I give my word that I was on the verge of thinking that I was the victim of a great illusion, the phantasmagoria of a hallucinated man, but the sudden entrance of Ezequiel, shouting: “Mamma! Mamma! It’s time for mass!” brought me back to an awareness of reality. Capitu and I, involuntarily, looked at Escobar’s photograph, and then at each other. This time her confusion became a pure confession. The one was the other; there must certainly be a photograph of Escobar as a child somewhere that would be our little Ezequiel. She confessed nothing, however, overtly; she repeated her last words, took her son by the hand and they went out to mass.