He had a wife and a daughter. He had not returned to remember them. But I saw you and I remembered. Yes, I had a family then, before the train. Because you didn’t remember anything before the railway. Back to mourn. I don’t know if what you had forgotten, having remembered or why. There is a mixture of self-pity and rage in his memory, something difficult to define.
Women lets look at his companion and fixed his gaze on me: do you and who is? My name is Ana, Ana Miranda, and am looking for my father, who disappeared 30 years ago say, with a chill and a calm myself leave me nonplussed. And you think that you can find it here? Because I should be I man, already calm interrupted it. You? Do you remember when they found wounded at the edge of the road? Of course, you can’t remember it because you were not there. But you know it perfectly, because we have talked about it many times. And you also know that I do not remember anything of what happened until I satisfied in the hospital and he escapes from the coma within two weeks.
Man, self-absorbed in the suddenly recovered memories is silent. What’s your name? you wonder with softness. Ricardo. Ricardo city. But before I called Manuel, Manuel Miranda. My father. I break to mourn my time. Without despair. Meekly. Continuous, silent, but without rest. Nobody talks about, while the minutes are trying to repair the mess morality caused by so many revelations. Man, my father, resumes his monologue: I remember now that I fell from the train. He was so drunk that I did not realize what I was doing and I fell from the train. Almost killed me. It was undocumented and, between ethyl coma and serious injuries caused by the fall, never again I remember nothing.