Ezequiel, when the last chapter began, had not been conceived; when it ended, he was Christian and Catholic. This one is designed to bring him up to the age of five, a handsome boy, with his clear eyes, already lively, as if they wanted to flirt with all the girls in the neighborhood, or nearly all.
Now, if you consider that he was an only child, that no other came, certain or uncertain, alive or dead, the sole, only one, you can imagine the worries he gave us, the sleep we lost, the frights that his teething and other crises gave us: the smallest fever, all the usual problems of childhood. We attended to everything, according to necessity or urgency: there was no need to say this, but there are readers so obtuse that they are incapable of understanding anything, if you don’t tell them everything, and then the rest. Let’s proceed to the rest.