When seven by three made his first appearance at the hostel, was one of those charged, humid August evenings in which the Planet refuses to turn. The knocks on the door barely dispelled the lethargy that floated on the patio, and raise me to open picked the weight of my feet, bloated heat. Little I saw of the newcomer, wrapped as it was in its calentana poncho, with a bag in tow and a hat felt permeated to the eyebrows. I did follow and offered him a seat It rejected, dubious between remain or turn around and go where I had just come. It was then when I asked him the name, I left it looking for Matilde Lina in the record books and I went to call at the mother Françoise, who was then Director-general of this refuge for outcasts that I spend my days. Upon returning, we are glad to see still there the odd figure of seven for three. I would have sworn that that man would follow road, but it was not so. He stood before the desk that made the times of reception, there was already left to review the list and clung to his story as if he feared that was the they were to take. He seemed tired and sick, and I thought: will be cooked under so many clothes. The same must have thought the mother Françoise because he was told that if I wanted a lemonade, with much heat... He responded with a not grateful and turned to silence. -Would have been in that sack? -asked the mother, by give rise to any conversation. -Lena - it responded, but it seemed to me that he was lying. It was long before the Françoise mother could convince him of eat something and is removed the poncho, and seeing that it had burnt skin asked me to give him aspirin and make him cures with butesin PICRATE. At first only allowed it to spread you ointment in the blisters of the face and arms, but perhaps my fingers touching you It eased the grief and loosened her mistrust, because the shirt is opened and I He showed burns that floreaban you the skin of the chest and the neck. -What was it? -Insolation - told me, and I knew that he lied again. It is common: this Hostel comes to shelter all manner of persecution, people who do the life in not telling a truth. So you have to learn to distinguish between harmful lies and not those truths. 40 -Miss, you are leaving me better oiled transmission of truck - I said smiling, when it was covered by thick ointment yellow. A couple of days later, already aged and spare, was helping by the Garden and kitchen, and even volunteered to lend a hand with the accounting of the administration. It was in the middle of a column of expenses when We confessed, mother and myself, that between the costal was neither more nor less than the famous dancer of colonial times, as sought by the authorities in all Torah and its surroundings. As had heard it on the radio and by the Press, the Françoise mother grabbed his head with both hands and began to give a screaming that just surprised did not know that the excesses of temperament French. - But what great nonsense! -screaming with its unique accent. How you think, boy, bring me here a stolen Virgin! -No, I stole it, mother - assured him, but it was useless -Don't you know that here I cannot have weapons, or drugs, or anything illegal, because it would be serving tray general Oquendo the pretext that is waiting for? Not think that it is already enough problem to hide you, who? they chase by land and sea for as much mischief you did in the strike? -If I did not do anything, mother. -Take out that Virgin, until Oquendo us pave with good excuse that we manage a den of thieves! - But mother, you who are hospitable to everyone, how will drive out to the? Madonna to the street? Not see that since childhood I have been charging it on the? shoulders? Not see that is not stolen, but saved by my people pillage and the? fire? Seven by three freed it from the costal, desamarró the piola and not just of unwrap the plastic when there was a small miracle, because the brunette Virgin smile disarmed the nun, who was love that sweetness so graceful, such as Gypsy flirtatious with the image shook skirts and frowning hands, as if at any time out Ascend dancing to heaven. We look for hide and seek by all the hostel; We rehearse to bury it under tomatoes from the garden, to climb it in the roof beams, to hide it behind sinks or between packages of grain We kept in the cupboard. 41 -There no, don't see that moisture damages it? -nothing satisfying to mother Françoise-. There either, that pigs graze it. There does less! Is Midge eats it. Here, give me that I know where I'm going to place. - But what does, MOM! -protesting seven by three. -You shut up, you have guilt. Without giving rise to any questions or claims, the nun did bring stones, cement and Marsh and all put them to build, in the middle of the courtyard, a tall, tough niche and cumbersome. Right there he enthroned the dancer, tight between ex-votos and flowers plastic, expuesta exposed as showcase but well guarded and inaccessible bac