She stared pensively out at the inky night. Outside, the silhouettes of trees flitted by, shadows blurring in the dim moonlight. They drove in complete silence for a long while, working their way down the Texas coastline toward the Rio Grande, until Carolina again broke the hush, crying softly, “I miss her. I yearn for what we lost, all that we could have shared. I feel so sorry for her.”
“Me too.” Fulgencio nodded, wiping away a renegade tear. “I wish I could do more than make a rose appear. I wish I could change the past, but once someone has gone to El Otro Lado, it is impossible. It’s also out of our hands which spirits linger among us.”
Nodding, Carolina sniffled, “Losing those you love is so hard.”
Fulgencio reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly.
They fell quiet again, plying through the darkness within a somber cocoon of white noise generated by the engine’s hum and the wind enveloping the chassis.
“There’s something else that fills me with regret,” Carolina finally said.
“What’s that?”
“How things ended with my father. He was always so loving and accepting. He did everything he could for me, even going against the advice of others.” Carolina’s voice cracked with emotion. “But I let him down. He never understood my decisions, why I never gave them a grandchild. He didn’t complain or judge me, but a distance grew between us over the years and I know . . . I know I broke his heart.”
Fulgencio shook his head ruefully, gathering the strength to offer some sort of consolation, “I’m so sorry, Carolina. Your father was a wonderful man, and our daughter was an innocent child. The loss seems as unbearable as it was unfair to you.” He paused, searching for some way to soften or ease her pain. “We can’t bring them back. And it doesn’t change what happened or their suffering. But we can honor their memory. We can attempt to redeem their faith in us. We can begin again.”
“Are we crazy to try?”
“We’d be crazy not to . . .”
She lay her head back on his shoulder and joined him in watching the road. As they neared the outskirts of La Frontera, the city lights illuminating the sky in the distance, she suddenly pointed forward, shouting, “Deer!”
Fulgencio abruptly pumped the brakes, pulling the car onto the shoulder and skidding to a stop. About ten yards in front of them, the headlights illuminated a herd of deer—a buck, a doe, and a fawn—bounding gracefully across the desolate road.
Part III
Thirty-Two
2006
Through the frosted windowpanes to her dorm room on the top floor of Weld Hall, Paloma Angélica Ramirez watched the snow floating down. Past her ghostlike reflection on the glass, she gazed upon the bundled-up college students frolicking below in the winter’s first snowfall, hurling balls of ice and snow at each other, laughing and shouting in innocent glee. The years had darkened and straightened her flowing hair, which, now auburn, framed the moonlike curves of her face, the amber of her eyes, the caramel of her skin. Everything about her betrayed the fiber of her soul: strong, intelligent, proud, passionate, and beautiful.
But she was lonely now. Far from home. Far from family. Far from the river that divided the lands she roamed in the days of her childhood. Turning away from the fun and games below, she crossed her tiny room and pulled a small plastic case from a stack on her desk. From it she extracted a small golden disk.
Smiling wistfully, she slid the disk into her laptop and donned her earbuds. The lush sound of guitars enveloped her as she lay on the brightly colored serape draped over her bed. She listened as his familiar voice rose. The voice that made her skin tingle all over as it reached her heart, warming her. And she crawled beneath the multihued blanket, curling up like a cat, to listen to the sound of her father singing one of her childhood favorites: “Cuatro Vidas.” Through the song, her father proclaimed that if he possessed four lives, he would gladly give all four lives for her.
Vida
(Life):
Si tuviera cuatro vidas
(If I had four lives)
cuatro vidas serian para ti.
(four lives would be for you.)
Alma
(Soul):
Si te llevas mi alma
(If you take my soul)
contento la daria por ti.
(I’d gladly give it for you.)
Ser
(Body):
Si te llevas mi ser
(If you take my body)
contento moriria por ti.
(I’d gladly die for you.)
Corazón
(Heart):
En el corazón
(In the heart)
te llevas mi vida, mi alma y mi ser
(you take my life, my soul, my being)
Si tuviera cuatro vidas,
(If I had four lives,)
cuatro vidas serian para ti.
(four lives would be for you.)
The words caressed her softly. The sound washed over her. His voice soothed her, made her feel like a little girl once again, lulled her as she drifted into sleep, her claret lips curving gently into a smile.
Thirty-Three
1987
The next night, Fulgencio appeared beneath Carolina’s window, which had almost been completely hidden now by the colossal rosebush planted below. Fulgencio was flanked by a full complement of mariachis: thirteen men wielding guitars, violins, and trumpets. All of them, including Fulgencio, were dressed in black mariachi garb, silver buckles glimmering down the sides of their pant legs, broad-brimmed black velvet hats with silver trim crowning their heads. That night Fulgencio sang his heart out. And when she appeared at the doorway, he knelt down at her feet and let his spirit soar with his voice, carrying hers upward toward the stars:
Buscaba mi alma con afan tu alma.
(My soul sought your soul tirelessly.)
Buscaba yo la mujer cálida y bella
(I searched for the beautiful woman)
Que en mi sueño me visita desde niño,
(That I dreamed of since childhood,)