That night the firmament joutait with the convex sea and one forgot the steel gray clouds of the day. My companion and I, under the sky flared, discussing our past escapades. We côtoyions alone with the infinite. Sometimes shells hurt our feet and we walked towards the distant city guided by the bottom of the still warm sand and neither cold wind coming from the sea, nor the fatigue affect our momentum. We rivaled memory to exhume the name of such a class that was with it, playing soccer with the other. We often stopped looking for a name or a place, an evanescent thought to leave immediately after a mutual brilliance in each of our memories in the maze of the past. My friend sometimes interspersed our common memories of the name of a girl I had later found the name. He said it to me that night with all his poetic verve and narrator she was miraculous purity, proud, affable at once, the link with his adolescent emotions and those of its interwar ages. I listened fascinated and irritated both by his digressions, moved by the search for love of my friend under these myriads of stars.