

THE USUAL RUMINANT

RICHARD DRAYFUSS

ÍNDEX

The city circles

José and his family

Lita's ancestors

Manuel and his history

Dr. Louis Bourdon

Dr. Bourdon and José

Irina and the doctor

The Times of Youth in Paris

The Saturday's meetings

Balances and unbalances

CHAPTER I

# The city circles

It is time for "This is War", the TV show that has more viewers in popular sectors and that had become a cultural reference of the moment. Everybody are moving to the rhythm of music and the delirious competition of the program.

An epidemic delirium, to the extent, that spectators constantly are repeating each behavior of its protagonists who are full of silicone and synthetic anabolic.

There is no other reality than this. Automatons are overflowing with illusion and fantasize for to emulate to their heroes. Their ideal referent of the "I am", in reality are "They": Idols lacking wisdom, empty soul, synthetic par excellence.

Emptiness takes shape in the space of unconsciousness. Receiving salary of ten thousand dollars a month, not inconsiderable in a world where no one earns more than two hundred dollars monthly; Where employment is scarce and where violence erupts in an endless stream of bloody newscasts.

. Meanwhile, on the set of "This is War" and amidst the hustle and bustle, lights, music, some friends talking by screaming:

"Melissa my love, always you in my heart and in me..., "Jorge shouts.

"Could it be that your wife does not ...?"

"I like women. Not to you?" Jorge answered.

"The truth is, they're all very sexy, but...," went to said Pedro.

"Calm down, man, because they're going to get you out!" Pedro says.

"Are you crazy? Do you know how many hours I had to stand in line to enter the set?"

"Then, behave yourself, man, if you make a fuss, they'll throw you out."

"But look, asshole! Tremendous legs! Look at that ass! If I won her just for one night, I'd destroy her!"

The friend looked at him with a look of disapproval.

"Shut up, asshole! The contest is about to begin."

Citizen insecurity fills the news of the moment, but they are happy, lost in their spectacle, they don't run into the reality of exploitation and its immediate reaction in some sectors.

Other ones don't watch this kind of shows. They prefer an American prerecorded style "Scarface". I am referring to thief, common delinquent, protagonist of the blood news, who sells small bag of basic paste, cocaine or a pack of marijuana to habitual consumers of drug.

And there is no shortage of the big drug traffickers who sweeten the political environment as main sponsors of political campaigns, as long as they can enjoy the benefits of trafficking with impunity by the complicity of the "fat sight" of the police, as fat than their pockets full of bribery and with consent of prosecutors and judges of the party on duty. Ultimately, they need to use it as a lifeline to obtain penitentiary benefits and presidential amnesty in case Justice show up by mouth of the Sunday journalist of the moment.

In this world of unthinking there is no lack of topic about corruption in the government. Everyone ventures to guess where the new president and his entourage of corrupt politicians keep their ill-gotten money. Only small accounts appear, nothing significant, in a world where we are accustomed to hear that astronomical sums are stolen, even, above the nine digits, like those taken by a Japanese disguised as a fellow citizen and his associates, with national identity document and all, but with citizenship in the country of the rising sun.

Thus is the usual day of zombies, "misfortune of many, consolation of fools," it is say.

The trifle must to be relevant in the events of the moment.

Shit has to stand out for to cover the media scandal. that's why the high rating television shows survive. Nothing attracts more public that the follow-up that the media makes of its habitual heroes:

Alejandra and Mario's walks, Milete's water bottle for occasional encounters, Joanna's uterus post hysterectomy, Matias's prominent head, the new sugar daddy of Melisa, the new dance step in China, the psychotic episodes of Nicola after injecting testosterone, the seductive smile of Angie saying that he does better with the businessman Chinese, the advantaged Guti sending the usual photos of his penis to her fans, Sheila cheating to bullfighting husband.

The girls publicizing Joshua's genital disability; Joshua saying that he will denounce those who discovered his smallness.

In the world of Guti scarcity is an unforgivable crime ... is that in the fight of Cobras against Lions, everyone wins.

Also wins the unthinking, except for some exceptions, because, while the protagonists take the recognition of the populace, the money and the attention of the social media, automaton takes away the fantasy which he needs to be able to survive facing the onslaught of a harsh reality.

A reality in which the current government and those who produce this spawn of illusions numb the reactive violence of the populace to be able to steals their money, their work, their rights, their life and make this world of idiots a more bearable place.

Logically, there is no missing the priest pointing at WhatsApp as guilty of all the infidelities of his parishioners. They are also part of the behind the scenes, where the power is held manipulating and promoting cretinism.

In the archbishop's hall, the Cardinal of the city of Los Reyes have a meeting with a priest accused of pedophile.

"Boniface, tell me your version of events as fast as you can. I have not time for so dumbness. I'm going on vacation to Rome," says Archbishop Monsieur reluctantly.

"The truth, Monseigneur, everything was the work of the Devil. I had no intention of raping that girl. A strong carnal desire for that one young and tender body entered mine. I was possessed by the Devil," declares the pederast with sight of a lamb about to be slaughtered. "The girl looked at me suggestive; she provoked me. That is all."

This declaration established jurisprudence in canon law as basis to absolve the crimes of the flesh to many perverted clerics: "Children are the ones who sexually provoke adults."

"Look, you're mentally sick, that's what you are, fucking priest! Do you know what you've done?! Fuck the Church and fuck my vacation," responded in a tone of holy wrath the Cardinal Primate.

Then, addressing to the secretary, but with his circumspect gaze fixed on the pedophile priest, he ordered:

"Call all our friends in the press and the public ministry so that this does not go beyond.

"Yes, Your Eminence," the secretary answered.

The pedophile sweated cold and trembled at the possibility of going to prison for many years, because the law of the underworld is very clear "with the same yard you measure, you will be measured", and many rapists ended up committing suicide before the possibility of to be subjected this law.

"Listen! let's get you out of here. You'll go on a trip to Rome with me, I don't want the police nor press to overtake you and screw me up. The Holy Mother Church is first of all!

He paused and added resigned:

"I will have to make an appointment with the Holy Father to discuss your subject. In the meantime, you will remain locked up in prayer and penance in the Franciscan convent.

He looked back at the secretary:

"Please, call the superior of the Franciscans and tell him that one more goes for the usual. Tell him not speak to anyone, he will understand the message.

The secretary nodded.

When the village priest raped the girl, he fled in fright, after having consummated her low instincts repressed by celibacy and to had left the poor girl lying in a pool of blood. The girl, in her naivety, don't have expected that the holy man could snatch his innocence by a single bite.

The media spread the news only for a day nothing more because, immediately, the power of the Holy Church and its partners is put into operation, the majority are businessmen and owners of the press. The objective is that the serious event does not transcend. The people's dream must continue in peace, in order to safeguard and preserve the social order.

However, evangelicals and other religious denominations are not saved. To them, with stick! And it is necessary that it be so. Competition is harmful and competitors are not allowed in matter of narcotizing the people, as the profits decrease. Evangelicals and others are called only when it comes to defending dogma at all costs. In those cases, all agree in protest marches because they are always a majority in these events, that is, they are more fanatical and useful.

In the police station of La Esperanza, which is the name given to the city located in the southern Andean area of the country of the viceroys, the parents of the girl who was raped come to investigate:

"Dear authorities, we want to know if already was captured the miserable priest who raped my daughter," Felicita, Flor's mother, asked with a voice cracked by pain and a cry contained by the child victim of the evil priest.

"Not yet, ma'am. We have policeman looking for him," the police station commander lied.

Pedro, Felicita's husband was standing next to her like a statue, with the rigidity of the tiger ready to jump on its prey. Among his colorful poncho could be seen his hand almost fused to the handle of his machete; his gesture was of someone who no belongs to this world, face expressionless and rigid as his body. Everything was the same set. Hand and machete was only one piece. Only the spirit of revenge kept him standing.

"How fuck cannot locate it!" Pedro exclaimed in the office which smelled to urine and disinfectant mixed.

The commander rebuked him:

"Lower the voice! Here I am the authority and I can put you in the shade for disrespecting me!

Felicita intervened:

"Boss, we have days going through very bad times, while our daughter is almost dying at the local hospital. You must understand my husband.

"Better take him, lady!" suggested the commander.

Pedro didn't perturb at all. For him there was no shout, no threat that could control the desire to do justice by his own hands.

"Ma'am, we'll let you know when we have news," said the policeman with an unconvincing tone.

The couple prepared to leave the police precinct, while a voice of sarcastic warning is heard:

"Listen, cholo! Be careful how you walk or you'll end up in jail if you do anything outside the law!

They didn't look again and rushed out.

They walked to the next corner, Felicita went almost dragging the furious husband away from the police station.

"How helpless I feel, woman!" whispered Pedro.

As he held his wife tightly, the rigid man broke down in a sea of tears, diluting his sorrows on his wife's shoulder.

"How impotence!" Pedro repeated.

The crying disturbed a flock of thrush that overflew the square in sad trill warning of the next rainy season.

"They protect him, Felicita, they protect him! They know very well where he is," said Pedro between muffled sobs.

They walked towards the hospital where Flor was struggling to survive the brutal attack.

At the police station, the commander reviews the complaint file.

**LEGAL MEDICAL CERTIFICATE No.003567-CDE.  
**  
Requested by the police station of hope, office number 2022/ 2015

Practiced to: Flor M.H.  
Gender: Female  
Identity document: birth certificate.  
Age: 11 years old.  
Data: The minor goes with her mother Felicita C. H. For the event that happened on 15.08. 2015.Minor says that the priest Bonifacio C.M., took advantage of her while assisting him as altar boy in the church of the Virgin Dolorosa. The undersigned experts certify the following medical examination:  
Background: menarche does not manifest.  
Background: no manifest menarche.

Sexual integrity: Hymen with recent tearing, bleeding edges, bloody, red and swollen, the tear reaches the adherent edge, when confronted reproduces the primitive form that had the hymen. Violaceous ecchymosis on both labia minora. Triangular tear at hour VI, rupture of the anal sphincter, perineal rectum tear, incoercible bleeding, paralysis of the anal sphincter, presence of semen in the rectum, difficulty walking and standing.

Physical integrity: Genital lesions: various ecchymosis in the area adjacent to the genitals. Extra genital lesions: violet ecchymosis by sugilation on the right and left side of the neck, violet ecchymosis on both breasts with various excoriations.

Conclusions Hymen with recent tear. Signs of recent violent unnatural act. Presents traces of recent traumatic injuries.

Legal medical incapacity: 60 days, except for complications. Observations: samples of vaginal and anal secretion are taken to look for sperm.

Dr. Edgar Concha Rodríguez

Legal Doctor

"If it were not for the prosecutor, I would made sing this priest!" said the police post commander angrily. "How long will we have to wait for to stop to be the scapegoat of this shoddy government?!

To which the sergeant of the post answered him:

"Against Concordat, nobody can."
CHAPTER II

# José and his family

José de las Heras does not escape from the situation either, everyone in his home is attentive to "This is war." He prefers to see his usual documentaries showing tourist sites of paradisiacal beaches, women in tiny garments, of contoured figures, of skin tanned by the sun and fantasize a little.

"Change the channel, fuck!" It is heard in the room.

"Dad, stop bothering!" Their daughters claim in chorus without stop watching the television in hypnotic trance front to 60 inches that measures the screen.

Among them they whisper and make fun of a Chinese woman's dance.

"She's a fucking crazy woman! He already lost his brain with so much blow," says in family choir.

"For me, she has used drugs," says Rosita, the eldest daughter.

"Now, he is coming to disturb the fun!" complains his wife.

"Use the TV in the room, old man," suggests his youngest daughter.

"But it does not work," José complains.

"Herbert has already fixed it," clarifies the daughter.

José, who is a social science professor in a public school, hated those programs to which he called "junk television". But he finds no remedy for the harassment of his family and walks stealthily nervously rolling with the tips of his fingers, the end of his Mexican mustache. A long family tradition. His father also had a similar one.

With forty years of life and as one who has found the solution to his crucial dilemma of the moment, calm and slow slides his slender body, reaches his room, takes the remote control, lies down and chooses the channel that makes him happy.

He dreams of a woman who replacing his chubby wife; who make him forget the usual problems of marital cohabitation.

He is not bothered by his wife's body, but by her perverse way of being, her avaricious behavior what does worry him is. For twenty years she has been manipulating their children for to have their approval. A whole history of traumas and frustrations in which José de las Heras loses the affection of his children because it is hoarded by his fat wife.

He remembers that the worst decision of his life was to have married an ordinary woman. He is afraid of a distortion that threatens the sacred interests of the family. He does not regret the children that has, (two women and one man). "They make my life happy," he says, and he endures the difficult situation doing everything to preserve the family union.

He dreams of a woman who really loves him and gives him sex in all known and unauthorized ways; someone that supports all his projects and that being faithful as a dog. Not only of the fidelity that everyone imagines, but also in those moments when the economy diminishes, because Carmen, such name of his wife, had abandoned him at some point in his chaotic relationship many years ago , and everything, because he had not been able to afford the high life expenses: the private school of the Marist priests for his son, the private school of nuns for his female daughters, a spite of he had built a house in the best area residential and in which the bread was never lacked.

Carmen Ramírez Valdivia was a beautiful brunette at 20 when she married José de las Heras. He had an enviable body, curly hair, charismatic smile. José always liked dark-skinned women, "they are more ardent," he said. He had experience thanks to his first lover, María Esther, a brunette made for bed. He remember her by his first sexual experience: "She got wet all the time"; "She was pure fire." Maybe that would why, when she returned from studying at the university, did it pregnant.

Carmen had changed after the marriage. I don't know what happened to this woman ..., she was very affectionate, affable and respectful, she said. I think she always pretended and I feel like a soft lamb in the lion's den."

She could not tolerate that the family position in the social context was affected. She was very clear in her mind, a painful episode, the essential trauma of her life: seeing her little boy, only 7 years old, the only one who could inherit her last name, happy and jumping on the moving truck like approving innocently that the creditors taking his things, his family, his life, his illusions. "They fucked that boy's life," she would say later.

Carmen has the help of her parents to placate any reaction from José, and that is that José is not a saint, in any way, nor a victim of the moment. He is the victim of his unconscious choices and of a matriarchal family.

In everyone's life there is a psychic determinism; free-will does not exist. This had been taught to him by his friend, Dr. Louis Bourdon, a psychoanalyst doctor of French origin, who had lived in Argentina and had come to live in Peru for some years.

He had been his general practitioner in the city of Los Reyes, in Lima, where he now resides and where he was going because he still didn't know "how the fuck to get rid of his wife." He could not leave that relationship, although he knew it was not normal. Some people had told him that he was under the influence of witchcraft.

For many years, he had to endure his wife's severe premenstrual dysphoric disorder and chronic depression, an event in which she used to throw a shower of dishes, knives and threats of all caliber without any reason from month to month. To endure this, he had to become a martyr.

He recalls that his cousin, Álvaro Olavarría de las Heras, the only specialist in neurology in La Sultana, had suggested to him that he divorce himself "because these women destroy anyone's life."

"But my children are small, they need me." It was José's excuse.

Although he had tried to be with several women, it turned out that one was worse than the other. As they say many times "the remedy is worse than the disease".

His economic failure was the straw that filled the cup of female frustration and since this is something that cannot be forgiven, she took it as a convincing excuse to abandon him and take away all things, the same things he had bought at the expense of a very intense job as a professor in a very bumpy rural area.

José comes back to his thoughts, because there is a tremendous brunette lounging on a Caribbean beach on his TV screen. One of his dreams is to travel to these paradisiacal beaches and find the ideal woman. Removing his body-wrap, the brunette let see an exuberant figure which would make anyone gain a fundamental erection, José rubs the penis with his hand, as if it was loading a weapon about to use, saying with a determined voice:

Today Carmen pays me! To lack of flour bread, cassava bread ...!

In the room you can hear the cheers of their daughters because they had won "Las Cobras".

Among his memories of about 10 years ago, when he lived in the province with his family, what impressed him most was his mother in law Lita, diminutive of Isabelita.

Isabel Valdivia was an old woman with an English bulldog face. Her gaze was evil and her attitude almost sadistic. She didn't control the intensity of her emotions and her daughter had inherited her impulsive nature.

José had experience in that. She was the one who led his family into the dispossession of his house, lashing out at him.

"You're stuck with your cows and lambs!" she said sarcastically while he was being stripped of his belongings. With these words she was rubbing her financial handicap in his face.

José had invested his savings from years of work on the farm.

Moral and religious authority she had spare, because she was the main collaborator and leader of the local parish.

Her manly voice and masculinity were evident. They left no doubt who was wearing the pants in his family. Corpulent woman, about 60 years old, her body was an inverted equilateral triangle, broad shoulders, abundant jowls, prominent breasts, plump arms that formed folds that reached the level of her armpits in free fall. His legs were thin; her hips were not pronounced, the ass was absent, resuming: femininity was not a phenotypic feature of Lita.

José was telling to his wife:

"There comes the cow tomboy!" While he laughing right and left.

"My daughter deserves something better," said Lita full of anger and her husband acted as the obedient son who agreed to what his wife used to say and decide.

"When the captain's around... the sailor follows!" José said in his role of stripped.

"That fucking crazy has to be locked up!" said his father-in-law Alexis in a wavering, effeminate voice. He did so because he could not diminish his wife's prominence, under the threat of sleeping in the basement of the house in front of any dissent with his "dove", as he used to call her.

Carmen went to live with her family and José continued in solitude making his life a boring monologue.

The absence of his family he filled it with his hard work. With the passage of time he felt the lack of his little children and wife, absence which became an affectionate and interested need.

Time later, José sought her out and begged her to return to him because he loved his family. Her children were his worship and so was she.

"She cooks like the gods," he said describing her excellent seasoning and her great culinary talent.

She was a very hardworking woman in domestic chores, something that few women did well and she also had an extraordinary ability for leadership. She had chaired a women's association, she had been Rotary's secretary, in short, she was a woman born to lead, not for the home. Like his mother who had founded several charities institutions.
CHAPTER III

# Lita's ancestors

Lita had a long history of local ancestry. Daughter of a former landowner who had been stripped of his property during the agrarian reform, they had been owners of the estate "Piedra Rodada", famous for the golden lion that guarded the entrance of the landed property, or at least, it is was what their father made them believe, although the employees were in charge of denying, saying that in reality the lion was made of polished bronze. Its brightness was so intense that just looking at it blinded its viewers. It was the basis of the greatness of the Valdivia family, made up of five women, two men and Lita's parents, who founded "Piedra Rodada", where everything was, nothing was missing.

The comments of admiration about the hacienda were the pride of the family in the social circles of La Sultana, a warm city nestled in the northern valley of La Chira, Piura.

They lived of memories of times gone, little commented of the plundering and a silence silenced the atmosphere when facing the memory of the lost opulence.

It is say that the ranch house was located on the top of a hill whose apex had been erased. To build it, it is used quarry stone in facades and patios, the secondary walls were adobe masonry, wooden beam ceilings, the Venetian tiles for the roof of the house, a metallic trellis commissioned by the same person who built the Eiffel Tower in Paris and which surrounded the house.

It was built with the best materials of epoch, (1905 more exactly), many of them brought from Europe, like the Carrara marble imported from Italy only for the swimming pool and a mannequin pis.

But what was most impressive were the imposing carob trees that provided shade and freshness to the home of the Valdivia and the hanging gardens that, according to many, had nothing to envy of those of Babylon about which the local people knew only by hearsay.

Roses, carnations, slums and lilies made up the flora that adorned the exterior of the house, and the French tableware was not lacking for the usual social gatherings in which they displayed the best of their purchases in Europe.

The crockery was bought from a Chinese man from Shanghai who selling his creations in Paris, near the Seine River. It was an oriental antiques shop where all Parisians went looking for some novelty to decorate their rooms, but also others were going behind of the wonder of the Chinese in the bed.

The Chinese had had to flee after having conquered the wife of a powerful local businessman who had put a price on his head. Never heard from the couple again

Don Rufino, who always accompanied Delfina, his wife, in his travels around the Old World, said that this Chinese, whose name was Lausin, was not only a skillful creator of Chinese ceramics, he was also a connoisseur of the concoctions of Asian medicine that surprised the western world for their Don Rufino, who always accompanied Delfina, his wife, in his travels around the Old World, said that this Chinese, whose name was Lausin, was not only a skillful creator of Chinese ceramics, he was also a connoisseur of the concoctions of Asian medicine that surprised the western world for their effective cures.

Don Rufino commenting to his male friends that this Chinese man took some herbs that maintaining the erection of his virile member since the sunset until Parisian dawn. Others say that he had lengthened his penis, placing some weights tied around the phallic neck, sitting on his knees, leaving his testicles at air and penis hanging, while the weights did their job.

.

According to indications of the oldest book of Chinese medicine, he possessed an original edition of "The Nei Jing, basic questions of Internal Medicine, the classic of the" Yellow Emperor's Esoteric Tradition ". He has always been in deep meditation and respecting the established times.

He was famous among his usual female shoppers because he satisfied all tastes, even the most demanding among the perverted ladies of Parisian society.

Among Don Rufino's friends were those of the seminary of Piura, the Moncada and Orbegoso of Trujillo, the Martinez and the Pinillos of Chiclayo, old landowners and infallible friends at their dinners, during which they used to make a chorus of laughter that ignited the atmosphere festive before the mischievous stories of Don Rufino.

Owners of their destiny before the nature that surrounded them and disconnected from power with more freedom, because they were the power. In landlordism, everyone knew of their responsibilities in front the landowner. There was no greater aspiration or, at least, that looked like his countrymen until the military arrived and the reform.

Don Rufino and Lausin were close friends, even though they met only twice a year during their travels. Among them was a camaraderie typical in foreign lands. Lausin was his personal doctor, he had already cured him of the rheumatism that afflicted him with his potions and a weakness in his right leg that left him with an imperceptible limp.

From the hacienda house the view was breathtaking. The whole extension of the property could be contemplated in 360° to the round one.

Lita's father, Don Rufino, controlled the movement of the cattle in his paddocks, the fertilization of his rice fields by the characteristic greenery of the well fertilized plant, the whiteness of his cotton paddocks at harvesting point that was distinguished in the distance. Don Rufino used para binoculars bought in Germans on their visit to Berlin, this Germans were the same who supplied of these devices to the army of the Kaiser, reason why their power of resolution was very powerful.

A steamer of "Pacific Steam Navigation Company" transported their belongings from the port of Marseille to the port of Paita, and from there by rail to a place close to his farm where his foremen waited for him to transport belongings among which were never lacks several boxes of good wine and French champagne, which were the delight of their guests, as well as all the literary magazines of La Nouvelle Revue Française, which published articles of renowned authors such as Montherlant, Drieu La Rochelle, Morand, Crémieux , Groethuysen, Jacob, Pourrat, Jouhandeau, Mac Orlan, Breton, Aragon, Eluard, Supervielle, Alain, Léautaud, Soupault, Lacretelle, A. Cohen, Mauriac, Malraux, Arland, Fernandez, Vialatte, Ponge, Cocteau, Cassou, Artaud, Crevel, Ungaretti, Vitrac, etc., and that his sister"in"law Doña Leticia devoured with passion in her leisure time. She was the governess responsible for the education of their children and official caretaker during the trips of the landowner. She also served as director of the new school of El Pajonal farmhouse, which was attended by the children of the hacienda workers and nearby towns.

Don Rufino watched through the window of the train the peculiar desert landscape. The rolling dunes seemed to take over more and more of the wild horizon, but as he made his way to the hacienda, something in the landscape began to worry him.

"Woman, there's a lot of drunkenness this year," he said, looking at Delfina who was fanning herself and reading in the seat across from her.

Drunkenness is a toxic plant, which in the drought season is the only source of food for livestock. This plant produced neurotoxic effects and one of its main symptoms was the total paralysis of the masticatory muscles of the animal, provoking a peculiar chewing known in the region as "crackhead" and because of which the poor animal chewed and chewed the food in an eternal ruminate, but could not swallow it, causing wasting and subsequent death.

Don Rufino had already lost several head livestock in times like these.

"Calm down Rufino! You know that people always pull up that weed out of your paddocks," said Delfina as she leafed through her Parisian fashion magazine trying to lessen her consort's concern.

Don Rufino knew that, even with this preventive measure, some of his animals would die.
CHAPTER IV

# Manuel and his history

His foreman, Manuel de las Heras, was waiting for them in a cabin set up to stock up on food and provide rest for his men and animals.

For many years Manuel had shown his employer much skills management of day laborers and as well as fidelity proofs in front all the onslaughts of life. His father Don Froilán de las Heras had also been at the service of the Valdivia family and had saved the life of his boss in an ambush by Chilean soldiers who, at that time, harassed the landowners with war taxes.

Faced with such requirements, Don Emiliano, Don Rufino's father, had refused it, becoming a sworn enemy of the Chilean scavengers. His father was well known in the region for his firearms skills.

As a retired lieutenant colonel of the La Breña campaign he had developed an exceptional skill in guerrilla warfare tactics.

Once, Don Emiliano was going to meet with the governor to discuss matters concerning some cattle thieves who continually stalking his cattle, he didn't ask his men to accompany him. He was with his son Rufino only, a 15-year-old boy at the time.

Suddenly, the boy spotted an unusual glow on the horizon over the carob tree forest and under the inclement northern sun, just where their paddocks ended and the dirt road to La Sultana starting.

"Dad, there is something that shines among the carob trees," he said looking at Don Emiliano.

"Where, son?

"There, father," he insisted, pointing toward the sunny horizon, heading northwest. Don Emiliano took out a telescope and glanced in the indicated direction.

"It's these Chilean bastards! Son, gallop back to the hacienda and tell Froilan to come with his men and bring enough ammunition! Tell your mother to give them all the weapons I have in the basement.

Rufino leave at a gallop, Don Emiliano dismounts and crouches with his horse among the bushes.

Don Emiliano had bought a batch of American of repeating Spencer rifles and abundant ammunition with a range of 500 m and a capacity of 20 rounds per minute, according to the technical specifications, but members of the artillery battalion assured that their range of shot was over 2000 m. That made him possessor of a unique war potential throughout the region. Don Emiliano treasured this arsenal for the defense of his farm. Captain Samuel Wilson of the "Pacific Steam Navigation Company", his supplier, friend and host of travel to Europe, offered him the business at a bargain price, in warm reception to the captain and his crew on his farm, about 5 years ago.

"If it weren't for the damn traitors of Mariano and Nicolas, we wouldn't have this plague on our lands," Don Emiliano murmurs as kicks some river pebbles with anger and frustration.

The Chileans were part of the regiment "Granaderos a Caballo" of a certain lieutenant colonel Francisco Muñoz who made respect the famous war tax.

Don Emiliano remembered well the performance of the invading troops in the Andean communities; he knew what awaited him and he had to take intelligent action.

Emiliano, who had fought alongside Don Andrés Avelino as a regimental officer, was an expert in guerrilla warfare. He knew perfectly all the war tactics that accompanied his triumphs in the Peruvian Andes; almost all his men worked in his hacienda where they settled with their families after being discharged with honors.

After an hour, his son arrives with thirty of his best men, heavily armed, at the foothills of Mount Devil's Nose.

"Here, my boss, at your service," says Froilán.

"Everyone is ready, Don Emiliano."

"Where is the enemy hiding?" asks Froilán with a looking of hostility lost on the horizon. His face is marked by the blade of an enemy bayonet. The wound runs from the right temple to the chin and seemed to open his face wrinkled by the scorching sun. In his mind he had the memory of many companions deceased in the campaigns of La Breña.

"They are at the entrance to the hacienda," replies Don Emiliano.

Among his men was Viterbo, who was from Bocana de Pichones, a hamlet adjoining Ecuador. He was a bloodthirsty man whose custom was to cut the ears of his victims and keep them in a leather bag that he always wore in his saddle. Looking lost, very skilled with his revolver, rifle and dagger, it is said that he had about 200 ears of Chilean soldiers, it was never known what was the origin of such violent behavior, although, they say that it could be because a His teacher made him walk on tiptoe. while he held his ears when he didn't do homework and his father did the same when he punished him for some mischief.

"I want sixteen of your best shooters. You will go the cotton path, surrounding the enemy in groups of two and hold your positions no matter what. Don't leave any free flank, I don't want them to escape.

Don Emiliano give instructions to Froilán.

"You will see us trotting first in the direction of the enemy, then galloping. When they see us, they will ride their horses, in that instant, you shoot them, those who remain will advance or retreat waiting for us or they will disperse for face us.

The Chileans were under the command of a captain Ordoñez, he knew that don Emiliano had served don Avelino which increased his antipathy that, added to the nonpayment of taxes, became him more furious.

All of his soldiers (30 men) wore the typical blue sack uniform, red trousers with blue trimmings, the kepi with golden lines that were distinguished between the foliage of the sunny valley when Froilán and his best shooters advanced crouched between the foliage of the cotton.

For chance, Private Garmendía had had so idea to polish the buttons on all the soldiers' uniforms the night before. The brightness that saved the life of Don Emiliano and his son now put them in the hands of a handful of ex-combatants, simple farm workers.

Don Emiliano gave his men time to move in, while he asks his son Rufino to stay on the hill.

"As soon as the scuffle is over, if we don't return, go to your mother and take her to your aunt Micaela house, they will be safe there."

Addressing the remaining fourteen men:

"My soldiers! Let us reiterate our sacred oath to defend the homeland, with much more reason, now that the enemy is at the door of our homes. These miserable people have no choice but to die in our hands! Remember that today we fight for our land, our families and for the honor of this country eaten up by corrupt politicians and some traitor oligarchs!

"Battalion Zepita present!" Don Rufino shouted, hearing a resounding response:

"Present and glorious!

Then Don Emiliano and his men depart to face their destiny. The Chilean troop aware of the events by the lookout.

"My captain, men are coming!" the sentry informs.

The captain makes a sign to his horsemen who are about to mount their horses. At that very moment the rumblings of the guns of the men of Froilán make themselves heard, 15 of the Chilean carabineers fall with their skull destroyed. The battle begins as Don Emiliano had foreseen. The men of Ordoñez disperse, some manage to ride, but are hit by the shots. Among the fallen is Captain Ordoñez, so the sergeant of the troop, a certain Gomes, takes command, but little can be done to control it. They were confused by the accurate shot of the Froilán snipers.

Don Emiliano faces little resistance, some of his men are wounded, but he keeps the siege on the enemy positions. By averaging four in the afternoon the die is cast; the Chileans are decimating and the wounded ones are finished off by the forceful rifle butt of Viterbo and more ears become part of his peculiar collection.

While they counting the Chilean dead, they had not noticed that one of them was missing. This was Sergeant Gomes who managed to sneak off approaching only 15 steps from Don Emiliano, he was ready to fire his rifle on him. A shot was heard, then another, breaking the silence of the battle won. Froilan had saved the life of his boss and friend Don Emiliano, Gomes falls dead with a hole in the nape.

"I owe you my life. Thanks to you I'm still alive! "Acknowledged Don Emiliano

"That's what the comrades are for," replied Froilan.

"Froilan, tell your men to bury these bodies, I don't want the buzzards to betray their presence in our lands.

"Yes, Don Emiliano, to order! "Froilán replied.

Immediately they began to bury the bodies, piling on one another in a makeshift ditch for that purpose, no one had ears and no one dared to comment it, because everyone feared Viterbo.

Don Emiliano gathered all the men to make them swear that this event never happened in their lives in order to maintain the safety of them and their families, because the Chilean troops were still in the territory charging the war tax.

All of them sealed with the commitment not to reveal this event until the Chileans had left the country. This story was told after ten years as a mythical event, an unbelievable tale from the mouth of a drunk named Viterbo, who ended his life in the Sopornian panopticon as a vulgar cattle thief and assailant of roads.

After a month, showed up the governor of La Sultana in the hacienda house, attending a Don Emiliano invitation who had prepared a warm reception in his honor.

During the conversation, the governor made reference to a group of missing Chilean soldiers who had orders to embark in the port of Paita.

"They have disappeared without a trace," said the governor.

"It seems to me that they have deserted in the direction of Ecuador, that has happened many times," responded Don Emiliano.

"Right, that, too, I thought. The Chilean senior officials think the same, since they have not reported themselves and they did must deliver a significant amount of war tax gold in the port of Paita.

"All the more reason. Surely greed has mastered them, must to be in Machala enjoying the spoils." says Don Emiliano, with a cynical smile, thinking about where they had left all that gold because his men had not found anything among the belongings of the defeated troop.

CHAPTER V

# Dr. Louis Bourdon

Dr. Louis had studied at the Sorbonne Medical School and had been graduated with honors from the Psychiatry Service of the Hospital de la Pitié-Salpêtrière, in Paris, known as the Centre of research and neurological studies of eminent physicians such as Charcot and Freud.

Graduate of the Paris School of Psychoanalysis, no one knows for sure his history or why he had left a glorious future in France to migrate to Argentina and then to Peru. He rented a house in the district of Miraflores near the beach, one of those old two story houses from the early 1950s, which had been converted into both a house and a consulting room at the same time.

Dr. Louis was famous for his famous weekend gatherings, which were often attended by his friends and family. They played poker until late in the morning, drank whiskey and he was a good host and player, but smoking was forbidden.

His physical appearance showed no signs that to allow identified him as an intellectual of the medical sciences: gray-haired, around 60 years old but look like 35, thanks to having maintained a Mediterranean diet for a long time. Wide forehead, kind smile, frown marked by the gesture. At first he seemed to be annoyed, then when he drawing a big smile and the guttural voice of the French speaking Spaniard and appeared from time to time a certain porteño style that gave more the appearance of a teacher than a doctor, perhaps a spiritual guru.

The house didn't have a number; He was the enemy of numbers. He had taken to ensure himself that this was the case and in their business cards there was: "Alcanfores street w/n" in the Jardín de los Floripondios.

It had five shrubs of bells in the front of the house that could see them from a distance because of its typical white flowers in the form of a long, sloping bell, known for its hallucinogenic properties, so nobody could get lost. The gossips said that the "doc", as he was affectionately called in the neighborhood, placed the flowers under his pillow for can sleeping.

He had been a psychoanalyst for several years and was known to cure anxiety in a few weeks of therapy. The obsessive ones left their mania in a few months, the hysterics enjoyed sex better, the impotent ones "raised the flag" more frequently, the phobic ones stopped feeling afraid turning his panic attacks into fits of laughter, the timorous homosexuals went out from the closet, the virgins and the married women masturbated more frequently, onanism was blessed among their patients when they could not have a vagina or a penis. The anorgásmicas happened to be multiorgasmic, but the true miracles were their therapies with the psychotic ones, since many could lead a normal life and dispensed with the psychotropic medications.

Several of his patients were successful in the arts field, were prominent painters, successful leaders of political parties, even, there is a president diagnosed as manic depressive, according his "Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders" of the American Psychiatric Association and enjoys much popular approval. There are enlightened poets, true orates with heart and ambition, so much ambition that they already have millionaire accounts in tax havens.

He was married to a beautiful 20-year-old Romanian woman; whose name was Irina Alexandra Gontaru. She was orthodox Christian and was born in Moldova, but was raised in Botosani, northern Romania.

Her cheeks were pink, with an impeccable white complexion, an angelic and mysterious smile, perfect teeth and, always, placed a colorful scarf on her head as a halo of holiness, but which prevented from seeing her splendid brown hair and golden tufts.

Alexandra was the doctor's happiness after he had passed through dissipated aspects in his love life. According he said, she didn't speak Spanish well and her only communication with the outside world was her luminous smile. Her unusual beauty reflected the wild beauty of Romania: clean, natural, naive, malevolent free, transparent and perennial.

She wore a long white skirt woven with ornamental motifs alluding to her hometown, a wide leather belt, a Romanian embroidered blouse that accentuated her broad and prominent breasts, abundant hips barely noticeable due to the way she used to dress.

The facade of the house was white and its whiteness radiated luminosity of healing and peace. The corridors of the house had the same white and a navy blue border on the lower edge of the walls that ran throughout the house, the window sills were ornamented with pots of red geraniums.

Irina Alexandra had finished her studies in Orthodox Theology at a Lyceum of Botosani, her specialty was iconography. In her creations, the saints seemed to come alive and were part of the decoration of the house. A Saint John Chrysostom advising the person who entering the office with an inscription, apparently of its authorship, saying: "Rich or poor cannot defeat love, but love can defeat poverty and wealth."

With an expression of mercy and hope, his wrinkled brow and the sweetness of his face seemed to ask the patients why they had waited so long to seek treatment, but at the same time her eyes and fingers embraced a pontifical Bible pointing to Dr. Louis' office as the path to the redemption of your mental health.

She had his own studio in the back of the house next to the garden, where saints, virgins and Jesus himself came alive. His expression during his work was of deep meditation, each brushstroke on the wooden board was an enduring moment of holy inspiration.

He had left a life of service to iconography in an Orthodox monastery to be with Dr. Louis, "love at first sight," had said the doctor. Something joined them as pieces of a puzzle that only together can reveal the image of real happiness as a couple. They are able communicate through their eyes without saying a single word. She, with her look of sweetness and a sweet and delicate smile; he with his receptive benevolent look as one who sees his guide and disciple in the world of conjugal love.

The doctor was able to know through his gaze not only the routine events such as his lunch hour, tea hour, the time of his usual two o'clock nap, but also he could guess when that almost ethereal body asked for the love that held them together for a long time, an endless event for a beautiful and energetic young woman. Words only arose in intimacy, poetry was her language, he read her private creation, she recited "The Song of Songs":

"I embrace the wound of your neurosis and of your madness too,

Does the body suffer?

Your psyche is the genesis.

I embrace your ghostly wound with your fears on your back.

I also embrace narcissism that doesn't let you to love.

I embrace the method of healing.

Your words I let you listen.

I don't speak so that you can express:

Your pain, your anguish, your lack of love, your conflict, your resistance.

Your symptom that I want to analyze.

Or whatever I have to listen to.

Walk, retrace and interpret that which no one to able express.

I take Freud's key and open your unconscious in bloom.

I presume I know, what I don't know, I don't say.

I embrace the light of "it" to heal your feeling.

Perplexed you will be of what you cannot understand.

Of what makes you be without being yourself, but the other.

I embrace your neurosis and your alienation, as the wound to be healed.

Walk and retrace and the sign let speak.

I embrace all your humanity.

I embrace your pain in the ruins of the unconscious."

Very few could understand the meaning of such a beautiful poem and, those who understood it, usually was because knew about the matter and said that he was the object of the supposed knowledge. Something let them see that the doctor had the knowledge and that he knew how to cure and that is why they came to him.

CHAPTER VI

# Dr. Bourdon and José

José de las Heras was also a patient of the doctor and for five years he was his disciple.

He recalling his first visit at the doctor's office. In general, all of their patients were evaluated by the Rorschach test, that of surrealist looking figures with sheets of diffuse morphology, which is why they are very suggestive. José was not the exception.

By this test and supported in the preliminary interviews, the doctor could know perfectly the personality of the patient. For classificatory purposes he had devised a routine: he attended to the neurotics in the afternoons, to the psychotics in the morning and to the sociopaths and borderlines at times far from the phase of the full moon. He had acquired this cabalistic argument after a sociopath attempted against him in the Paris asylum on a full moon day.

In José, he saw the disciple and the son that never could had, but diagnosed his illness with coldness and scientific rigor. He discovered José's artistic and literary gifts when he read the interpretation made by the patient about what he saw in the drawings:

"I see two men holding the world coming down cracked by universal madness."

Putting aside literary expressions, the doctor wrote with capital letters the diagnosis of José: HYSTERICAL NEUROTIC, to which he added, after a month analyzing, conversion neurosis, agoraphobia, social phobia, possible beginning of an obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic attack, anguish, current neurosis and passive-feminine personality.

After a year of treatment, José was discharged, but at the same time, the doctor invited him to join his circle of weekend friends. He proposed to teach him everything about psychoanalysis, so that he would be his successor when he retired, which José accepted, more out of gratitude than interest.

For José, the task was not easy. He began with reading the classics of psychoanalysis: Freud, Lacan, Reich, Fromm, Lowen, Ferenczi, Winnicott, among most relevant, completing with the doctor's talks at home in the evening, one hour every 3 days.

His interest was taking shape as he progressed in his studies because he began to understand perfectly the structure of the psychic apparatus and all the framework by which the human was being led to disharmony and mental illness. He became an expert in Freudian metapsychology, later, interest led him to research, research became an obsession. José read avidly all the articles published in international journals on the subject.

From that stage, José remembers that the doctor after each class recited whole fragments of Nietzsche's books; his prose became poetry in the mouth of the doctor who sometimes made him accompanied musically by an aria like "Je crois entendre encore" by George Bizet; "Nessun dorma of Turandot" by Giacomo Puccini and many others. The doctor really enjoyed it, although it seemed very eccentric to José.

For Dr. Bourdon there is no doubt that José was the chosen one, he always thought that every psychoanalyst, in the first place, should be an artist. He remembered that Master Sigmund winning the Goethe Prize for literature for his writings, was truth that Psychoanalysis and Goethe's writings are intertwined in the functionality of the method. He had discovered these qualities in his disciple. Maybe José would not reach to be like the Master ... but, who would know it?

He saw in him a good psychoanalyst in the rough; he could see it in his manuscripts and weekly reports of the cases they studied. The narrative in him was something innate, the doctor enjoyed reading it like someone reading a police novel. He was scrupulous, methodical, cold, dissected the mind of the patient with a skill that he himself admired, enjoyed his creation.

A part of his notes said:

"Sara, a 60-year-old patient, referred from psychiatry service with a diagnosis of panic attack, suffered from hypothyroidism, hypertension, diagnosed with Parkinson's by the neurology service and medicated. The medication produced stomach pain, fatigue, reluctance, cardiac agitation, according to his comments. Among the symptoms that concern us we can mention the dizziness with loss of balance backward, tremor in hands and legs on the right side, symptoms that had caused an agoraphobia because he feared that the dizziness would occur in the street so it always came accompanied. With an affable character, he never said no; helping everyone was part of his life and he was always kind. His character revealed the origin of his illness: his characterological breastplate makes me suppose a neurotic hysteria that has been proven through some analysis. Sara was raised by her maternal grandparents because both parents had promiscuous behavior.

It was evident that she felt hatred towards her father because of the state of abandonment that remained during her childhood. The last time she saw him she was already a teenager."

"My father asked me for forgiveness," she said in his transit to free association.

A long silence was prolonged in the consultation

"What else?" the doctor asked, breaking the silence.

"He told me about his other children; He asked me to help them if he when he time was absent because he knew that his end was very close," Sara answered.

Again a prolonged silence.

It is heard four "What else?" pronounced by the doctor. Fifteen minutes later he decided to change the question:

Tell me, Sara, how do you see your father at that moment? "

"I didn't think about that, doctor," Sara replied.

"Tell me, tell me!" the doctor asked enthusiastically.

"He was drunk, his body trembled, he staggered back, his hands trembled..."

The doctor interrupted the free association, something that the disciple found counterproductive.

"Do you also lose balance as well?" asked the doctor

"So sly and miserable one!" José exclaimed.

He had found the cause of his suffering since the second month of the analysis. "The Dostoevsky case and the parricide immediately came to mind. Sow hatred and you will reap storms. Although it was never corroborated if Dostoevsky's epilepsy was a conversion neurosis, since they were Freud's studies based on his literary work, it could well be. The doctor always told me about that complex feeling caused by a childhood of abuse, of unfairly submitting to a violent parent, love of parents and the law of the father. From this interaction the suffering subject was defined."

The doctor authorized José to write the cases in narrative form, leaving the patients' appreciations to his own free judgment.

José had learned from the doctor that the human being is not designed to do evil to his fellow men; that the Homo Sapiens is God, Judge, and Executioner of his own existence and that there is no needing of God, the Devil nor Divine Justice for to be punished. We are obliged by the "super me" grabs us by the balls."

The exception are the sociopaths, they show a reduction of connections in part of the brain responsible for feelings such as empathy and guilt that intervene in fear and anxiety.

"Learn it as a reference, then I'll explain my point of view to you," he said.

The doctor had a Gesell chamber that the Public Prosecutor's office ordered built as part of an advisory agreement as a forensic expert in legal matters. He didn't work outside of his office. He had placed some paintings, imitations of van Gogh, in the office mirror so no one would discover the camera.

"They are legitimate, as long as they express the painter's unconscious," he used to reply when asked about its authentic origin.

"You will only listen to the patients, write down, study the case in question as part of the clinical teaching methodology. That mean that you first had to learn to tune the ear, you had to learn to listen."

"Metonymy, metonymy..." he repeated, as he walked away in the direction of the office. In the distance, the French word "metonymy" was heard fleetingly as he lowered the tone of his voice as he entered his practice.

"Then you will learn to use vision and, finally, you will learn to interpret with the patient, to speak opportunely," he repeated to the student.

"About patient Sara," the doctor began to explain, "I insisted on the questions because I had observed that the patient increased the tremors of her right leg when talking about her father, the tremor was intense, paroxysmal, to the point of lifting the two lower limbs over the couch in a nervous breakdown. Then I verified this conclusion in the form of a question.

"Do you also lose your balance like this?"

Sara's feet fell on the divan like lead, her face showed surprise, her gaze lost in his expression, the anguished sweat found its channel to become tears and healing catharsis.

"Forgive me, doctor, I always hated him," confessed Sara in a confirmation lapse of the transferential phenomenon, and of having made conscious her parricidal instinct that caused her symptoms.

"Are you referring to your parent?" Asked the doctor.

"Yes, doctor, of course I speak of my father."

"How good! For a moment I thought he hated me," he joked, ending the session.

Sara was discharged short time later. They followed his case closely: his neurological symptoms disappeared completely, the endocrinologist recommended him to continue with his dose of levothyroxine, although his blood chemistry showed no alteration whatsoever.

"Doctor, mental illness has triggered an organic disease, is that possible?" José asked.

"Do you want the Pharisees to placate me?" He replied with irony.

"You always answering with another question," commented José.

"For me there was no doubt; the mind sickens man in all its context, doctors will never accept this paradigm despite the fact that psychosomatic medicine proves it. "

Something that the doctor knew from the beginning of his practice.

Another curious case was the arrival of a nun named Sor Ventura in her first year after making her perpetual vows.

The superior of the convent of the Poor Clares was worried about her subordinate. Whenever she entered the oratory for the midday prayers (the Angelus) and in front of the image of the crucified Christ in full size hanging on the wall, she fainted, without stop making guttural noises, similar to soft moans accompanied by an agitated breathing and a reddening of your face.

The superior had gone to all the health specialists, without finding anything abnormal, on the contrary, the woman was brimming with health at 25 years old, she was a vigorous and beautiful young woman.

An internist who could not find an explanation for such an unusual event, recommended Dr. Bourdon, since he suspecting an emotional imbalance.

The Superior Sister had consulted with the bishop who had told her that many saints had gone through the same thing so it was very possible that Sister Ventura was predestined to be the next one to go up to the altars of the city of Los Reyes.

"They are raptures of saints," he used to say.

After the preliminary exams, they explained to Sister Ventura how the therapy would be like.

After several months of free association and resistance on his part, the doctor realized that root of his faintness arose just as his gaze went to the cloth of Christ concluding that what the Sister happening to was nothing more and nothing less than a brutal orgasm produced with the contemplation of the half-naked Christ.

By recommendations of the doctor she hung the habits to become Blanca Varela. She found a couple with whom got married and who by fortune of his destiny, had been named Cristo Vasquez. With this new Christ of flesh and bone she was finally able to enjoy his fades with full enjoyment and in the safety of his bed, being happy and the mother of three children who filled their lives with joy.

In one of the stories that José wrote about the cases that most caught his attention, the following appears:

Doris, patient of the doctor several months ago, arrives for her appointment. The doctor tells me to enter the Gesell chamber. He had removed Van Gogh's paintings and suggested me that I fix my gaze on the patient as well as listen to her story. I was on to the second phase of my clinical learning.

Doris was admitted the doctor due a series of breathlessness that began with a cough and ended by cutting her breathing to the point of needing an oxygen mask for recovery, suffers from insomnia, taking anxiolytics, suffers from cardiac arrhythmia, dipsomaniac levels of cholesterol and triglyceride very high, sugar level with slight increased.

"Doctor, I always dream that I am in a very dark place, and that in that place there is a line of light. That line at times expands and at times it becomes the same as before. I always want to reach the light. Then I feel very panic, I want to wake up and I cannot, but yesterday after so long I was able to reach the light: it was a door that when opened the cry of a newborn child. The light blinded me. I woke up scared, "says Doris.

"Tell me, Doris how much time did mother breastfeed you?"

"I think about 3 months, doctor."

Doris begins to have a paroxysmal cough which leads her to drowning. The doctor makes her sit on the couch and offers her a glass of water.

"Here, ma'am.

The cough continues, the doctor tells her to close her fists and open them at regular intervals for relaxation. The curious thing is that the lady raises both hands, to make the maneuver, at that moment the doctor sees a baby asking for his mother's arms.

"Lady your drowning is a contained crying, maybe you don't remember because it was a baby.

Doris stopped coughing, to look at her interlocutor.

"I don't think so, Doctor."

"Lady, we are talking about when you were a baby and your dreams reminds you, that mean: you want to cry and you can't because you are drowning. Doris, do you cry often?

"No, doctor, it is very difficult for me to cry," answered Doris somewhat intrigued.

"Well, from now on your therapy will be to learn to cry without drowning.

He placed some cushions under her back, leaving her prominent bust in sight, her head down.

"Now, lady, take a deep breath and breathe out, widen your chest, think of a baby crying in distress because he is hungry for a kind breast of which to drink the protective love of the mother."

Doris wanted to cough and couldn't; her eyes filled with tears and she let out an uncontrollable crying, almost one scream after another, stuck and repressed since dawn of her childhood.

"Very well ma'am. Excellent! Cry, shout, use your mouth, express your frustration by hands; use all your body to express yourself.

Doris raised her arms crying in distress for 30 minutes like a baby asking milk.

"Session over." Was heard in the doctor's office.

"That was wild psychoanalysis" thought José.

What he had witnessed was not the usual norm. "Poor human beings!" How many cases there are out in those conditions? "

Called by the doctor to his office, José follows in his footsteps.

"Take a seat," says the doctor.

José took a seat in a very comfortable chair, typical of the 19th century, destined in origin for dining room, but which the doctor had conditioned for him and his patients.

"What did you think of Mrs. Doris's case?

"Was that a psychoanalysis?" asked José with an expression of discontent.

"The purest," the doctor replies while writing some notes in the patient's clinic history.

"What the cushions for?" José interpellated him watching the paper on which the doctor writes.

"Ah!... It was that?" says the doctor with the patience of the teacher. "We have already studied Reich and Lowen, José."

"But they are not in this way," said José looking into his eyes.

The Doctor rebuke José:

"If I didn't know you, I would say that here is a legitimate representative of the International Psychoanalytic Association. Freud was a genius, I am Freudian by conviction, but psychoanalytic research does not end with him. Reich was a doctor and a brilliant psychoanalyst. Lowen was an accountant, an insightful psychoanalyst and then a doctor for commitment to the social scheme and you, my friend, I want you to study psychology or medicine to prevent dogmatic wolves from stigmatizing you, remember that neurosis is universal and it reaches us all without exception, including us. The muscle, José, is the place where everything that one cannot express accumulates, our libidinal ecstasy, our traumas. The symptoms arise when the muscular rigidity can no longer contain our emotions. Unconscious is in the whole body, according Lacan. José, there is a psychoanalytic science that is beyond the doctrinal dogma."

He paused to continued:

"What you have observed today is simple body psychotherapy, without neglecting free association. First free association, then body psychotherapy in that order, do you understand? I don't think Reich and Lowen have founded a new method of doing psychotherapy. I don't believe that. What I believe is that there is an enrichment of psychoanalysis, from Ferenczi with his active method of analysis, Jung with art therapy, Lacan interpreting Freud, to the analysis of the character of Reich and Lowen. We are talking about a convergence psychoanalysis," concluded the doctor.

José was absorbed with the explanation, "the old man is always right". He thought that his stay in Argentina had helped him to assimilate the progressive psychoanalytic current and something of the Buenos Aires accent.

Doris, stopped coughing, the choking attacks diminished until disappearing completely.

"She learned to cry," said the doctor closing the case.

Dr. Bourdon's office was decorated with solemn furniture inspired by the Napoleonic empire. A living room cabinet on which resplendent a Greek vase of Dionysos identical to the one containing the ashes of Freud, a Louis XVI style armchair, the black leather couch for his patients with reclining backrest that can become a stretcher. On the walls there was a series of unframed oils of brilliant colors, with surrealist anthropomorphic figures of anonymous authorship. It was no icon as in the other environments of the house, in definitive, for the doctor the theme of religion was forbidden in his codes, detail that José perceived.

"Doctor, do you believe in God?" asked José while looking with an air of expert art critic one of the works that hung on the wall.

"For a man of science the idea of God is an inconsequence, in addition, you already know what the dogma does in the minds of people. Lacan used to ensure that God is unconscious and on that reality that dominates us we build a spiritual world where no is matter how much lie, idealistic philosophy and blood spill it is necessary for to keep it, however without spirituality there's no civilization. That's how all ones we knew have been diluted, is not that paradoxical!? For me, as Master Freud said, a need for the protective father and essential punishing. You will learn to dismantle the super ego, at least you will diminish the sadism of that need. Also the human impotence as always would explain the divine genealogy in the history of the humanity, the man at the mercy of the attacks of the nature, soon God and the civilization to contain them. All a necessary stupidity. It will be necessary to laugh and be good disciples of Democritus and Epicurus hedonists "it suffices not to have pain in the mind or embarrassment in the body and to enjoy life in the present widely. Agnostic? Maybe, although I prefer to be an atheist."

"Where did you buy these oil paintings?" José continued asking, not caring about the answer about God, since he already had intuited

"Are beautiful. What do you think?" the doctor yawned.

"Amazing! The author must be a famous painter" José answered.

"Undoubtedly," said the doctor, smiling, "They are the work of notable authors. Do you want know them?

José, believing it was another of the Doctor's jokes, played along.

"Yes, I would like it."

"Just today they are here, follow me!"

Following the doctor through the white passages where Irina had his iconographic atelier, the doctor opened the door of a room. The white was still shining on the walls.

A group of people were painting canvases on easels, it looked like an art school, the sound of classical music gave an atmosphere of peace, the faint smell of linseed oil and turpentine was breathed in the atmosphere diffused by a wall sprinkler.

There, there were some young women who made clay figures of their own bodies hit by the reality, sometimes unpleasant.

"Welcome to the art therapy room," he announced extending his right arm in the direction of all his patients. A picture of Jung on the white wall, looked like an immaculate icon, the father of art therapy adorned his room. Irina, his wife, cared for patients with great affection, providing everything they needed to develop their works.

The essential condition for this therapy was that the psychotic patient had been medicated and with a family member who can control him in case his illness overflows. There were also abused girls and boys in a country where gender violence was growing rapidly.

The doctor couldn't risk the integrity of his beloved Irina who had volunteered for this task, in case this procedure failed, a burly vigilante was ready to control the situation and for this the doctor had installed a special alarm that only Irina could use, installed in the lower part of her personal desk.

"Doctor, as you know ...," José was to say somethings, but the doctor didn't let him finish expressing his thoughts.

"I already know what you are going to say to me: that with these cases the psychoanalytic method doesn't work, but I want that you observe the creative evolution of a schizophrenic patient. Look!" He said, pointing to a series of five paintings painted by the same patient.

Then, he explained:

"The first painting is a primitive image as made for a child, there's a car going to a house, a winding path and a tree, it's a simple drawing, without color, made with charcoal pencil. After several sessions of psychotherapy consisting in interpreting the double dialogue in the patient's works, the same patient showed an evolution to more complex forms of pictorial composition. Put attention, this is a flower with multiple petals that take the whole picture yellow and orange, For background a dark rounded mass.

"I can tell you, friend, that this is the fear of going to the bottom, the patient is doing "insight", this is the way to go"

Then, he continued with his explanation:

"Look at the last of his paintings, there's a strong man with multiple roots coming from his feet that penetrate deep into the fertile earth with a vision of solidity: He is in the now, he is in the here of a reality that has been elusive and the luminosity of the composition is paradisiacal. There is light everywhere. Jung's active imagination!" said the doctor something euphoric.

"Fantastic! Wonderful!" said José.

"You are a genius, doctor. I take off my hat."

"It's only convergence psychoanalysis. The master already given their contribution, we just apply it."

"Are you trying to tell me that in narcissistic pathologies in which there are no transfers the patient can interact with his own subconscious through art and you make interpretations from that perspective?

"Exactly!" the doctor confirmed.

"It's like that without further ado. Now, you can see psychoanalysis in all its expression, not only in neurosis, but also in psychosis. You have to start your art therapy lessons of psychoanalysis as soon as today," said the doctor.

"Yes, doctor," answers José.
CHAPTER VII

# Irina and the doctor

He still has imprinted in his memory that one Romanian winter when he met Irina while was working on Doctors without Borders mission.

The first time he saw her was at a café in Botosani. His bodies bumped as she was leaving and he was entering. The door knocked directly on her.

"Miss, apologize!" exclaimed the doctor looking up at her, while Irina held her purse that almost fell to the ground by the impact.

"Excuse me, I had not seen him because I was talking to my friend," she said pointing to a woman at a table near the entrance.

Their sights showed a peculiar interest in both. Since the first moment of their meeting, something urged to approach themselves.

"Would accept me a coffee as apology?" the doctor insisted.

"That'll be another moment, because today I'm late already for my classes. Thanks you," replied Irina with that tenuous and mysterious smile and with a gaze that to able penetrate the most hidden and sordid soul of the human being. "I going to leave you my card, call me, I accept your invitation." Irina said while extended her arm to the doctor giving him a card. She could sense that this encounter had not been coincidental, something about the doctor aroused interest in her, and she needed to know what it was.

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Dr. Louis Bourdon."

"My name is Irina," she answered without stop smiling.

Her friend looked at the scene incredulously. Knowing that she was unfriendly and was devoted to study at the local seminary. Her friend knew of her desire to work in the Orthodox monastery for which any relationship was closed.

The meetings were magical and successive, they got to get along, although she wasn't willing to marry until after graduation.

They married after a cumbersome conversion procedure to the Orthodox Church, something that caused the doctor some discomfort, but love prevailed.

On sleepless Saturdays and after losing or earning a few dollars in poker at his weekend meetings, the doctor entered his room which looked more like an altar than a bedroom. The wall was covered with icons, a metallic pedestal of inverted cone projected its yellowish luminosity to the ceiling on one side of the conjugal bed forming a silvery aura. On the bed Irina rested her naked body under a transparent white robe lying on her belly, the doctor sat down to contemplate the beauty of his young wife before getting into bed.

"She is perfect," he thought. Her voluminous buttocks aroused desire and invited pleasure, there wasn't imperfection about her, her breasts peeped over the white sheets, her pink nipples seemed to point the way to take.

Her white skin acquired a golden dye by the reflection of light, everything in it shone, if there was something that excited the doctor more than anything else, this was her innocence as a country girl, without malice, without foretelling the wolf hungry for its flesh

He had been doing the same for years, he was a compulsive voyeur of his wife's beauty, there was no change in her, he was still the most beautiful being on the face of the Earth, his eternal beauty invited him to take a triumphant pose, his silky hair and bright ones fell on his body like a cloak of voluptuousness.

The doctor opened a drawer of his little table and took one of those magical blue pills, repeating himself "a pharmacological crutch from time to time, not bad" and not that he suffered of impotence, he only helped to his body battered for time to be at level of the conjugal demands.

Irina could feel his presence in her faint summer dream and said to him in Romanian Irina could feel his presence in her dim summer dream and said in Romanian:

"Eu sunt tot Irina voastră" that in good Spanish would be like "Me, Irina am all yours."

The Archimandrite Policarpo, a venerable old man, with an abundant beard, with the face of a saint capable of working miracles, cultural attaché of Moldova, one of those embassies of newly independent countries in Eastern Europe. He was in charge of officiating, a friend of the family, spiritual director of Irina and a regular at weekend poker games.

What many people didn't know was that Irina came from a city in Moldova, where a third of the adult population left their children to go to work in Russia mostly or the West a minority. She was raised by her maternal grandmother due to lack of care and love of parents. The grandmother had made up for this lack in abundance. Even though the doctor had to treat her trauma due to parental abandonment, Irina had felt that falling in love left in her an expression of anguish and rejected every relationship, until she met her husband actual.

A country divided by the language, between those who speak Romanian and those who speak Russian, a cultural and idiomatic division that cuts the soul of its population including feelings.

Some parents would take the trouble to call their children from afar once a week, the others would never know them again. The long-awaited dream of the house itself was one of the reasons for leaving abandoned children.

Entire villages inhabited only by old people and children, a moral epidemic of incalculable consequences, many girls fell into the networks of human trafficking, ended up practicing prostitution in some western or eastern country where these people turned in owns into the gloomiest impunity of the human history, "the flesh of a child has a good price".

Irina never heard from her parents again, they disappeared without a trace, there was never any news about them, nor calls, nor letters, an absolute mystery surrounding her disappearance.

On the other hand, something that left memories in the doctor of his stay in Romania, was attending to Daniela, a friend referred for Irina, who had been suffering from severe depression for years without hope of recovery herself and had attended several sessions with a local therapist, but she always left crying and that made her feel worse, her therapist left her in a sea of tears when he asked her: "How does it feel that her father and mother have destroyed her life?" And she stopped going. It's not for less.

She had imagined a series of possible ways of committing suicide, she prayed with dedication so that God would take her life as a solution to her suffering.

Daniela was daughter of an Orthodox priest named Victor, who wasn't very holy because he had the habit of beating his son and threatening his daughters. Daniela's twin brother was beaten to death in front of his sisters, while he screaming a series of abominations of a mental sick, shouting and looking at them with a mocking smile. He enjoyed that while those innocent hands dried the dirty dishes of the parents, fear made their fragile bodies tremble and for that was no strange a broken dish, which increased the punishment.

A persistent sadist; not all the sacred Eucharistic mysteries had managed to tame his character, that of divine grace didn't exist, while the guy did his own, his wife María just watched indifferently the brutal punishment of her 4 children, fear, anger, the trauma was growing with them.

Daniela, felt all the punishment of his twin brother in his own body for all eternity until the point the rupture of his being.

"Her world went to shit!" said the doctor.

As soon as Daniela was old enough, she married her first lover "to get out of that life of torment" as she would say to the doctor later: "fleeing is the worst way to treat yourself."

She divorced sometime later because, according to her allegation, her husband had stopped touching her and she suspected that he had another relationship, which she confirmed later. The real reason for the crack in the relationship with her husband was that she confessed to him that she had aborted without consulting him shortly before getting married; I feared the punishment of their parents with whose she lived at that time.

Following his protocols to the letter, the doctor submitted to Daniela his emblematic Rorschach test, a score of four warned him that she was facing a borderline personality, this girl only saw vertebrae in all the plates, a human structure dead, as miserable as her family life.

He decided not to give her psychotropic drugs, because Daniela had managed to overcome part of her trauma by confessing to an orthodox priest from Bucharest. When she attended the cathedral, she could smell the scent of honeysuckle emanating from the relics of the Orthodox saints, "that made her feel good. For me the change in my life was a miracle, nor my trip to the Orthodox monastery of Cephalonia, in Greece, could do me so much good as confess me to my spiritual father Alessandro Orlov," she used to say. "I quit my smoking habit, my depression improved a lot, my face had no more expression of sadness, the sacrament improved my life, the grace of God appeared in my way." said Daniela while holding in her hands a copy of the orthodox prayer service.

But truth was another, she only succeeded in sublimating her illness in the faith for some time, until that showed up person arose ready to yield surrendered to his feminine charms. Daniela had a methodical habit of getting a partner in social networks, that was her modus operandi, in this way she guaranteed to get all the personal information of the next victim of her impulses; he had a predilection for foolish avid love of a woman; nothing to envy his father in his sadism and, to that end, orchestrated a series of obsessive tricks to keep them ties to her, looking in their most hidden history of the victim any weapons for to destroy them if, for some reason, they tried to abandon her.

The doctor referred her to a colleague, a specialist in extreme cases because hers was complex and required long therapy.

The doctor referred her to a colleague who was specialist in extreme cases because hers was complex and required long therapy.
CHAPTER VIII

# The Times of Youth in Paris

"The more attractive and rich a man is, the worse it's in sex", reflecting Amelia Dubois Dos Santos, who was born in open seas because she had had to migrate from childhood with her family, mixing on she all universal blood, because her mother was Brazilian, her father was French, her grandfather was American, her grandmother was Portuguese and she was born on a Panamanian flag freighter. Her birth certificate was born in international waters, but Panamanian by the boat.

"Yesterday I received millions of messages and my phone broke down. I can't be without a telephone, because for me it's a work tool."

His secretary Leticia had told him several times (with signs because she is mute):

"Stop reading those ads because who is rich is not always available because they don't have time, don't asking for photos, they asking for references to friends of their same level. These guys who request sexual services in classified sections are poor."

He was referring to advertisements in a notorious sexual services magazine in Paris.

And in fact, she was right. But in reality, it wasn't a matter of being or not being poor, the truth was that they had no real interest in her service.

The secretary was very skillful with her appointment schedule and extraordinary ability to read the lips of Amelia to whom she returned a smile of approval or a face of disapproval according to the story.

"My clients always are looking for me and some get upset because I can't attend to all of them at the same time, they must make their appointment two weeks in advance. So, I'm going to buy another phone and add more customers, even. Now, to schedule please call the number at 0033-965743333 just voicemail as before. Today I woke up in peace and happy. There are no messages to answer, that is, I can now do my things quietly," was saying Amelia, the happy whore.

She always left a message in her voice box when she went to work in another city, due to the large number of calls she used to receive: "Please, book two weeks in advance, I have already left and I cannot answer any more calls."

"I have three clients scheduled for this month, they are coming from other countries with confirmed flights, so priority will be given to them. They are from Italy, Spain and Portugal and come only to meet me, and for that, it deserves that the meeting is planned with meticulous detail to receive them. The Spanish man comes at the recommendation of another, whom I met here ... The business is giving me good money, soon I will not need to put any kind of publicity in a local escort magazine. Hurray, more Euros! I feel flattered, I'm thinking of buying new clothes, for example, a very tight sensual suit to wear with every encounter ... Really, this week I've been very busy, I have three days without enjoying good sex. If I didn't like sex, I would suffer with what they charge me per hour in this suite, since I love sex, I enjoy it by the hour. Everyone knows well that," she said smiling to full satisfaction.

Amelia had a beautiful girl's face, 170 cm tall, with tacos was higher, brown hair, almond shaped eyes, upturned nose, full lips, sculptural body, abundant and erect breasts finished by an aura in volcano of passion and a pink nipple, her waist was tenuous, and a very luxuriant mare buttocks, her pubis ended in an arrow shaped hair with the tip down gleaming chestnut with velvety to the touch appearance, her mount of venus, her white skin of light freckles pink and flushed during intercourse.

The client of today a Senegalese migrant. I arrived at the hostel with a short dress, I looked for it and I liked it immediately, because I love black men, that excites me a lot.

I got into bed and we talked a lot, then I got undressed and he started to suck my tits and masturbate me at the same time.

My first impulse was to suck on that black stick which, if flaccid was already big, it was incredible when it was erect!

Then, I lay on my back and he began kissing my tits and going down by my belly to reach my pussy. I was burning with taste, but I like it more be sucked on my tits than my pussy. He licked my whole body and I was writhing of pleasure. I asked him to ride on his hard cock and he accepted gladly.

I was exhausted. I had been too violent on him. Even so, I placed myself on top of him again and started rubbing my clit on his nuts until I reached my first orgasm.

We cum us at the same time and that was the best thing I had felt in bed with a client.

I lay on my face and he passed his warm tongue from my feet to my head again. I began to tremble with excitation. When he started to lick my ass I felt a sudden and uncontrollable desire to feel his hard cock by behind.

I was so aroused that I almost forgot to put the condom on her. I made the movements so that all that meat would enter without even using lubricant. First it entered the glans and later entered complete. I was asking him for movement abrupt because I wanting more and more.

Do you want I put myself in four? I asked him.

I've already cum,"He answered.

I don't care!

We took a bath together and, finally, we lied out in bed fainted in passion. We spent all afternoon in my suite and I loved all the time I spent with him.

All the men I know want to have sex with me, but they don't even have the money to pay for the hostel... Cruz! I touch wood...! I've left those times behind. I don't want to know more about it!

That's why I'm a whore, so I don't have stress trances...

My clients treat me very well: they take me to dinner in luxury restaurants, they give me expensive gifts, they treat me like a queen...

As I am accustomed to the best, I find it difficult to accept anything from a strange or mediocre relationship to cheap gifts. When I realize that I'm not the priority, I just turn around and leave.

At that moment the doorbell sounded surprising because Amelia didn't have scheduled appointments. She was very worried that a client came unexpectedly. Usually an appointment he was two weeks in advance. That was her rating in the prostitution market.

She approached to the intercom, pressed the button on the answering device and the camera showed a middle-aged man on his back, with a dark jacket and a hat that reminded her of someone from his past, in a stealthy attitude like who doesn't want to be seen by someone known.

"Louis!" exclaimed Amelia.

Immediately, she opened the door and admitted him full of joy and excitement. When he reached the hall, he took off his jacket and they both melted into a strong hug, as strong as the one marriage that enjoys a happy reencounter.

"Mom amour!"

"Where were you all this time, Louis!? You don't know how much I missed you!"

"I needed to see you, Amelia," the doctor replied.

"I was working with Doctors Without Borders, in Romania, and I married a Romanian girl, that was why I stop coming here."

"And you tell me it blatantly! I'm your wife, I'm your love maker, the only one woman in the world who can love you without limits or stumbles," Amelia complained.

"Perfect, that's why I'm here, honey, I need and I'll always need you."

"Ha! Sure! You got married and then you come to me," she replied in an ironic tone, shaking her shoulders.

Their looks separating for a moment, but the love, desire and passion of old lovers was stronger. He hugs her from behind, Amelia wearing a transparent robe and revealing her sensual body felt that cock Louis's hard touching her ass. That left her breathless. After so long, the man for whom he felt so much love was again with her now.

The doctor lifted the woman's robe, reached his hand into her panties, yanked it away and vigorously brushed his cock on Amelia's buttocks, who felt the warm tip of Louis's cock in her slit. She was panting and he penetrated her with force. Amelia screamed for the first time in a long time of her life as a whore. She missed that big hard cock that had taken out so many spasms of pleasure. Amelia howled like an animal in heat.

The bodies intertwined in a frenzy of agitated sounds and sweaty bodies, moans and more moans filled the room with expectant excitement, which was growing in time and increased with the doctor's onslaught on Amelia's pussy.

A muffled scream from both of them let us see the end of a brutal orgasm and a simultaneous ejaculation that flooded their entire body. The bodies stirred by satisfaction and exhaustion ended up lying on the couch.

After an hour of being embraced, almost immobile and mute, the doctor exclaimed:

"Amelia I'm going to live in South America. I think in Argentina."

"You're crazy!" Amelia exclaimed, almost shouting.

"For me it will be to follow the tradition of the family. To be migrants.

"But you're a well-known doctor in Paris, you have a formidable future here, besides you're not You are not just any doctor, my love. Why run away from a promising future? I don't understand."

"It's better that way. I also have friends there in Buenos Aires. I've given a series of lectures and I have invitations to be professor."

"Louis, we will never see us again, do you understand the tragedy!?"

"It's not like that, I'll be on vacation again and will come back, so don't make plans without me," tried a joking.

"But, now you are married; do you think you can do it? You have many responsibilities."

"Do you want to know something? My wife is a saint, Irina, that's her name, she's always in prayer, she's orthodox, an expert in iconography, a born artist, she has a way of being too conservative for my taste, but it's the woman Ideal for me. I also love her; we understand each other very well. She knows exactly what I want without speak. Sometimes I feel afraid that she can get into my thoughts, I think she knows everything. I don't know how she understands me so much."

"Do you is talking about a person or about an alien?" Amelia asked sarcastic. "I see you have everything planned, you don't need me anymore."

"Amelia, you're my only lover, you're a formidable woman, I could not live without your love. With you, things flows, I have no barriers in communication, I can talk you about anything without to see disgust in your face or shame in me. I feel comfortable talking to you and having sex without limits."

"Right, I am the whore who is good with everyone, with me they can talk about anything, but they don't understand that I also feel like any woman."

"Amelia you know me well, you know that you and I are something indissoluble."

"I am your wife, the only one who would give your life for you, no one else would bring out your face for you, nor that Irina, I believe. Someday you will understand me."

"I know my wife very well, she is impeccable," said the doctor with some paleness."

"Those dead-fly are more whores," Amelia responded in a fit of jealousy.

"Well, I'm going to take a shower," the doctor got up in a hurry and went to the bathroom.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Your wife is waiting for you?"

"No, darling, she is in Romania, I came for family matters and to leave everything in order before traveling. I must to see my mother, she wants to know about me and give me something, I don't hear what, so she can take with me to South America."

"I understand, my love, but, will you sleep here?"

"Yes, honey, I will stay with you for all this time, I hope not to interrupt your work."

"Don't worry about that, I have an apartment on the Rue de Turenne."

"Thank you, darling," replied the doctor.

The doctor walked through the crowded streets of Paris to reach the neighborhood next to rue Gauche, where his mother lived, in an apartment building on the same street.

He hurried up the steps of the building, looked for the number 402, rang the doorbell, the door opened, and an old woman with graying hair wearing a bathrobe appeared before him. A shrill sound from a rock music team came from the neighboring apartment, but it faded when the door closed.

"Louis, mon cher fils doux!" exclaimed Mrs. Marie, kissing the cheeks of her son whom she had not seen for many years. Both embraced.

"Mother, I'm very happy to see you, I see that you keep well after all these years."

"Sit down, son, let me get ready," the old woman said somewhat hurriedly. He went to his bedroom, while the doctor traveled mentally with all his senses that room where he had spent most of his student life.

Something strange filled the room, something that he couldn't determine what it was. He wondered what had changed in these years of absence, in addition to the noisy neighbors. It was usually a building of quiet people mostly retired from the French forecast system, almost a club for the elderly.

He came across a series of boxes arranged to be carried in almost millimeter order, one above the other without a crack of light passing through the secrets it contained. It was more like those Chinese ceramic boxes, because it had those diagrams of Eastern culture in their edges. Bingo! That was what was alien to the familiar environment.

"Mother, what are all those boxes? Have you bought something in Chinatown?"

"It's what I want you to take with your son," the old woman's voice is heard from her room confused with the sound of the hair dryer.

"And those boxes, where did you get them from?" asked the doctor.

"Son, they are boxes that belonged to your grandparents, I keep them in the attic, they are family memories."

"I see that the grandparents were fans of the oriental culture," the doctor said.

The atmosphere of the room was filled with a French perfume that seemed very familiar to the doctor. In that moment, showed up a very elegant lady with gray hair well dressed in a blue jean and a light blue blouse, a sweater of the same color that made her look very bright and youthful.

"Joi of Jasmine. Unmistakable aroma, mom."

"It's something that I can't afford to lose, son," replied the mother.

"Mother, all those boxes will be difficult for me to carry, they are like six boxes, a lot of weight, you know that the airlines always charge for excess."

"Son, it is necessary that you take them, as you will see later they don't weigh so much, they symbolize the history of the Bourdon family, they will be fine with you. It will also serve to you get entertainment you in your free time..."

The doctor got up and took one of the boxes, his weight didn't exceed six kilos, according to his calculation. All sealed. Almost no slots were available to open them, they had neither beginning nor end.

"Well, mother, I think the boxes will not be a problem for the trip."

"Son, let's go to lunch, you must be hungry."

The doctor had not noticed the time, it was almost 1.30 pm, suddenly he felt hungry as in the student days and nodded. His mother was reputed to be an excellent cook.

The table was well arranged, the Pieneau des charentens on ice to maintain the 6 degrees of temperature as indicated, canapés, pickles and charcuterie, some grapefruits in slices, the pate Lorrain as an entrance, my mother had a reputation as a good hostess, At least it would be the last time he would see her in a long time.

A well-prepared cheese board with Valençay, Ossau Iraty, Bleu d'Auvergne, Epoisses de Bourgogne, Neufchâtel and Saint" félicie, of which I only tasted the bourbogne that had always been my favorite because of its bright red color, its soft paste and unctuous, its strong smell reached his nose and made him fill the mouth of an uncontrollable stream of saliva, its rich and powerful spicy flavor that melts in the mouth leaving a creamy sensation on the palate. It was paradise in his taste buds! Letting it out between drinks of Pieneau, repeating that delicious process to the satiety and the immortal raisin bread of my mother.

"Let me serve you, son," Marie proposed.

The dish with fish in _beurre blanc_ sauce, a piece of _quenelle_ as a main course.

"Some dessert, son?"

"No, mother, a coffee is enough for me, I think I ate too much, besides you are an excellent cook, I would never deny your mother attentions," replied the doctor with a smile of satisfaction.

While he was resting his lunch on the living room furniture, his cell phone rang like an ambulance siren, so as not to lose his habit. He looked at his screen and the number was his wife's.

"Love, I thought you were still in retreat in the monastery."

"I missed you, love, Father Dimitri recommended me to call you to tell you it's better to be together, I know you're busy in Paris with the paperwork of the trip, but I want to meet you with all my things, I'll leave tomorrow," Irina replied.

"Yes, my love, I'll pick you up at the airport," said the doctor, somewhat surprised and disconcerted.

"I'm finishing all the procedures, I think we can advance the trip now that you'll be here, for next Monday."

"Yes, love, whatever you say, I love you, my only wish is to be with you wherever you are."

"I love you, Irina, I'll be waiting for you. Let me know the time of arrival."

"Yes, honey, kisses."

The mother burst on hearing him talk to her daughter-in-law.

"Send her my kisses and hugs."

"Honey, my mother sends you kisses and hugs."

"Give his mine too; we'll be together soon."

"Yes, darling, kisses, I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

Faced with the pressure of time, the doctor said goodbye to his mother to continue making his travel arrangements and talk to the airline to arrange his luggage. Mother, I'll see you later. I have to move on with this travel thing.

-Son, will you come home for dinner?

-No, Mother, I will be meeting some colleagues and possibly sleep at one of their houses.

-Well, let me know if you change your mind. I usually go to bed early.

-Yes, Mom, don't worry.

He went to Amelia's house, to be with her, in the hurry of lovers persecuted by fate. And although this was the first time to meet her again in a long time, he was certain that she would be the last.

CHAPTER IX

# The Saturday's meetings

"Remember, José, that we are the hermits in this guild, we are the violators of the system, the ones who disconnect people from the system of dependence and alienation of mind manipulators; the ones who turn the lion into a child; the ones who without invasions free their neighbor from the bonds of others; the ones who receive the new human being for form himself without unconditional doctrines. We are the new man. From now on, you will have the virtue of seeing through the unconscious of the human consciousness; you will see what others don't perceive; you will be seated on a throne of wisdom and knowledge; you will understand the double dialogue of the alienated subject, because you too are disconnected like me and like everyone else in the group; you will be subject to the ethics of knowledge.

We envision a time when we walk together with love for the free man, because that is what this is about, to love above all, that is the essence of what we do. The transfer unlocks knowledge and precedes the method. The transference is love.

You should not catalog or to tag people with Diagnostics because nobody is that or that one. You must do what you've learned for untangling the knot in the singularity of the person.

We put order into the thinking of our patients because the inner world is more real than the outside. Everything out there's deception and the will of the power is imposed, except over the immaculate nature.

To attack nationalist thinking, because those who commit incest with the earth are the worst of the sick. They will exclude, discriminate, and moreover, they will shed innocent blood for their sickly ideals. Abject beings! Like dogmatists lost in their metaphysical truths, you will always find a psychopathic leader among them who knows well the fears of the others and will exploIt's in his favor by leading them to the very sacrifice of their lives. Despicable beings. The History is replete with these sinister characters.

"I understand, professor."

"Do you love me, José?"

"Yes, Master.

"Strengthen the self. Do you love me, José?"

"Yes, teacher."

"Strengthen your body. Do you love me, José?

"You know everything, you know me, you know very well that you do. Strengthen the love for nature, remember that we are the liberated ones, the rest is submerged in the chaos of their subjection in the world of the motley cow, and not to mention the dogmatists looking for the truth in the lie or the imbeciles that speak of existential anguish, when it's only a neurotic symptom. We are not afraid of the idea of death. We are happy being free of neurosis, death is the rest of thinking and that is freedom eternal."

"Yes, Master."

"Thanks you, son, welcome to the Convergence Movement."

"Teacher, are you well. Are you sick or something?"

"But, what do you say, asshole!"

"It's that this almost Nietzschean discourse, it seemed to me that you were saying goodbye."

"My health is oak and "almost "is not the exact word. We cannot be eclectic, we are all Nietzscheans, José, remember that the Master Freud said that Nietzsche was the first man who came to know himself, therefore the first liberated and of who he took his philosophical study as a support of what we do. But, really this is a formal way for tell you that you are already a psychoanalyst, you have been with me for almost 7 years, between preparation, supervision and working. Soon I will retire, I'm about to turn 30 years in this, as you will understand, I need to devote myself to mine, therefore, to analyze, research and write will be your job from now, José. I will wait for you tonight for our weekend meeting."

"Yes, doctor, I will be there."

By averaging 8 o'clock in the night of a month of July in the city of "Los Reyes" with an incessant drizzle, the sea scent of Miraflores Pier and the winter mist, the usual visitors and friends of the doctor arrive with the punctuality and customary rituality.

Polycarp the archimandrite spiritual director of his wife Irina, Daniel Levi, a Jewish and systems engineer, native of Argentina and a friend of the doctor from Buenos Aires. He had helped him develop a software capable of distributing his patients according to the phases of the moon. He didn't consult psychotic ones during the week of the crescent moon because he knew by experience that these events increasing the aggressiveness. A theory that always worked for him in practice and that emerged from the conversation between a colleague of his in the hospital where he was a resident. He had told him that had monitored the cases of patients due to the bite of dogs, rats, cats and horses, concluding that their incidence was twice as much in the full moon as in the new moon and they didn't know why.

The doctor was shocked by this story and found it very interesting, because he had proved it in psychotic patients. Once almost cost him the life.

"To me the same thing happened," he said.

Daniel is a lonely guy who valued his family very much, according to the description of the doctor. A very observant intellectual and capable of promoting theories of clear understanding in all fields of knowledge. Son of an orthodox rabbi, connoisseur of the Torah, versed in Talmud, Kabbalah and Jewish history. Daniel was about 40 years old, aquiline nose, green eyes and light circles under his lower eyelids, athletic build thanks his love of swimming since high school.

Then follows Nytiananda Sigh who strives to live the values of the Sikh religion, 46 years old. What attracted most attention was his natural gray skin which was luminous under the natural or artificial light. Last, his deep gaze. When someone's eyes crossed his eyes, there was a relaxing effect. The physician had also tried it and believed it was a reflection of his long inner life of meditation and the cultivation of his qualities. He was a cultural attaché to the Indian embassy. Friendship with the physician had begun when he discovered his ability to sprout spring water only by sticking his hand into the dry soil.

"Miraculous man," the doctor said.

Daniel was wearing his peculiar blue Dastar, a jacket of the same color and a formal white shirt. "Miraculous man!" exclaimed the doctor. Dressed in his typical blue Dastar, a sack of the same color and formal white shirt, he just finished a work meeting in his embassy.

They went upstairs towards the living room with walls and a white ceiling like the whole house, terracotta tiles, gray furniture with colorful and warm cushions. On the walls were hanging pictures of Buddha and on shelves saffron-color were displaying sculptures of his patients of art therapy.

The poker game was animated by the soft music of a jazz classic from "Soothing Guitarra and Piano Music Collection". The doctor had purchased this disk on a trip to America. It had been recommended by the managers of Las Vegas casinos who to used it in their usual repertoire to encourage gambling in their businesses.

"Good evening, gentlemen, welcome" he said to each of them with a handshake and a hug.

He led them to his round wooden game table with several grey folding chairs, cinema director style. On the table a deck of cards and several colored tokens were distributed among the participants.

"Maximum bet of one dollar."

A break was made during which the host invited them to a well-prepared table with all kinds of sandwiches and plenty of Scotch whiskey, sitting in the room where the lamps of soft white light and soft jazz music incited to relax and good conversation.

All of them were very adept at telling stories, some of this real and lived by them.

Like the story of the archimandrite Policarpo who started his relate:

"A morning of a day in August of a year that I don't remember I was in the middle of the countryside of the district of Drochia. I was walking in the brightness of the day, caught with joy by the summer rising sun in my face. I was a young cleric and was on my way to celebrating the sacred mysteries in a nearby church. Suddenly, a person crossed my path, he was coming limping on a leg that could barely support a slightly obese body. The gray clothes frayed by the use of a life in poverty like everyone in that countryside. His appearance was very peculiar, but his eyes, those eyes in some part of my existence I recognized them as close.

"Do you remind me, Policarpo?" he asked me with delicate smile "Do you no remember when we walked through the reverberant forests of happiness before the virgin nature that surrounded us? The fir trees waving in the twilight wind, and in the summer auroras singing crowded with birds in the distance. Do you remember our friends scampering free in the labyrinth of opaline morning? Do you remember their smiles? How happy we were! Children without the malice of life."

I made a long tour of her face to see if I could recognize something else that could awaken in me the answer to the question of that man in the story of my life, his face wrinkled by the inclement sun of country life, his eyebrows marked, his brown eyes, those eyes that in some way were for me a reason for attention in a lost memory, his hair full of moss, a pronounced beard, a silver lock hanging from his temples.

I made a long tour of her face to see if I could recognize something else that could awaken in me the answer to the question of that man.

His face wrinkled by the inclement sun of country life; his eyebrows marked; his brown eyes, those eyes that in some way were for me a reason for attention in a lost memory, strand of gray hair hanging over his temple.

"The man succumbs to his madness, Policarpo," he interrupted my efforts for recall him. "Greatest of all is to lose his innocence and fall dragged by an imitator and we become imitators in a circle without end."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"All our friends have grown up and become what their relatives, teachers or friends wanted. Like you. Look yourself. I never imagine that you would become a clergyman. You live in a world of lies."

"But what do you are saying, heretic foolish?"

The man resumed talking:

"However, I decided to stay in the forest. I became a peasant, I isolated myself, I was kept from being dragged by the deceptive reality. I got to know all the creatures of the forest, the visible ones and the invisible ones. I knew the real thing of life. I joined the land that saw us being born and that gave us so much happiness, that still continuing give me. I was added as one more in the world of the non-visible despite my human form. I was considered to be a participant in knowing the Absolute truth of nature, until the human in its most naked violence decided to take us out of the forest to destroy it."

"Are you telling me you have made a pact with the Devil? What are these invisible creatures that you talking of? Must I suppose that the loneliness of your life in the forest made you lose your mind?"

"But what do you say, friend? When we were children we believed in elves, in nymphs, in gnomes and in other creatures that take care of the forest. Remember it? The truth is that fantastic world is more real than ours. It exists as we exist. Under its care life is vibrant. There, where you see loneliness there's more company than I wish I had in my life."

"I still don't remember you. What's your name?"

"Gabriel."

"I only can remember a very dear friend named like that: Gabriel Galinic. But he was lost in the forest, never was found him ... Not! Not! He not is you! It's impossible, even though his body never appeared and everyone in the village presumed that the beasts of the field they finished with their life. But back then you were younger, even younger than me, and look at yourself now. You're almost a decrepit old man. I don't think you're that one Gabriel.

"The forest friend, the forest dies and I with him."

"I don't understand what the forest has to do with you."

Gabriel in a desperate attempt to convince me, extended his right leg climbed his pants on the leg he limped and said me:

"Look!"

"Oh! My God!" My eyes parted as if he had seen the devil himself, my pupils dilated, my body trembled with fear, the Kyrie Eleison stammered twelve times after crossing myself three times in the name of father, son and holy spirit. I held a crucifix in my hands and kissed it, while I spying on his leg in all its extension.

You are a being of hell!

I fixed my gaze on a plant that grew on its inner leg almost at the join of the tibia with the fibula; its stem penetrated Gabriel's leg through an orifice three centimeters in diameter and its branches and greenish leaves stretched over his leg above and below like a vine in concentric circles that for a few moments tightened his leg and for others, extended his branches to expose a net of blue and green veins through the pale and slightly hairy skin of Gabriel. Everything throbbed, it was the symbiotic union of the animal and vegetal kingdom, the sap and the blood were confused in a single creature.

Gabriel continued:

"When I got lost in the forest, fell down a slope and broke the bone, I lost consciousness. When I awoke, the root of a large tree had adhered to the protruding bone of the fracture and one of its extensions held the bone, pushing it towards its axis. The pain made me lose consciousness again and when I woke up again, I had this plant. I felt that its roots hugged my bone and held it to the other piece inside it. That scared me very much and I tried to pull it out, but a child's voice told me. "It's better to leave it as it is." I tried to direct my gaze to the place where the voice came from, but I could not see anything around. The voice continued: "She will allow you to walk again, don't resist!", Then, I went back to sleep. Something slowed me down and made me lose sensation in the fractured area and a sense of well-being ran through my body. I felt good despite everything. Now, I must find the lost forest that surrounds the garden of Eden, there we will be safe until the great king comes to rule this world. Only then will we all be liberated from the great oppression.

"What do you say? Do you mean the Christ in the final judgment?"

"Not! He is a human king, the just among the righteous, separated by the hand of God from the womb of his mother to rule all with justice, as mentioned in the oldest writings of the creatures of the forest. Then the portals of Eden will be opened and the tree of life will grow in all the earth. People will be filled with wisdom by eating their fruit and their life will be eternal and they will never again attempt against creation."

"So, it's the Antichrist."

"There is no such thing, that is only human invention to master. Now, excuse me, I must continue on my way. Someone comes, I can perceive it in the distance. Friend, take care, we will meet in the not too distant future."

"I don't believe it; I will never be on the side of evil" I answered him.

Gabriel Galinic went into the forest and disappeared. A carriage suddenly appeared, they came to pick me up for the service, worried about my delay. After celebrating the Mass, I hurried to the Bishop Adrián to tell him what happened, he told me that this apparition had been from the Devil who was tempting me to abandon the faith, but that I was predestined to be an incorruptible saint. All the saints were always tested and attacked by Satan and his hosts. Immediately afterwards, I underwent all kinds of fasting, prayers and periodic retreats in the monasteries of Moldova.

Now there was the story of Nytiananda Sigh and how she had acquired the virtue of finding water with her hands.

It is telling that once time that did his peregrination to Amritsar's golden temple for motive of his 25 years of birth and while it was reciting the singing of the book "Adi Granth" he received a direct revelation of a Guru. This Appearance shook him from top to bottom.

While the sunbeams were entering for the windows of the temple and it was increasing the color gilded in his interior, turning the moment into magic; sparkles of golden light were splashing the vision of all the visitors; often feeling immersed in a golden rain.

Nytianada Sigh had dedicated all his life to the ideal one of valuing and respecting the Sijs as the truth, the happiness, the humility and the love. He managed to suppress with the kundalini yoga some faults: the lust, the ire, the greed, the material attachment and the selfishness.

He had learned too to repudiate the intolerance and the racism and was a great contributor of his community. He studied letters in the university of Bombay and turned into diplomat of career who led it to crossing half a world.

While in the distance it was listened to splash of water for the golden fish of the " Reservoir of the Nectar of the Immortality " Nytiananda was perceiving the voice of the Guru among the golden sparkles that were radiating the enclosure of prayer. It was saying to him:

"You must study and penetrate into The Bhagavad Gita, are destined to attract springs to your kind hand to bless to the poor of this world where you go."

In the middle of the ceremony full of music, singings, reverences and prayers the voice of the Guru continued instructing his servant:

"The real power is inside the man: liberates the devout ones of the misery of the illusion; liberate them of the limitations of the ego; the Creator, the perfect power inhabits inside every human being. Both creators, the conservative and the destroyer live in you. Today, in this peregrination you have fused to it and it has provided you with creative life. Today you have begun in the eternal knowledge of the truth. You will be the guide who will drive for the way of the life. Now that the evil increases and the good diminishes my spirit demonstrates in you."

"Why I, Master? I am not think be suitable one," asked Nytiananda.

"They all are called, not only you, but due your ascetic discipline during all your life, you can listen to us clearly. The will of the creator who inhabits in you has woken your visionary conscience up.

When you finish your prayers, it sees to the reservoir and immerses your body it, of this purification your virtue will be born."

On having finished his prayers, Nytiananda went for his ritual bath. Golden fish come pell-mell while he was plunging his gray figure. Fish settle in his right hand kissing it how if something that was attracting its attention. He was both disturbed and satisfied in that ceremonial gibberish.

Although the doctor described this event as a schizophrenic auditory hallucination, the young man had no psychotic language disorder (his language was impeccable) so he considered the event as neurotic hysteria. The "hand of the magicians" able to detect water on the surface of the earth and, even more, to attract it, is just a chain of events related to an act of compulsive masturbation with guilt, he wants to clean his guilt for what he considered dirty.

Theory with which José never agreed.

"Nytiananda Singh is an enlightened being," he nodded, although he never witnessed his skill in finding water on the surface of the earth.

Although his friend Daniel Levi didn't tell stories, he did expose his religious ideas. So much so that he looking for followers. Since conversion by circumcision was not necessary for be a Jew, he only asked them to circumcise his heart.

He had designed a new way of being Jewish, without the usual laws of Rabbinism which to him was the mark of power. Daniel adhered to the Decalogue, but not to every each of the 613 Commandments.

The only man in history who saw God was Moshe and the Decalogue are advice of life, not obligations which forces to one to choose between health and sickness or between life and death.

A world without idolatry is benign, polygamy is not, because the creator knows our nature, it is enough not to mess with the wife of the neighbor.

To love God first, after to the neighbor. One is born of the other and vice versa, he used to say.

The main mitzvah was to always put on each other's shoes, so he was at peace with God and his conscience, eradicating for the most part the laws of Kashrut, preserving only those of not eating pork and not mixing the milk with the meat because otherwise it gave indigestion. The Torah continued being the main book for him; Talmud and Kabbalah his advisors. He didn't celebrate the feasts or admit rituals, except the usual prayers and respected the Sabbath.

He didn't attend a synagogue anymore, so that many of his acquaintances told him that he was a kind of Karaite Jew, his relatives and close friends called him an apostate heretic and this cooled his relationship with them.

His appreciations were more summarized and liberating, ritualism was expelled from his life of faith, something the doctor always appreciated: "He is on the way to freedom from obsessive religiosity" he used to say. The truth that among the group of Saturdays he didn't find proselytes. José and the doctor were agnostics, almost atheists; Nytianada Singh, that goes without saying! Father Policarpo felt uncomfortable but tolerant.

While the doctor was listening stories of his friends was evoking the recollections of his stay in Buenos Aires and of that Saturday of winter in which he prepared to open the boxes that his mother asked him to take with him.

Great Surprise!

Among its his content there was an unending album of photos in black and white, with edges yellowish and spoiled in the time.

But also they were counting(telling) the familiar(family) history and his tour for the whole Europe, Spain, Portugal, Holland.

The family Bourdon, migrants perfect, but what more was called him the attention was a photo of his great-great-grandmother. A very beautiful blonde of long curly, almost white hair in the photo, of nice smile, of sensual eyes, wear a long suit of the Victorian epoch and to the side a Chinese man with a long braid falling on her left chest. He had a smile of satisfaction that overflowing for all sides.

"The one who would be this Chinese?" He was wondering.

Generally, the ambulant photographers put backgrounds of landscapes or typical animals of the region. In the lid of the photo there was written a date and one note handwritten: "Lausín and Gabrielle in Oporto". What initially he took as an oriental friend of the great-great-grandmother, a statement of his grandmother clarified him in that the Chinese Lausín was his great-great-grandfather.

Although always the eyes torn in the photos of his relatives had called him the attention, he always considered it something without importance. He never imagined that a Chinese was in his genealogy. But it didn't impress him so much as the statement of his grandmother:

"Our familiar history begins with Lausin and Gabrielle, she was saying in his letter: "Happy lovers flee for the whole Europe to avoid the furious husband of Gabrielle, who had contracted hired killer to get rid of both. Someone managed to locate them in Spain, but they fled in time to Portugal to a rural zone where they did their life until the end of their days. Always they were invaded by the fear of a tragic, like that death we were born all with, this inherited fear we going of country in country pretending to be emigrants, when really they were running away."

Letter with date of July 16, 1930, Amsterdam directed her children Magatte and Gustave.

The latter, was the doctor's father.

"Trauma transgeneracional", he concluded immediately.

It was the first time in a lot of time that someone was doing to him a psychoanalytic interpretation of so much scope since like it had made his grandmother. Not at even in the psychoanalytic school where as student he passed three years being analyzed by the best disciples of Freud and Lacan.

"Now I realized the origin of my anxious instinct of travelling. I never thought about the more minimal thing that this one could be the reason. Always I attributed it to the family tradition and to the curiosity to know people, places, customs and cultures. Thanks, grandmother ", he murmured.

This gray winter evening he slept placidly several hours and woke up like rested from a length to peregrinate looking for his familiar history.
CHAPTER X

# Balances and unbalances

Dr. Louis retired and went with his wife to his home in Spring Valley, New York, which he had been paying for many years to the Waldorf Foundation.

He obeyed a strict organic diet thanks to biodynamic agriculture which reflects the commitment to protect the health of the earth and all who live in it. No pesticides or fertilizers in order to reduce obesity, nervous and allergic diseases.

In these farms the hens only eat GM free corn, no feed with chemical and the cows are feed on natural grass.

The doctor devoted himself to writing and publishing his book "Transgenerational Trauma" in academic circles. His book "Professional Memories and his treatise Psychoanalysis of Convergence" became an icon of research, devoting his free time to lecturing in several universities in America and Europe. His wife, Irina, actively participated in the icon restoration fund of the Greek Orthodox Church of San Espiridón in New York and his creations were part of the iconography of several Orthodox churches in America.

José obtained his degree in Psychology and was able to run the doctor's office, he also founded the School of Convergence Psychoanalysis and art therapy «Louis Bourdon» which reached to obtain continental recognition. He understood that the only thing that bound him to his wife was an Oedipus Complex that had not been overcome. His wife, Carmen, was submitted by the advice of her best friend Gisela Coronado to a laparoscopic surgery of total removal of uterus and ovaries. She said that this prevented uterine cancer, a disease with a high incidence in Peru; and after 40 that is not good for anything. This was very fashionable in the circle of his friends.

Forever, José lived grateful with Gisela, because his wife stopped presenting fits of anger typical of the menstrual period. She never went to therapy with the doctor whom she used to attack from time to time:

José obtained his degree in Psychology and was able to manage the doctor's office, he also founded the School of Convergence Psychoanalysis and art therapy "Louis Bourdon" which came to obtain continental recognition. He understood that the only thing that bound him to his wife was an Oedipus complex that had not been overcome. His wife, Carmen, was subjected, on the advice of her best friend, Gisela Coronado, to laparoscopic surgery to completely remove the uterus and ovaries. He said that this could prevent uterine cancer, a disease of high incidence in Peru and that after 40 years "it is useless". This was very fashionable in the circle of his friends.

José was grateful to Gisela forever, because his wife ceased to have fits of anger typical of the menstrual period. He never went to therapy with the doctor he used to attack from time to time:

"That's for crazy people and I'm a healthy woman. The only crazy person in the house is you, who have several professions, but you're still as hungry as ever. You never gave me anything. You should have done the same as your brothers, stolen everything from your father and now they are better than you. And now... psychoanalyst? Please! Look at yourself, sick man! First you got involved with the doctor's daughter, then with the niece of a doctor who turned out to be a criminal, then with that employee at your father's mill, and finally, with the crazy woman who called me to ask me to leave you", Carmen said as the master of absolute truth, but José was never lucky enough to be discreet in his adventures of consolation. José diagnosed his wife with "Masculinization Complex", that is, that her masculine unconscious was incompatible with the feminine of her physiology, and that was what pushed her to the encounter with the feminine. But she didn't know.

Alexis, his father-in-law, died when fell off a ledge of his house watering the pots of his "little dove" as he used to call her. The neighbors said that the poor man endured no more the harassment of his wife, but others say that he had slipped and died accidentally.

Isabel Valdivia, her mother-in-law, died of senile dementia, and she repeated her nurse that she was the sole owner and mistress of "Piedra Rodada." Other times she claimed to nurse: "Carmencita, little daughter, how much you have wasted your life with your loser husband!"

At first, she just didn't recognize closest relative's ones, but afterwards she got worse and began, to say meaningless words. Later, she started walking naked through her house, until she didn't utter words nor eat food any more. Carmen decided moved away the gastric tube and the old woman died in 7 days, which brought a family conflict with her aunts.

"That was my mother's will," said Carmen.

Amelia Dubois retired to the French Riviera where she bought a suite with the savings of her hard work. She joined a Monegasque entrepreneur so as not to lose the habit of male flesh.

Flor, the girl who was raped, recovered and studied Law. She went on to lead an NGO where she defended gender abuses and abortion as a feminine right to decide about her body.

The priest Boniface suffered a mortal cancer in the penis which had to be amputated along with his testicles. He was convicted of child abuse to life imprisonment in a comfortable Vatican room.

Father Policarpo died serving as a monk in a Moldavian monastery, his entire and uncorrupted body was discovered years later. Today there's an open cause for his canonization as an orthodox saint.

Nityananda Singh was hired by the United Nations Organization for a water well program in Africa, they say his dowsing-hands helped to save entire peoples of death.

Daniel Levi founded a Jewish religious organization destined to recover the lost tribe of Israel in Latin America, especially, descendants persecuted Sephardic. Many people from other religions, in what was named the world's first Jewish Proselytizing Movement, became rapidly expanded, so much so, that many other monotheistic religions went to the second level of relevance.

Marie, the doctor's mother, died at 100 years old, one night while she sleeping.

THE END

