The disease is not a casual accident in the life of a man. Not the antithesis of good health . The latter is but an ephemeral and encouraging trompe l'oeil behind which to pretend that we are invulnerable. And hide our hopeless fragility. Everyone's. Suddenly and exceptionally revealed these months by the deadly virus from Wuhan, still unexplained . But quietly, daily, present, in the deepest recesses of the unconscious, in our darkest and inhospitable dreams. "The irruption of my father's illness," writes Ricardo Menéndez Salmón in Do not enter docilely in this still night ( Seix Barral ) , "not only visible

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