“Grandfather won’t kill you,” she said with a sigh.
“Why didn’t you ask him to murder me?”
“You didn’t kill me either,” she replied.
He hunched his shoulders. His clothes were dirty, his hair a mess. She recalled how much he’d prided himself in his nice clothing, in his freshly polished boots. She had polished those same boots, swallowing her tears when he said cruel things. It was his turn to be miserable. Yet even though she’d pictured a scene like this when he was bad to her, it did not please her to witness it.
“Yeah…well…I’m not a killer,” he muttered.
“Neither am I.”
Casiopea went to the bathroom and fetched a towel. She handed it to Martín and sat down in front of him. He hesitated, but took the towel and cleaned his face.
“I’m horrible to you,” he said when he was done. “I’m a terrible person.”
“Maybe you could stop being so horrible, then.”
Martín bunched up the towel and gripped it tight, blinking back further tears.
“I’m…I’m thankful, you know. For your asking him to send me back here. And I’m sorry. About everything. Will you accept my apology?”
He looked shattered, his voice thick with shame. Casiopea thought he meant it. But it wasn’t that simple. He’d left scars. She did not trust him. She didn’t want to hate him either. It was pointless now.
“I can’t forgive you in an instant,” she said.
“Well…maybe one day, maybe after a while. After we go back to Uukumil. Although I don’t want to go back to Uukumil, but I must. Oh, the old man is going to be so mad at us,” he mumbled.
“If you don’t want to go back, maybe you shouldn’t?”
“Where would I go?” Martín asked, looking rather shocked.
Casiopea shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you can find your forgiveness on the way there.”
Martín was quiet. She stood up, and he shoved his hair away from his face, his eyes red.
“You’re not headed back, are you?” he asked her.
“Not yet.”
“Then I suppose this is goodbye.”
“Yes. So long, Martín,” she said.
In the end “so long, Martín” is what she had yearned to say all along, and there was more satisfaction in it than any elaborate revenge fantasy she could have conjured. They were headed in different directions, and this was sufficient.
Casiopea returned to her room and curled up on top of the covers. She was tired, not only the weariness of the road, but a spiritual ache. When she woke up it was morning and Martín had left. He’d scrawled a note for her, saying he’d likely travel to Guadalajara. There was money with the note, his final apology. She stuffed the bills into her suitcase and packed her clothes. While arranging her things she realized that she still had her old shawl, the one she’d worn in her village. A flimsy, cheap piece of cloth that had seen better days, but she placed it around her shoulders. It had traveled with her, weathering distances and foes. She thought it might bring her luck.
When she was done packing, she went to Hun-Kamé’s room and stood there, feeling its emptiness. On the nightstand lay the hat he’d worn; in the closet, his suits. She ran her hands over the clothes, but there was nothing of him left, not a strand of hair. She might have imagined him, dreamed him.
She knew it had not been a dream.
Casiopea checked out and noticed the lobby looked different. The luster of it was gone. It was a feeling, as though she were standing in an empty shell. She asked for an automobile to drive her to Tijuana. The clerk apologized and said it might take a few minutes. There had been a small earthquake and problems with the water. Several guests had left.
Casiopea went outside to wait by the hotel’s front door. She looked at the sky. Then there came an automobile, and she grabbed her suitcase. She recognized it as the vehicle that had delivered her to the hotel. But the chauffeur was different. He wore a green jacket and a matching flat cap. It was the man she’d met in Mérida, Loray.
“Good morning,” he said as he stopped the automobile. On the lapel of his jacket he wore a silver pin in the shape of an arrow and his eyes were forest green, the color of the hunt. His raven was perched on his shoulder.
“Good morning,” echoed the bird.
Casiopea approached the automobile, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
“Hun-Kamé kept his bargain and allowed me to walk the Black Road. I’ve finally been able to leave Mérida behind.”
He leaned out the window to give her a friendly smile, which she did not return. “That doesn’t explain why you are here.”
“Oh, well. He thought you might need a ride, and I very nicely offered to see to that. Jump in.”
Casiopea clutched the handle of her suitcase with both hands and held it in front of her, but did not move. The man sighed theatrically.
“Look, despite whatever you’ve heard about demons, we’re not that terrible. Besides, I’m not interested in your soul. Unless you’re selling,” he said, and he got out of the automobile, opened the trunk, and motioned for her to toss the suitcase in. “That was a joke.”
“You’re not funny.”
He rolled his eyes at her.
“I’m hilarious. Come on. You can’t stay here. Zavala has run off with his tail between his legs and this place is going to wither away pretty soon. There’s no magic left in it. The tiles are going to crack, windowpanes will fall out, and there will be a million roaches. Don’t lay your foundations with magic. It’s too difficult to keep it going.
“Now, this is Zavala’s automobile and technically I’m not supposed to be driving it. So, would you like a ride in a stolen vehicle, or are we going to waste a bit more time?” he concluded.
Casiopea shuffled her feet, but she moved toward the back of the automobile. He attempted to put her luggage in the vehicle for her, but she would not have it and shoved it in without his assistance. He closed the trunk and went to the passenger’s side of the automobile, holding the door open for her. Casiopea sat down.
They drove in silence, and Casiopea contemplated the pleats of her skirt.
“Hun-Kamé sends a gift, by the way,” Loray said and reached into his jacket pocket.
He took out a small black bag and handed it to her. Casiopea opened it and found it was full of black pearls. She smiled. Hun-Kamé had kept his promise. Her smile turned sour and she flinched, the pearls rattling against each other.