CHAPTER XIX: RECOGNITION OF ACCEPTANCE

   All tales are a re-creation, they give a second life to still life; they are, like pictures or music scores, a new existence, like the soul of the bodies. I remember a conversation with Mistress Oakes, some time later, in which she said to me:

− "I have spent my life next to two rivers. You can see their bed as the body which carries its soul inside: the water that is blessed when reaching the sea. Because in it, it melts into another flow, it transforms and lives again. Sooner or later, Nike, you will find your soul. Since it also will come out of your body."

  −And already used to re-lations, Protch, here and now, in your house, I have just done the latest. Because if Re-gulus came, Lucy and Luke had a relation with re-. But what if it was a girl? A few minutes ago, while conversing with you, I've gone from re to ra, in my madness? And I just saw it. Because about the girl's name I was wondering, if it was a girl, and I remembered that they had given her the star Elased. But John had called it Ras Elased Australis and first I noticed that it also started by R, but this way I didn't get very far. Then I saw that in my folly I had only gone from Re to Ra and then, just as I had that thought, I shuddered. Because Ra is the Sun God of the Egyptians; and we often forget that our sun is also a star. So there you have it, Protch. Re-gulus or Ra, a little king or a solar goddess. And if I go crazy, Mistress Oakes would also tell me that for me re- would not only be repetition; it would also be good to re-create my universe, to give it body and soul.


 

   So all stories start and flow, but they do not always end. Before leaving the tent, I concluded Great Expectations, and the end surprised me because I expected it as in the movies. The reader had the option to imagine what he would like to.

   But that August 4 had to be good for me to also examine the place they lived in. I had health now and was in the best willingness to walk. I left the tent when it was hottest in that day which was also a flame. Mistress Oakes, who now searched the food for three, was no longer there. Olivia was in her tent or in her daughter’s, and perhaps with them Luke; Miguel and John had probably just gone and Bruce would not have returned yet, so I didn't see any of the seven dear faces. I thought that just going out, once again I was going crazy. Because Miguel had given me two possible explanations of the name of their outskirt. But just then I found a third relation. Look, Protch, seen from the Outcasts, the outskirt resembled a large torn hand, the right hand. The slope that leads you up or down from one to another could be the wrist and all the camp was the hand, with its five fingers. Let me explain it, in case one day you want to go there. Five large paths lead you out of the camp. The smaller, or if you prefer, the little finger, leaves from Bruce’s tent and goes to the southwest, to where the alders die, to St Alban’s roundabout and Rivers' Meet. In the south, the alder grove splits in two, and from Miguel and John’s tent up to it there is a path full of stones, or ring finger, which leads to the place we call the "toilets". I shall not speak of them, Protch; I will only say that when I saw them, I remembered the great misery of their lives, and still I loved them more. Between these two fingers there is a treasure I did not discover at the time: the great place where I lived the most beautiful night of my life. On the southeast the middle finger, a path that connects the camp to the beginning of the alder grove and one of our three bridges: Meander Bridge, there where the poor river decides to change course to, far to the west, flow into the sea. The forefinger is a path that starts from Lucy and Luke’s tent and goes to the Kilmourne and Menhir Bridge. And between Olivia’s tent and Mistress Oakes’, the thumb goes right to the Outcasts, the low plateau, towards a few beggars who now only live by the river, and the third bridge: Mill Bridge. Where to begin? Since a path started almost from my door, I decided to follow it and start with the southwest. Now I always knew the cardinal points, and I remembered with a smile Olivia and her southwestern wind. Since then I can tell you that no wind affects me, but I am somewhat more sensitive, like her, to the north. That way, I did nothing more than climb and climb, but it is short, and in two minutes I was in the way down and in the roundabout so often seen when in my car, but never when walking. I went down fast. The ninth day, I had returned to civilization, and this unpleasant thought caused me a new pang of pain. I did not know who I was, and hoped that walking helped me a bit to discover myself. I knew where I had to go: water called me. In two steps, I was again in Rivers' Meet. There is a small bridge to watch from there quietly the horror of the Heatherling when its blood flows into the beggar Kilmourne. Not aware of it, the water was being my mirror, and soon I was glad to have started there, because in those few ten minutes I spent in Rivers' Meet I began seriously to consider whether I stayed with them forever or returned. It at least didn’t terrify me that the first vision of my future was already in my mind, because if an image looks for you, like love, you can no longer take it off your thoughts. I pondered without considering any goals, leaving only this idea to plant its seeds. I would harvest them later. Who are you, Heatherling, what fatal confusion has led you to believe that you were a rich river, when, as for everyone, your fateful end is death? And I could die forever unless, like the Heatherling, ended up as a beggar. The water was poured in disorganized confusion and anxiety began to invade me. I had to keep walking, and at every step, thinking. But not there. From the paved paths of civilization I headed north and in a few minutes I was in Millers' Lane, our west.

   Millers' Lane is the skin of an old spruce lady who does not assume that it has long ceased to be young, and even covers herself in makeup that makes her boast of nothing, because she cannot hide her age. Thus, you can see in it marked wall chips and some old coat of arms. There is a centenary bar in the middle of the street called The Last Road, since Millers' Lane was indeed the last road in Templar Village. I went in with some shyness, because inside two tests awaited me. One of them was to pay something again, after many days, with my Siddeley money. But I had to do it in order to have the second test. It could be the first time in many years that I went into a bar and I didn’t ask for alcohol. The vision of the bottles and the sickly smell of ethylic drinks of the bar almost made me go crazy. It scared me that my fate could be returning to that sea of horror. I quickly asked for a coffee and started to read the newspaper, which was over the counter for whoever wanted to read it. I don't remember the news because I keep the memory that I did that afternoon what I had never done before: I read two horoscopes. I don't much believe in astrology and had hardly read them before. But this time I read both Leo and Cancer. One of the two, or both, spoke of a path that could divert, and something said that it was in my hands to change it. I was surely showing the face of a lunatic, and David Fieldman, the waiter, who I did not know then, looked at me with concern, as if he was in front of a dangerous madman. I rushed in drinking my coffee and left. I had passed the test; and I already knew that I would not drink as long as I was with them. I wanted to continue walking and went up the slope towards the Torn Hand for the first time. Still, there was no one there and I wanted to see the Kilmourne. I walked through the camp raving and thinking that, what with love and like, I was stuck those days in a sacrament. I hurried to see the river; I went to the forefinger. But first an unknown woman, a beggar too, stopped me but not alarmed.

− "You must be Nike –she said with some ease−, the guest of our neighbours of the Torn Hand. I am one of the Outcasts. John said that he had mentioned us. My name is Vera Lloyd."

   Thus I met her, Protch, the same Vera we talked about the first day. Her crystal emerald eyes caught my attention fiercely. We hardly spoke, but she told me that her mates and her boyfriend Vince had not returned yet. I promised without much security to pay them a visit the next day and I added that I'd like to know more about the whistles. We said goodbye; and she continued to her north and I towards the east. It was about time to see the Kilmourne. They had mentioned it to me frequently, but I had never been there before. When at last I found it, my attention was divided with several things, which I will now refer. I was almost opposite Menhir Bridge, and just then I discovered its poor state. You can just cross it if you dare to take a jump of about two metres, because it has a broken head. I later learned that the seven, when they want to go to the landfill or the beauties that are hidden nearby, the lake or the mountains, prefer to cross Meander Bridge, southeast, and make a detour. But it is called Menhir Bridge for something. About fifty metres north the menhir stands as a decapitated idol, a ruinous vestige of the centuries. I did not expect it and I started: a broken angel, a tree without its crown, a delirium without roots, and a wingless bee. But my great discovery was east. I urgently needed a bath, but the Kilmourne there is rebellious, angry and impassable. It is dangerous to dive there. It was just then when I discovered a different source of water on the east. It looked like a lake. Yes, half a kilometer away. And I saw that there was someone there. I could not be sure, but from the distance I thought I recognized Bruce: Yes, if the "rich beggar" had had, as usual, a good day, he would have probably returned now. It could be. I wanted to recognize the terrain, and thought of crossing Mill Bridge, on my left. There the terrain became brittle and hurried, as if fearing the menhir. Further north, a steep hill of bristling reeds exhibited its shady grey silence. Some dark drops distilled incense. Crushing bushes and breaking rocks I opened my way and I was already coming. You may not be superstitious and even so leap into panic and that was what happened to me that afternoon. I could not suddenly bear the vision of that stony nightmare. I didn't know what could happen to me if I came near the menhir. I had no more options than going back, and if I was still determined to cross, taking the risk to jump the chasm from the broken bridge or move forward to Meander Bridge. From one to another bridge, like a foul-smelling ribbon, the landfill shows you all its putrid anatomy of an old matchmaker. However, there Miguel had found Moby Dick, Bruce the flashlights, and all men, most of their clothes. I crossed Menhir Bridge. I managed to cross it in a single jump without breaking my bones, and I was already on the eastern shore of the Kilmourne. But I did damage my knee. The road from there to the lake which has no name yet is plain and passable, but I did this walk limping again. Shortly thereafter I managed to reach the water again with difficulties. The face that I had intuited from the distance was indeed that of Bruce, who naked from the waist up, seemed to have decided to wash.


 

−Tell me, Protch.

−It is silly, but you have just said that the lake has no name yet. And I guess you swam in it.

−You know many things, Protch. Would you like to give it a name?

−Well, I don't know if I am the most appropriate one, since I don't even know it. And I guess that you'll have to discuss it with your mates. But for you and for me... But you have already mentioned the expression Zosma the swimmer... and

− And would you like it to be Lake Zosma? Why not? I think that my mates will agree. And if not, as you say, it will be worth that name for you and for me. But I see you wanting to keep on being Adam and give names to more things, right? Although I think that the one who gave names to things was Eve.

−I think I am becoming as transparent as you are. But I was thinking about your other star, and you've talked about a street without a name. If I have understood correctly, Alder Street is your north, but the houses you can see on the other side, like the place you call "the house", how shall we call them? I thought that it might be Polaris Street.

−Be careful, Protch, insanity, or faith, which sometimes are the same, that I had passed on to you from Mistress Oakes, might be contagious. And perhaps I am transmitting the disease. But Lake Zosma and Polaris Street... When I see them again, I will remember you. You still have something to say, isn't it?

−Forgive me if I am still in what you have just called the same madness. But if my Polaris fades, I will return to my old solitude, which I am forgetting. I fear that one day, when you finish your story, I will not see you again.

−Some things might shock you, Protch: but I still have much to tell and you might not want to see me again. But it is true that so far you're not shocked. It is enough that you still want to see me for me to come every day. Arcturus shines too and to know who I am, your star shine is necessary.

−I keep on relating, Nike. No matter to me if I go crazy, and with you I am rediscovering the universe. I also thought that your wonderful eight placed horizontally is infinity. And we read from east to west, like the stars, don't we?

-“From west to east, Protch. From left to right, at least in our country. It is as if reading we would die first and be born at the end. Or be reborn. But any relation is beautiful. In countries where they do read from east to west, it is as if they were following the sun, the moon and the planets, as if they were reading the book of the skies. But let me follow my own knowledge and for the first time swim in a lake that you have taught me that could be called Zosma.


 

− "So you have already returned, Bruce" –I finally told him.

− "I needed a bath. And today it is a beautiful day."

  It was. The bright rays of an August that the city had not known before, so flamboyant, bathed drowsily in the glass of the lake. I also needed a good bath and everything invited to swim. Dirt already possessed me without rags. I took off almost everything and plunged in the liquid heart of my life. But water has a siren voice, if you know how to listen to it. And that day its vocal cords spoke to me of joy and pleasure. Come to us, you swimmer, and own us only because of delight. So different from Venice, Protch. For the first time I was not going to drown in competing. I just had to dip into joy and delectation. So many roads to end up in hedonism. I soon entirely plunged and began to move my arms. "Water from my beginning and my end, always take me with you. Moisten me in beauties without ambitions. If it does not seem bad to you, create me; or tell me at least who I am." But not for getting wet I was to forget Bruce.

− "Come on in. The water temperature is great. Come and swim with me."

− "I can't swim, Nike."

   I should have thought about it. I had supposed that everyone knew my great pleasure. Lucy, Miguel, John and Luke could certainly swim.

− "I was born in Arcade, on a street close to the river. I've always wanted to learn. But I've never found anyone who can teach me."

− "Then get in and trust me, Bruce. I will take care of you. I'll see whether I am able to teach you." −if all my life had not been empty, at least whether I left them or not, I could leave in the outskirt something of the best of myself. Bruce then removed everything but his underwear and came with confidence into the water. The best of him as a student is his almost blind faith in his teacher. He was confident I would teach him. I suddenly panicked remembering certain words. Then he could only read me a little.

− "What is it, Nike? You've become suddenly pale"

− "I was thinking about the prophecy, Bruce. I would not like anything to happen to you because of me."

− "I do not think that my death comes by water –he said calmly−. On the contrary, Nike. Think that one day I could fall into the river or the lake and I could not swim. And I know that you could teach me. But I'm not really sure that I am able to learn."

    I was not sure to be able to give lessons to him either. I hardly remembered how my grandfather one day taught me to swim.

− "Stretch as long as you can, Bruce. I will hold you on the waist and I will not let you sink. But do it here. Near a place where you can quickly be standing. And if you get to learn, please, never stay very far from the shore."

   I first taught him to move his limbs. We were going together on the calm water. The nearby mountain area seemed to bend its neck in order to watch us. He soon learned to combine the movement of arms and breathing. He was a great student, because the best are those who are determined to learn, and when they really want, they finally can. But there was a moment when I panicked. A slippery stone made me momentarily stop holding him. And, however, at that very moment I saw that he was still moving, already without me. I let him continue, always close to him, not separating completely.

− "Do not panic, Bruce. But you are doing it. You are swimming."

   And he didn’t panic. I started to swim at his side. We were swimming about ten minutes. Always close to the shore, but he with me. He had succeeded. It was the dream of his life, and my presence there had been necessary so he could achieve it. As a warm reward, I was then caressed by his words:

− "I will never forget you, Nike."

   Holy heaven. I started to cry. I couldn't help it. With Bruce I always felt loved, and perhaps it was just then when I started to love myself. Mentally I replied: "I will never forget you, Bruce." And my tears fell into the water. I wanted to be a part of the river of the seven, to swim at their rhythm, as he was swimming then on my side. With a thin voice I answered:

− "Let me know tomorrow when you come back. We can swim together again."


 

   Nike had just become the athlete that pours his amphora of water for Bruce. As well as the map of the skies had wanted that water to be poured to create the Eridanus. To be a part of the river of the seven, as he wanted to, he should leave in them some of his blood and his flow. And maybe he started then, that day, comfortably swimming in Aquarius.


 

   We spent half an hour more on the shore, among his frequent spitting, talking about his past life and something of mine, savoring the feeling that it was in my power to turn a man like Bruce into a friend of mine. And in the end, like the afternoon, we withdrew, and we went chatting peacefully and smoking back into the camp.

   Already back, on a clear afternoon without mists or shadows, I had a shock. I thought I was seeing Luke twice. I soon realized that beside him was a man I did not know.

− "My brother James, Nike. Or should I say my other brother?"

   I shook James Prancitt’s hand. They were both very much alike, although Luke was a few years older. He was equally thin but not much shorter. Also brown-haired. Their likeness ended in clothes. Those of James were not rags.

− "Welcome, my brother’s brother. I guess that makes us relatives. Luke has been speaking to me awhile about you. I've been here for half an hour. I wanted to know how Lucy was. Yes, I know, you have not seen me before. But I have come almost every day. And I'll keep coming. Not every week a child who is your own flesh and blood is born, and soon Luke will give me a nephew."

   James Prancitt is like that: sincere and talkative, frank and affectionate. We had just been introduced and from that time on I was always his brother’s brother.

− "Lucy and Luke have been talking a lot and very well of you. You know? −he said leading me towards the hat-rock, as I used to call it− there was a time when I was really concerned about Luke. One day he ceased to be the man I had always known him to be. Unsociable and elusive, I knew that he was hiding something to me, but his clothes betrayed him. I can assure you that prior to that dark time there was the same Luke just as sound and sincere as today. My brother had a time of darkness, but the light that you can see him today is the same light that he has always had –I wondered why he was telling me all this−. But with Lucy he was born again. And you are also lending him a hand. He will always have the fear to fall into old errors. She, you and I can help him."

   But I didn't know whether I was going to be there within two days.

− "I think that your friendship will never break –he was also reading me−: he needs you, Nike. He is a serene, lucid and courageous man. But also take care of him for me."

− "I would like to know more about you, James –he looked so much alike Luke that I knew he would not avoid my conversation−: what do you do for a living?"

− "I am finishing college –and to my dumb question he answered−: geography. Well, you haven`t got scared. Many do. My brother is capable of memorizing a thousand-page novel. I was gifted a more analytical capacity. Geography is not only learning a long list of places. And that is not what I am interested in. Human geography appeals to me more. And since Luke became a beggar I am more interested, say, in the hunger in the world. I frequently attend college courses that deal with poverty in the third world. Perhaps, who knows, my fate is one day to go there. Meanwhile, I get informed. At the moment I earn my living in a carpenter’s."

   James Prancitt earned a living making wood creations. His brother earned it with his hand. Both of them dealt with hunger: that of the third world or his own. But they certainly had a familiar air. And a family in common. Then his brother's wife came out to greet him:

− "It is late for you, James –Lucy winked at him−. At these hours you already tend to be in bed. Do not worry. Your nephew will not be born tonight."

− "Good. But remember what I told you. If you can't walk, or I would rather say since you should not, read."

− "I have nothing to read, James. Unless you bring one of your old atlas. That will sustain me. You know that Atlas held the universe. And maybe your atlas will help to sustain my universe. Which I wish would be in no hurry to be born. And do not be afraid. It will much resemble his uncle James."

− "It will come at the time when it has to come. But I hope it resembles its father more and be good at memorizing for I don't know why I got to study geography. Okay, sister-in-law, I'm going."−and they said goodbye with a kiss. So happy and so wise. James was much like Luke, but also like Lucy. She unexpectedly came to me and kissed me. Oh, my dearest enemy, how many things you let me share with you!

− "Have no fears, Nike. Whatever will be will be, but you are definitely now a different man."

   And to be different, I should continue walking. But as I didn't want to continue to make my legs walk for that day, I went to the tent and began to read. Now I only could read Moby Dick. But it was for a short time, because a sharp and unexpected cry that startled me took me from my self-absorption. It sounded like Miguel.

  In a few seconds I left the tent and I finally approached Olivia’s mound, where she and Miguel had already lit the bonfire. It still roamed there: a huge white rat had completely changed his face. For me it was just disgust. He felt like he was possessed and I could swear that for a few seconds, he was not himself. But John, at his side, tenderly held him by the shoulders and took him away. Olivia and I were devoted, as best we could, to chase it away. And in the end it left. Mistress Oakes, Bruce and Luke arrived within minutes and Miguel and John returned. Now we were all those who were going to be, because that night Lucy wasn’t there, for James, I do not know very well how, had managed to convince her to try to sleep. We sat. As in Miguel I could still see a certain taste of fear, I asked him the first thing that came to my mind and remove his phobias. At that time Miguel was the only one whose surname I did not know and I asked.

− "My full name, Nike, is Miguel McDawn Íscar. In my country we have two surnames. And we do not forget the river of blood of our mother, who does not lose her surname at marriage. Each country has its culture, but to me, used to have two, it seems more civilized.  Think for a second what your name would be if you had been born in my country."

− "Siddeley Sheringham" –I muttered.

− "I don't know if you have ever heard of Cádiz –at that time it came to me suddenly a different air and not of the sea. Again Miguel perfumed our delusions with marihuana−. I was born there, in the south of our Atlantic. And as in the sea rivers die, I thought even in the rivers of blood of my grandparents, that led to my parents, which led to me. And I don't want to lose any of their waters."

    That week I couldn't stand being Nicholas Martin Siddeley. But I started thinking of the rivers of blood of my grandparents, and after much trying to remember them, I realised, and paradoxically it has never bothered me, in addition to Nike, to call myself Nicholas Martin Siddeley Carter Sheringhan Murchison. The same should be thinking Luke, who suddenly said:

− "One never ends discovering himself. So I am Luke Prancitt Bayne Pennington Bowles. One of those four bloods must have made me one day darken, and one other of them, or all of them at a time, made me rebuild, because I must have something from all of them. I remember my maternal grandmother: Jessica Bowles. Maybe I end up looking like her. I hope so."

   But he did not explain why they were alike, because I, who was sitting facing south, suddenly believed I was going crazy. First I thought it was a green butterfly. Then I saw that it increased among flames. I got scared and it must be read in my face.

− "Do not look at them, Nike –Miguel told me−. It is wrong of us to live next to St. Alban. But we seldom see them: they are the will-o'-the-wisps. They may symbolize that some evil spirits are trying to divert you from your path."

   From the stars to the spirits of the Universe. And from there to some evil spirits. This long August 4 I ended up not understanding to what providence divinities were taking me, or if they wouldn’t be playing dice with me. But I preferred to continue just then glancing at the lights, seeing how it seemed that only chance dwarfed or enlarged their flames. It was a crazy challenge, but now they no longer scared me. Just the idea of never seeing all them again frightened me.

   I thought that night we had not had a magical ceremony because we did not close the circle. Lucy was not there. And Olivia, who for the first time I saw crazy because of her damn northern wind, had not invoked, as the priestess of summer evenings she was, any star, ritual or magical chance. Conversation languished in I do not remember what delusions and I didn't know what had dazzled me most, the will-o’-the-wisps or having discovered my four closest rivers of blood.

  I went back to the tent thinking that the big decisions I had to take would better be left for the following day. But my body did not respect this agreement. It took me long to fall asleep, with seven faces, like some indigene dancing in a circle around my thought. They seemed to tell me that they were tired of dancing naked in front of their peers and they wanted not to be exotic anymore; that instead they asked me for understanding, and I should join their dance around the fire by invoking a god of rain. And I suppose that I joined the circle, or that fire joined the circumference that my memories were creating, and so I fell finally asleep.

   But I woke up at about 6 o'clock and after some futile attempts, I considered I was not going to sleep. After stretching without many curses, I decided to go out for a walk. But then I saw that the day was drawing back its curtains and there in Crownridge they changed from pink into white and some star splashed red or blue the sheets of the day that was awakening. The stars of the east went up, putting a throne to the morning. Because each morning ruled the eastern stars. Their panting sometimes burned the nude landscape. On the southeast, like a torch, there lit oblique rays of a pink inclination. I watched them, the only wounded observer. I was earning, cheerful, that illuminated sky; those poor, opulent, blunt arrows were the signatures, were the nectar; as in a chilling snowfall, sad roses bound to death. But soon I checked that I was not the only wounded observer; I was looking west, seeing how Scorpio set, the only constellation, along with Ursa Major, which I was then able to recognize. And when I turned around I saw what with the low light of that hour I had not yet perceived. Lucy and Luke were at the door of their tent, with a poor fire lit. She, close to birth, lay on his shoulders; He seemed to lull her, and their child with her, already close to the same commotion. They were behind me, looking at the east, at the mountains. The Indians of my slumber had sat tired of dancing, waiting for, you could say, a revelation of the gods of the east. I did not see them, but they felt my steps. They turned, bathing me both in the warm water of a huge warm smile, and invited me to join their bonfire.

− "I suppose you could not sleep –Lucy told me sleepy−; I already stopped trying; sleep did not reach me today. I only needed to convince Luke to let me come watch this show. We have already watched it sometimes and now you can join us. Look, here we have in addition the coffee pot. Would you like us to prepare you a coffee?"

   I told Lucy to let me try. It didn't cost me much effort, Protch. But it was the first coffee I prepared in my life.

− "The morning twilight has ended and now is the turn of the true dawn –she went on to explain. But noting that not even now I knew what she was talking about, she explained−: for everyone it is the same, Nike. But for me and for Luke the morning twilight is the moment that night explodes and dies before day is born with dawn. It must not even know that it shall rise again in a few hours and bleeds frightened in that sea of changing shades. At dawn it already seems to have found solace and becomes hopeful colors. When you have another sleepless night, watch the tones, and you will see the morning twilight purple, red, or sometimes even timidly pink. Dawn is white or yellow, the light of calm after the agony. But the morning twilight has already gone. We have just seen it. We have been here for more than half an hour. Sit and look at the mountains and you'll see how you manage to catch the soul of the day."

   Lucy, who would give a sunrise that wanted to explode on her womb, from shy pink to white; Luke, who didn't know whether he ought to have any fears, but, as first-time parents, exhausted himself swimming in seas of unknown black omens; both of them together, accompanying on that same litany of unfathomable waiting of future cries and heartbeat; the image of the two that morning before being three also wanted to rise with me in all its radiant purity, more beautiful than the dawn that I was about to see. It was a beautiful photograph I would never be able to forget. That I thought when the coffee pot also exploded in smells, as the sky in colors. I had to fix that picture to the walls of my heart so that it could never fall.

   And with them I saw the birth of the eastern stars, which looked curiously wondering what landscape they had come to and I thought moved, giving the first sip to the first coffee that my hands had ever prepared: "Oh, great stars, you are also hiking recognizing your sky paths, I wish that, just like you, my trip does not end here, and I can find a tent or constellation to camp and leave there, in their shady places, resting my canteen, for I'm dying of thirst, and I need a sip that they can give me, which I have already been given. Keep on wandering like beggars. You will no longer be allowed to stop and...

− "But even if they do not know their path, they do have one. And finally it is the sun that is looking for them –Luke told me in accordance with my thoughts−. See how it is already yellow, Nike. A new day is starting."

  And while I saw how the sun took possession of everything and coffee in my mouth became circumpolar, I imagined Luke repeating me one other day: "see how it is already yellow, Nike. A new day is starting." But my sun was frightened in the high peaks of my Crownridge and I was still in the morning twilight, bleeding.

   A fresh east wind made them give me a blanket to wrap in that tender morning without fog. But soon we were four. Olivia had got up and at the moment joined us:

− "What a surprise to see you here, Nike −she said with a kiss, a hello and a few words I thought then to be indecipherable, at the time she lit one of the few cigarettes she smoked every week−: at dawn, your dawn − do you have anything to read, Luke? I have just finished Alice in Wonderland and I do not know what to read."

− "I guess John might have already finished a book I lent him about the names of Venus. Look, it suits you well. And as I think I remember, dear Olivia −Luke never called her mother-in-law−, you're Venus Verticordia. When you read it, you'll know why. But it means the changer of hearts. And Venus Genetrix, who means mother, and without you our universe would never have begun. Now I need only to know whether you are Venus Erycina or Venus Murcia, of heath or of myrtle."

− "We used to have beautiful heathland in the vicinity of Hunter’s Arrows" –she said confidently.

− "Venus Erycina. then. Are you happy? –he asked winking at her.

− "Happy, dear son-in-law −she returned the wink−, but who are you?"

− "At the moment no one. I’ll have enough with being in a few days for my son his Zeus Pater."

− "Or for your daughter."

− "Or for my daughter. Its Zeus and its Hera won't make distinctions."

   But in their universe that day there still had to be a whiteness that was not going to be welcomed. From the mountains there also came the first grains of the salt of every day. But the fog that morning was getting dirty of mud and was becoming brown. I had just seen the best of their clear cosmos and didn't want to immerse myself in new mists. I drank the last drops of a coffee I did not know whether cold or shaken, and recalling that the three of them would remain there, I said goodbye with a warm good morning and I walked on the thumb determined to overcome the phobia of the menhir and see Mill Bridge.

   I did not remember that prior to reaching it I should first find the Outcasts Outskirt. It was very early. There was only one person already up: the same woman from the previous day.

− "Good morning. Vera Lloyd, right?"

− Good morning, Nike. I could not sleep and I have got up. The other five are still asleep. In this outskirt we women win, four women and two men”−she said to me cheerfully, drinking her beer. Absinthe times had not yet arrived.

   I didn't want to stay by her side. Because of beer. But I didn't want to seem rude. I told her I was going to Mill Bridge. She asked me to sit awhile and talk. At that time, I had the impression that Vera was trying me, thinking that maybe I could be a man for her. She was very attractive despite the poor costume and I also thought that in another time I would have found her a very interesting woman. But since that morning, Protch, and although I would not ever do it remembering Luke’s past history, I would fight the men who called her a nymphomaniac. Vera had the same urgency I had to be loved. And perhaps we were similar in something else. The same need to have a child. But she was telling me something of a son she had had. How the father of the creature had disregarded it and she had raised him alone. But it seemed that her Johnny had only lived one year. The deep respect that her sincere tears caused me prevented me to ask questions, but I thought I understood that it was due to a disease. I also figured that it was her desperation that made her lose everything and get to the streets. So she had known Vince and all the others. Something she told me about Katie, Evelyn, Loraine; and much of Enoch. They also slept in tents, and she told me about him suddenly with a loving sigh, while something she told me about the fact that things with Vince were not very good now.

   We were about ten minutes talking and when at last I resumed my path I remembered that I had not asked about the whistles. On another occasion, I thought. But you're going to spoil it and there will not be another occasion, Nicholas, I remember I thought without mercy with myself. I interrupted my merciless thoughts when in ten minutes I was opposite Mill Bridge. Due to not having followed the path next to the river this time, I had avoided the superstition of the menhir.

   Mill Bridge is a charming, small bridge surrounded by hard rocks. It is impossible to sleep beneath it. But if you come back to the west, back to Alder Street and civilization, for me from that morning of August 5, Mill Bridge is the northern border of my country, as well as the southern one can be Rivers' Meet, the east is the lake which is now called Zosma and the west is Millers' Lane. Where to continue? I still had a bridge to see, and preferred to do it returning to the camp.

   But there I had to stop my walks a time. Mistress Oakes was already up and greeted me with a strange "good morning, Neptune":

− "Neptune?"

− "Nike –she said−, you will now have to choose between two vile acts, and it will not perhaps be the only time you have to do it. Beggars do it every day. But not only beggars. Whether to go or to stay. Do not be afraid: whatever it is it will be the right decision."

− "Is there anything about me that you cannot read?" −I asked tenderly.

− "I can read many things about you because I am sure you do not mind my reading you. If I noticed there was something that you didn’t want me, really, to know, I could not go through that door. And anyway, I wouldn't do it out of respect. But I notice that you are at a crossroads and you want my help. That is why I read you. Similarly, Nike, you don't know or don't believe it, but there is nothing of me that you cannot read in my mind. If ever you want, that would be enough. I assure you that you can."

− "I’d never do it. But then, must I understand that you cannot help me?"

− "At this crossroads, Nike, I can only assure you that I trust you; and that you'll end up finding your way. And although I want to help you, I shall not find the way. That is why I have called you Neptune. Remember when you are alone that thinking about many things will be good for you as a consolation. Yesterday we talked about the planets, but only in passing. In your greatest moments of darkness, you will be able to relate us all to one of them. And for then, I have already given you the first clue. If we exclude Pluto, Neptune is the last one. And with your taste for water, it suits you perfectly. In addition, you have been the last one to arrive, whether you go or stay."

− "When I am alone... then I am leaving."

− "Would you really like to know, Nike?"

− "Remembering your tale, I would say that God-Fate already knows, but I have the appearance of choosing of my own free will. And you also know, I'm sure. But no, I don't want to know it yet. I have a lot to meditate. "

− "I will only tell you something: in a given moment it will be necessary for you to know one of our codes.  And I am happy to tell you. In that moment remember that a friend beggar will not accept alms from you. He will only accept an invitation. If you ever have this doubt, don't forget this code. And now I'm going to the street. My girl cannot come with me these days. Go to her and give her a kiss for me."

   Olivia was nearby, on the mound, and looking at her daughter’s tent, or entering it sometimes. While conversing with Mistress Oakes, I had seen she had gone there, once Lucy went inside. But now her mother had already returned. The fog had disappeared and she was again reading. When I approached her, I noticed that she said to the book she had in her hands and she had just finished.

− "It has been a pleasure."

   Who could, like Olivia, I suddenly thought, talk to books like that, to those books she had always considered her great friends, which had always accompanied her, past, present and future, without ever betraying her. I felt a brief sensation of jealousy for not having ever experienced that pleasure. I looked at the volume before she went inside again: it was Alice in Wonderland.

− "I thought I had heard you say you had already finished it."

− "And it is true −she replied smiling, It was blowing south. Surely the southeastern wind−.  But John is not yet up, and from dawn until now I've been reading the comments of those who have prefaced it and the notes at the end. I devour everything. Have you read Alice?"

− "I’m afraid I haven’t.  But is it not a children's book?"

− "Yes. I can see that you have not read it. Do it when you can. With Alice you would have big surprises. I had read it when I was a child. Now I'm rediscovering it. It was in the landfill. The person who there threw it there must be someone who later keeps jewels, and does not know that the greatest treasure has gone to waste. I don’t often go to the landfill, but I'd rather find Alices that jewelry. But I stop now. I don't want to make your stomach ill."

− "My stomach is not that is ill, but my heart. I wish I could find, like you, an Alice and love her –and then I gave her not only one kiss, but two, on behalf of Mistress Oakes and me.  She had aroused my curiosity. Now I knew that one day I would love to read it."

   But not then. I wish I had been able to stop the time and read. I would have wanted to turn back the clock and to have still eleven days left to leave. As things were, that August 5 would be the last day. Or wouldn’t it? Actually was it in my hand to decide? But at that time John approached us, just after getting up, and he told Olivia that he had already finished the names of Venus. And indeed, he came to give it to her. Miguel was not with him.

it

−He is a little feverish. Nothing serious, I hope. Damn time he chose Castor. Now I will not have peace any more –and addressing me−. Every day we are more people inactive. But we have not neglected you, Nike. Here you are.

   It was another sandwich, ham and cheese. But surely my stomach was becoming smaller. I was not hungry despite my walks. I took it to Bruce’s tent, where I also went to reflect what to do then. Only three of them would be outside and four there. I didn't want to stop their lives and neither did they mine, so I often saw them greet me with affection, but didn’t tell me much, as if they understood that I had to take myself to seriously ponder what to do with my life. I went back out when I heard three familiar voices. James Prancitt had just returned and chatted amicably with Lucy and Luke.

− "Thank you for The Three Musketeers, James –Lucy told him−.  This is not the three I was looking for, but it will make the next few hours more bearable. And you have also brought me an atlas".

− "This atlas has at the end something of the best of all civilizations. It is not only maps. A novel can accompany you awhile; an atlas, if you find pleasure in geography or history, a lifetime. And if one day you hear me talk about a country in Central America, which these days I have heard a lot about, you will know where it is. Now I will try to have as soon as I can of a map of the skies –and turning to me noticing that I had approached− well, here again is my brother’s brother, Zosma Polaris Nike. You have many names. But good morning."

− "They have given me many names. But I also have some names that I do not use now, like Nicholas. Good morning, James. I will not borrow the atlas from Lucy. Although I am sure that if it can be a pleasure for a man like you, it could also be for me. But perhaps one day I look for an atlas of the skies. It will depend whether I keep on being the man I have begun to be these days."

− "Nike... I would like to talk to you one day of atlas, of hunger in the world or about the stars –and he wrote down the name of a street in his diary, and then he tore off the page−. Remember, Knightsbridge Street, number 7. When Luke went to the street, I only had to go out unto the balcony of my parent's house to see him, all of them, or at least the tents. Knights Hill is right opposite. They then decided to move here and now I have to walk, but not much. I come about once a week. They are my family and seeing your face, I would say that they will also be your family. But they have their codes and will not dare to tell you what I'm going to say –and he lowered his voice, although he knew Luke was hearing−. I know you're frightened. But I also know that Luke would not call brother to just anyone and that even if you have your doubts, your friendship with him will continue, because the two of you need each other. And do not believe that a man like my brother will easily dispose of a friend for things that may seem sufficient reasons to you. The Luke I've always known is loyal with his friends. I hardly know you, but I also offer you my friendship."

   A breath of icy air had been followed by the contour of a flame. Only both Prancitt brothers had offered me their friendship openly. But I was almost certain that everyone else liked me a little. To stay there and love them. Or to return to my life and journey back through the desert. I wasn’t thinking of hunger then, but of the shame that was doomed for me. What if one day I walked beside any of them and the ghost of Nicholas Siddeley refused to know them? In such anguish Lucy found me, kissed me on the cheek and suddenly said:

− "Nike... when thou seest us, thou shalt know us."

− "A heart as strong as yours, my friend –Luke whispered then− will always find its balance and give dignity to others."

   Words that left a mark on me more intensely than a burn. In the following weeks I wouldn't be able to forget them, especially those of Lucy. I assumed that as many of the sentences from Miguel, they were a real challenge, and the moment would come when I would wander scared evoking them and fearing not knowing how to react or react badly.

− "It does not seem likely that my nephew comes today. If he comes tomorrow, I hope it's not before five in the afternoon. My duties at the University will have me busy until then. See you tomorrow, Luke. See you tomorrow, Lucy –he told her with a kiss−. Goodbye my brother’s brother –he pointed at me−. You know? I have so far failed to find out what kinship unites me with Olivia, but I know that we are a part of the same family. But I guess that my brother’s brother should also be my brother. So never forget it, Nike. And if you need me, you know where I am."

   James left walking quickly and Luke told me then:

− "Bruce has arrived. He told he was waiting for you at the lake. He told me excited that yesterday you taught him to swim."

− "He is a fantastic student, Luke. He learned without my having to work hard. But take all care of him. May he be always close to the shore."

− "I know what your fear is, but nothing will happen. He does not fear it, and what is more, neither does Mistress Oakes. Calm down, Nike. You have not given him a poison, but a true gift. Yes, I can swim. But now I dare not leave Lucy alone one single second. We will have the opportunity, I'm sure."

   What does faith have than an unbeliever like Nicholas Siddeley felt like crying in gratitude? Luke, like Mistress Oakes, like Lucy, did not seem to doubt the capacity that my poor heart could have, still in semi-darkness, of throwing flashes of respect and friendship. I was no longer the same; I could not be that man again however much winds changed, but I did not have any confidence in my own strength. Finally, I sighed and went back to the lake, along Menhir Bridge. This time I went through it with a better jump, and I could get to the water of the lake without limping.

   Bruce was there, almost undressed, waiting for me. He had not dared to swim without me. I greeted him with deep affection.

− "Are you ready for a second lesson, Bruce? Today I wanted to teach you to rest in the water. You might as well take new forces if you find yourself exhausted. With your body up, looking at the clouds. Get in, if you're not afraid."

− "I will not be afraid by your side." –And slowly he dived.

   Everything made me cry, but I hoped that, being in the water, Bruce had not noticed it. Who was I, or what poor impression did I have of myself? And how was it possible that I had achieved that he, who was a stranger a few days ago, did trust me now and loved me? So I spent a while pouring out my water in the water. And if Bruce at my side noticed it, he was silent. Dignity is also to shut up when a man is crying. A few seconds later we were already swimming with confidence, the one next to the other, in that crystal peace. The smell of the water is an announcement of beatitude. And he seemed a little God Neptune proud of the green water horses he was riding. At times I made him relax, teaching him to manage not to sink and recover his strength, and always close to the shore. I emphasized that and he promised me with determination always to stay close to where his feet could touch the bottom. He also learned how to dive and hold his breath. I stopped when I noticed that he could withstand more than one minute not breathing without many difficulties. But I was afraid. I had better not tempt the fates. We were pleasantly refreshing ourselves and swimming more than half an hour. I started to cry again when I thought that in less than twenty-four hours I might not be there, in the water, with him, with them. I guess the lake did not grow much with my tears, but it witnessed my unhappiness.

    We smoked for a while and Bruce said goodbye to me saying that he had not done his homework completely that day due to the desire to swim with me again, and he was going back to the street. I didn't feel guilty because I knew I was innocent, in that at least: Bruce had preferred to tighten his belt for the pleasure to know the dream of his life, increased, he said, by the enjoyment of doing it by my side. I knew then that liking sheds more tears than loving. Yes, I had to meditate a lot so that my future would not dry in bitter sobs. I would probably do all I could but my future was hanging on the edge of a fine thread. What could I do? I had met the seven, their animals, their trees and their waters. I wanted to continue examining the terrain that could be my country. I stood up with some effort, and followed a narrow path that I assumed would lead to Meander Bridge. This miserable trail met unwillingly the landfill. Rather than thinking about the stinking face that could be my horizon, I reflected that I could perhaps be defeated by hunger or shame, but not by the other faces of misery, but was on the verge of, with any decision, returning my life to the path that had gone throughout my existence, the poverty of my heart, the stench of some of my previous feelings, the bitter sewer of my love without compass. Foul garbage surrounded me five minutes, but finally, like forgotten jewelry at the bottom of a closet, I found Meander Bridge. It was polyphony of stone and intimate sounds of water. The Kilmourne there had a true voice with which perhaps it wondered whether it would not be better to turn to the west where he would find the sea more easily than in the south. There began the alder grove, as if when bending its path it had decided to dress up with new trees. The ashes were old clothes that it did not need anymore. New clothes were the alders, but neither luxury nor ornament, because no traveler could fail to see, since the grove hardly hid it, the whitish soul of the dead of St. Alban. Now you could not see the will-o'-the-wisps, but you could sense them. I decided not to cross it and follow along the alder grove.

   They had not told me that sometimes the trees, especially those in the south, were sacred; that they had a heart and a soul. And only when I became the eighth, we also sanctified the waters. And so I was going, trees and water, until there began to grow the chasm that separated them. Thereafter the Kilmourne sailed alone, away from its retinue of sacred groves. I walked away from the river; and the alders definitely hid St Alban to me. Sometimes trees smell like bread and my gastric juices were water. When I found the toilets, where I had been the previous day, I already knew my way and returned from the ring finger to the camp, where I was going to meet a different hunger.

    All those days, John had always been the smartest beggar. Suddenly I found him in front and had to stop. To see him like that, with indescribable weariness of a strenuous day away from his twin, on a day of scorching mirrors that had made his gray jacket dirty that merciless afternoon! Stains of sweat had deleted his elegance, making him look older and defeated. And even if I had not lived before its implacable face of ill fated torturer, I knew that he came back with hunger. Luke, who was there, told him when he saw him:

− "Let us wait for Bruce. He left a short while ago. Mistress Oakes has not returned yet."

   And I, who had just understood that this could be my miserable fate, shook and suddenly had to exclaim, noticing for the first time what I had guessed but they had managed to hide:

− "Ah –and addressing John−.  This afternoon you have given me a sandwich which I have not yet tasted. Remember, John. I won't let any of you be hungry."

− "You're our guest, Nike..."

− "And you are what I love most -I interrupted. Finally I had succeeded in uttering what I really felt−, so I will answer you with the words one day you told me: we will all eat or no one will."

− "Night approaches. I have just seen Miguel and he is better now. Before our two mates' return, we could light the bonfire"−but he had not replied me. And I was not going to stop the battle.

   While preparing the fire Miguel got out of his tent and helped us. Shortly after Mistress Oakes came back, with food enough but scarce, which should be distributed with Olivia, Lucy and Luke. She walked away to them five minutes and on her way back, she sat down with us at the bonfire, waiting for Bruce, while Luke was leaving. Neither Olivia nor he would leave Lucy alone that night in her tent. We waited only for ten minutes, hungry but accompanied, for Bruce to finally arrive. I didn't understand, of the explanations he gave us, if he had gotten to eat, but to waste the afternoon swimming with me had made it impossible to bring anything for the others. Then an unknown impetus took me as an unexpected fury. Without saying a word to anyone, I went to the place they called my tent, to pick up the sandwich that I had not touched. I came back with it to the bonfire and divided it into five parts. And in anticipation of what John could tell me, I went ahead:

− "It isn't much, but I am sorry John, if you all don't eat of it, I'm not going to touch it. My will is strong. It will not fill our stomachs, but it will be all of us or none. Take it or leave it. But if you're thinking about my hunger, my dear John, you decide whether I can take a fifth part of this sandwich into my stomach."

   I guess he had noticed on my face a new determination, but my decision was firm: I could share my hunger with them, but I would not continue feeding with their miseries. He finally accepted and Mistress Oakes, Bruce, Miguel, John and I shared what little there was to eat.

− "In times of hunger like this one, we tend to scare it off telling some tales. Words cannot fill the sandwich, but they can be the bread. I guess Nike will not be ready yet, let alone when you know we rarely create but also recreate. If one day you are decided, Nike, base on the facts you may know and invent them. Meanwhile, is anyone decided?"

   Miguel, who was already quite recovered, asked to speak. John looked at him carefully.

− "Charles and Patrick –he began− were two brother bears who lived together in a warm cave south of some fields that no human being dealt with. It was a flowery path where there were at least other 11 houses. Their cool cave was the third. They lived happy of the scarce honey there was in a few hives. But what was a gift became a plague when the bees started to multiply, muting all other sound. The brother bears did not know what to do. But one day they decided to seek help from the inhabitants of the caves located on the path opposite them. And that made Patrick jealous. Because there lived two female bears, perhaps relatives, but one was much younger than the other. And Charles had made the mistake of falling in love with both, first with the eldest, then with the youngest. But all together, male and female bears, joined forces to reduce by half, if this was possible, the hive. If this was possible... but it wasn't, because the bees had managed to multiply with the help of a few playful gnomes, whom they claimed for help again. And these happened to murmur an incantation to make their adoptive daughters win the battle. And so it was how bears, united to win, even lost their lives. The two neighbors of the north were turned into the Greater Bear and the Lesser Bear. The two brothers were turned into Castor and Pollux, but the latter, because he had always been constant, was granted eternal life."

− "Forgive me, John. But only Pollux is immortal. At least of the stars of Gemini. I could also have chosen Alhena, but as you once explained to me this only means the stain on the camel. Maybe a stain can survive the decomposition of the mortal remains of its camel, but a stain should not be eternal, and I do not think it is. Or I could have gone and chosen from the stars of Taurus, but I was not going to steal Bruce Aldebaran. Or one of the Pleiades. But you once told me that the seven daughters of Atlas committed suicide."

− "Or they were turned by Zeus into doves and then into stars. Forgive me, Miguel. It is sad to accept that we are mortal. We have spent two days arguing over that. I am also a mortal, fortunately, and our fate is not written. I guess that each member of a couple would like to be the lucky one who will die first. And I must be satisfied that, thanks to your love, you gave me Pollux. But you see that immortality can be a sentence. You are not to blame. Let it be."

  I felt immensely grateful that at least Zosma was mortal. But I was already without my Polar Star. I did not know to what north it was pointing now, and was feeling cold, a frosted hurricane knowing that there would be no more bonfires for me if I did not accept my fate. Surely Miguel was noticing my confusion, for he suddenly said to me:

− "These past few days you have been living inside carnival, taken by surprise in a parade. Soon you will take off your costume, will keep your mask in a closet, and you will enter your Lent."

   Miguel was being a constant challenge, the ram needed to help my star not to remain alone in a sky without constellations. I could not at least believe that, if I had gone into a parade, my companions were wearing a mask. Not they. But now I no longer knew what I was wearing. Mistress Oakes, that night dressed in splendid silk green, then said:

− "But in the hustle and bustle of a parade, a man who is lost will not move away from his companions. And he will not enter any lent without them."

   I thanked her because she at least knew what I was feeling. To let her read me always calmed me down.

− "You will not be in any case −John told me now, wanting to soften somehow his twin's words− one of those rather uncomfortable visitors we've had sometimes –I looked at him somewhat confused−. Yes, Nike. Here many people have come. Christians, mostly. A few of them had enough with instructing us in their catechesis thinking, incorrectly perhaps, that we needed some spiritual food. We used to listen to them with respect while we were slowly forgetting their lessons in our hunger and our bonfires. Others preferred to stay here a few days, and you may not believe it, they even sought for tents to live among us. But their ideas were so clear that they did not listen to us. They wanted to get us out of I don't know what misery, and it was impossible to convince them that all that we really needed, we got it. They even censored with words or with gestures Miguel and me for loving each other, as if precisely Christians had love as a forbidden word. They finally got fed up when not reaching anywhere and left. You must not fear that we relate you to them. Miguel and I have felt your understanding and your respect, and all of us have experienced your encouragement and friendship. Don’t cry for that at least. These days we have felt we were eight. When you get back, take our deepest gratitude with you. Indeed, Nike. I speak on behalf of all if I tell you that we will never forget you."

   My eyes flooded and my newborn heart was about to explode. Poor heart of mine, which needed more tears than blood in order to move forward to the next heartbeat and not faint. I looked at the night without mists with a crystalline misery in my eyes. Those stars that I did not know yet would be there every night, but without them they would be in eclipse, and I would not be allowed to touch their brightness. I had to think whether there was enough firewood inside me with which to fire new candles. With a desperate "good night, my friends, and thank you for everything" I went away to meditate on a long night when I knew that I should not sleep. I recalled a sentence from my grandmother who told me that a single badly sewn thread could destroy all the texture. And my life in that moment could be a woolen sweater where I had to be very careful with the skein. It was hard not to be wrong with any decision I took.

   Knowing that it could be my last night there made me look with love the rock pillow and even the cracks. I lay down and started to meditate. But I could not decide and the early hours of that long night I spent in slow evocations of what I had lived there. I knew that in ten days I had lived more intensely than in my 29 years. I had known everything I had never before experienced, even love and the brutal pain which can arrive with it. Friendship and the many faces of being liked, the most harmful bite, because you don't know where to find the point where you have to extract the poison, and your body would refuse, in addition, with reluctance, that medicine. I had even had my first introduction to the stars, to the stories in the burning fire of deep friendship, the caress of fresh water in the pond of the dignity of a dear friend. I got new names and John’s final appreciation. I only missed the caress of being called mate, name that they didn’t give me in order not to take me to the same misery, that maybe I did not want. Oh if those days could be extended, if it were possible to still be their mate, bare of the vocative. I was unaware that some tears had begun to irrigate me. Unhappiness would be not to see them. But soon there came the first protest that I could not explain. Because there was a solution. We lived in the same city. I could visit them whenever I wanted. This solution, which could have calmed me, did not convince me. My mind did not understand the absolute need to be one of them, not the privileged visitor of the long twilights who later could lie in his comfortable satin sheets while they slept in the cold of a universe of changing and mean weather. Without feeling their pain, or away from their need, I could no longer live. Unconsciously I was nearing my Recognition of Acceptance, I was more than ever in my Verôme. But for half an hour I started to make mistakes, looking through the clean crystal, watching the delusion of an easy but misleading life.

  Because what did I really have in that life? Money, of course, lots of money. Unconsciously I had arrived at least to the end of a long reflection. I had not had those days the least hint that they had asked me for anything of what I had. And if indeed they were needy, I could know it from Anne-Marie, from James... or staying there, an inner little devil whispered to me. And in addition to money... here I had to put many suspension points to emptiness to try hopelessly to fill it up. Love? Certainly not. After that time I could write the rest of my life with the new ink I had just discovered, but I realized that it would be in vain trying to erase Luke's lines. Friendship? Even when with many doubts I included here Anne-Marie's name, I knew that her plenitude would not be comparable as to chat with the lady that made me conversation easier, reading previously in my mind what I wanted to say, to the man who after giving me everything he had, had become one of the crystals in the water swimming next to me when the only beauty of my life joined the dream of his life and made us, of the sea of the city without a sea, sailors. Now my heart would no longer be deceived by impossible images of elusive maidens. But beware, had I just said that I would not be deceived? It would not now be the temptation of The Last Road, with them by my side. I had spent more than three years in a poisoned life, and if I had to die, I could try to die with them. I knew where I was being taken by the winds of my reflections. I wanted to stay there forever. Forever? I had felt the scourges of hunger, cold and heat, every evening or every morning mist, dirt, scarcity. But I still had to know the greatest indignity of this life, I had not yet outstretched my poor hand in a distracted or sullen gesture, I had not yet felt shame which, in addition, I was doomed to. It had only been mentiones from afar and I wondered whether I would have strength enough to do the same, and return with hunger and cold to die with them and the same bonfire would burn us. I was a landless, disinherited man; my country was frozen and was not appealing to me. And when I saw that freezing was my only scent and fate I decided to throw myself, if I should die, to the homeland of Torn Hand people. I saw myself returning with my clothes bathed in sweat, and the stomach stabbed without food, to sit after the daily indignity in the dignity of the eight in the nocturnal campfire relit of fires and pure stories from our recovered hearts. To decide that I would stay bathed me in an unexpected peace. I had recognized and found myself. I killed Nicholas for a few hours, and so that Nike could survive, I should leave his body under the protection of its will-o'-the-wisps.


 

-So there I was, Protch. Can you understand my decision?

−If you only want me to understand it, I will tell you that you've managed to explain it so well that for a few hours I've approached your pain, and in the uncertainty of seeing whether you left them or stayed, my heart already had bet on the second option.

−Thank you, Protch. Then you will better understand my suffering when you see that I did not stay, and the deepest fury hurt me when after seeing that my happiness was in misery, I could not take it. I know what you're going to say: you see me come every day dressed in rags, and it is true that I've spent years on the street. But they already warned me that my journey would be long, slow and painful. And that very night of August it would still have to bite me, as revenge to the lights that I was already capable of firing, the melancholic face of my shadow.


 

   I started thinking one by one about those I had just decided that would be, rather than my friends, my mates. About Mistress Oakes, who saw with indecipherable words the genuine truth of the feelings that mattered and took you out of the darkness; about Olivia, who from her winds to her friendly books had become my morning star; about Lucy, my great surprise, who from an imagined enemy had become the indispensable friend who, and love or like did not matter, had given me a magnet so that my polar heart did not lose its compasses and from the furrows of new heartbeats I could find the true ears that sprouted from me, and "when thou seest us, thou shalt know us" –perhaps I was already doing it, you queen of hearts− was the only sentence that could summarize those days; about Bruce, who had dared love a heart that could disorient again; about Miguel, next to whom I had discovered that he who really loves prefers to be a mortal; about John, and his sharp flash in my resumed mirror, prince of the mystery cavern of stellar flames; about Luke...

   But there I had to stop, suddenly frozen in a howling shade. My shadow had two halves, but that long morning, which I summarize in so few lines, I only saw the first one. The man who had given me his sincere friendship, Denebola in the hands of his Algieba walking happily with in his arms Regulus or the desired Elased; and a man by his side who did not think he could hide his feelings without overshadowing his path in life, a fertile built path based on many efforts and previous regrets where my steps were not needed. Suddenly the pain of losing him was an agony. But I had to do it so as not to stain him. He would walk happy in life without me and our promised friendship could go on perhaps with an occasional visit, a few words of consolation, a kiss to his wife, a lullaby to his offspring and a warm hug to his mates, who no longer were to be my mates. I had to leave. Recognition of Acceptance. The pianist had not foreseen that my only and miserable re - would be re-turn, to an unknown country that had been my country and where I no longer expected to find a throne, a queen or a crown.

   The sleepless night died with the poor impotence of my tears, meditating what I should say in the next merciless summer morning. Sleep maybe reached me at about 7 in the morning. And "when thou seest us, thou shalt know us", was already my miserable last challenge. From that day on my painful path could only live in it.