I bring my book over to the table at the bow, settle myself in, open it, but instead of reading, I sit there watching what Almaraz is writing in his black notebook: the CO sent a wire where he explained everything. This afternoon they replied, ordering us to return. We’re to arrive at Puerto Belgrano on the nineteenth at 2 AM. The Executive Officer must be happy we’re going back, Heredia remarks; I, on the other hand, am really angry that we’re leaving just like that; Nobrega pulls up to the table with paper and pencil in hand, sits in the empty place that was left next to Heredia, but that’s where they’re fixing the computer and the engine, so we go back. Soon those Brits will get what’s coming to them! Grunwald promises, smiling; I don’t know, I think we all have that bitter taste in our mouths, right? pipes up Almaraz, who’s stopped writing and now closes his black notebook; Nobrega gets ready to sketch; Yeah, Heredia says, we’re returning with the feeling that all the stuff we went through was totally useless; Nobrega raises his eyes from the sheet of paper and stares at it without offering an opinion; But we’ll never know it, locked up in here with no communication, we’ll soon find out what things are like, says Grunwald; Nobrega draws a line that twists and straightens and twists and folds back on itself; deep down, I think we all know what things are like, says Almaraz, and adds, turning to Heredia: At least think of this, you’re going to meet your son, and we’re going to see our loved ones, our families, and in a few days… now Nobrega retouches the line, giving it thickness and depth, as if he were drawing the wall of an endless labyrinth; Sure, sure, of course, Heredia replies, but first we have to get back, right? Then I return to my book; the animal complains that he no longer understands his earlier plan, he can’t find anything reasonable in it; Almaraz stashes the notebook in the pocket of his overalls and gets up from the table; Nobrega’s labyrinth becomes compact and gray; once more the animal abandons his labors as well as his eavesdropping task, he doesn’t want to discover that the noise is growing louder, he puts everything aside in order to try to calm his inner conflict; They’ll be looking for us, no doubt about it, Grunwald announces; meanwhile, the animal doesn’t know what he’s looking for, possibly just trying to buy himself a little more time. We’re going back, and I wonder how you can return to a place you no longer remember; ever since I woke up that day of the noise, everything seems to be limited to what happens in here, plus a few scraps of the past that my memory arbitrarily cuts short. Nobrega’s labyrinth is now dense and indecipherable, and it looks like it’s going to lift off from the paper.