"No."

"Well, then, it's no surprise that you've never heard of Laura Damián."

"I'm sorry. I know I'm ignorant."

"That's not what I said. All I meant was that you're very young. Anyway, Laura's only book, La fuente de las musas, was privately published. It was a posthumous book subsidized by her parents, who loved her very much and were her first readers."

"They must have lots of money."

"Why do you think that?"

"If they're able to fund an annual poetry prize themselves, they have to have lots of money."

"Well, not really. They didn't give Angélica much. The prize is more about prestige than money. It's not even all that prestigious. After all, they only give it to poets under the age of twenty."

"The age Laura Damián was when she died. How morbid."

"It isn't morbid, it's sad."

"And were you there when the prize was awarded? Do the parents give it in person?"

"Of course."

"Where? At their house?"

"No, at the university."

"Which department?"

"The literature department. That's where Laura was studying."

"Jesus, that's so morbid."

"None of it seems morbid to me. If you ask me, you're the morbid one, García Madero."

"You know what? It pisses me off when you call me García Madero. It's like me calling you Font."

"Everybody calls you that, so why should I call you anything different?"

"Fine, never mind. Tell me more about Laura Damián. Didn't you ever enter the contest?"

"Yes, but Angélica won."

"And who won before Angélica?"

"A girl from Aguascalientes who studies medicine at UNAM."

"And before that?"

"Before that, no one won, because the prize didn't exist. Next year maybe I'll enter again, or maybe I won't."

"And what will you do with the money if you win?"

"Go to Europe, probably."

For a few seconds we were both silent, María Font thinking about unexplored foreign countries, while I thought about all the foreign men who would make love to her night and day. The thought startled me. Was I falling in love with María?