Letter - The first...

After two days the man manifested some movement. Still brutally damaged he found energy to sit down in his bed for some minutes until collapse again in deep sleep. Some relief came to my heart as that scene would repeated along the days until we could finally walk in his cell. Then a fixed idea occupied all the leftovers of lucidity I still had - claim for forgiveness. It came sudenly in the wave of the last improvement done by the prisoner. The idea impregnated my mind puttin me in a constant awaraness. Somehow I convinced myself it would be the best I could do to alleviate the feeling of guilty that had been devastating me for long time. I had nothing to offer and talking with that man even one single word would create a sort of distrust with similar destroying power of the guilty I was strugling with. That night I searched all my pertences and the Cuban cigar Hamilton gave me in his farewell appeared brightenning in my shelf. I didnt hesitate to put it in my pocket and start a mental strategy to give it to the prisoner without being perceived.

The next day was full of inquietude. The cigar was heavy in my pocket. Willing conflicting with restrain to finally, in a breath of courage, be given to the dictator. Before the cell I extended my hand with the cigar to the sitted man who took it without before looking into my eyes with his hard but impressivelly confident sight.

He smoked the cigar slowly, amid the dance of smoke, incensing the corridor all over the afternoon, enjoying it so carefully until teh cigar fully desapear in ashes leaving no evidences of my delict.

After months I had a peacefull night of sleep.

Days with the dictator.
Hiroshima Spring 2009