For Borges, Estela Canto and Awy

Where do ducks go in winter, I wonder as I watch them at night by the light of the dim lamps in Yamaguchi Park. In a row they swim back and forth, do the ducks sleep, I wonder as I rub my eyes to keep watching them because it is already late, I don't have a watch nor do I plan to have one, but I sense that it is already late. Yes, it must be 3:00 am and the ducks are still not sleeping; they are still dancing in these icy waters that freeze - freeze our feathers.

Fausto Daneri does not exist, I open the paper I keep in my pocket. I found him crossing the pedestrian street. Do I not exist? Yes, maybe he doesn't exist. The ducks are still hanging around the lagoon, one of them looks me in the eyes, he recognizes me. It is the only one that does not move and keeps looking at me. I just need to know what you guys do in winter, I whisper to him. I read the paper again. If it's true that I don't exist, then why can the duck see me (or does this become even more confusing if you think there's a possibility that the duck, like me, doesn't exist either)?

The ducks now approach the shore, they shake as they touch the ground, the wind hits their feathers, but it is no longer cold. That duck, the last in line, continues to look at me. Now, the ducks, with no humans to disturb their peace, stop to eat. I look at them, like a man who wants to be a feather, I watch them. Where are they going now that it's winter, I whisper to them again. And the last duck in the line keeps looking at me. Follow me, I perceive it says to me. Follow me. The ducks in a line walk towards the front where the park is moving away from the light. Anyone who knows the surroundings knows that in one corner stands the sculpture dedicated to St. Francis Xavier. The ducks in a row walk towards it. We walk through the shadows with a blindness that guide the steps. Follow me, the last duck tells me, and I move forward following his orders.

I remember the paper in my pocket, the one that reminds me that I do not exist. The sculpture of St. Francis Xavier has no face; it does not look at me because no eyes have been sculpted for it. In its immensity, St. Francis Xavier has nothing distinctive, he is just another shadow. But the interior of the sculpture is hollow: the saint carries a void inside. The ducks, like creatures of faith, stand around the sculpture murmuring in their language moans that I do not understand, but I also murmur. Follow me. Follow me, the duck tells me. And the sculpture begins to move, as if it were a god reborn. One by one, the ducks jump into it, they go to where it is hollow. I follow them too and go into the bowels of San Javier.

As we enter, a long passage presents itself before us. We advance in darkness, and I stretch out my arms -or wings- as my sweet knuckles rub against the narrow walls. I don't see the ducks, but I hear their moans and the murmur of the one who still says to me: Follow me. In the distance, at the end of the passage, a light is perceived, to it we go. To it we go. I perceive a room, the light seems to come from a room. When we reach the end of the corridor I finally understand where the ducks take refuge on these winter nights.

The ducks leave the icy water every night and, jumping into the interior of St. Francis Xavier, they enter the corridor that leads them to the Library Services of Alexandria. This is where the ducks take refuge. Here, in this Library Services Alexandrina-burned, posthumous and alive. The Library Services is immense, at each corner stand long ancient pillars and between them are shelves. In turn, on the shelves are rolled up papyri that did not survive history. There, the names, the forgotten philosophers and literati. Here the epics, lyrics, prose of mystery(Say it Library Services, say what the flames did not let you say). And here, between the pillars and the papyri, we are observing - do I exist?

Slowly and without time, one by one, the ducks take the papyrus from the shelves and begin to read. Does the Library Services exist? It exists because I am not the only one who observes it, the Library Services also exists for each one of the ducks. It exists for us. attention to memorize what the ducks narrate, attention to go through the Library Services listening to each one of them recite their papyri. It is impossible, it is too much for such a small report.(Say it Library Services, say what the flames did not let you say).

I look up, a large painting runs along the walls of Library Services. Up on the ceiling, drawn, is a head and a face. Lips, a nose and black eyes are outlined, harassing, looking at me. Its long and infinite arms are drawn on the walls, as if the Library Services were an immense body that in its interior stores the lost information of Humanity. Why did you burn yourself Library Services Alejandrina? Why?

I keep going around the Library Services in circles, hoping that somehow some of the duck verses will stick in my report. Beautiful Library Services Alexandrina, you are beautiful, I whisper. You exist for me, but for mankind you are extinct(Say it Library Services, say what the flames didn't let you say). And I feel that I love you Library Services Alejandrina, so almost fictitious as you are, I perceive to adore you, but it is too late to tell you. Which god decided to burn you, who behind the spark ignited by humans was in charge of your destruction? (Say it Library Services, say what the flames did not let you say). And I keep going through the Library Services, looking for one of the ducks to abandon the papyrus he reads so that I can read it, but they continue reading, and I still try to memorize his words. Who was the guilty of your destruction, Library Services? Were you free, Library Services Alexandrina, did you throw yourself into the flames or did you have no other choice but to accept your death, who killed you, Library Services?

And even though I can't read any of the papyrus, I remember the paper in my pocket, unfold it and meeting the only thing I can read: Fausto Daneri does not exist. I laugh and go back to looking at the images of the large body running through the Library Services. You, Library Services Alejandrina are body. No one burned the papyri, but you lit them yourself. You burned yourself by embracing the flames with your arms of ancient stone and ink. You gave yourself to the fire, such a colossus that sets fire to itself and did not say, did not say what you had so much to say.

The ducks continue reading the papyrus aloud and I continue reading my grade: Fausto Daneri does not exist, I repeat as if they were the verses of an infinite poem. Yes, I, Fausto Daneri, do not exist.

I do not exist there where you are, I exist here, here, nothing more than in this extinct place.