A recurring dream about Paul, who, although very old and sick, is still alive in Tangier. I want to go see him, but there are schedule conflicts. I am still a student (as in other recurring dreams, but these had never before been complicated with the topic of Paul alive again). I’m finishing my last year of school at Liceo Javier high school—which I did not complete—and I have final exams. Another complication: Pía, from whom I do not want to be away for too long, and I have already scheduled trips to Russia and Japan (which match my current plans in real life). I change plans, I decide to go to Tangier. I worry that Paul has not answered my latest letters, in which I ask him if he needs any money—the money generated by his book royalties. What if he were to answer yes, that he needs it? I wonder in the dream. Would I not have to pay him back the money I have received for those royalties and that I have already spent? But while I’m thinking about all this, and while I put on the school uniform—gray pants, white shirt, burgundy jacket—to go to school and take the exams, I realize that the reason I want to go to Tangier is that I would like to have Paul read what I am writing. I think it through: Paul is almost blind, he will not be able to read anything. But I can tell him what I’m doing, read bits of the text to him, see what he thinks. Suddenly, I have a volume of Paul’s complete works in my hands. In it I find a series of articles and essays that I had not read, and of whose existence I was not aware. There is a very long one, about Alta Verapaz, and others about trips through Central America and tropical Africa, illustrated with color photographs. I am struck by one with the title “Music.” Apparently, I translated it myself. I read the first sentence aloud: Music is the most sonic organization of sounds. A woman’s voice (Alexandra?) asks: “Masonic?” and laughs. She tells me the translation does not sound very good. I review the original English, and I confirm that the first sentence is much longer and more complex. I keep reading the essay, which consists of a series of definitions of the word “music” by famous composers and performers. There is something bombastic and convoluted in the phrasing of most of the definitions. Each one is accompanied by a picture of its author, but almost all them are wearing masks or costumes or wigs, which changes the text from pompous to comical.