I don't remember when and where I first read the story Funes, the memory of Jorge Luis Borges. In view of this fact, two hypotheses occur: not having read before, not having read it and not remembering it. The two can happen to me altogether. If I were the first one, I would confirm my loopholes in canonical literature. In the second case, my bad memory. But look at the pleasure that these shortcomings have given me: I have read, as if it were the first time, in the version of Juan Garzia Garmendia, the history of the memory Funes.

Ireneo Funes, therefore, invisible, has reached a volume of the Naturalis history of the old Pliny. And soon after, he's mentally reciting the first paragraph of chapter twenty-four of the seventh book. The subject of this chapter is precisely memory. Since he fell from the horse, the memory of the notes is not empty: “I only have more memory than all individuals have ever had since the world is the world.” On the contrary, I may not be very able to think. To think is to forget the differences, to turn to the general, to abstraction. And in the mute world of Funes, there are no details, almost inseparable details.

The question is that of Andoni Egaña, not forgotten, in a column he had no entrapment: “I remember when and where he first read the story Funes the memoir of Jorge Luis Borges.” In what I thought I had read as a first time, because it has come to my memory, I had read it, surely in some subject of the career. But more important than that, this other one from Egaña: “And memory is, above all, a source of creativity. Nobody believes anything. We all believe what we remember by shaping the letter.” Another horse fell, Montaigne: “If I don’t have natural memory, I play a role.” Through these columns, for example, I myself.