His name was simply—Tlön. That was all he had to say to the judge, who insisted that he must have a family name, or something. Chained to the nearby column of the courthouse, Tlön was silent. He appeared not to have heard the proceedings, the rumor in the courtroom, where nobody knew him, the verdict… He appeared indifferent. Paradoxically, the sole word in the indictment was “indifference.” When the judge left the courtroom, his job accomplished, two guards approached Tlön from behind and attempted to pick him up and take him back to jail. He did not move. The courtroom was empty by now. With consternation visible on their faces, the guards established that Tlön was dead. Panic-stricken, they found that they were unable to move his rigid body. For days the workmen tried to remove Tlön’s body from the courtroom, but that turned out to be impossible. Enraged, the people systematically demolished the courthouse. When the whole building was destroyed, Tlön’s body still hovered above the rubble, precisely at the place where he was sitting during the trial. The town was soon deserted. Nobody could endure this lasting monument to Tlön’s indifference.