Juan reposes. Elbowed upon the viewpoint, he is contemplating the sea. Below, where there was a beach yesterday, some cliffs have risen, and a shark challenger yells his defiance from a tiny islet like purpose made, brandishing a ridiculous lance more fitted for a videogame. When the challenger turns his back on, the shark springs in the air, catching him in flight between his mandibles.
"Good meal!" exclaims the shark before plunging back into the water, as if aware of having onlookers. Not many, only a couple a little apart from Juan, is watching dully.
The couple kiss one another, and Juan gazes at the sea. Sirens zigzag among the dead´s reincarnations. Apparently mangrove-men don´t care. They just keep on staring at the shore. Through the fibrous wood the faces whom they were can be made out if one pays attention to it. Its position hasn´t changed; at least the Book respects some things.
A few stifled footfalls make him turn his head. His father is approaching, his appearance a mash of clots, tumefaction and worms. It doesn´t seem he goes further from that. He has become stabilized for three months. Nor he notices it seemingly. Juan isn´t going to tell him.
"You ought to look for a woman," his father says, "one that can cook and is home-loving."
Juan doesn´t answer. He has seen Laura twice. First, looking at him with eyes as lifeless as mangrove-men´s. Later, stalking fishes. The Sorcerer might do it again. Loosing a sermon is sufficient. Difficult though it may appear, with all TV channels broadcasting it, but all the time there are those attached that fall asleep, forget it or whose TV is broken. And that ends up by affecting you.
Babies, for instance. They undergo changes continually. Juan knows one who tried to repeat his college trick, assenting from time to time and thinking of another thing. Now he has five legs and Janus´ head. People are starting to carry their TV receivers to Churchs.
Juan draws the revolver from his pocket. Maybe his corroded tin head isn´t as strong as it looks. He opens his mouth, levels his tongue sticking it to his lower jaw with a metallic tinkle. He presses down the trigger.
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