Narrated by Urso
I can't deny there was a certain hilarity in watching from the front row the show that old Gurgel put on. The moralist, the traditionalist, the sleazy bastard who only speaks with his chest puffed out and prejudice dripping from the corners of his mouth. When I discreetly opened the door and saw him leaving like a blind bull, followed by his henchmen, dragging the boy with him by the arm like he was trash, I just leaned against the wall and waited. I waited for them to pass and calmly went to the next room. I knew the stage was set. Now it was my turn to perform.
I entered the room as if I were entering my own home. The door didn't even creak because I held it firmly and pushed it with my shoulder, slowly. The air in there was heavy. The smell of shame, humiliation, fear
