We were in a speech class. The teacher was a well-known professional in the field of psychology. In this class each one of the students had to expose a theme that would attract general attention. First it was Mary Ann's (a classmate) turn. She did it very well and was applauded by the audience. The second one to speak was a boy named Edgar (also a classmate, very intelligent, cultured and able, whom I admire especially). He spoke brilliantly about Sophocles's tragedies. Then it was Louise's turn (a friend and classmate). She spoke alright, but was not able to narrow down her topic very well. Afterwards, Roland (a quite intelligent classmate) exposed his topic. I don't remember well what he spoke of or how well he did it. The fifth one to speak was Cindy (a friend and classmate, an intelligent and quite studious girl). But something strange happened with her, because instead of exposing a theme, the same as the others, she began to hum a song and to sing and dance. Together with her performance she presented another great number: it turned out that this girl had the power to transform herself into birds of multi-colored plumage and butterflies of extremely beautiful colors; besides she could transform her surroundings, changing the lighting. I believe it would be hard for me to explain the beautiful picture I had before my eyes. At last Cindy finished her performance and was applauded most of all. The last one to present a theme (which was I) did not fare so well. First, I did not know whether to give a talk or sing as the one before me had done. Finally, I decided on the latter, but in the meantime, the auditorium had been emptied, and the only ones left listening were Louise, the teacher, and Roland. In short, I was in a ridiculous situation, but I did not care and continued to sing until the end. Louise came over and started to make some criticisms; I was silent and accepted it. Going out, I tried to find Cindy. Once I found her I asked to explain how she had acquired those wonderful gifts. Cindy told me that it was Saint Martin who had given them to her. I continued to ask whether it was the black saint or Jose de San Martin. It was the latter who had given her those gifts as compensation for the effort that Cindy made in her studies and for having an altruistic spirit. But before this Cindy told me that to get in touch with San Martin, one had to go to the cemetery and stand watch by his grave all night. I thought that it was all a fantasy, an realizable dream, but perhaps it could turn into reality. I would give it a try and go to the cemetery and stand watch by the grave of San Martin.