In the “Euskara ala ezkara” conference organized in Elgoibar I have tattooed one of those inspiring phrases of Harkaitz Cano – another – in the temple. “When will the Basque really disappear? When all the speakers disappear, or when only one remains?” The only one will not be able to speak in Basque with anyone, only the Basque will live in poems and songs that he will recite for himself, but is there a living language in those conditions?

From that day on, I can imagine what the last vasco-speaker would look like. What would it be. A grandmother from Idiazabal? A teenager from Santurtzi who after losing his parents, the last Euskaldun couple, in an accident, has stayed alone? An actor who lives in a hidden house in Maule and who has not heard of the disappearance of the Basque country because he was fortified five years ago in search of inspiration for his last work? Or imagine that the last speaker is one who is unaware of the situation of the Basque Country, the only one who has not forgotten the few who have learned in school. What would you do with all the weight of a concept of language, culture and the world embodied in it, but which does not arouse any special interest?

All the predictions of the death of the Basque Country were fulfilled. People got bored to ask the authorities for concrete action, and language activations on the street failed. Euskaraldia was offered a plaza in Vitoria-Gasteiz, but it was the only one that managed to extend the life of the language for a few years. But, well, then came the rebellion of Ahobizi and… the rest you know. There are now more ikurriñas in the streets than ever before. The names of the places in English, Spanish has become the second language in Euskal Herria. The Americans have become comfortable and – once and for all – without language complexes from Idaho and Miami, and now it's called Little Boise Bilbao. The last Basque is admired by society, but the government has escorted him, because he has just begun the formalities to declare him a historical heritage, and, of course, there are reticence. Compete with the last pine of Bizkaia and with the last unmilitarized square meter of the Bardenas.

Documentaries and films have been made about the last Basque speaker; the SSIFF rooms are always filled up, although no one understands or understands a word, as no one can get subtitled. The morb is big, but it's curious, no one has a head learning Euskera. They like more the sonority of the dead tongue, the only thing they mention at the exit of the room; several columnists have written that being dead embellishes; finally, the Basque language is in its place: in the world of legends, solar flowers and witches.

The last vasco-speaker goes to bed with a smile, happy with his usual dose of prominence. And it is clear that he will not share it with anyone.