The first time I visited Nablus was in 1988. The last time was in 1993. I am now trying to return. I am also returning to a part of Naples that I used to frequent during that period. It is a place that still burns in my city and in my head, just as Nablus burnt during the Israeli sieges. First hypothesis: I think of an iron object to be constructed in Nablus with the help of a smith. A mute, blind object incapable of containing the memory of the place, with a short-lasting internal light. The same thing in Naples: working with the help of a smith and returning to a barred place. I think of the construction of two objects, in contact with each other but stubbornly silent. And also of the two men who will keep secret: the constructions, the concealed images and the place of abandonment. Possibly there will be the same smiths or the people I met between 1988 and 1993 in the two cities; in the exact places of their appearance while moving between Nablus and Naples. An oscillation in the gaze at the landscapes of two disfigured lands. Second hypothesis: I think of two places where I can display several images through holes in the floor or in the walls of a house in Nablus or in an empty building in Naples. The two objects are built to function with basic technology, intermittently. No witness is forced to keep silent: their voice will be able to say what happened during the time taken for the work. I think of paper burning, doors and furniture burning in Nablus and in Naples, of fires far from our eyes, yet still visible, and of a fish cut in half, resting on the palms of my hands, on the palms of the hands of the smiths. I dreamed of it, I will make it. For either of two hypotheses: the combustion is the work, whether or not you can see what has been burned. Broken bones in Palestine and poor people tied to their beds in Italy, this is what I recall of the two places. Together with military uniforms and medical aprons. Only a few images are needed to show what happened in those years, because the ferocity has not abated. It still lives with us in these hours.