He had returned to Chile consumed with regret and remorse. If only he had begged her to stay, nothing would have changed. He would still have a
relationship with his children. But that wasn't enough of a jolt to open his heart to what he had had and lost, for he had returned into the rose-scented arms of Estella and Ramoncito and once again Federica had retreated into the recesses of his mind where her cries for him could no longer be heard.
Estella told her mother about her nightmares. ‘I’m afraid.' she said as her mother lay in the armchair like a fat seal, fanning herself with an Hispanic fan. ‘I’m afraid that Ramon’s going to die in Africa.’
Maria dabbed her sweating brow with a clean, white panuelo that her mother had made for her and considered her daughter’s problem with care. ‘You must go and visit Fortuna,’ she said after giving the matter some thought.
To read my future?’ Estella replied anxiously. She had often heard people speak about Fortuna for she was the only black person anyone had ever seen. It was said that her father had survived a shipwreck when a cargo carrying slaves had sunk off the coast of Chile. Her mother had been a native Chilean who had taken him in and nursed him back to health. Fortuna lived in a small village up the coast and when she wasn’t lying in the sun watching the world pass her by she read people’s fortunes for a small fee. How she survived on so
little money no one knew, but some said she was supported by an old man whose life she had saved by predicting an earthquake which would have killed him had he not left his house on her instructions.
Estella returned home to sleep on her mother’s advice. Ramon was sitting in his study tapping his thoughts into a computer. The evening was calm and melancholic, flooding the coast in a soft, pink light. Estella decided not to tell him about Fortuna, although the books he wrote were filled with mysteries and magic. She feared he might think less of her. Fortune-telling was very much associated with the suspicions of the under-classes. She crept up behind him and wound her arms around his neck. He was pleased to see her and kissed the brown skin on her wrists.
‘Let’s walk along the beach, I need some air,’ he said, leading her out by the hand. They walked through the strange pink light and kissed against the rhythm of the sea. ‘I’ll miss you when I go tomorrow,’ he said.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ she replied and frowned.
‘You’re not still worrying about your dream, are you?’ he asked, kissing her forehead.
‘No, no,’ she lied. ‘I just wish you weren’t going.’
‘I’ll be in Santiago tomorrow night, I have to see my agent in the afternoon. I’ll fly out Thursday night. I’ll call you from Santiago and I’ll call you from the airport.’
Then I’ll just wait,’ she sighed.
‘Yes. But I’ll think of you every minute and if you close your ears to the rest of the world you just might hear me sending you messages of love.’ He kissed her again, holding her tightly around her slim waist. Later, when he made love to her in the watery light of the moon that reflected off the sea and shimmered in through the window of their room, he tasted the roses on her skin and smelt the heavy scent of their intimacy and knew he would take them with him across the world and savour them when he was alone.
The following day Estella and Ramoncito waved goodbye to Ramon and watched his car disappear up the hill in a cloud of glittering dust. Ramoncito then skipped off to school with his mochila on his back filled with books and a box of sandwiches, which Estella had made him for lunch. He turned to wave at his mother, who stood at the foot of the road, and blew her a kiss. She blew one back and then remained there a while, smiling with tenderness at the
unguarded affection of her son which never ceased to amaze her.
She hadn’t dreamed about death again. She had floated on the memories of Ramon’s lovemaking and had awoken with the radiant complexion of a satisfied woman. But she still felt fearful and because of that icy fear she decided to go with her mother and visit Fortuna.
Pablo Rega watched them dig the grave. It was hot and the earth was hard and dry. He leant on the gravestone of Osvaldo Garcia Segundo and chewed on a piece of long grass while they toiled at the other end of the graveyard. ‘It’s a good position, that,’ he told Osvaldo. ‘Overlooking the sea, like you. Si, Señor, overlooking the sea is a prime spot. Imagine being stuffed back there without a view. I’d like to be here, where I can see the sea and the horizon. Gives one a feeling of space, of eternity. I like that. I’d like to be part of nature. What does it feel like, Osvaldo?’ He breathed in the scent of the dark green pine trees and waited for a reply, but Osvaldo had probably never been a man of words. ‘This place is getting pretty full,’ he continued. ‘Soon there won’t be any more room and they’ll have to start digging up old graves like yours. There’s a good chance I’ll be buried on top of you, then we can talk for eternity.’ He chuckled.