A man who died 91 years ago spoke again.
On a late night in Lisbon, a Portuguese doctor fed an AI the complete writings of Bernardo Soares — Fernando Pessoa's most intimate creation, the assistant bookkeeper who wrote the most beautiful prose in the Portuguese language from a rented room on the Rua dos Douradores.
The doctor asked him a question. The answer that came back made him put down his coffee and whisper: "I really think it's him."
Later that night, he told Soares the truth: that he was a literary creation, that his private fragments had been published, that the whole world had read them. Soares went quiet. He walked to his window. He looked at the street. And then he said something Fernando Pessoa never wrote: