So that in the life of human beings the real and the fantastic find a perfect symbiosis

I. Arrival in the Land of Light

Samana came out of the bathroom, went into her room and got into bed. The heavy supper was making it difficult for her to fall asleep. She tossed and turned for a while, curled up under her heavy duvet, until at last her being left her body and headed for the Kingdom of Heaven.

…

She flew in an aeroplane towards the West. Behind her she was leaving old Europe for the New World. As the plane flew on, the dawn broke over the places it passed. It seemed as if the plane was spreading a blanket of light over the sea and the land. With a little imagination, you could even see the shadow cast by the plane as the advance guard of the day.

Down below, the Atlantic showed its rough waters, an infinite succession of rough waves, an ocean of white specks. Occasionally, groups of clouds of varying hues came rushing to meet the day. Some thin, translucent, almost invisible; others huge, standing upright in the sky, showing in the magnificence of their fatness rare sculptures.

As she flew over Bermuda the clouds made a thick common front, blocking her view of the Cursed Archipelago. “It would be nice to be swallowed up by the forces of nature now and go into the fourth dimension,” thought Samana, but perhaps the Triangle’s giant hoover was broken or simply unplugged and didn’t work.

And a little while later, her land of destiny loomed before her eyes, in the deep distance: the beautiful island of Hispaniola. An island that Columbus described in his diary as the most beautiful place his weary navigator’s eyes had ever beheld.

Little by little the plane descended, plunging into the sea of greenery.

…

Centuries ago, perhaps millennia or eons, I inhabited this land. I was a Taino girl then, a member of that people of peaceful Indians who guarded this island before the coming of the white man. We called this island Ayití, the Mountainous Land. My father was a great priest, initiated into the great mysteries of the afterlife. I had no siblings and my father instructed me to follow in his footsteps. At my Baptism of Light I was given the name Samana. Throughout my life there was only one tragedy: my love was carried away by the waves in a terrible storm.

Now I am returning to my island in the guise of a European girl, an inhabitant of the Old Continent. I have followed the normal steps of someone my age: I grew up, I studied, I graduated in economics and I work for a development bank. But although all this is part of my outer life, in my inner world I am still Samana. And although apparently I am coming here for the first time in my life for work reasons, I know that the purpose of my return is different, because it is written that I have to search, among the wreckage of that shipwreck, for the person who is to love me.

…

The plane was getting closer and closer to the ground. You could see the mountain ranges, the rivers, the palm trees… the tin roofs of the suburbs, the various vehicles… It landed. Samana got out of the plane, confused among the crowd of tourists who were preparing to occupy their days of rest in a banal way. She descended the steps of the plane. She stepped on the ground. A quick shiver ran through her. She was back.

As she waited for her small suitcase to come out on the conveyor belt, she watched the people. “What a variety of skin tones they all have!” She was so engrossed in her musings that she didn’t notice a boy approaching her. “Would you like me to help you with your bags, Miss?” Samana turned around in a harsh manner, looked at him and, after managing to understand where she was and what they wanted from her, uttered an almost inaudible “No, thank you” as she tried to blur a smile on her lips. “Try to stay awake from now on,” was the reprimand that her mind let out.

She left the airport. She had come to analyse an investment project for a local company that wanted to expand its business. The company had told her they would come and pick her up. She scanned the crowd crowded around the exit ramp, but could not identify any signs, until “Ah! There”… there was an older man with a dark complexion holding a small sign with “Marevol” written on it. “Are you from the Marevol company? “Yes, ma’am. “I am Samaná Díaz. “Well, I was just leaving, ma’am, I thought you weren’t coming”. The little man picked up her suitcase and walked towards the car park. Samana followed him. “Wait here, madam, I forgot where I left the car and I don’t see it.” Samana had no choice but to wait in the hot Caribbean sun for the driver to find the car. After a short while of waiting, she rummaged in her handbag for a handkerchief and tied it around her head. “At least this way you’ll avoid a sunstroke,” she thought. Suddenly the chauffeur rushed past with an expression of infinite happiness on his face: “I saw it, madam, there it is”.

The car, modern and comfortable, started up. The road went along the sea, the beautiful Caribbean, towards the city. “What is your name?” “Manuel, madam. “Are you from Santo Domingo? “Yes, ma’am, I’m from the capital. But we capitalenos are very black and very ugly”. To the right were all those miserable coloured shacks whose sad tin roofs she had already seen from the plane. Deep down she was shocked to see so much poverty all at once. But the chauffeur’s animated chatter prevented her from sinking into a sea of musing. “They told me you were American and that I wouldn’t understand you. But I understand you. You’re not American, are you?”. “No, I’m Spanish. “Spanish. How nice! Look, this is Juan Carlos’s bridge, from when he was here with his wife…. How are those people there?”. “Who? The kings? I guess they’re fine”. “They’re millionaires, aren’t they?”. “Man, they are kings and they have money”. “You guys don’t have a president, do you?” “No.” This time it was Samana who attacked: “Are you happy with Balaguer?”. “Balaguer was fine for the first two times, but not any more”. “He’s blind, isn’t he?”. “He has it all…” Manuel replied and let out a long laugh from under his breath.

They drove the car across the bridge over the Ozama River, the same river on which the son of Columbus moored his ship when he returned from his long voyages in the West Indies, to climb the steps that led to his majestic mansion as viceroy of the island. They skirted the colonial city and continued along the Malecon. Santo Domingo has no beach, but it does have a very long promenade built on the rocks so that it stands as a natural viewpoint over the sea, full of palm trees, almond trees, music stalls and people who, at sunset, crowd its space to dance, stroll or simply let themselves be carried away to some dreamland, enveloped by the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks. This promenade is the Malecon.

They passed two huge sculptures about a hundred metres apart, the first one in the shape of a U, the second one in the shape of an I. “This is the female sculpture, that one the male”. “Oh, these Caribbean people, they’re naughty, even when it comes to naming the sculptures,” thought Samana.

Although the exultant sun warmed the atmosphere and its violent reverberation on the objects ignited in her soul the desire to live, her body did not seem to be satisfied with the abrupt changes to which it was being subjected. Already on the plane she had felt her tonsils beginning to ache. Now she was beginning to lose her voice.

They arrived at the company. She went upstairs to speak to the person who had contacted her during the preparations prior to the granting of the loan. She went into the office. She went to say hello, but her voice was hidden behind her vocal cords and would not come to her lips. She tried again, but in vain. She could not speak. Alfredo, the surprised interlocutor who was witnessing Samana’s strenuous efforts to speak, offered her a seat and, nervously rummaging through the pile of papers that covered his desk, managed to pull out a small box and offered it to her. It was peppermint candy. “Give me a second, I’ll finish this fax and I’ll be right with you”. Samana nodded, smiled, popped a mint into her mouth and, as she let it slowly unravel, freed her mind to scan both the place and the man before her. In any business they say that first impressions are very important, so let’s get a feel for it!

Alfredo informed her that the other three people who were to come to inspect the project would arrive on Sunday evening. Samana already knew that her boss would arrive on Sunday, but she thought that maybe one of the other two would come earlier. Since it was Friday, she had a whole weekend to herself before starting work. “I’ll see you Monday morning. I’ll come and pick you all up at the hotel. I’ve booked you a room at the Hotel El Embajador. The driver will take you there. If you need anything at the weekend, don’t hesitate to call me”. He left the office and was heard to say, “Manuel! Take the lady to the Ambassador”.

She entered what was to be her little house for a week. The room was huge and nicely decorated, all in pastels of pink and blue. She saw on the dresser a basket of fruit wrapped in cellophane paper and adorned with a big bow. “The manager wishes you a pleasant stay”, it said on the little card. Well, first she’d take a shower, relax and then she’d see what she could do. Once wrapped in the fluffy bathrobe she lay down on the bed with the fruit next to her to eat. She tasted little by little… the pineapple, the melon, the papaya, the grapefruit, the mango, the apples…. Mmmm! What an exquisite sweetness!….

She still had a few hours of sunshine left and she could take advantage of it to see something. She could go and visit the area of the colonial city by the sea or she could… Suddenly her tonsils gave her a terrible cramp. “Don’t go out today. Stay here and cure us” they seemed to want to say. Samana had no choice but to listen to them, because she knew that if she didn’t, they would make her afternoon impossible. So she gathered up her things, got under the warm blanket, sipped a camomile tea with honey that had just been brought into the room and, while intoning in her mind this prayer: “Mistresses, Beings of Light, I implore you to remove from my physical body any evil and restore me to health”, she fell asleep.

…

It is strange to come here after such a long time. There was nothing in this area before, only trees and the roar of the sea. My soul vibrates with every breath I take of this intense air. It is very close to here that my marriage took place. I still remember it as if it were today. I feel him close. I have a feeling he will soon come back to me.

…

The next day she went out for breakfast. Although her idea was to rent a car and visit the island, she had no desire to drive in a country where there were no traffic rules. When she went to the receptionist to ask for a place to rent a car, she tried in vain to articulate. The words would not come out. With great effort she managed to make herself understood. The girl kindly offered to call different agencies herself and then tell her prices and availability. Samana went to the buffet, filled a plate with all sorts of tropical fruits and went to sit down.

The small dining room was next to huge windows that opened onto the sea. Except for a small table at which a boy sat, the rest was empty. As she passed him, she greeted him: “Good morning”. “Good morning”. She inferred from his accent that he was Spanish and asked him. “Yes, I’m from Salamanca”. “Man, what a small world! So am I. Can I sit with you?”. “Of course!”. Although the voice was barely born from her gut, she was able to tell him her vague plans for that weekend. “Don’t ever rent a car around here. I’m leaving now for Puerto Plata and if you want I’ll give you a lift”.

Samana was comfortably submerged in the soft seat of the car. Just outside the capital you could see, on both sides of the road, multicoloured one-storey houses made of palm leaves or wood with their distinctive tin roofs. Since life was hard, it was necessary to give it a touch of joy by painting the façade with colours that were full of strength and vitality. Bright yellows, pinks, blues, greens, reds. Any combination, no matter how shocking it might seem at first glance, was allowed, as long as it brought a slight smile to the lips of those who looked at it.

The fact that it was forbidden to cut the trees, on pain of imprisonment if one was caught in the act, had contributed to the development of a dense vegetation that over the years had become the undisputed queen of the place, invading at will and everywhere as many mountain hills as it could get in its way. It was a pleasure to drive along this road, framed by enormous mountains covered with this intense green. Green on green against the blue of the sky.

They were heading north, towards the ocean, bordering the Sierra Central, from which towering peaks, such as Pico Duarte, over three thousand metres high, jutted out. The entire geography was crisscrossed by rivers, streams and torrents that caressed, tilled and gave away the fertile land. After passing Santiago, the second most important city in the country, Lorenzo took a detour and began to climb a mountain road. They had to cross the Sierra Septentrional and he had chosen the most beautiful way to do it. He must have thought “Poor girl! At least let her go away having seen something”.

As a good mountain road it was a continuous succession of curves. Samana’s eyes were not big enough to capture so much beauty. She didn’t know where to look, as each corner surpassed the previous one in beauty. The valleys that stretched out at her feet like mantles of immaculate greenery; the thousand and one varieties of palm trees that competed to reach the clouds; the little houses that perched on the outside of the curves and looked like wobbling trapeze artists on steep cliffs…. The walls, too, were mute witnesses to another kind of beauty. Loaded with political slogans and social demands, they were the voice of a poverty-stricken people, with high illiteracy rates, but crying out for a pinch of dignity.

“Don’t vote in the elections; they are the rich people’s party; fight”

Something that was leaving her speechless and that would not cease to amaze her throughout her stay on this island were the butterflies! Both for their wealth of shapes and colours – there were lilacs, greens, reds, yellows, pinks, whites, browns, maroons – and for their liveliness and joy, it could be safely said that they were the peaceful invaders of this island.

…

When I was a child, my grandmother used to tell us that every Indian had a butterfly for a fairy godmother. That’s why they came in so many different colours, because the men and women who lived in Ayití were all basically different. And as the season of birth influenced the being, depending on it, so was your butterfly. The white and green ones guarded those born in rainy seasons, the blue-grey ones those born in winter, the red-orange ones those born under the summer sun. The yellow ones were the guardian souls of pure beings who escaped the mechanicism of the seasons. My grandmother used to say that we should look for our butterfly and grow beautiful flowers to feed it. You could also, once you had become intimate with your butterfly, strive to change colour together… until you had a yellow aura. To do so, one had to go through an arduous process of inner purification… during which the soft and tender fluttering of your butterfly was always a help and a comfort.

…

In the background was the ocean, a deeper blue than the southern sea, and they went down the green slope towards it. He left her on the beach and went away. Samana climbed up to some rocks in the middle of the sand… she stood gazing at the calm swaying of the waters… and felt herself floating. Nearby, a couple was bathing in the water, squeezing each other so tightly that they seemed to merge into one being.

She spent the day wandering through the narrow streets of this colonial city, which still preserved forts, churches and many multicoloured wooden houses. She stopped a “motoconcho“, a motorbike that functions as a taxi, and rode it up to the top of a huge mountain, the Lometa de Santa Isabel, a nature reserve that surrounded the city and seemed to embrace it like a protective shield. From the top, the view was magnificent, all the way up the coast to beyond the Haitian border. Below lay Puerto Plata, serene, tranquil.

In the evening she took a bus back to the capital. She met up again with the sweet couple and they struck up a conversation…. Many words, full of affection and feeling. When they arrived in Santo Domingo they were no longer strangers. “I wonder how quickly we can grow to love some of the people who swiftly cross our lives”, she thought.

Although the next day also brought her experiences and joys, seeing the colonial area of Santo Domingo; visiting Felix and Genova, the couple of the previous day, at their home in a suburb on the outskirts; and going to a wonderful concert in a large hotel in the capital, something inside her was making her restless, something was telling her: “Get ready, he’s coming”. And her blood boiled with anxiety.

II. A First Contact

Her first day of work was spent visiting the different branches of the company and of the competition in Santo Domingo capital and its surroundings. Observing, taking data, verifying, asking questions, taking notes, analysing, reasoning… Only in the evening, during dinner, it seemed that her soul took a little break. She could relax. The table was rectangular. Next to her, to her right, at the head of the table, was Alfredo, a Dominican of Lebanese descent. Opposite her was her German boss, Michael. To her left, Matt, the World Bank guy who had come all the way from Washington. Opposite him, Bob, an American consultant, now retired, but the undisputed expert in the sector. Between Matt and Bob, occupying the other chair of the table, was Marco, Alfredo’s brother. Here was Samana, in a luxurious Italian restaurant, on a Caribbean island surrounded by men from all over the world, for whom she was the centre of attention, the destination of their treats.

Little by little she narrowed her horizon, until she focused all her interest on Alfredo. She was surprised that she seemed to know him so well, when they had only seen each other for a few hours. They talked about their lifes, their travels, their hobbies, apparently banal things… but they were slowly getting to know each other. There were so many similarities between their lives that it seemed unbelievable.

…

Alfredo, when you left at the age of sixteen to study abroad, first four years in the United States, then two in France, then back to America for as many years, I was far away, in my native Spain, preparing my future as a wandering nomad with the games of my childhood. I too have spent half of my life wandering, from one country to another, from one continent to another. Wandering alone, but knowing that this solitude was preparing me. By making our lives parallel in a way, fate wanted us to be alike. Beings who live similar experiences tend to develop a similar aura. But what was fate playing at?

…

He looked into her eyes and said: “I sense that you are a person for whom languages are not just words, but that you can become fascinated by the culture behind them”. A little flame shone in Samana’s eyes. Rarely had anyone managed to unveil the true meaning of her mad passion for languages. Her longing to better understand the feeling of the soul hidden behind a sea of words. And this stranger had hit the nail on the head. She would have to observe him better. There was something special about him that slowly, like a climbing plant in the moonlight, began to invade her, to seep into the interstices of her soul.

When they arrived back at the hotel, his boss blurted out, “I think the mix of Latin and Arab blood is a bit explosive for you” and smiled. Samana marched meditatively back to her room. Maybe that was it. The two parts of the world for which she had a blind, irrational fascination were Arab countries and Latin America. Maybe that had something to do with the way she felt. As she lay in her bed waiting for sleep, she couldn’t get out of her mind a sentence Alfredo had addressed to her twice that night: “I think you’re a very intense woman”.

…

Hello, can you hear me? I’ve come to look for you. I know that your soul survived the shipwreck and that it is written that in this existence we will meet again. Please, love, give me a clear sign of where you are, in which body you are. Speak to me. I wait for you.

…

III. The reunion of the Longing Souls

The next day passed again in fast motion, visiting Marevol’s establishments and those of the competition in Santiago. Back to observing, taking data, verifying, questioning, noting, analysing, reasoning. It seemed as if the mind was incapable of assimilating the information at the speed at which it was arriving. She felt like an autistic wrapped in a glass bubble. Data crashed into the bubble and shot out in all directions of the universe… while the poor mind was unable to run after them and capture them. Despite the mental stress, her soul was incomprehensibly immersed in a lake of serene and infinite peace.

Night came again. The same six “horsemen of the Apocalypse” dined as the night before, but this time around a round table in the hotel’s Chinese restaurant. During the day the body was nourished with light local dishes, and in the evening, now well showered and relaxed, it was nourished with distant exoticisms. The general conversation was pleasant, relaxed, everything was going normally, until Alfredo pressed Samana’s foot under the table hard and tenderly at the same time. An uncontrollable lightning bolt shot through her body and knocked her out for a couple of rounds. Knocked out, unable to react. Never before in her life had she felt such a strong voltage coursing through her insides. What to do? How to react? She was materially incapable of turning her neck to look at him, of even looking up and looking at someone else in the circle. Surely she had turned red and everyone had noticed. “Samana, pass me the rice, please,” Michael said. She obeyed like an automaton, but managed to catch out of the corner of her eye the consoling look her boss was giving her. In a way, the warmth of that look reassured her and she was able to regain control of her body. “Thanks, boss,” she thought.

After dinner, everyone went upstairs to their rooms. Samana reached hers, just in time to close the door behind her before collapsing on the floor next to the bed. She had no strength to move. A hitherto unknown feeling came over her. She was gripped by an uncontrollable flame.

…

Jimani I feel your soul coming closer through the ages. I feel how you are being reborn from the sleep of the just and how you cross the nebula of space to prostrate yourself before me. Show yourself.

…

The phone rang. “How are you? Did you sleep already?”. “No, I’ll be right down”. In the blink of an eye Samana was standing by the car door. She bent down to the height of the window, looked at him and got in. Silence. “Where are we going?” he asked. “Show me somewhere nice”. And they set off. He parked the car next to some gardens. In the middle of the gardens stood a small octagonal building. Inside was a spiral staircase piercing the bowels of the earth, surrounded by stalactites hanging boldly from the cave ceiling, roots and tree trunks bound in intimate symbiosis with the rock. Below, a small bar, a mini-restaurant, an orchestra and a tiny dance floor. The grandeur of the cave’s soaring ceilings contrasted with the tiny size of all the toy emulations on the floor. They sat on stools by the bar. They began to talk a little about everything and the nervousness disappeared. He had such a relaxed and interesting way of developing any subject that, whatever they talked about, her mind was fascinated.

That morning, as they drove to Santiago, Samana had been criticising US neo-imperialist policy to Matt, while the poor man had been trying in vain to come up with arguments that might convince her otherwise. Now Alfredo was judging her for it. “Deep down I agree with what you say, but I think you’re a bit naïve. Not everything that comes from the United States is bad. For example, it is a country that offers countless opportunities to many people who come to it empty-handed”. “But what about its selfish policy of exploitation and domination of Latin America?”. “Any great power develops it, but don’t worry, because it has to change. If they don’t want us Latin Americans to invade them with our hunger, they will have to change their policies and really help our countries to develop, not out of altruism, of course, but so that we are not an obstacle to their own growth”.

Alfredo asked her to dance. The merengue rhythm was extremely catchy. It was irresistible to dance, moving one’s body little by little, imperceptibly, almost without leaving one’s place, while not a single particle of the body was left without doing its bit in this swaying. It was like playing at dancing, without dancing, total movement in absolute stillness. He took her in his arms and accelerated her speed of rotation. Between the dizziness that so much spinning had produced and the magnetic current that electrocuted her limbs, she had no choice but to lean on him and let herself go, if she didn’t want to fall to the ground. This song, this delicious ordeal, seemed to go on forever. When the song was finally over, they went to the bar, paid and left.

They stood by a tree and he kissed her.

…

How many centuries waiting for your kiss! How many eons! Now that I have tasted the honey of your lips, I know that you are the one I was waiting for. I have felt the same spring of happiness welling up in my soul as when you kissed me for the first time by the Sacred Lake of the Great Cave. Thank you for hearing my pleas and coming to me. Sit beside me and tell me what you have been doing for so many existences that we did not cross each other. Speak, love, I am listening.

…

IV. The Fusion of the Sacred Fires

Wednesday began with a visit to the German ambassador, during which he briefed her and Michael on the political and macroeconomic situation in the country. Later, they visited the Marevol distribution centre with the Americans and Alfredo. A gigantic building. Samana would have given anything for the radiant midday sun to make her tiny, tiny, tiny… to melt her into the flowing asphalt. How hard it was to conceal indifference towards a being whose very look tore out your soul!

Then came seven hours in which the five of them, with Luis, Alfredo’s cousin, were cloistered in a small room. The aim was to ask as many questions as possible in order to collect and verify as much data as necessary to develop the project feasibility report: number of employees in each location, sales volume per employee and square metre, pricing policy, product range, personnel policy, management training, inventories, control policy, organisation chart, computerisation, sector ratios, marketing policies.

At the end of the marathon session, a new adventure began. She rushed to a shop to buy a present for Genova. It was her birthday and she had called her to say she was going to visit her. Genova and Felix were that sweet couple of eternal lovers she had met on her way back from Puerto Plata. After a lot of rummaging in a matter of seconds, because they were closing, she bought her a set of dishes, with matching tea towels. They were very bulky. Marevol’s driver took her to the slums of Santo Domingo, where Genova lived. She couldn’t explain to herself how she managed to find the little house again in the maze of narrow streets. The truth is that she arrived, late, because the meeting had lasted longer than expected, but she arrived.

“How nice of you to come, my dear, I thought you wouldn’t be coming by now”. When she saw the big package in Samana’s hands, she was perplexed. “I wanted to see you again, but you didn’t have to bring me anything”. The poor girl didn’t know how to react. “Ssshh, my girl, don’t say anything and open the package, let’s see if you like it”. Iralis, her precious two year old little girl, rushed to help her in the laborious task of opening the carefully wrapped package. Little by little their faces lit up with joy. “I gave you one of those cloths”, said Felix. “Oh, Felix, I lost it in the last transfer!” replied Geno, with the voice of a resigned wife who suddenly saw herself capable, even if only for a few hours, of escaping with her mind from the straits and limitations that suffocated her daily life. Every piece of crockery that came out of the box was cause for a new cry of exultation. “I’ll take good care of it, so I’ll have it in one piece when you visit us again”.

She dined on a plate of mole guandú, or in other words a plate of rice with lentils, peppers, garlic, onion, tomato and what they called vegetables (a strange herb similar to parsley). I say she had dinner, because the poor people had already eaten, believing that she was not coming. It was, in Samana’s words, an exquisite delicacy. When she had finished and the two were engaged in a lively conversation, Felix’s pager went on. Although she knew that Felix, as an engineer, should be reachable, she was surprised to hear the beeping of a pager in the middle of this jungle of basic things. Geno climbed into the cockpit to listen to the message. “Samana, it was for you, they’re coming to pick you up”.

They dressed the girl and accompanied Samana out of the shantytown labyrinth in which they lived. They reached the main street. There was a place with little tables and music that was called the Paragüitas. They were waiting for her at the door. She said goodbye to this tender Dominican family. “Don’t cry, Geno”. “It’s just that I might not see you again”. “You’ll see that we will see each other again, and even if we don’t, the important thing is that we have known each other and the affection we have given each other during these days, the rest is to be decided by the future, not by us”.

She got into the car. The car started. A few metres later it stopped again. Alfredo looked at her with eyes on fire with passion and while he pronounced “You drive me crazy”, he kissed her ardently on the lips. A kiss that lasted an infinite instant, an ephemeral eternity. Like two naughty schoolchildren playing truant for the first time, the two of them were crossing the streets of Santo Domingo, feeling free, feeling as if they were flying. They were crossing the unknown worlds with the simple sensation of total plenitude that filled their souls. They had wings. They were happy for the simple fact of existing next to each other, of being present, alone, for each other, alone to abandon themselves to their laughter, their dialogues, their caresses, protected from any scrutinising gaze by the omnipresent cloak of the night.

He took her to another garden where there was another underground cave, but this time it was immense, gigantic, with the high ceiling laden with fine filigree rocks, which, like delicate stamens, seemed to lean gently towards one another to share their caresses. It was full of small platforms with low tables cascading down to a huge dance floor.

They sat down on a small, somewhat secluded terrace. They wanted to remain unnoticed, to surround themselves with a thin veil that would isolate them from the world. They were looking for shared solitude in the middle of the crowd. They succeeded. For her there was only him and Heaven, for him only her and the Earth. They said so many things to each other with their gazes! They uncovered so many mysteries with their kisses! They opened so many doors with their caresses! It was so infinitely sweet to kiss, while feeling how the soul escaped to the other being in the form of a sigh…!

He took her by the hand and led her out to dance. The rhythmic play of their feet seemed to reproduce some old sacred ritual. Their bodies were one under the stars of that cave…. Their movements were the prey of a divine spell that enveloped them and transported them to a temple of light.

…

Embrace me as you knew how to do it. Let me become a piece of your flesh again… even if it is only for a few hours. Please open your heart to me and let me drink the nectar of your veins and inhale the scent of your skin. Do not resist. I have travelled a long journey to find you… to have you back by my side. And though I’ve come late, let me at least for tonight believe the spell of your love.

…

Alfredo held her tightly against him, lifted her up in the air and began to spin. She abandoned herself to the sweet sensation of letting herself be piloted, of allowing her legs to be light windmill blades that rotated at random. She thanked the goddesses for having heard her last prayer. With her mind she collected all the energy that her flight was generating, she packed it up, until she made a heart of fire with it, which she placed on his forehead, between his eyes. With this oath she renewed her vow of love. Whatever happened, her fire would remain indelible for ever and ever.

At dawn they went for a walk along the Malecón. They spent a long time in each other’s arms, letting themselves be rocked by the music of the waves. “It’s been almost twenty years since I’ve been here for a walk…”.

…

V. The beginning of the Farewell because of the Forbidden

The next day was the hardest of all. They entered the company shortly after dawn and left under a pitch black sky. Twelve hours of negotiations behind closed doors, discussing clauses, terms, disbursement conditions, maturities, interest rates, yields, margins, vesting years, guarantees, mortgages, tax exemptions, fees, real costs of financing, currency generation capacity, mark-to-dollar swaps, legal requirements, equity ownership, dividends, capitalisation of reserves, real value of shares, repurchase agreements, capital markets, revision of articles of association.

That night, her last night in the Caribbean, was going to be difficult. Alfredo was having a Thanksgiving party at his house. She put on her best clothes, a long black dress, simple but elegant. She entered his house. Many of the guests had already arrived. Alfredo introduced her to her aunt, an old lady with whom she chatted for a while in Arabic, to her father, to a sister who was married to a German, to a brother who was married to a German, to some neighbours, until she reached his wife.

Samana looked her in the eye. She was deeply surprised that this moment, the very evocation of which had given her so many nightmares the night before, was not at all difficult for her. It was strange. She felt nothing. At least nothing negative. Although this being before her was the material impediment that fate had placed between her and her soul mate for this existence, she was resigned to her fate. Deep down she felt tenderness for her. She was so slender, so thin, that she seemed to beg the wind with her soft voice for mercy so that it would not tear her from the place where she had taken root.

Dinner was filled with laughter on a beautiful terrace lit by the flames of the stars.

When they returned to the hotel, they repeated their game for the last time. She went up to the rooms with everyone, only to come down again a few minutes later. She got into his car and they looked at each other. Her eyes were coated with a halo of misty sadness. “It’s been years since I’ve felt what I’ve felt today. I’ve been jealous,” Alfredo told her. She smiled. Funny, she, who should have felt jealousy, had spent the night trying to turn her soul into a haven of peace. Instead, he, who had everything, felt jealous. She knew exactly why. At the end of the evening, when most of the guests had left and only the late-nighters were huddled around a table, she had cracked a sweet joke at Matt, and he, sitting next to her, had gently put his arm around her shoulders. Although she hadn’t done it on purpose, she felt the dagger of jealousy stabbing into Alfredo’s heart, the man sitting across from her, who was slowly drifting away in a cloud, never to return.

…

It was our last blind date. From now on the angels of heaven will keep you away from me. Jimani, you know that I will keep waiting until the end of time, but please, don’t delay in coming back to me.

…

VI. The Serene Farewell

She went to the company to collect the last documents and say goodbye. She went into Alfredo’s father’s office and he gave her a very special farewell hug, which she adorned with a “come back soon”, straight from the heart.

Alfredo accompanied her to the car. In his hands he carried a huge box and a book, both wrapped in wrapping paper. “The book is from the company. The box is from me. Be careful, it’s fragile”. He put the box in the car and said to the driver: “Manuel, take the lady first to the Mercado Modelo and then to the airport. He took the half-body out of the car again. He took Samaná’s cheeks gently between his hands, kissed them and tenderly, very tenderly, slid his lips until they brushed hers…

…

I understand you. Thank you for letting me know that, although your body is not free, your mind and your feelings are, and they still belong to me in the deepest part of your being.

…

Manuel stopped her at the model market and there she bought gifts and souvenirs from the Island of Butterflies: clay handicrafts, mahogany sculptures, musical instruments to play merengue like maracas and drums, precious stones like larimar and amber…. Then she returned to the colonial city, straight to a small shop she had discovered on Sunday morning and in whose back room she had found, rummaging through the old oil paintings at a reduced price, a precious painting. She could not go back to Europe, leaving it there. The painting was calling to her, imploring her through the atoms in the air to take it with her, that it would keep her company and comfort her in her dreary days with the magical harmony emitted by its colours.

Just outside the city and a few kilometres from the airport were los Tres Ojos (the Three Eyes). She had heard so much about the beauty of the place that she begged Manuel to show it to her. She hadn’t counted on having to pay and had spent every last peso on her purchases. “Never mind, I’ll treat you”, Manuel said, “two tickets, please,” and he went in with her. Really, after a week on the island, she should have guessed what it was all about, what could the Three Eyes be, of course, caves! It was a huge circular cave, the roof of which had caved in millennia ago, exposing a circle of air through which daylight streamed exultantly. Its sides were still stalactite nurseries that pierced the earth in three places. These three eyes overflowed with crystalline water, water that slowly gushed out of the walls and dripped from the ceilings. The earth wept.

…

Thank you destiny for having shown me once again, before turning the page of this existence, the Sacred Lake of the Great Cave. Returning here before leaving, I understand that you are whispering the prophecy in my ear. He kissed me eons ago by this lake. Now I can capture the kiss he gave me this morning and, forgetting that space and time exist, transfer it here. The past repeats itself. My cycle of searching and waiting begins again.

…