Two close friends, Czech exiles in France for nearly half a century, take a final stroll together in the Luxembourg Gardens. One of them, a world-renowned writer named Milan, remains in Paris, while the other, a former journalist and the story's narrator, must return to Prague. Forced by circumstances, he misses his adopted country and fears a return to his homeland, which, having undergone profound transformations after 1989, is no longer truly his own. A final character, Gustáv Husák, the Czechoslovak communist leader who drove the first two into exile, completes the trio through the narrator's dreams, even nightmares. Questions arise: why did Gustáv Husák, this "president of oblivion," according to Milan, retreat into silence during the fall of the communist regime in Prague? How can we avoid succumbing to appearances, clichés, and arguments from authority that are characteristic of every era? Moreover, is it always necessary to resort to words to answer this? For, beyond the partisan truths that manipulate us, perhaps the silence of an old man who has left the battlefield alone conveys the authentic truth.