"There will be nothing. The gigantic frozen faces of the mountain flank the frigid march and you see then the portraits of some boys emerging from behind the ice. The first face surprises you, his eyes look up and his lips seem to smile. A shadow holds him by the hand. You remember then an interprovincial bus and a seat next to the window. His little face looks up at you and you in turn look at him as you press against the glass. You speak to him knowing that he will only see the movement of your mouth and your hands waving goodbye. Now you see him there once more, through the glaciers, and you want to tell him something, to leave the bus once and for all, to take him in your arms. The cold immobilizes you. You then see the crowd, the naked, frozen humanity advancing through the frost and it's something infinitely remote, glacial, his face abandoned already in ice."