One morning of 1965, a man named Jorge Garcia Torres Oriol left his home, telling his wife he had to buy a pack of cigarettes, and disappeared. The "cigarettes" plot is overused, after having been borrowed by generations of bored spouses willing to leave their present family to build a new one somewhere else. But there is more to this story. Elena Torres started worrying after a few hours. She first rang up friends and Jorge's favourite hangouts. Then she called the hospitals, without result. She spent a wakeful night, hoping to see him in the morning with an extravagant explanation. She would forgive him. He was still missing by ten a.m. She called the police. The police came, and said it was very common, probably he had a mistress somewhere, he'd came back crawling and repentant, give him a week. The police left. Elena would not buy this story. Jorge was a loving husband, never seen chasing other women. So she went down the street, and started asking questions and showing Jorge's picture. Have you seen this man, this is my husband ? She didn't care about what people thought. A week went by. Jorge did not came back. She now had some clues, hints about what he had done this fateful morning. He had bought the cigarettes. He had stopped at a bookstore and bought a map. He had bought a kid's compass at a novelty store. Two beggars had seen him walking down the Calle Grande, the main street in this small country town. He had given them a nice amount of money, they could not remember how much. He was heading north, they said. Elena found an old woman. She had been sweeping on her front door, when this handsome man had appeared from nowhere and had asked for something (water, wine ?). She had complied, he had said thanks very gently, very Jorge. Elena showed Jorge's picture to the old woman's dog and the dog wagged its tail happily. Jorge had left the main road, and taken the narrow dirt path behind the old woman's house. The mystery was over. Standing in the middle of the path, Elena turned to the sombre, deep mass of the forest, a few miles away, who sat on the earth like an angered cloud. Jorge had come home, finally. He had gone back to his primordial mother, or lover, the one woman he had known before he married her. Elena knew what she