Chapter 20of the novel; "The benefits of the sliced Pizzas",

                                                                          By Jauma Munoz

Ernest opened the door; he entered and closed it hurriedly without taking care neither about the slam nor the echo of the slam nor the echo's echo of the slam, nor the echo…

A slight and far light was illuminating the pale hallway. It was bifurcating here, there and far there, to form a closed and a quiet grid. Ernest was running, because of some reasons, or without reasons or a few reasons.

 He was running through the hallway, listening to the scarce echo of steps from any next hallway. Ernest was running and the other steps following and pausing.

Ernest was running towards those steps, afraid and determined equally.

He did not want to meet anyone and wanted to meet someone.   

Ernest was running and the next steps were imminent.

At a small casual confluence of a hallway and hallway, Ernesto shocked by a woman. He shocked by a woman who was wearing in gray, a woman with a much mane prisoner of a provident hairstyle.

Ernesto looked into her eyes. No! Yes! She was. That woman... The woman...

That was the woman… She

- Esmeralda! – Suddenly, he shouted

She stopped, in doubtful.

She observed Ernesto with an impossible mixture of interest and indifference.

-Esmeralda!  He shouted. This time was less

She was going to suggest a question, or a confirmation or a word, but she kept silent.

Ernest was contemplating her. Suddenly, he knew that did not happen, could not happen and it was not happening.

He inspected her deeply; he caught air as if he was about to throw himself in a bottomless swimming pool. He was observing all of her. Then he shut his eyes. He shut his eyes and imagined that he was letting her hairstyle hang out , liberating that much magnificent mane , caressing each curl with a dedication defied, and… but no, of course, She would not exist. Of course, she did not exist, right? , Ernesto thought of possibilities.

The approaching steps became a shadow of their own. Her appearance was his disguised desire. Of course, she did not exist. Ernest became desperate. Seven seconds of shutting his eyes became an eternity of slavery.

Ernesto opened his eyes. She was there, waiting.

Esmeralda – He did not shout anymore. He spoke, as a teacher repeating to his students a known concept.

- My name is not Esmeralda. – Her eyes were looking for an explanation to his presence, to her security, and that name which had already been repeated three times.  

Ernesto could not react.  Her name was not Esmeralda. What to do?

Spontaneously, he lifted up his arms and undid her hairstyle, liberated the prisoner hair and caressed that much magnificent mane.

She was.

In astonishment, she asked him:

- And who are you?

- I have come to seek you