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Our faces are masks, just like our uniforms are. They don’t always reflect what we would like to find inside. Maybe it is by virtue of some wrong assessments that illusions arise, fed by what we have always wanted to stubbornly believe: ours and those of the protagonists who act within the stories that are told. Where it ended up the priest\u2019s proverbial hospitality, the charity of his role? Where the strength, the irresistible hardness of the soldier, his tenacity and courage. What happened to the steadfastness of the enforcer, his guarantee of impartiality? The questions that seduce the reader are lost between the lines of the story, they feed his own illusions together with those of the characters in a game of chess in which they are convinced that they are winning. <\/p>\n
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