It was then that I thought I saw someone I knew among the crowd that was making its way into customs, not a face, because I was seeing their backs, but rather a way of walking, of moving down the corridor, but at that instant I couldn’t make out who it might be, so I picked up my duty-free bag and grabbed the handle of my carry-on suitcase so that I could walk around a little to quell the agitation the sight of the brunette and the thoughts derived thereof had caused me, and also to get another glimpse at the person whose way of walking had seemed so familiar. And that was when it came to me in a flash: Holy shit! It was Don Chente, my doctor! I walked quickly toward customs, where the recent arrivals were lining up to have their passports checked and where two health officials were questioning them about the countries they had visited, and I made my way with some difficulty through the crowd of passengers bunching up together in that corridor, apologizing because my carry-on suitcase and my duty-free bag kept banging into people, but by the time I reached the counter, Don Chente had already passed through, and those who were still waiting were shouting at me, thinking that I wanted to cut the line and sneak in ahead of them, and one of the officials stopped me and ordered me to get to the end of the line, to show some respect, to which I responded that I hadn’t just arrived, I was waiting to depart but had seen my doctor disembark, and I urgently needed to talk to him, would he please let me pass, but I begged in vain, because the official told me that only arriving passengers could go past that point, nobody else, that was the regulation, while I was straining my neck, trying to get a glimpse of Don Chente, whom I thought I saw next to a posh woman about to have her passport checked, but then I lost him in the crowd, and the health officer repeated, now even more rudely, that I needed to leave, I was in the way. Aghast and dumbstruck, I stood to one side of the entryway, holding on to my duty-free bag and my carry-on suitcase, looking at the anxious faces surrounding me, some apparently angry and with a curse on the tips of their tongues, until finally, at the other end of Gate 19, I saw the brunette saying goodbye to her friend who had just arrived, and I hastily turned my steps in that direction, lurching against the strong current of passengers streaming the other way, knowing that she alone would listen intently to all my woes.