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In the garden that shone green in the sun we passed among the mango cino y indio, the aguacate, the tamarinds. At a certain moment Papa stopped, put the bottle down on the grass, took the shovel and hit the tip against the ground. 

"No. Better later," he said. "It'll be even safer down there," and he took a few steps. He lifted some clods of earth, then passed the shovel to me. After removing some clods, I gave the shovel to Gianfranco.

Then Papa took the bottle and raised it against the sky: "A perpetual testimony of the White Tower," he said. He placed it in the hole, it reached the earth above it. I too threw some dirt on it and so did Gianfranco. 

"In a few days the grass will have grown back," Papa said. "We can't see anything anymore. Only we will know. Only us." and he smiled.