Then, one rainy afternoon, I met him by chance on the street near my house, and he got himself under my umbrella to say hello to me.
The next morning I didn’t wake up to go to school. I don’t know why. I just didn’t. Stella, our maid, came into my room to call me more than once, and asked me if I was ill or something. She took my temperature. I had no fever. Then my father came in. He said:
Things were happening, at last, and living was so much better than dreaming. Gil was about five years older than me, which was a lot considering that I was still a teenager, but he was a loner, like me, some kind of precocious philosopher who couldn’t relate to anybody, and we had found each other, which made me ever so happy.
The next time I saw Gil was at a dinner party his brother Otto was giving for his twenty-fourth birthday. My brother's friend Sara had taken me there and as soon as Gil spotted me he came to sit on the chair next to mine. This time he was wearing a tie, if you can believe it. He said:
I woke up shouting in my bed. I woke up from my own scream.
Then, to my surprise, I met Marco.