Estella and her mother arrived by bus and walked directly to Fortuna’s small house, which stood just off the dusty road. There were no flowers or bushes, just dry sandy ground and rubbish, which Fortuna scattered around the house - not to ward off the evil spirits as people suspected but because she was too lazy to throw things into a bin. Her house smelt of rotting food and sour milk and Estella and her mother found themselves having to disguise their grimaces by smiling in order not to offend the old woman. Fortuna sat outside on a large wicker rocking-chair, watching the odd car pass by, humming old Negro spirituals her father had taught her as a child. When she saw Maria she laughed from her belly and enquired after Pablo Rega.
‘Still talking to the dead?’ she asked. ‘Hasn’t someone told him that they can't hear him? They don’t hang around you know, they fly off into the world of spirits the moment they leave this godforsaken earth.’
Maria ignored her and explained that her daughter had come to have her future read. Fortuna stopped rocking and sat up, her expression sliding into the serious guise of a wise woman conscious of the responsibility that came with
her gift.
She asked Estella to sit down and pull the chair up so that they faced one another with their knees almost touching. Maria flopped into another chair and pulled out her Hispanic fan. Fortuna took Estella’s trembling hands in her own soft fleshy hands that had never experienced a day’s hard labour and pressed the pads of Estella’s palms with her thumbs. She pulled her mouth into various strange shapes and closed her eyes, leaving her lashes to flutter about as if she had no control over them. Estella looked at her mother anxiously, but Maria nodded to her to concentrate and fanned herself in agitation.
‘You have never been so happy,' Fortuna said and Estella smiled, for it was true, she had never been so happy. ‘You have a son who will be a famous writer one day like his father.’ Estella blushed and grinned with pride. ‘He will channel his pain into poetry that will be read by millions.’ Estella’s smile disintegrated as the icy claws of fear once more scratched at her heart. Fortuna’s eyelids fluttered with more speed. Maria stopped fanning herself and stared at her with her mouth agape. ‘I see death,’ she said. Estella began to choke. ‘I can’t see the face, but it’s close. Very close.’ Fortuna opened her eyes as Estella pulled her hands away and heaved as her throat constricted, leaving
barely any room for the air to reach her lungs. Her mother threw herself out of her chair with the agility of a much slimmer woman and thrust her daughter’s face down between her knees.
‘Breathe, Estella, breathe,’ she said as her daughter gasped and spluttered, fighting the fear that strangled her. Fortuna sat back in her chair and watched as mother and daughter struggled against the inevitability of her prediction. Finally, when Estella began to breathe again, her choking was replaced by deep sobs that wracked her entire being.
‘I don’t want him to die,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t want to lose him, he’s my life.’ Maria pulled her daughter into her large arms and attempted to comfort her, but there was nothing she could say. Fortuna had spoken.
‘Please tell me it is not Ramon,’ she begged, but Fortuna shook her head.
‘I cannot tell you because I do not know,’ she replied. ‘His face was not revealed to me. I can do no more.’
‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Maria asked in desperation.
‘Nothing. Fate is stronger than all of us.’
Estella was determined to change the future. She told her mother that Ramon
was leaving for Africa the following day and that if she could prevent him going she might save his life. Maria didn’t try to stop her. She knew she wouldn’t listen. She was too distressed to stay in Cachagua and wait for disaster to strike. She embraced her daughter at the bus station and reassured her that she would look after Ramoncito while she was away. ‘God go with you,’ she said. ‘May He protect you.’
Estella cried all the way to Santiago. She sat with her head leaning against the window, replaying all her most treasured memories of Ramon as if he had died already. She closed her eyes and prayed until her silent prayers formed words on her tongue that she mumbled deliriously without realizing that the other passengers could hear her, but were too polite to ask her to be quiet. When she arrived in Santiago she took a taxi to his apartment. She rang the bell but there was no reply. She stood in the doorway of the apartment block and disintegrated once more into tears. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. Perhaps she was too late. What if he was dead in his apartment? She collapsed onto the marble steps and put her head in her hands. When she felt a gentle tap on her shoulders she lifted her eyes expecting to see Ramon, only to be disappointed as the porter stood over her with a sympathetic expression