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–Six months! –I exclaimed– Just six months after its publication! How, Uncle Kurt, how
a hell it arrived to your hands?

Ha, ha. Not preciscely by the Demon’s will but thanks to my good friend Oskar, who died
just three months ago and he took the secret to the tomb. –Here, he went serious, at noticing
the disenchantement in my face–. I know that this part of the new will not cause any
pleasantness, but it is prefirible to know the truth beforehand.

Oskar, about whom I’ll talk you later, had been as a refugee in the Argentina since 1947.
Just as your parents and other Comrades, I used to meet with him twice a year: after these
secret meetings we returned to our habitual works. Nor letter, nor telephone, nothing had to
entail us if we wanted to continue free. To me, was already known that a secret organization
was following me which orders said without doubts «execute him wherever be found»; but the
case of Oskar was different: he was officially followed to be judged by «crimes of war», and the
claim was made by the Sovietic Union, because Oskar Feil was natal of Estonia. But Oskar, who
passed as Italian immigrant with the name «Domingo Pietratesta», he had contracted marriage
in the Argentina and he had a beautiful family that he had to protect above all things: in his
case was not even possible to think to be captured by the Enemy. For such reason we extremed
the precautions to meet every six months. And is that we could not stop seeing each other
because we were endearing Comrades, not only since the war, but from many years before,
since the age in which we were in the School N.A.P.O.L.A.

–Oh, Oskar, Oskar, –sighed my Uncle–. A friend for more than a lifetime. A company to
conquer Heavens and Hells, a Comrade for the Eternity.

–B, but he died? –I said babbling, to bring Uncle Kurt to reality.

He remained in silence for an instant. Finally he seemed to turn back to me, and he

continued with his narration.

–Yes, neffe. Oskar died four months ago; of «natural death», according to all the
versions, but it is not occulted that it could have been murdered: whatever could be his dead,
his wife would never denounce the truch openly. The future of the three sons of Oskar would
obey her to bit the lips before talking about it. So I ignore with certainty what happened due to,
by obvious reasons, I could never approach to his family until a long time; one year or more.

But let’s go to what concerns you, Arturo! –He said with energy, after breathing deeply,
like saying goodbye to his dead friend–. Eighteen years ago, more or less, we met in the
Province of Jujuy, in the Providencial Hotel of Tilcara: we passed as tourists who visited the
famous Pucará. There I noticed him exited and happy: he had found, said my in that moment,
to those who possessed a direct contact with the Fount of the Hyperborean Wisdom,

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