them without noticing. Maybe they were walking on
tiptoes so as not to disturb. What happened to this army?
- A great tragedy! the soldier sighed. I don't know where I put them!
- Isn't that a bit much? You lose a helmet, some pants, that can be
understood, but an army...
- It can happen. I got lost from them during a storm. The wind was blowing
so hard that my ears were flapping, and they... were marching quietly behind me. I
blindly walked in the storm for hours. When I looked back, I was alone. My
beautiful, graceful, and well-behaved soldiers had disappeared on a mission.
- Probably they scattered.
- Or maybe I scattered, completed the Marshal.
With such a commander... I pondered, then expressed my compassion:
- Poor things...
- Error! Poor me! I don't complain because I'm a soldier, but... He began to
sigh mournfully. Since then, I've been looking for them. Since then, I miss them. I
am incomplete without them.
I squinted seeing the Marshal getting drunk with cold water. He needed to
know the most plausible hypothesis.
- Maybe they got sour from so many orders and deserted.
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 - It's impossible! the soldier contradicted me, sure of himself.
I knew that kind of people who refused any logical version that did not
match their oversized ego. I settled for a innocent smirk:
- Really?...
- I refuse to believe it! They wouldn't do that to me. I can almost see them,
lonely and crying, asking each other in a hushed voice: have you seen the Marshal?
Why did he leave us? Doesn't he love us anymore? Who will give us orders? Who
will inspect our uniforms?
He cried out with the desperation of a parent estranged from his children.
Here I am, children, come to me in lines and columns under my command, and I
will take care of you. We will attack again together, we will besiege and burn as in
the old days. He began to scream, with a crazy look: Hear the cadence? It's
approaching! Troops, to me, assembly!
- I don't hear anything! I informed him.
Marshal began to wring his hands in despair, then told me gloomily:
- I feel so guilty that I want to scream. Why wasn't I more careful? Why
didn't I look after them? What if they went headlong into a ravine? Maybe they
died of hunger... Without me, they are helpless. What if some wicked person took
them prisoners? They didn't die.
- Really?
- No, you don't understand. I hear them sometimes from afar, marching in
cadence. I shout at them, but they don't respond.
- What are you doing around here? I wanted to know.
Marshal fidgeted as if he was about to tell me a big military secret or a lie.
- We are on a mission. Pacifying the area.
- The area is empty, I remarked acidly.
- Meaning pacified. We will defeat the enemy and conquer the house.
Confused, I looked around.
- What enemy, man? I don't see any.
- You're complicating things! These are details, Marshal informed me,
annoyed. Wherever I am, there is always a war. If I can't find an enemy,
something, anything, at least an old lady to spit on me, to curse me, I will attack
randomly, then I will invent a justified reason. I have this talent.
- Natural?

82
 - My mother said so. Besides, the battle justifies me. The flesh tingles on me
after a battle with a great victory, with victims and heroes. From my point of view,
I am the best strategist in life. I've honed seven days a week, sometimes even on
Sundays. He opened his hands wide in a gesture that wanted to be messianic. In a
strategy religion, I would be sanctified. I anticipate everything and then react
instantly and decisively.
I love arrogant people, those who assume their value, but this must be
proven first, then verbalized. That's why this guy full of airs seemed to me just a
braggart.
- It seems that no one is like you, Marshal. It's good to know...
- Some would say that I have a brilliant mind, and I can't contradict them; I
would anger God. Skill in its purest form. I have glorious plans... I have
understood the great truth: the military represents the pinnacle of human evolution.
- Do you want to suggest that society is composed of the military and the
rest of the world?
- Yes! Because in civilian life, the world is unspoken. Everyone does as they
please according to their position, not according to rank. And thus, things degrade,
the commoners take to the streets, governments fall, states go bankrupt, the world
sinks. Order, discipline, and with God's help, a military state are needed. We
incorporate everyone. The house will become an unconquerable barracks.
- Does anyone want to conquer this house?
- Maybe not now, but wherever a house grows, inevitably thieves appear
who want to rule it. Why not find us prepared?
- And if... things go as you want, and you have your own barracks as long as
the house... what will you do?
- I will drink until I fall on my head, then I will wake up and drink again
until I faint, and so on until I burst.
- It's a good plan, although frankly speaking, you can drink and die now.
Why wait?
- Because I have nothing to celebrate yet.
- But if... that old lady you were looking for trouble with beats you?
Yes! I admit! I was insolent. The question didn't sit well with the Marshal
either. He clenched his fists, then leaned his head back like a pelican and unleashed
a warrior and threatening tirade.

83
 - You side with the old lady! You ask inappropriate questions just to make
me feel stupid, or do you want a vein in my head to burst? Such things are not
done! I can execute you for an affront.
- You would kill me for nothing. A great leader considers all possibilities.
Otherwise, he can be caught off guard. What if the old lady has tanks and assault
artillery?
- There, in the yard? he wondered.
- A prudent man... has a bit of everything, I said with a naive air.
- Phew, the way you put it, you show signs of intelligence. I wouldn't have
imagined!
- I'm telling you, I'm experienced. Old ladies are dangerous when it comes to
a scandal, and they don't know how to lose...
Marshal fell into thought, then confessed to me with disarming sincerity:
- For my worth... I trample on my honor and urgently move to negotiations.
- And if she is stubborn and refuses to accept under any circumstances?
- That means I have no choice. If I feel that I am losing, I will strategically
withdraw from the battlefield, and I will lose myself in the bushes to prepare for a
counteroffensive.
Ha! It was a way of saying that he was sneaking away with cowardice from
the enemy.
- What a humiliation! I said disgusted.
- I can be defeated, but never humiliated.
- And if the old lady comes after you?...
- I run faster. Emphatic. With my physique...
- Bravo, strong man! But... what if the old lady blocks your way, then
surrounds you?
- I break the encirclement! Does she know strategy?
- I say yes! What if she takes you prisoner?
- It's not good! Marshal told me hesitantly. It's a trap. That old lady knows
everything. All in all, it means that the old lady is my marshal. We must have been
colleagues at the Academy. In that case, I abandon my weapons and surrender to
chat about things from our youth over coffee.
I anticipated mercilessly:
Is it worth ending up whitewashing for her?

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 - You make me think. Maybe you're right. It would be more appropriate to
avoid any confrontation until I recover my troops... He fidgeted awkwardly. I'll
confess something to you. He whispered after carefully looking left and right:
Military secret.
I covered my ears. Why burden myself with everyone's secrets?
I don't want to know. I'm loose-lipped. I can't keep a secret.
I wasn't successful. These people were eager to tell you secrets, hidden
things. There was no way to escape. If you ran away, they followed you. If you
pressed your hands to your ears, they started yelling, as Marshal did:
Too late! In my pocket, I have a button. He took it out and shoved it under my
nose. Here it is. It's for serious situations. Once pressed, all soldiers will detect my
position and come to support me.
And why, for heaven's sake, haven't you pressed it until now? I exclaimed.
To some extent... out of fear and shame, the military man hesitated.
It was beyond me to endure. I wanted to forcibly put it to the test.
- Give it to me, I'll press it. I'm not ashamed.
- Don't press it, it's the same! Marshal asked me with a weak voice. Like
this, unkempt, helpless, and desperate, I would make a fool of myself. I can't be
dishonored in such a way. The army dies but does not surrender. How would I be
viewed? How could I still command them? Would they still die for me? I have to
show the soldiers how strong their leader is. I'm here to rule.
- I know what you're telling me, but alone it will be difficult, towards...
impossible, I tried to convince him.
After a few moments of contemplation, during which his face reflected a
multitude of contradictory states, he reluctantly agreed with a soft voice:
- Okay. If I were five wars younger, maybe I would let despair overcome
me. But now, it's not the case. I haven't won any wars in my life, but what glorious
defeats I have! I haven't been interested in victories; the sky is my witness. Let the
boys fight nicely...
- Haven't you demoralized yourself? I, for one, would quit my profession...
- Not at all! He contradicted me vehemently. Beneath these rags lies a
character of steel. Anyway, the legend continues; I'm still young. I'll rebuild my
troops and lead them to the first victory, even if I lose seven or eight battles. You?!
What do you specialize in?
- I'm an artist... I confessed apologetically.
85
 - Aha! You make art! Never mind; you'll enlist, and it will be fine. The army
will make a man out of you, and the homeland will be grateful to you.
- I don't know what to tell you... I hesitated. What should I do?
Marshal perked up. We were on his territory.
- The army is not a piece of cake. You seem like a young man with potential,
so you can understand without charts and slides. It's enough not to contradict me
and not to give your opinion. In other words, belong to me. You will shine my
shoes, cut my calluses, and shave my back! That... during the day. At night, we'll
study regulations. Oh, I almost forgot, in the morning, I'm as sharp as a weasel, but
in the evening, these improved legs leave me, so I'll need to ride you. You'll be
immediately under me.
- We're still talking about the army... I hope... I wanted to clarify.
- Of course, I was talking about hierarchies. He looked at me strangely.
What were you thinking?...
- I was thinking that's all I want... I told him, pretending. Phew! You're
overwhelming me, Marshal.
- I know! He generously confirmed. It's a great responsibility! I'm counting
on you.
And a great honor at the same time... I amplified the flattery, only to hit him
hard later: too great for me.
- I know! Marshal admitted, proudly. You won't get such an opportunity
again. You start as a soldier, and in a few years, I'll promote you. You'll get a rank,
a salary, and a purpose in life. Plus, in time, you'll learn and won't even be able to
fart without permission.
- You're so generous... I continued to sing the ode of greatness.
- I am, darn it! He self-excited. That's my curse. I don't even know what I
saw in you because you're not a bright one... I'll keep you on a tight leash because
we'll be alone against everyone. If it's foggy or windy, we'll hold hands like lovers
so we won't get lost. We go on discouragement, we look ugly at everything that
moves, and we act like a tank so people believe we're motorized. Over time, I'll
initiate you into slingshot shooting, then into the art of washing battle underwear
because they chafe badly. In a few years, we'll operate like a compact army. You
look so lost...
I played the card of hesitation:

86
 - I have conflicting feelings. You've turned my world upside down! I
imagine the future...
- You're going through a short brain block; he explained to me
understandingly. It's part of life... I'll clarify it for you. You'll be the first in case of
an attack and the last in retreat. Only they matter; the rest aren't visible. And I tell
you, as I'm good at it, a bright future awaits you...
- Dazzling! I exclaimed, petty. Can I become a general and continue to make
your shoes?
- Only if you do it well! Marshal clarified pretentiously. A little discipline
never killed anyone.
- Yet! I'd like to, but, alas! I can't, I sighed. My health doesn't allow it.
- You're pretending to be sickly? Marshal questioned me sarcastically.
Courage! You're more of a man than that! Soon you'll have recruits under you. We
confuse them with ranks, and ours are. A shaved back and some impeccable
underwear await you in case of war.
I randomly pulled out a sheet, unfolded it, and waved it away from the
military's eyes, then hastily put it in my pocket.
- I have a certificate from a doctor. I don't want to get in your way.
Discipline is not for me, Mr. Marshal. I regret, but you'll have to wash your
underwear on your own!
- I insist! Forget the nonsense! Don't you dare annoy me! Marshal
persevered. We make a successful couple.
- It wasn't meant to be! Only the dream remains... I pretended to be affected,
then I felt disgusted with myself.
- You hit the jackpot, Marshal got upset. He looked at the sky with disdain. I
need so little to be happy... an army and a war there... no matter how miserable. Do
I ask too much, Lord?
- You're asking for the impossible; I made sure to disappoint him. Better
accept your helplessness.
- Helplessness comes only by order, he declared, disciplined. That's what I
know, that's what I believe!
- Blessed are the poor in... I wanted to emphasize, then it seemed to me that I
saw something in the distance. Oh no! I looked at my hands with horror. I see three
suspicious old ladies. We're outnumbered.

87
 For a few moments, the Marshal remained silent, engrossed in who knows
what complicated calculations, performed with the unwavering help of his fingers.
Then he communicated the result with a bitter tone:
- I have assessed the situation using specific means from multiple
perspectives. I'll be concise. Here's the deal: arithmetic defeats us, kid. The
superiority of the enemy forces lies in the realm of evidence.
- You're talking about one extra person.
- See? It's clear. We're crushed. Then an idea lit up his face. Let's spin in a
circle.
I complied, not realizing why. He didn't like it at all.
- Not like that, sluggard. Faster, so they can't count us. After a turn, the
Marshal abruptly stopped. It doesn't work. The titanium foot got stuck. Then, from
his tone, I realized he had a new saving idea. Shh! Turn your back.
Again, I complied; what could I do? It wasn't my area of expertise.
- So? Are we pretending we're not here?
- Shut up and get on your knees! the Marshal whispered to me. Maybe we'll
escape unnoticed.
- Is that all? I asked skeptically. What a tactic! It's like in the movies with
idiots. I understand you're not a genius, but did you even go through the academy?
And did you pass for real? Are you an intellectual?!
- Who do you think you're calling an intellectual? the Marshal shouted at
me.
- No one! I'm sorry. In my opinion...
- I told you I can't stand your opinions?!... the irritated Marshal cut me off.
- Then come up with something intelligent from that jar of strategies.
- Right now? Are you serious? The military man was furious. It's strategy,
not nonsense. To come up with something viable, I need months of research,
advisers to consult, computers, tons of coffee, and a certified fortune teller.
Otherwise... I have no idea. Anyway, you tell me!
- We undress to our underwear and pretend to be tourists looking for nudist
beaches, I suggested with a serious air.
He seemed to agree with me.
- You know what? That's a good one with the tourists, but we don't expose
our underwear because they're unwashed, and I won't give up my medals, helmet,

88
and slingshot because they define me. Without them, I have no outline. How do the
old women look?
- I'll check. I can't see well with my back turned. I looked through the
binoculars he had just given me. It's bad! They're imposing. If you knew their
faces... They look exactly like you. They're coming at a brisk pace.
The Marshal became gloomy and concluded:
- They cloned me. It's an enemy raid. It will be either them or me.
- You're in bad shape. I'd go with them... I pessimistically communicated.
- Me too, agreed the Marshal. If I die, tell them I left the medals to the most
capable among them.
I was astonished.
- Why would you do that?
- To amuse myself posthumously. It will end in a fight.
- I'd enjoy the spectacle, but they won't harm you. You're a harmless old
man, and your eccentric dreams are pathetic and unattainable.
- You're blind. My plans surpass your understanding, but these are not like
you... he arrogantly retorted. They understand that they are close to final victory.
They're trying to alter the course of history. That's why they want to eliminate me.
Sigh. He sighed dramatically. This is the price of glory. I need to take action;
otherwise, I'll end up stuffed in some museum of famous characters.
I widened my eyes and rotated them in my head in an impression, like in
horror movies, with a sincere desire to speed things up.
- Get out of their way! Otherwise... you'll end the day in death.
Spacious, the Marshal quickly made the sign of the cross and seemed to change his
mind.
- Don't go! You know what? A little movement wouldn't hurt me, but... run
away?!
- Anywhere, what does it matter?
The Marshal adopted a fierce posture, holding the slingshot like a gun.
- Confrontation is inevitable. I can't wait to unleash them. It will be a
massacre, listen to what I'm saying. He continued in a warlike tone. It's time to pull
out my knife.
It seemed like he was working on a budget, so I instantly became indignant.
- Why bother? Do you have a nail clipper with you? Maybe you'd be better
off trimming their toenails instead of hurting your clones.
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 - It's an option, but I want to open a can of beef with it... When I get
agitated, I get thirsty, and if I don't bite something quickly, I get ugly. That's what
happens when I get into the logic of war.
- War is fundamentally wrong and has no logic, I declared categorically.
This bothered the old man a bit.
- You're a fool. More cruel than war is its absence. You'll see that saying put
into practice: make love, not war. Only ignoramuses remain unaffected by this.
Remember: the world will sink from so much civilization. We'll live on top of each
other.
This old man is really cruel! Thank goodness he has no power.
- Do you think killing each other is the universal solution?
- Exactly! With war, there's still a chance, but we can't survive peace. You're
as naive as all civilians because you don't understand strategy. Want to prove me
wrong? Take it as a challenge and go to the old women! Maybe you can beat
them...
This old man doesn't give up, even in death, I thought admiratively. Then I
wanted to discourage him.
- No chance! I've never beaten a carpet in my life because I felt sorry for it...
- At least soften them up, and I'll cite you in the unit's orders for bravery on
the battlefield. If you die, you die. But your presumed sacrifice won't go unnoticed.
If the enemies don't kill you, you'll get one of my medals. For a day... I know how
to reward my subordinates.
- And you? What are you doing during all this?
- I pray for you, man...
- You're taking me for a fool! I reproached him. Let me tell you where to
stick those medals!
- What's your problem? Do you have an issue with my medals? the irritated
Marshal cut me off. Are you bothered that you don't have any? And he protected
them, covering them cautiously with his palms, like a young woman protecting her
exposed breasts. You'd have to assassinate me to get your hands on them.
- That's what I was trying to tell you. I have no problem. I just opted for non-
intervention.
- You pretend not to see that we're in the same boat and sinking. When the
situation is so tense, when we're cornered, you decide to play the capricious one?
- For me, it's as good a moment as any.
90
 The Marshal put his hand on his hip with a painful grimace.
- The conflict will escalate; I feel it in my right kidney. Pull yourself
together; we're about to start a large-scale special military operation. Now, when
it's time to be bold and show loyalty, you leave me hanging?
- The mission you wanted to send me on is suicidal.
- You're exaggerating! I may look athletic, but I'm shattered, man, can't you
see? Where's the hero in you? If the enemies liquidate me, it's on your conscience.
Where will this worthless world end up? Shame on you!
- I can bear that burden!
I didn't get angry; it was futile. Some people need to be left exactly as they
are. I replied coldly, Exactly! I felt it. You were sending me to death without a
flinch.
- I have a cautiously optimistic feeling about your chances.
- Ah! You're trying to manipulate me, but I know a thing or two. That's what
the doctor says when you're on your deathbed. That's why I didn't enlist. And that's
why you'll have to handle this on your own.
- Now you've figured it out? the Marshal tried to intimidate me, but my
categorical attitude showed he had no chance. He didn't like it. His face turned red,
as if he were suffocating. I'm very disappointed. I thought you were a person of
quality, but I was wrong. You're unserious, always have something to comment on,
and what you do is despicable. He concluded accusingly, Those sly old women
have bought you...
- False! This war is not my problem! Instead, it's a wonderful opportunity for
you to adopt a vice versa tactic from the usual one. Don't put others in front, in the
line of fire. Get involved directly! Show them who you are! I continued
sarcastically, With that marching step of yours, they'll all be gone in no time.
- I hold the marching step dear, he disciplined me, annoyed. I don't
understand military discipline at all. Heroism is only for the lower ranks.
I didn't get angry; it was futile. Some people need to be left exactly as they
are. I replied coldly,
- Exactly! I felt it. You were sending me to death without a flinch.
- I have standards for recruitable people. You're a swaggering, foolish, and
malicious scoundrel, so far below the minimum standard I can accept.
- That's like the fox and the grapes story. They're too sour for you, right,
Marshal?
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 - You think you're valuable, huh? A penguin with an egg between its legs
would do a much better job than you can. You'd be more useful in the enemy
camp. I'm going to disappear now. Turn your back, or I'll shoot you with the
slingshot!
How childish...
I turned ostentatiously with my back to him, pretending not to notice how
the Marshal was transforming into an old woman with feverish gestures, but he
didn't forget to put his helmet over the headscarf, monologuing:
- Now that I've arranged myself a bit and can't be suspected by the
aggressors, I declare under my responsibility that I own a yard full of tanks and
assault artillery, but I also have a submarine equipped with cruise missiles parked
in the well... for personal use.
Then he turned towards me and barked orders.
- Count out loud to twelve thousand, then you can continue on your way. If
you see any soldiers, tell them to march to our tune, as I'll be listening.

92
 18. The Old Man

I had entered a peculiar room. Completely empty and vast. There was no one
around, it seemed like the end of a world, or the world in general. It had no trace of
vegetation, not even soil, only colors and lights. Like a sports hall devoid of
furniture but somehow prepared for events so special that they were impossible to
define.
Why, I wondered?
What awaited me?
Was this my destiny?
I had just realized that I had walked through so many places and encountered
so many people, yet none were ordinary, standard, mediocre, when he materialized
out of nowhere, perhaps blending with those preexisting colors in the room. The
old man advanced with a tired gait in a direction known only to him, tangent from
a miracle with me. He didn't have to say a word. At first glance, I realized there
was something special about him. He was dressed in white linen clothes, like those
peasants used to wear. He had an extraordinary aura that, without overwhelming,
subdued. He was not like me, not like anyone. I approached with respect.
- Good evening, sir!
He responded with gentleness and goodwill.
- Good evening, my dear! The cold has set in... Winter is approaching. And
for me, who has been here before time, the chill accumulates in every nook.
I felt the need to cry, I don't know why, then I composed myself and tried to
say something affectionate, to sympathize with him.
- To be confined here for so long...
He smiled brightly.
- Confined?! Not at all! I stay willingly. I am very happy. I have had a good
life. Here I have known love, raised my children, and here I will spend the rest of
my days. I work upstairs, but I have seen countless rooms and experienced
unforgettable sensations. He pointed his hand towards me and confirmed briefly.
And... no! You haven't passed away.
I sensed something. I had the feeling that I couldn't hide anything from this
man, and that angered me.
- What is this? Are you reading my thoughts?

93
 - No! said the old man. I rather think them a little ahead of you. Let me tell
you what you want to say. Do you know how to leave this place? The answer to
your question is...
I blurted out against my will:
- Do you know how to leave this place?
- Yes! That was the question, the old man smiled indefinitely.
- We can't communicate. It's horrible. You whisper what crosses my mind,
and I can't help but mechanically repeat your words.
- And the answer to your question is... It depends... where do you want to
go?
How could he not realize, I wondered rhetorically.
- Outside, to freedom, I insisted.
He patiently explained,
- Freedom is a state of mind. Walls cannot confine it.
It strangely crossed my mind that I had heard such profound words in a
detergent commercial. I tried to suppress embarrassing thoughts like that, so the
old man wouldn't read them and get upset, so I came up with clarifications.
- Outside the house. That's what I mean.
- Outside where, man? You're unclear. There are exits everywhere. They're
called... doors. Be careful, the exit from somewhere is an entrance to somewhere
else. And somewhere else is still here. Technically speaking, there is no outside.
Everything is inside. The Infinite itself, as vast as it may be, is housed within the
house. That's why it's called the House of the Infinite.
- Stop, stop, stop! I interrupted. What came first, the house or the universe?
- The house, man! the old man clarified matter-of-factly. The universe is just
the furniture of a room...
- Why, forgive me, did you make the house first? I asked, astonished.
- I had to! The house is my need for order, for limitation.
I was getting more and more confused, although the old man's words were
not complicated.
- But the universe inside is limitless..., I dared.
- Isn't it brilliant? Everything that exists, no matter how small, contains an
infinite no matter how large within. If you accept that, then you understand the
essence of the universe.

94
 No! I couldn't accept in any way what the old man was explaining. It was as
if under the smallest Matryoshka doll, you could discover the largest one. I shook
my head, crushed by my perceived limitations.
- I don't understand anything! You're too deep for me, and you use sizes too
big for things too small. I'm here not by choice but by force of circumstances. I
want to get to Earth, that's all.
- You're terrestrial. Do you still believe your planet is the center of the
universe?
- Do you know the area? Have you been there recently?
- I visited the room, but I left quickly. There's something wrong with your
planet. It's harmful to health. Too many cars and too many intersections. Not to
mention the noise, smoke, and... cows.
I became sentimental and was taken by warmth.
- I miss the native smoke.
- You deserve fumigation, he continued threateningly. The rain that will
come will cleanse everything.
I thought my world was slipping away.
- Oh no, not rain! That's where my home is.
The old man knew, and he sighed deeply before answering me.
- What do I do with you? You have a terrible inclination towards
wickedness. Before you appeared, everything was perfect. Nothing ever happened.
Where are those times?!... The world was happy. Now, horrible things are
happening. You brought fear, debauchery, madness, rebellion, secrets, expansion,
servility, false faith, aggression into the house. There's a terrifying noise. Hear it!?
Crushed by hatred, the house creaks in all its joints. If we don't isolate you, you
will destroy everything in this path you call humanity and perceive as something
good.
How could I respond? What more was there to say?
- I understand, we are toxic, I continued insidiously. Are the others too pure?
- They were... until you appeared, he replied without hesitation.
I couldn't stop being amazed. Really? We are the source of evil?
- Things would have been wonderful if you hadn't existed. But you exist!
I didn't like how my protest attempt turned out, especially since the old man
emphasized very seriously:
- It's a problem that can be remedied...
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 It wasn't right. Whatever I tried, the conversation inevitably slid into
dangerous territory. I struggled to fix it.
- Responsibility should be individual. People are mixed, some better and
some worse. Let's change the subject. I wouldn't want to give you ideas.
- I am not influential. Ideas float through space and endure for eternity.
- How come?
- Because they are made of energy, not matter. Matter is fleeting, energy is
forever. Just empty your mind of thoughts, and space will fill it with ideas. Now
it's time for you to clarify things for me. Why did you want to take the Wise Man
with you or join the mad one?
- Anyone needs more intelligence and a different perspective on reality.
Especially here, where each room shelters a different reality, quite different from
those seen before.
- Why did you reject the others? Didn't they have intelligence?
- Yes, they did! But we didn't have a communion of ideas... I didn't feel like
them. I analyzed with my head and made a choice.
Finally, I saw the old man relax. He smiled at me friendly.
- Maybe there are still chances for you... I know how to get there.
- Thank you, sir!
He didn't try to deny it. He simply told me:
- You're welcome! then continued with a slightly furrowed brow, Around
here, we are all gentlemen and ladies, except for the wise ones...
- Show me, please, where Earth is. I would be grateful.
- Sorry, but I am very tired, and going there is too much for me. Go to the
cemetery room, then look among the graves. You can't miss it. There are plenty of
doors to your room. If you see some dead people walking around, ask them. They
will help you, as they are welcoming... But you have to ask them skillfully,
because few know about Terra or Earth, as you call it.
So ask them simply:
Where is... hell?
I remained shocked in front of such a shocking revelation. The old man's
question echoed, then was covered by insane laughter intertwined with gunshots
and car horns, police sirens, and the prolonged moans of tortured people.

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 19. The Final Journey

In a short while, I reached a door with a skull and two bones drawn on it. I
understood that what lay beyond the threshold had something to do with death, so I
entered. I walked for a while, then I saw him.
The dead man wasn't lying still like a corpse. He paced restlessly, advancing
with anguish, carrying a coffin on his back, held by some straps over his shoulders,
like a backpack. I passed by him without commenting, thinking that maybe that
was the fashion around here.
However, he was talkative:
- Are you alive?
- God knows...
- If you're alive, what are you doing around here? he wondered, then added,
Don't you know the saying: the living with the living, and the dead with the dead?
- I know it, but I'm looking for a lost road, one that would be in the realm of
the dead.
My remark seemed to amuse him:
- Hehe! Everyone has their own road. I'm on the last one. I'm looking for an
ideal place to rest, but I haven't found anything suitable so far. Do you happen to
know of any?
- Honestly, no! I haven't really looked for burial places, but vacant spaces
are everywhere. What about that tree? It provides shade, it's peaceful, and you can
rest in peace.
- Pfuuu, what a spot you've picked. It's wonderful! Thanks!
- With pleasure. Do you want me to bury you? I could at least do that for
you since you seem seriously dead.
- No! You're very kind, but I'll manage on my own.
- Perfect! I wish you a pleasant burial.
The dead man critically examined the place.
- Pleasant, pleasant but not quite... he hesitated. Did you see what kind of
tree that is?
- It's an apple tree, I noticed.
- That's not good. Everyone will come to pick its apples.
- So?

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 The dead man clicked his tongue, displeased.
- Peace is gone... besides, when the apples rot, they smell like brandy, and I
didn't like the drink while I was alive, so I won't stay in a tavern-like atmosphere
now, post-mortem. Not to mention that the smell attracts wild boars, which grunt,
root around, and dirty the place, and I haven't done anything.
- Now that you've said all that, the place I chose doesn't seem as good
anymore. However, six meters away, the situation changes drastically.
- Yes! You're wise... but the place has a major problem: it's in full sun. I
don't have sunscreen with me because I didn't come here for the beach. I don't like
the heat even when dead, so a shaded spot remains my favorite.
- Under that willow near the lake is a sensational place.
- Not really! Water means dampness and is bad for the joints. I don't know
how to swim, and I'll float in a warm soup in the summer and freeze solid in the
winter.
- I came across an abandoned cemetery not far from here. It's in a shady
place, dry, just like you want.
- I passed by it. How can you stay there? It looked terrible, so abandoned.
Quiet, quiet, but not even like that! No one has passed through those bushes for a
century, and that's not good at all. Put yourself in my shoes. Do you feel forgotten
by the living, and no one wants that.
- You're very demanding for a dead man. It will be hard to find something
ideal. Have you been searching for long?
- Oh! I've traveled this world three times over, but... nothing.
- Maybe you don't want to settle anywhere.
- Now that you mention it, yes! Not even while I was alive did I settle in any
particular place.
- Why?
- I was looking for perfection in everything.
- Did you find it?
- No! I didn't like almost anything, except that I didn't like anything. I
nitpicked at small things to ruin the beauty of big things. That's how I remained
even beyond death, but I have no regrets. I can't stay put. I prefer to wander the
roads with the coffin on my back. In case I feel tired, I put my coffin by the
roadside, and no one bothers me.
- You're a traveling dead man.
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 - I think so! I like it. Bravo! You're clever enough for a living person.
Practically a kind of funeral tourism. You're searching for your path, that's what I
understood. The path to what?
- The path to hell!
- Oh no, knock on wood! No one wants to go there, my sins. He crossed
himself, trembling. Were you sent to take me? Have complaints piled up against
me?
- No! Calm down, dead man, I have nothing to do with you. I want to go
there because it's my birthplace.
He pointed to some rocks:
- There's a cave there. Enter and always keep it downward.
- Goodbye! And watch out for cars, don't let any of them run you over.

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 20. The Choice

I had found the road!

Nothing could stop me from going back, so I arrived in what others called
hell, and I called home. I did it without hesitation.
The atmosphere seemed the same as always.
In the real world, four years had passed.
More cautious than ever, I approached my house very carefully, just enough
to see that the space I left vacant had been occupied by an Alter Ego, another me
from a different room.
I invited Stan for a drink without telling him where I came from, while we
chatted and I was replaced in my absence. I learned that the one who had taken my
place made my wife happy, something I had never achieved, that my two children
got along perfectly with the new me, and my career was more flourishing than
ever. Even my friends adored him, and he valued each of them.
I took the first bus and returned to Stan's summer house.
Thank goodness, the hut hadn't been demolished, and its door was waiting
for me slightly ajar.
I entered...

The End

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