This verb was used often in a household that valued memory almost as much as usefulness. It drew attention because it mingled the simplicity of mortadella sandwiches at snack time with a darker, quieter reflection on decline. From an early age, the narrator understood what Bologna and death signified, yet the deeper meaning behind depreciation remained elusive. Even now, it lingers as a question, never fully resolved. For example, the father would pause before a broken chair, study it with a precise, almost clinical gaze, as if weighing the possibility of restoring it, and then declare plainly that:
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This chair has already been paid for.
That statement carried a pragmatic truth: the chair, once useful, could be repurposed as firewood for the stove. In the family’s view, what depreciated tended to disappear into the trash. The daily press carried examples of depreciation in a thousand forms. For instance, the narrator no longer follows any news about a controversial figure named Villarejo because it feels as though the topic has suffered over-depreciation. The person in question is not of interest, not even his entanglements with a suspicious ally, which would hardly be surprising if it were true. The figure seems dead to the household, yet sensational headlines remain part of the narrative. The sense is that fatigue, exhaustion, and excess accelerate depreciation, eroding whatever once felt vital.
There is a lingering perception that amnesty itself, when viewed as an ideal and complete pardon, may also suffer depreciation. Does a perfect amnesty lose value as it sits in the record books, counted against the long arc of events?
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In what sense?
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It is accepted as it is.
The text suggests that certain truths are internalized, becoming almost invisible because they are accepted so fully that the question loses its urgency. If someone questions who has funded a particular arrangement, it invites curiosity, even skepticism. The idea that a relative who dislikes another might unexpectedly settle a formal obligation tomorrow seems improbable, yet such moments exist in political and personal life, often under the surface. If the present is framed as settled, if political interest has abstracted the issue away, then the responsibility appears to rest with those who have stood in the way or kept faith with tradition. The metaphor of the jug—filled, then emptied, and finally broken or repaired in a way that is hard to define—reappears. The overarching point is that the topic of amnesty, whether it arrives or not, carries no decisive consequence in the moment, much like the fate of Villarejo or the chair in the hall. It is a fatigue-driven depreciation that colors perception more than it dictates action.