From time to time life brings memories that you would like to forget. Today I've stayed with Jakan for coffee, because then we have a colloquium on Xabier Mendiguren's book "It's been very hard", and I've realized that I've never asked him anything about that police statement he signed with aztnugal. From what he lived those days, to see if he survives or survives after torture. I have a certain modesty that does not allow me to ask those who have experienced cruelty. But while I wait, I've come to do the day that they arrested a friend of ours. They took him home to explore and we were able to see him from afar. I don't remember what his face was. What was his trajectory. What I remember is what another tortured friend who had gone through the National Audience was yelling at him: the day we were, the time, where we were. He gave him survival coordinates. I want to think he also told her to be quiet, that we told her something, but I don't remember it. But I often think what it should be like to lose track of time. It is similar to the inability to moderate pain.