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danger. And I feel so helpless here, about warning her to be careful, about not taking too many risks.
    —I understand.
    —Well, you can imagine, if she’s my woman, it’s because she’s in the struggle too. Although I shouldn’t be telling you, Molina.
    —Don’t worry.
    —It’s just that I don’t want to saddle you with any information you’re better off not having. It’s a burden, and you’ve already got enough of your own.
    —Me too, you know, I have that sensation, from being in here, of not being able to do anything; but in my case it’s not a woman—not a girl I mean, it’s my mother.
    —Your mother’s not all alone, or is she?
    —Well, she’s with an aunt of mine, my father’s sister. But it’s just that she’s so sick. She’s got high blood pressure and her heart’s weak.
    —But, you know, with that kind of thing you can still go on, sometimes for years and years . . .
    —But you still have to avoid upsetting them, Valentin.
    —Why do you say that?
    —Imagine, the shame of having a son in prison. And the reason.
    —Don’t think about it. The worst’s over, right? Now she’s got to accept it, that’s all.
    —But she misses me so much. We’ve always been very close.
    —Try not to think about it. Or if not . . . accept the fact that she’s not in any danger, like the person I love.
    —But she’s got the danger inside, she carries the enemy around inside, it’s that weak heart of hers.
    —She’s waiting for you, she knows you’re going to get out of here, eight years do go by, and there’s always the hope of time off for good conduct and all. That will give her the strength to wait for you, think of it that way.
    —Mmm-hmm, you’re right.
    —Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.
    —Tell me more about your girlfriend, if you feel like it . . .
    —What can I tell you? Nothing in common with the assistant; I don’t know why I put the two together.
    —Is she pretty?
    —Yeah, sure.
    —She could be ugly—what are you laughing at, Valentin?
    —Nothing, I don’t know why I’m laughing.
    —But what strikes you so funny?
    —I don’t know . . .
    —Must be something . . . something to laugh at.
    —At you, and me.
    —Why?
    —I don’t know; let me think about it, because I couldn’t explain it to you anyway.
    —Okay, just stop laughing.
    —Better I tell you when I really know why I was laughing.
    —How about if I finish the film?
    —Yes, please.
    —Where were we?
    —Where the girl saves herself in the swimming pool.
    —Right, so how did it go? . . . Now comes the confrontation between the psychiatrist and the panther woman.
    —Can I interrupt? . . . You won’t get annoyed?
    —What’s the matter?
    —Better if we go on tomorrow, Molina.
    —Not much left to finish.
    —I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying. Sorry.
    —Bored?
    —No, not that. My head’s a mess. I want to just keep quiet and see if the hysterics will pass. Because that’s what my laughing’s all about, a fit of hysterics, nothing else.
    —Whatever you want.
    —I want to think about my woman, there’s something I’m not understanding, and I want to think about it. I don’t know if that’s happened to you, you feel like you’re about to understand something, you’re on the point of untangling the knot and if you don’t begin pulling the right thread . . . you’ll lose it.
    —Fine, tomorrow then.
    —Okay, tomorrow.
    —Tomorrow we’ll be all finished with the film.
    —You don’t know how sorry that makes me.
    —You too?
    —Yes, I’d like it to last a little longer. And the worst thing’s that it’s going to end sadly, Molina.
    —But did you really like it?
    —Well, it made our time go by faster, right?
    —But you didn’t really really like it then.
    —Yes I did, and it’s a shame to see it ending.
    —But don’t be silly, I can tell you another one.
    —Honestly?
    —Sure, I remember lots of lovely, lovely films.
    —Then great, you start