New to the series? Start Here
It was not unusual for Celia to quickly fall asleep. However, she hardly remembered her dreams from the night before.
But this dream was the rare exception to the rule.
Soft candlelight began to glow, as if on cue of her presence. The scattered candles unveiled a library of antique books ensconced within intricately carved wooden shelves. A narrow balcony divided the bookshelves evenly, and an elaborate gold pattern trimmed the top of the shelving.
The strongest candlelight was found in the middle of the room. It directed her to a man scribbling on a large wooden table. Even from a distance, she could see papers strewn about the table.
She slowly walked towards the man until she reached the other end of the table. His wavy, black hair curtained over his face, leaving his identity a mystery. She did not notice her staring until he suddenly looked up at her.
At first, she believed that he was in his thirties. His large, dark eyes hinted at a rich history of the soul in front of her. Dressed in a black vest over a white button-down blouse, his style alluded to antiquity. But the longer she gazed the less sure she was of his age. He was the first to speak.
“Are you Celia?”
His Spanish accent was strong. More notably, Celia never dreamt in Spanish.
“I am.”
She wondered what he would think of her Cuban accent, often identified as fast and strong in rhythm. Even Gael described her accent as “sounding angry.”
The man smiled warmly, and for a brief moment she thought she was with her grandfather. She told herself that abuelo did not have this man’s hair, nor his short, boxed beard. However, his nose…
He gestured towards the antique chair in front of her. She took her seat and perused the documents between them. Population censuses, marriage announcements, and accounts of both heroism and crime by the hands of an Echevarria covered the table.
“What is all of this?”
“These are records of your ancestors.”
“Why do you have them?”
He held a pause before answering.
“Because they are my family, too.”
Celia sat up straight, waiting for him to confess that he was being facetious. But his gaze made him seem like a living photo from the 1800s. His dress certainly helped, and there was something about his styled mustache that placed him in that time.
“I see that you have my nose. I am sorry for that.” He grinned, putting down his ink pen.
Relatives often noted how similar she resembled her mother, but her nose was her one connection with the Echevarrias. As a child, Antonio would pinch the bridge of her nose and tuck his thumb between his fingers, claiming to have taken it.
There were moments when she caught her father complaining about his own feature. He never made a disparaging comment about his children’s inheritance.
She smiled.
“I guess you are forgiven…bisabuelo.”
He grinned.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“My name is Martin. I could tell you exactly how distant we are from each other, but it would take a long time. Frankly, I do not care to recite every connection between us.”
Celia could not restrain a laugh, inviting Martin to join her. He gestured back to the scattered documents.
“During my time of Earth, I relished finding information about our ancestors. Every decision made by them brought about consequences that resound even to your time. They are the building blocks of our family legacy.”
Martin pulled out a government document below his marriage announcement, and showed it to Celia.
“Here, a Cuban government worker throws accusations against your grandfather, claiming him to be a Batista sympathizer. In several places, he calls him a gusano. Had Manolo accepted the job offer, you might have lived a very different life. Perhaps you would not even exist.”
She knew that was possible. Her grandfather could have lost himself in the regime, and her father might have become some high ranking official. Her mother’s family were already struggling before the revolution. God only knows how they would have fared under Fidel’s dictatorship.
“But there is something that connects us quite intimately.”
Celia turned her attention back to Martin. He seemed to have forgotten her presence, and instead picked up his marriage certificate to study it.
“When I was younger, I spent some time in Salamanca. The university housed the census for my village dating back to the 12th century. I worked with my twin to compile our history.”
“You were a twin as well?”
“Indeed, I am. Josue was a Dominican priest, and he resided at the monastery associated with the university. After he answered his calling, There were few opportunities to visit him.”
Martin’s gaze shifted to something more melancholic.
“I had fallen in love in Salamanca. She was the most beautiful woman of all. Her smile would make the sternest general fall to his knees. We shared a love for the arts, and for the natural life. The world through her eyes was more beautiful than I could ever see.”
“Yet you married someone else?” She observed.
Martin let out a sigh. Every candle flame in the room grew in size. The edges of the documents began to flutter, with some floating away from the table. He looked at Celia.
“I loved her very much, but I also caused her much suffering. A curse fell over me after our engagement. But while it was my curse, she was the one who suffered the consequences.”
The documents drifted away from the table and encircled the two of them. Wind picked up as the papers fluttered around them at a faster pace. Martin did not seem to notice. Instead, he reached for Celia’s hands from across the table - which had suddenly shrunk to accommodate his gesture.
“I let fear rule my actions, allowing the curse to divide us. Do not follow my example for your sake - and especially his.”
The papers piled over Celia and Martin, extinguishing the candles. Everything returned to darkness.
So interesting! Loved the way this scene played out!
This is what they call "failure to arrive". You add more and more information without answering ANY OF MY QUESTIONS. How dare you!