I'm in a house on an island, in a translation workshop. The window goes to the sea and at night you don't hear anything because we're in a river, not in the open sea. I've been awakened by silence and I've realized that the ceiling is lit by a flashing light. There are no headlights nearby. I don't know where he came from, but he reminded me of the time when I lived in my parents' house. The Civil Guard Patrons walked at night through the slopes around our house and occasionally the lights of their spotlights entered the windows. We are here as their way of saying. The memory has jumped again and made me think about the beginning of the poem of Unai Malesi: Relevant standing council. “My mother/sister and I looked at us/taught on both sides of the streets. / He taught us to avoid / avoid the Kuartel environment, / in case.” We lived near the barracks and our parents did not allow us to walk home. I had a forgotten fear. Or maybe childhood fears never forget. Of course, those of adulthood either.