They’d driven between the double rows of chestnut trees with golden fruit that shaded the road down to the Mi?o River. After departing Belesar port they gazed enchantedly at the expanse of muras that sustained the slope and the orderly terraces planted with grapevines. They floated down the winding watercourse, passing over seven sunken villages flooded long ago, ghost dwellings beneath the waters. He repeated almost word for word Daniel’s comments on the first boat trip, surprised to find that he’d retained them despite his former lethargy. He felt content. He turned to smile at the girls listening wide-eyed to his spiel, and he stifled the voice within that had begun to ask what was going on.
Later, seated beside him on the terrace overlooking the river, Laura smiled as she listened to her daughters’ laughter. She liked Belesar. She wondered momentarily why they’d never visited it, even though she knew the answer: it wouldn’t have made much sense to torment the girls by driving them to the Mi?o and then refusing to board the tourist boats for the river excursion. She drank some wine and inspected the purple ring it left along the rim.
Laura didn’t care for boats, she hated sailing, and she hadn’t set foot on a jetty since she was a child and a violent storm had changed everything. Today she’d recognized in Manuel’s gallant gesture the love imprisoned within him, gagged and bound hand and foot, sentenced forever to the darkest depths of his soul. She recognized a kindred soul, a man who had taken ownership of his fears. Her heart had yielded without protest to a suffering greater than her own. She calmly scrutinized her new friend through the lens of the crystal wineglass. Each swirl of the liquid it held left faint purple traces of the mencía grape.
Manuel ran his finger along the path taken by a drop of wine from the mouth of the bottle down the side and across the label. He contemplated the metallic gleam of the letters boldly inscribed across the label to proclaim the name of the wine: Heroica. He tilted his head to the side and regarded that brave declaration. His brooding expression betrayed his unhappy thoughts.
Laughter interrupted his reflections. He looked out at the river and saw a dream come true—the three girls from the other day again rode their curious craft downstream. Their legs were tanned and their arms were strong, and their hair was carelessly tied back into ponytails dangling under their straw hats. They shrieked and laughed. The music of those voices rang like the notes of wind chimes moved by the breeze. The spectacle of those lovely river nymphs filled him with inexplicable joy. He saw them look up distractedly toward the terrace, and he followed a sudden impulse to wave. All three saw him but they didn’t react. His sense of magical connection vanished, breaking the spell and making him feel ridiculous and quite old. They didn’t remember him, and why should they?
Then one of them gave him a huge smile and cried, “It’s the marquis, girls! It’s the marquis!”
The other two responded with such a joyful outcry that it attracted the attention of everyone on the terrace. The girls waved their hats, overcome with laughter.
One of them cupped her hands and shouted, “Hey, Marquis, Daddy says hello! Come visit us soon!”
“I will,” Manuel murmured, as he watched them dwindle into the distance in their curious craft. His voice was so low that only his new friend Laura heard him.
“You’ll never be able to leave this place,” she said.
He gazed calmly at her. That affirmation would have seemed a curse to him just days before, but now he took it as a prediction of good fortune, one of those wishes that fly against all logic. As if to counter his doubts or perhaps to create even more, Laura added, “It gets into your blood. That’s what’s special about this place. Be careful; it will enchant you, and you won’t be able to leave.”
He didn’t answer, although he could hardly credit her prediction. The magic of the river; the peace of mind he’d thought forever impossible until the grape harvest at Heroica restored it to him; the easy familiarity of the river nymphs—all were very powerful, but they couldn’t make him forget the real reason he’d remained.
Sipping this wine was like taking communion. Suddenly he found it difficult to swallow. He looked at the bottle and that single word in álvaro’s writing. He again brushed a finger along the silver gleam of the letters.
Laura looked at him in sudden surprise, as if she’d just discovered his deepest secret. “Manuel, you’re not just doing research here, are you?”
He looked up and found Laura watching him. He finished tracing the legend on the label and then rested his hand upon the table. He replied with infinite sadness.
“No. I’m not.”
Night fell rapidly. After a cloudless sunset the heavens didn’t darken but instead turned silver. Their brilliance threw into sharp relief the silhouettes of the trees that lined the road to Nogueira’s house. The policeman leaned on the porch railing and puffed placidly at his cigarette as he enjoyed the quiet of the gloaming and the silence of his empty house. The evening cool contrasted with the heat of that summery day as breezes entered through the wide-open front door. He looked up, attracted by swooping swallows snatching the mosquitoes that had begun to gather as the streetlamps turned on. He saw Manuel’s car approaching. He continued enjoying his smoke until he caught sight of his wife in the passenger seat. He swiftly stubbed out his cigarette and hid the butt among the blooms of a hanging plant.
The car stopped and his daughters popped out of the back, Café following close behind. Little Antía ran up and hugged him excitedly. The words tumbled out of her. “Papa, you know what? Manuel has a boat and he took us to Belesar and all down the river. They’ve got seven villages under the water with churches and schools and everything, and we saw the grapes they picked over the weekend, and he treated us to snacks. Mama, Xulia, and I are going back, and they’ll let us pick grapes in the ribeira. Isn’t that great? Will you come, too, Papa?”
Delighted by her enthusiasm, Nogueira kissed the crown of his little daughter’s head. She wiggled out of his grasp and flung herself into the house with Café on her heels.
Manuel got out of the car as Laura came around to say goodbye. Xulia walked past her father and greeted him cordially. “Hey there, Papa!”
He turned in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time his daughter had spoken to him that way—unworried, relaxed, without a trace of the tension and veiled dislike that stabbed his soul every time she spoke to him. He suddenly recalled the little girl she’d been until not long ago, the child who ran to the door and threw herself into his arms when he got back from work.
Nogueira stepped down onto the walk and got to the car as his wife thanked Manuel with a hug. The policeman felt a pang of jealousy.
She gave him a look. “I saw you smoking!” Her voice was stern, but she broke immediately into a smile that belied the rebuke. “And don’t leave cigarette butts in the flowerpots, or I’ll kill you!” She headed toward the house without another word.
Nogueira came up to Manuel, who was trying to hide a smile.
“I got your message. The meeting with the priest is on for nine o’clock tonight in the same place as yesterday, but you know, you might think of taking your phone calls from time to time.”
“I was driving.”
Nogueira gave him a sidelong look. “Uh-huh. With my family. You might have told me that too.”
Manuel got into the car and beckoned to Nogueira. He waited until the former policeman was also inside. “I hope you don’t mind. I finished early at the seminary, and it would have been a shame to waste such wonderful weather. I enjoy boating, and I thought they might like it. I came by, but you weren’t here.”
Nogueira didn’t comment, but when Manuel started the engine the policeman said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“If you mean Café, I’ll pick him up when I get back. Your daughter adores him, and the feeling seems to be mutual.”