Necropolis by Santiago Gamboa

to the property in South Beach, but take a little pause first, my friends, just two or three minutes before we return for the final part of the story, which is the best part from the spiritual point of view.
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5.
THE DELEGATES
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    When I entered the reception room, which was lit by seven-branched candlesticks, a man in a dark suit was talking from a pulpit. I tried to make sure that nobody saw me, but no sooner had I taken a few steps than the speaker looked up, uttered my name, and bade me welcome. A few of the guests turned, so I said, good evening, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m a bit tired and I lost all sense of time, but nobody said a word or smiled or even nodded, so I added, I’ve been sick…
    From a corner, a waiter emerged with a tray full of glasses of champagne and offered me one, but I did not take it, not because I did not need an aperitif, but because I had been hoping for something stronger. The waiter took no notice and handed me a glass, so I took it and raised it, looking at the speaker, and said, it’s a pleasure to be here, cheers to everyone. There was a tumultuous toast and the room cheered up again, as if coming back to life after an anxious moment. The speaker continued with his speech, talking about the tradition of the hotel in difficult times, these walls that had seen fighters firing rifles and patriots falling, sacrificing their lives for a cause, he said, and yet, just as it was now, it had also been a symbol of excellence and refinement, however difficult the times, at other times it had been a barracks and had even been partly destroyed, adding, after a theatrical silence, of course I refer to “that bomb,” and when I heard that I was intrigued; only later did I find out that he was referring to the bomb the radical group Irgún had planted in the hotel when it was the headquarters of the British Administration at the time of their mandate in Palestine, an event linked to the name of Menachem Begin, originally considered a terrorist and later prime minister of Israel, that was how it was, it is well known that in the fertile field of History people make astonishing comebacks, as the speaker put it, and he continued talking about these wars of the past, as well as the war outside, which you could breathe in the air and see in the stony, terrified faces of the passers-by, and because of all this, he said, raising his voice, because of what is happening and must be remembered, because of all these select or even simply human things that we must preserve and protect, we have decided to call this conference, whose ultimate aim is to honor memory through memorable lives, those which you, dear delegates, bring us in your notes or in your memories, with no obligation that they should be great lives in the traditional sense, of course not, in no part of the Old Testament are we told that it is obligatory to live great lives or perform heroic deeds, no, gentlemen, man is small and that condition may make him fragile, but it also ennobles him, that is something that all of us here know very well, as we have decided to meet while the world is falling apart, in a chaos of rubble and smoke and ashes, and we are meeting because we believe in the word and in the testimony of life, our most precious gift, and that is why I want to thank you, truly thank you,
shalom
, welcome, the man concluded, raising his arm and making another toast, and the audience rewarded him with applause.
    A moment later, a fat man with a nose like a potato approached me and said, you don’t know me, my friend, allow me to introduce myself, my name’s Leonidas Kosztolányi and I’m a delegate at this conference. He gave a bow, which seemed very appropriate amid all these tapestries and big velvet drapes, and on hearing my name added, yes, yes, I read your résumé, you’re the writer, a pleasure to meet you. Then he approached my ear and said, I suspect this champagne is too