My dad’s ideas were not so different from Ionesco’s. Carried away by his hallucinations, he plotted fantastical stories from the shadows of his room. The creatures of his mind shut away in the basement of his cerebral functions were clamoring to enter the house of his consciousness. In the end the doors gave way and the strange thoughts brought his inner reason crashing to the ground. Of course, the mind is an unsolved mystery and as for life, it’s a dream. My father chose an international intrigue to help him plunge into a dark labyrinth. He assembled the central theme of Mexican public life from his own private world.