Lysander Gepto had created The inventor, his famous cartoon character, at the young age of 19; and he has written a dozen episodes, released weekly. After he had sold his creation to the powerful Jalgaro publishing house.

Without Lysander’s signature, The inventorin the hands of the best screenwriter and the best cartoonist of the publishing house, it had achieved success and importancewith biweekly episodes and entire books.

Fans have been millions, across generations; essentially in Argentina. But also in other Spanish-speaking countries, and among Italians, one of the many languages ​​into which it was translated.

With the commercial decline of that comic genre, The inventor it had become a cult material, Never forgotten. Lysander did not regret selling his creation in the beginning. He had decided to devote himself, without hesitation, to the real estate business. After reaching what he considered to be his highest creative level, he had disengaged himself from the profession of screenwriter.

But a reader constantly reminded him that he, Lysander, was the author of The inventor: who had written the colossal and classic screenplay of an unforgettable comic. A little younger than Lisandro himself, his name was Mario Pasco and he was also a screenwriter.

As a comic book reader, I was experienced enough to know that, before passing into the hands of the talented Jalgaro publishing house, The inventor it had been Lysander’s sole inspiration. Hopeless, Mario sent the editor a letter of thanks and comments for Lysander, and miraculously they made it to him.

With the passing years, Mario had become a comic writer. Even if it was not the moment of the culmination of those adventure, suspense or police comics, Mario, industrious, not lacking in talent and full of skills, had managed to publish and establish himself in Italy, in the few remaining publishers.

There he also met his wife and they lived with two children, a boy and a girl. On a certain visit of Lisandro to Italy, halfway between tourism and real estate, Mario learned about him through some Argentine acquaintances and went to look for him in his residence, with his comics (the collection of fortnightly episodes of his paternity, drawn by Nesene).

They talked for a while, and Mario repeated to Lysander how important it had been The inventor for his vocation as a screenwriter. It was his favorite cartoon of him. The beginning, according to Mario, the episodes written by Lysander, had forged the soul of the character, which still existed in its hundreds of subsequent episodes.

He did not conceive of his own work, Mario declared, without having read The inventor. He also gave him two CDs with an Italian miniseries which, Mario said, would be particularly interesting for Lisandro.

Lysander thanked Mario profusely for his praise and invited him to lunch. They drank and chatted like two friends. They said goodbye by exchanging phone numbers and addresses.

Back in Buenos Aires, Lisandro was really fascinated by the series, about an Italian family with a detective housewife. But could never advance in the Mario comics. He tried a couple of times: they bored him. I couldn’t find the tone, or perhaps the meaning.

Every so often new Mario comics came to his house, and he repeated his attempt to read them. But no luck. I was sorry.

Sometimes Lysander he reflected on how different Mario’s existence was from his own: Mario had maintained his vocation as a screenwriter all his life, while Lysander had abandoned it at dawn.

Mario was married, had two children and was happy. He liked being able to make a living from his job. While Lysander had not married even once, nor had he found a stable partner, nor did he know very well what his vocation was.

The real estate business had been accessible and fruitful; and in the comic he didn’t think he could go any further or achieve more than he had achieved. Why, then, Lysander wondered, did Mario send me his books? And what could I do to get them interested? I owe him a punishment for his kindness, but I can’t see how he could provide it.

The decades passed. Through an editor of such a magazine – and no one outside that small environment would record the movements of a cartoonist -, in a completely random way, Lisandro discovered that Mario was visiting Argentina. He did not move, but he was surprised that Mario had not tried to contact him.

Maybe finally he resented his lack of commentary on his albums. Reality turned out to be more intricate.

Mario was dying. He wanted to die in Argentina, but he hadn’t warned his wife or children. She would let fate decide for him. It could expire at any time. We are not obliged to take care of our last things, Lysander knew what Mario had said.

As in a bad script, the sneaky news fueled Lysander’s need to read one of Mario’s books and comment on it. He began with what was furthest from his favorite themes: a saga of wizards and swords. It was difficult for him to enter, development was uphill; but when he finished it, something remained.

An aftertaste of emotion, fun, meaning. Maybe it was because he knew his staunch reader was dying, but in the end, in the “last days” of reading, I had found a charm.

She hastened to tell him. She searched among those who knew how to contact him, because Mario had strictly hidden his path on that journey. Lysander was late.

Suddenly, for the first time in 50 years, he felt the need to write a screenplay. Perhaps in the same Mario saga. Rewrite it and continue. But it didn’t last. That idea was on the other side of death. And on this side of life was the incompleteness, the ledge on which he had come into the world and from which he would one day leave him.

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