Américo Prakak Free of Torments

By Cliff Maksushimat

This book is the last of the Americo Prakak duology. In the first, the protagonist is a dislikable, malicious character. In the second, he is better understood, though not transformed, as his suffering and pain evoke our empathy. Here, truths are revealed and his torment explained. His survival we know was not guaranteed. This story offers an explanation of those antecedents and depicts how we might move past our historical hurts. From this perspective, how different a world can seem. Americo Prakak is sadly a familiar story reflecting the reality of those children once molested, abused, violated, and raped.
Yet, the story of Americo Prakak also offers hope that such a past is neither prologue nor immutable destiny. Americo's survival shows a path forward, a way to overcome the weight of such horrific trauma. On that horizon looms a new beginning and a new future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667804910

Book preview

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AMÉRICO PRAKAK

FREE OF TORMENTS

Front cover Artwork:

Portrait of the Man I Was or Could Have Been by CLIFF MAKSUSHIMAT

Oil on canvas

Copyright © 2021 Los Angeles, USA

Print ISBN: 978-1-66780-490-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66780-491-0

©2021 Cliff Maksushimat.

All rights reserved

Printed in The United States of America

Forgiveness is the key freeing us from confinement in the cage of pain

~ Cliff Maksushimat

Dedicated to:

My parents, my sisters, nephews, brothers-in-law, close family, true friends and the person who is or will be the love of my life.

But it is also dedicated to all those who have suffered havoc, abuse, humiliation, or even something more painful, such as rape; and despite this suffering, they always looked towards the horizon where the sun shines brighter.

Sighs are often the most powerful weapons to annihilate the sadness that is carried in the heart

~Cliff Maksushimat

Table of Contents

PREFACE

PREAMBLE

I. Heavy Rust

II. New Generations Will Never Understand

III. The Most Painful Call

IV. Maleficent As Himself

V. You Agreed To Embark On This Journey

VI. You Have No Right To Demand Anything

VII. The Moon

VIII. I Have Long Forgotten What Fear Is

IX. Harmonious Auras

X. The Charm Of Twilight

XI. Ujuyuju!

XII. The Grief That Throbbed In Her Entrails

XIII. Americo: The Male Version Of A Harpy

XIV. I Will Be Your Recurring Nightmare While You Sleep

XV. Lost IN The Maze Of His Memories

XVI. Irked Of Listening To Lies

XVII. Impoverished Lives

XVIII. To Tell You That I Am Sorry

XIX. Watchman In The Darkness

XX. A Ghost Town

XXI. A World Of Possibilities

XXII. Master Of Plot And Intrigue

XXIII. Goodness Submerged In The Middle Of The Swamp

XXIV. When You See Your Own Innocence Die

XXV. The Architect Of His Torment

XXVI. Oneiric Delirium, Obnubilation

XXVII. I Promised Him You Would Be His

XXVIII. Through The Prism Of Pain

PREFACE

The story of Américo Prakak was not meant to be a duology. Initially, only one book was contemplated. However, as I wrote the last chapter, I realized I had not yet explained the cause of Américo Prakak’s pain, which is when I decided to write the second part.

This preface was written seven years ago and adapted to this story. It consisted only of this paragraph, from which two statements were removed, and turned into epigraphs. Both are found at the beginning of this story.

In this 113,888 word novel, readers who initially abhorred the protagonist will in the end understand and love him.

Immerse yourself in the plot! I must say that you will enjoy this novel because you will live, suffer, cry, see and reflect upon it.

Cliff Maksushimat

Sydney, Australia

December 25, 2013

PREAMBLE

Experiences of pain in childhood often imprint on the person who lives through them to influence their future. Suffering not only persists, but also often directs the course of the lives of those who have suffered.

That day when leaving the hospital, the man walking on the sidewalk and holding a paper in his hands, hesitated for a moment, wondering if Américo Prakak was just an illusion created by him to escape from his reality, or if in fact, Américo Prakak existed. He wondered if Prakak had suffered agonizing pain for years because of his doings, and if upon finding himself at the given point, Prakak would finally seek to exact his vengeance.

I

HEAVY RUST

Bleeding to death... that’s how the man fell at his feet. Apparently, the sharp object had pierced him lethally. Death in a chariot announced its arrival. At the intersection of the traffic light on the boulevard, a crowd of people approached the wrecked car that had possibly collided with a pole or rammed into a pedestrian. Although those details were not relevant at the time, what was striking and inexplicable was how no one had yet approached the fenestrated man lying on the ground, perhaps due to the commotion caused by the shocking accident that had occurred a few moments ago.

The man was still in agony without understanding what was happening around him. Unable to utter a word, he only saw the man standing next to him and looked him in the eyes. With his gaze he sent him a questioning look, as if he wanted to understand the event. Without answering, the man in the blue jacket and hood just smiled and in his Machiavellian eyes was drawn the image of something similar to complacency. In his pupils there was simply a cold look. Without a glimpse that something of that sort would happen, after touching his chest, the fallen man extended his bloody hand, and making an effort to reach the leg of the rammer, he tried to get up. But all was fruitless and illusory. The man did not have the strength to do so. The thing he managed to do was to leave the imprint of his blood on those puerile pants at the level of the long finger extensor. With celerity, the man in blue stepped on the dying man’s foot and made his hand crash against the cement.

This man definitely had no compassion for others. After a few seconds, the belligerent squatted down to check for a pulse with his right hand while with his left hand he moved the rust-eaten knife that shattered the ventricles of a barely beating heart. Without hesitation he searched for something of value inside the front pockets of the moribund’s pants; however, the dying man had empty pockets, as empty as the pleading hands of a beggar from Burundi. Then, the man in blue removed the wallet from the pockets and began to pull out a couple of high and low denomination bills. The poor man was not carrying a large amount of money due to his poverty.

He still pulled out the bills, scattered them around him, left the wallet exposed, and took the INE (National Electoral Institute) identification which was inside and placed it near the dying man’s genitals. Suspiciously, this time he put his hand in his own pants pocket as if looking for something inside, then pulled out his hands and patted the dying man on the shoulder. Abruptly, without any obfuscation he withdrew, while the strange, dark complected, and short heighted man died on the frigid and indifferent sidewalk, in a gloomy neighborhood where everything was dirty and abject.

In the meantime, the man, covering his identity with the hood of his blue jacket, left the scene, while another disturbed man crossing the street watched him. Inopportunely, a bystander noticed the injured man, and with shrill cries, called the attention of passersby who approached to help the injured man. However, everything was hollow, in vain, and the single thing discernable was that this man, at the moment of taking his last look at this world, had only pain and doubt left in his sight. Luis Chavez, a medical intern on his way to work, approached and realized this man was already dead. A crowd of people quickly gathered and began to surround the body as if they were to witness the performance of some street artist. The medical intern closed the eyes of the deceased and lifted a bloody article, which lay on the ground next to him. He said:

This identification may belong to the man who just died. The deceased’s name was Ame while squinting his eyes, he could not distinguish if the letter was an a or an e, so the man paused to put on his glasses and at the same time to clean the undissipated blood, which continued to cover the general information and made it impossible for him to read it out loud.

Upon hearing that the man was dead, murmurings began to grow, and at the same time, looks of astonishment increased faster than the sensory magic beads that usually swell upon contact with water. Meanwhile, on the next street and without looking back, the tyrannical man threw away the hospital gloves he had taken off his hands and ran without stopping even to catch his breath, which he gradually lost. After running for a while, the man decided to stop in front of a small grocery store because his mouth was dry. He searched his pants pockets for some coins, but soon realized he had nothing. The only thing his pants had were a couple of old holes from where everything vanished. With no choice he kept walking, and as soon as he glimpsed the nearest church, he headed for it. Just at the entrance, the sun’s rays illuminated his face, revealing once and for all his identity. No one else could be him, only him: Américo Prakak.

Without uncovering his head, he rushed in, looking for any source to quench his thirst, but finding nothing, he chose to drink a little of the holy water which was in a container near the altar. Only he knew what was going through his mind, only he and no one else. By drinking the liquid, the fugitive satisfied not only his thirst with the consecrated water, but also perhaps he imagined this water cleansing the atrocious sin which hours before he had committed on the secluded road. Taking advantage of the fact that the amount of water was vast, he chose to wash his hands to clean the dried blood still impregnated on his skin. An elderly parishioner watching him in total shock stared at him; however, he blasphemously winked at her and seductively bit his lip, alluding to desire and conveying a sign of mockery and impertinence. The elderly lady simply prayed in silence and covered her head with the black mantilla veil she wore. When he passed close to her, he leaned near to her ear and said:

Baby, you are so hot! Blowing her a kiss in the air and then bursting into laughter without caring where he was.

The old woman simply closed her eyes and began to pray while Américo Prakak walked towards the entrance.

After a slight rest obtained on one of the backbenches of the oratory, he got up and went to the metal alms-boxes stuck to the floor, thinking it was his only chance to steal something. He did not succeed, as only a small amount of coins at the bottom could be seen through the tiny slot, which were impossible to obtain. A few seconds passed before he realized it was a failed attempt. He left the temple and walked towards the city’s outskirts, but not before throwing something he took out of his back pocket into a trashcan. Was it the stabbing weapon that compromised him? Or was it one of his few belongings and trinkets he owned? No, it was something printed. The only thing left to consider was that the arduously drafted indications for emancipation or prison had been written on that paper. All was uncertainty. He alone knew what he had discreetly discarded. After traveling along several avenues, he approached the suburbs of the big city. Fortunately for him, the distance was already short, and his destination could be seen.

A few minutes later, Américo Prakak arrived at a poor neighborhood. It seemed like he was heading to a compound. However, he turned around and turned back, staying about two blocks away from the place. Then he sat down on the sidewalk and began to watch as the afternoon fell over the filth-soaked houses in the neighborhood long forgotten by ostentation. Suddenly he took out his phone, dialed, and heard the ringing tone on the horn. Seconds later, the call connected.

It was relatively easy, wasn’t it? I’ll wait for you here; and you have five minutes to get here said Américo Prakak, the man with a blue jacket and a hood on his head whose identity had only just been revealed.

But that wasn’t in the plan. So what happened? Asked a man’s voice on the other end of the line.

Evidently, the communication was not the best, or the signal was almost out of range. However, after several seconds, Américo answered:

Of course, it didn’t happen the way we thought it would! But, sometimes it is necessary to improvise, although there is nothing to worry about, everything will continue as planned. I’ll wait for you here, you already know the location, and I hope you will have memorized what I asked you to do when you arrive. You’re in for a long night. Américo Prakak let slip an evil-sounding laugh.

The call was disconnected due to the lack of signal.

In that part of the city, at the Orilla de Tulipanes public hospital, very close to where the events occurred, Yuridia Grajeda, a nurse, was running desperately looking for the doctor in charge. In her haste, she suddenly ran into a doctor and asked:

Doctor, are you new in the ER? We need to find the doctor on duty, I think it’s Dr. Ingrid Ondiviela, have you seen her in any of the corridors? We need to find her. We have an emergency.

The man of medium height with large, bright eyes and a white complexion answered:

No, I work in the adjoining ward; maybe that’s why I don’t look familiar to you. I am a psychiatrist he said while looking at the badge trying to read the nurse’s name, and no Yuridia, I have not seen the doctor on duty, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to page her he suggested.

So you are Dr. Kwok? I had only heard about you. But since I rarely cross over to the other ward, I haven’t had the pleasure. The problem is that the paging system is not working. They haven’t come to repair it because the budget isn’t yet approved. The security cameras are not working either; they are just for decoration as if they were Christmas ornaments. But please, if you see the doctor in the corridors, tell her we requested her in the emergency room for two reasons: first, to sign a death certificate, and second, to attend to a patient who is in a critical situation, or one could say, on the verge of death. As it happens, one of these patients was under your care, according to a prescription. It seems both men suffered a mishap on the corner outside the hospital.

I will as soon as I find her. But hold on, you said he’s one of my patients?

Yes, apparently one of them is listed as one of your patients. The prescription says that he was with you today. It was definitely not his lucky day or probably it was already written in his destiny.

Let me come with you. But which one of them is my patient?

I’m not sure, but I think I heard that your patient was the man who died Yuridia replied.

Both walked hurriedly through the hospital ward. As soon as they reached the area, Yuridia went straight to the patient’s stretcher. Meanwhile, the doctor walked to the adjacent room where the expired man lay covered with a sheet and asked for his details. While trying to lift the corner of the linen cloth covering the face of the deceased, Ivonne Guzman, the second emergency nurse, called his attention and showed him the admission form. The doctor, without revealing it, covered the dead man’s face again and simply corroborated the data in the file with the CURP (Unique Key of Identification) that had been found among the few belongings of the deceased. Then, without giving credit, the doctor left in a hurry to the administration area. However, as he began to walk down the corridor, Yuridia returned out of the adjoining room to look for help because the man she was attending was experiencing a dramatic change in his blood pressure. Quickly, without waiting, Dr. Kwok came in and was perplexed to see the man with a broken face, lying on the gurney, and with a languid look on his face asking for help. The doctor approached and caressed the wounded man’s shoulder, then said to him:

Don’t worry, this too shall pass.

The man came back to himself and looked at the doctor with a peculiar look as when life usually passes in front of our eyes, and we tend to go into the memories and recollections of yesterday to dissipate the anguish. The wounded man stood still while the doctor assured him he would return in a moment. At that instant, Dr. Ondiviela entered to evaluate her patient and tried to identify the doctor who had left. The badly injured man only asked the doctor on duty to give him something to soothe the pain and let him dream of a beautiful future, as beautiful and true as the one he had entered minutes before and from which he did not want to escape. When Dr. Kwok heard the request, he turned from the door and stared at him in absolute bewilderment.

Seconds later and once outside, Dr. Kwok walked briskly towards the registration area and, upon arrival, began to ask for the necessary data to contact the patient’s family members. As soon as the information was provided, the doctor picked up the phone and dialed while Eleonor, the nurse in charge of the records, watched him. However, no matter how hard he tried and dialed, no one answered.

  So he hung up. Seconds later, he picked up the file book again and began to rattle through it while out of the corner of his eye, he watched the smiling nurse. Very rapidly, he prepared to pick up the phone again and, on the switchboard keypad, redialed another number. Eleonor had to leave because Dr. Rufina Angel was calling her and Mari Rodriguez, another nurse, arrived to take her place. The doctor dialed again, and after several attempts, a warm voice answered.

"Oui. Yes, hello."

Hello, this is Orilla de Tulipanes Hospital. To whom am I speaking?

Yes, this is Angélica Françoise Ramos. To whom do you wish to speak? The woman with a French accent said.

I need to communicate with the wife of one of my patients. It is essential to contact her because I have to give her some bad news about her husband. I called this number because it is registered as the emergency telephone number in the patient’s admission data. My patient’s name is Am...

I am very sorry to interrupt you and tell you this, but you have called the wrong number. I am a married woman, and my husband is here with me. We just moved to his home city, leaving the French Riviera. So no one could have given you this phone number as an emergency number, doctor.

I understand. This is not the correct number. Sorry for the inconvenience. Have a good day.

"Á plus tard" Françoise had said goodbye in French.

After the doctor hung up, he asked nurse Mari how the telephone number in the registration might have been wrong, pointing out the error with the pen, if the patient’s wife had been the one who had provided that information first hand. The nurse, not knowing what to say, just looked at him. That day’s shift was about to end, so the doctor went to his cubicle and grabbed his things to get ready to go home. Just as he was about to leave, he ran into Dr. Ondiviela.

Sorry we couldn’t introduce ourselves during the commotion. My name is Ingrid Ondiviela, and I am the new ER doctor. I’m originally from Monterrey, and I recently transferred to Ciudad Tapatía. It’s my first day!

It is my pleasure; I am Dr. Kwok, a psychiatrist. I usually never come to this clinical area except for today because I heard that one of my patients I attended a couple of hours ago was severely injured. So I came to inquire about his situation.

Pleased to meet you. Indeed, dear colleague, I have just signed the death certificate. His death turned out to be too quick, I mean instantaneous, considering that everything happened a block away from the hospital. By the time he was brought to the emergency ward, he had already passed away. Sadly, there was nothing to be done, since the sharp object pierced, or rather, completely destroyed his heart said Dr. Ondiviela.

As it turns out, I tried to call the deceased’s relatives but I was unable to do so. I wanted to communicate with his wife and tell her that her husband had died. I will do it tomorrow when I get back, since my schedule is free of appointments said the doctor.

Don’t worry, I will take care of it. Go and rest. Now, I have to go back to the patient in intensive care; he has asked me to let him dream. I think he has a feeling that an omen is coming. Life is sometimes so short! Dr. Ondiviela sighed.

Without saying another word, the doctor, crestfallen, walked out of the hospital where life always hung by a thread thinner, more brittle, and delicate than a Jihong porcelain.

Simultaneously, but a few kilometers away, Micaela and Alejandro’s nanny was sitting talking to Adriana Dueñas, where that afternoon she was in charge of the neighborhood pharmacy.

Seems like your husband is already late? Adriana said.

Yes, we were supposed to meet here to fill the prescription, but he’s late.

Well, I’m going to close soon, ma’am, because I have some unfinished stuff with my sister Judith. Do you want to fill the prescription or do you prefer to wait a little longer? Adriana waited for the woman’s answer as she looked at her.

The problem is I don’t know the name of the medicine. I’m very bad with names; though I also think he never actually told me the name of the pills or injections. I really don’t even know for sure. But I will come back tomorrow if you want, Adriana. What time are you opening?

Well, we can wait a couple more minutes for him to arrive. Hey, do you think something has happened to him?

God forbid! Don›t say that she answered.

The seconds turned into minutes, and Adriana had to close the pharmacy. So the woman left without being able to look in the distance at the silhouette of the man she was waiting for. Slowly, she began to walk on the unlit streets, and while she looked at the money she held in her hands, she felt someone walking besides her in the darkness. Both their shadows in a quirky way crossed each other and interacted for a few minutes. The night took its course and soon the moon peeked its face towards the earth, the same that bears all our rants and tantrums.

On the sidewalk without getting up, Américo Prakak sat as if he had a date with the night. While waiting, he, wearing the blue zippered jacket, put the hood back on his head, not to hide his identity but to cover himself from the cold. Suddenly an individual approached him. Américo got up to go to meet him. In the darkness one could see them exchanging jackets. The individual who had just arrived took Prakak’s place and sat down while hiding something inside his sock at ankle level. In the meantime, Prakak walked into the darkness.

Twenty minutes later, the man who had taken over Prakak›s place pulled out his cell phone and punched the phone keys to make a call. After the phone had rung three times someone answered.

Hello he said.

Love, it’s you! I didn’t know where you were. I’ve been waiting for you. I was very worried about you, and I had a feeling that something had happened to you. I’ve been on tenterhooks. What time are you coming home? I already picked up the kids and they are with me. I’m going to make you some delicious enfrijoladas that you’ll lick off your fingers.

Can you stop talking nonsense? I’m never going back. I have decided to embark on a journey with myself.

What are you talking about? You told me that you were going to change and that I was going to go with you to the doctor to talk so that you would get well. You promised me for the sake of our children.

Just as you were heading away and leaving my side, I realized that I don’t want to live the life I was meant to live. I want a much better life, another one, one suitable for me, the one I always longed for years, and the one I had to create in order not to drown in the poverty in which I found myself. Now I know that I have the option to do so. My thing is magnificence and pomp. And you really have no place in this new life. I will never go back to being a miserable crumb eater. I have dreams that you could never be a part of, so I’m going away, and then I will come back for our children. They don’t deserve to live in the pigsty they are in today, nor do they deserve to depend on the leftovers and the ten pesos they get on Sundays.

But you are sick and you need to get well. You can’t go on like this. This madness will kill you.

No! The day I’ve been waiting for has come.

And what does that mean?

Only I understand myself. I don’t need a doctor to be happy. I have the ability to live in my own way and in my own world. Do you get that? Or do I need to over-egg the pudding?

Please, I want you to go back to being the man I fell in love with.

What a fool! That guy is already dead. Now I’m just what I always wanted to be. And I have my vision well set on the horizon of what I want to do and be. I don’t want you to bother me with your dramas about me coming back for love, because that guy doesn’t exist anymore. I will be too busy trying to find happiness in a world of alienation where I can finally taste revenge. But, if for some reason I cannot conquer it, then I will die smiling.

I don’t know what revenge you are talking about nor the other nonsense. I don’t understand you, you are talking about strange things.

The neurons in your brain have always been in an endless sleep from which they will never wake up. You never understand anything.

The thing is...

There is nothing. Before you understand this... the dumb pigs will be polyglots!

Don’t put me down like that!

Enough of this. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. If they come looking for me and ask for me, tell the police that I’m lost or dead and that you don’t know my whereabouts.

But why do you mention the police? Tell me, what did you do?

I have taken the first step that will begin and end what one day began. The time has come to finish what my friend Prakak could not finish.

Tell me you are playing a joke on me. I am afraid of you and for what could happen to you the woman sounded very concerned.

My hunting has already started!

What is this? We both know these are lies; your mind is not right. Come back home for the love of your children. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. If you want, I will take you to the doctor to talk.

Shut up! I, Antonio Alcaraz Torres, will search for Juan to kill him. I declare myself the author and executor of everything.

  He hung up the phone, made another call, which was soon answered, and began with a statement.

I called and said exactly what you asked me to say.

Perfect. Now continue as I told you. From this moment on, whoever you meet and talk to, you must say that your name is the same as mine: Américo Prakak. When you get to the city you know what you have to do. You know what is at stake, and I believe you do not want to lose it.

Antonio Alcaraz kept his hood on. With a distressed look on his face, he hung up the call, turned off his cell phone, got up from the sidewalk, and walked towards the main avenue where a convoy of trucks were leaving the city. With no money in his bags, he raised his hand to ask for a solidarity hitchhike, or more commonly known as a person trying to travel by taking a ride. After numerous attempts, a driver stopped and took pity on him. Without hesitation, he approached the small cargo truck; however, strangely, before getting in, he pulled out a pocket knife and cut himself from the wrist extensor to the thumb spreader on his right arm, looked around, and then proceeded to get into the truck. In the next few seconds, the truck was lost on the dark highway heading in an unknown direction.

Meanwhile at the hospital, Dr. Ondiviela was leafing through a file, which kept her confused. Nurse Ivonne approached her, and seeing her face, asked:

Everything all right, doctor?

Yes, I was just thinking about the fate of the man they brought in a couple of hours ago. Sometimes life turns out to be so dark and desolated for some and I think this is the case with this guy. If his life were a metal object, it would already be in ruins and heavy rust said the doctor as she showed the file to the nurse.

Unbelievable, the unfortunate and miserable end that he had to live Ivonne added.

That’s right, we never know when misfortune comes, nor when life snatches our last breath and leaves us without a sigh to survive.

When she finished, the doctor looked at the file again and fixed her eyes on the name of the unfortunate man. In a low, melancholic, and thoughtful tone she uttered a comment.

One more patient with an agonizing end and whispering without thinking, in a rapid and confused manner, the name escaped her without being clearly voiced as she walked away.

From the sound coming out of her lips, it was difficult to intuit the name mentioned, but everything made one think, due to the circumstances and the events that had just happened, she had pronounced: Américo.

But that was impossible, or was it plausible? There was no certainty the name was pronounced... that was yet to be confirmed.

II

NEW GENERATIONS WILL

NEVER UNDERSTAND

Sitting in the passenger seat, Alcaraz watched the lights of the Ciudad Tapatía grow dimmer the farther he went. In that city he left not only his wife, but also two children he planned to bring back when destiny allowed him to do so. Likewise, he also left a part of his lucidity to fully embrace the delirium where reason had no place and where dementia was ready to give him shelter. This man had chosen his future, one that he could manipulate even if he was always captive of a shadow. He knew the future that awaited him, one where he would be a prisoner of madness and frenzy and where mirages would have total control and would be able to rule his reasoning. But it didn’t matter. Because he knew that happiness had always had a price, and that on most occasions the payment was accompanied by sadness, pain, sorrow, grief, misfortune, and even death. Nothing mattered to him, and nothing bothered him.

As soon as he began to fix his eyes on the right side mirror of the small semi truck, he realized the image reflected was not that of a dark-skinned, unattractive man he had thought he had seen or perhaps imagined hours before in that hospital mirror, but rather it was his own image. He was being reflected, Antonio Alcaraz Torres, so different from the seductive and attractive Prakak. Suddenly, a deceptive smile appeared, not only in the glare in the mirror but also on his face. Soon, the moment was interrupted by the driver, who broke the ice and began to question him.

Dude, why are you so quiet? It’s been a few minutes since you got on and you haven’t even told me your name. You have been very quiet. Well, to be fair I haven’t asked you anything, because I got the impression that you were a little scared.

I was a bit disturbed by a situation I had just experienced. It was a bit traumatic what happened to me a few hours ago, I still haven’t fully recovered. I am really shocked. But I think the feeling is starting to dissipate he replied with a distressed look on his face.

Oh man! Well, what happened to you? That’s awful. Let me introduce myself. My name is Estanislao Cisneros, but since I don’t like my first name, everyone calls me by my last name.

Nice to meet you Estanislao, I mean Cisneros, my name is Anton... and he stopped as if he had remembered something. Seconds later he continued: I was telling you, my name is Américo Prakak, but my friends call me by my last name, too. So if you like, you can call me like that.

It was confusing that this man, after seeing himself in the mirror and observing his appearance reflected, claimed that his name was Américo Prakak, but those were the orders he had received hours before, and the question now was whether the facial features were those of Antonio Alcaraz, or whether he was imagining them. But how was it possible? What had happened to the dark-skinned, overweight man who had been on the verge of suicide and alienation hours before in the hospital? Or