The line that transforms a significant experience within us into a historical event is thin, almost invisible. It does not concern itself with how many years will pass before this happens, it does not completely disconnect one from the other, nor does it idealize either the experience or the historical event.

Where the Wolf Lives?, with the dedication "For the friends, from '67 to '74," exhausted from decades, is being reissued exactly fifty years after the emblematic 1974. It balances on that thin, almost invisible line that, willingly or not, is drawn with the closing of half a century.

The literary text remains exactly the same, with the mode of expression I had then as I moved relentlessly towards narrative discourse. Here, closed spaces (student apartment, prisons, parental home) communicate incessantly, comfortingly, with the openness of art, of fairy tales, of dreams, an outing, the streets.

A personal postscript traces my participation in the events I experienced – in History, in other words, as it now becomes autonomous from the experience, forgotten by most, yet continues to demand our empathy, humility, and introspection. Thus, I lived everything together with the friends – those far away yet eternally present.