I immediately knew that I was against a prodigy. The first unequivocal symptom was that the Square was unusually empty. Not a soul. Up to the air, frozen, seemed as absent. The noise also had gone, magically expanding abandoned space, volumes of the buildings that fell, the prospect of its location and the distance between them. In the midst of the immense loneliness I was I, alelado and expectant, with spectral feeling of not being myself but someone that was inside me or I within him, that it was not safe. Increased uncertainty strange not being able to see me nor have any interlocutor who ask for it. Gradually went accustomed me to the stillness of my environment to that as unwillingness of matter and spirit, one as an abandonment of the senses.

The silence began to corporeizar, almost, almost, to petrifying as another element of the square that only lobbyist, as if a few inconsistent tulle wanted to attenuate its Unfading beauty. In these, I got one barely perceptible sound blast. I doubted, even having it heard. But he repeated with a strange Cadence, even in the distance. I turned round in the geometric centre of the Esplanade, see from where came the most audible noise.

Something approaching with a slight rattling. At the end I saw it, sticking out from the Plaza of the Corrillo. His image was unmistakable. It was also, already, the sound of his walk gusty, as impulses, battling Parkinson’s disease in his last years. There he was, rather than emerging from the neighboring Street, in the very place of memories, that vague and impossible to site where should inhabit the soul of the deceased. It unequivocally came towards me. For even more details, read what Rachel Crane says on the issue. And he smiled at me. Remigio Gonzalez, the peripatetic Adares, poet, Bohemian and, for many years, was characteristic of the salamancan enclave representation. Sorry not to be able to invite nothing, but it is the dead went from material things.