Chapter 6
The twins gathered them in the common quincho of the cabins, a shed with a grill made of a metal drum, which had the virtue of accumulating more heat than if you were standing with a magnifying glass under the sun pointing at your temple.
Fede and Jorge didn’t have their usual friendly appearance, but rather the dark circles of people suddenly dealing with a lot of stress. Ron, Javi, Jime, and she listened to them with a sense of relief.
"Mom is fine, Dad is too. They’re going to stay, at least, two more weeks here. I think the best thing is for you to go back, and we can stay here with them. We’ve already talked to Carlos, Guillermo, and Percibal, it’s all settled. But we thought you should take advantage of the last days with something other than hospitals and death. The city is celebrating a festival this weekend, with guest bands, and we thought it would be a nice way to close the vacation if we all go, and then you can head back."
Jimena looked at them, uncomfortable.
"I can also stay and help," she said, almost in a whisper. Fede laughed.
"Yeah, silly, you’ll be a big help when you die on us in the waiting room."
"There’s nothing more helpful than you surviving, Jime. Imagine how bad the trip would have been if you had died," added Jorge, amused.
"What’s the festival about?" asked Javi. Fede checked the Government of the City’s blue page on his phone.
"Tomorrow Miranda’s performing, and the day after, Jime’s favorite artist, the triple T," he replied mockingly. "Stay two more days and then head back. It’s just advancing the return by a day, we rented this place for fourteen days."
"Ron and Javi, you guys go get the tickets," urged Jorge. "We have to go check on Dad. Girls, please take care of the food."
Herminia nodded and helped Jime back to the house. They weren’t going to fuss much about the food; she’d call the rotisserie and order two chickens with potatoes for everyone. She turned on the fan next to her, which rattled with effort, and hurried to bring her crocheted blanket to the redhead.
She thought she would miss the humble cabin that had welcomed her, as well as living with the rest of the Weasley family. The nostalgia of knowing the trip was coming to an end bloomed inside her. They had been kind to her, and the fight with Ron had softened them a little. Her boyfriend had apologized for the things said in the heat of the argument, and she apologized to him for trusting her ex more than him. She promised once they were back in the city, she would explain everything. She felt completely relieved now that the key was buried between the waves and the sand of the shore, rather than feeding off her things, books, glasses, wallet, and other paraphernalia in her purse.
She sighed, thinking the end of the trip would also mean the end of those nightmares, the abandoned house, Tom Riddle. Whatever that guy was, he used the proximity to the coast to stalk his victims. Why had he obsessed over her? Why did he need her? She was just another girl. Not particularly pretty, and while she was a model student, every class had one brilliant student. And she studied law, for God’s sake, there was nothing less mystical than law, with its rigid procedural formulas and the Latin terms of sentences.
Determined to forget about Tom, she opened the last volume of the Apocryphal Gospels. But then, as she opened it, she noticed something scrawled on the first pages of the book, those that are left blank by courtesy. The drawing of the skull with a serpent’s tongue. The tattoo of Tom’s supposed rock band.
She let out a gasp of astonishment and threw the book onto the table, as if it were an adrenaline rush. Jime raised an eyebrow and looked at the book collapsed on the table, opened to the page marked with the strange symbol.
"Ah, look," she commented casually. "That drawing was tattooed on the girl who sold me the ring."
She could hear them crawling, she could feel their bodies dragging on the floor, whispering to her, hissing, how could you? how could you? how could you?
She had dragged Javi to the center at ten in the morning. The heat was relentless, and tourists crowded the narrow streets of the pedestrian area. Street vendors were offering sunglasses, socks, fishing rods, and toys for the kids on the beach. They elbowed their way to the corner where Havanna, the coffee shop, was. Her friend was carrying the four volumes of books that she wanted to bury forever in Mar de Ajó.
“Listen to me,” she whispered nervously, deciding to take a stroll around the center to avoid being seen by Tom Riddle. “Don’t talk to him. Just leave this on the counter and leave, Javi, there’s no need…”
Javi calmed her down.
“Relax, crazy. ” He gave her three pats on the back meant to calm her. “Remember when I knocked out Massera? I’m not scared of some weird guy from the coast, no matter how mystical he thinks he is.”
Herminia smiled. Javi’s bravery was a comfort, considering that she found it impossible to confront certain aspects of her life. Like, for example, seeing those empty black eyes again—black holes she could fall into, and fall endlessly.
She said goodbye to him and went into one of the souvenir shops that crowded the area. She bought new sunglasses and a hat, partly to distract herself from the thought that Tom was right there, just a few meters away, tall and elegant, and partly because she felt the need to hide. But she hadn’t even stepped out of the store when she saw her friend again, his uncontrollable hair making strange shapes that seemed to defy gravity. He was carrying the books he had tried to return.
“Javi, what...?” she started, but Javier cut her off.
“There’s no antique store there, Herminia.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I asked, and no one in the area knows about the business you described to me. Could it have been...?”
“No, Javi, it was there, I’m sure,” she replied. “I left after having a frappé and walked past the store’s display window. It was hot, so I went in to look for a hat, but...” she bit her lip. The truth was that she had entered almost magnetically, as if the store had called her.
They began walking with Javi towards Havanna. She would have to face her fears.
“Come on, let’s go, I want to see.”
But indeed, next to Havanna there was only an abandoned, dusty store with a sign reading “closed” placed by the Buenos Aires Revenue Agency.
“Are you sure it was…?” Javi started, but then an old man’s voice interrupted them.
“Miss, you dropped this!” he yelled, a man who looked around sixty years old, and between his fingers, he held the heavy key that she had thrown into the sea. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Run, Javi, RUN!”
She grabbed her friend by the arm, and they hurried through the pedestrian street, pushing through people who got in their way. The man followed them, holding the key, and Herminia was certain that if the chase continued, people would think they had stolen something and would try to lynch them. A bus passed in front of them, the girl raised her hand and stopped it. They immediately got on, letting the sliding doors close in the old man’s face, while Herminia watched in horror as the tattoo on his left forearm gleamed.
“Mini, what…?” Javi started, but she interrupted him, speaking to the bus driver.
“San Bernardo, please.”
The dirt of abandonment clung to the walls of the immaculate duplex she had visited just a week ago. There wasn't even a sign announcing that the house was for rent. The weeds tangled with the mold, and Herminia had the impression that the only reason the small front garden was clean was because the neighbor next door had an interest in preventing his home from becoming infested with pests.
Scattered across the grass, among candy wrappers and cigarette butts, grew strange, heavy flowers she only knew from tradition. The devil’s trumpet. Datura.
Javi looked at her, not knowing what to say.
“I’m not going to ask how you knew where the guy lived. But are you sure you didn’t make a mistake?”
She shook her head.
“There’s nothing more to do. Let’s leave the books here.” she whispered, feeling the need to exorcise everything that belonged to him. She slid the ring from her finger and placed it between the pages of the Apocryphal Gospels.
As Javi set the books down on the sidewalk, the door of the duplex next door opened to reveal an older woman in a floral dress holding a broom. She had sweaty curls stuck to her back and tortoiseshell glasses that gave her an angry look.
“No, no, no! Don’t come leaving trash here!” she shouted, with a voice reminiscent of Monica when she was angry. Herminia couldn’t help but smile at the thought that all angry women seemed to be the same person.
“Sorry, ma’am. We don’t know what to do. I came to return some books I borrowed from a friend, who gave me this address.”
“Look, little girl, you’re in the wrong house! Nobody’s lived here since the witch died!”
Javi glanced at her sideways, as if to emphasize the comment, and walked closer to the woman.
“Maybe it’s the son, his name is Tom Riddle.”
The woman paled and looked at them with scared eyes.
“What did you say?”
“My friend’s name is Tom Riddle,” Herminia repeated, a bit more confidently. “You heard the name, right? Can you tell us where we can find him?”
The woman set the broom against the wall and approached them.
“You’re pulling my leg.” She seemed to assess their surprised faces. “Tom Riddle died in the seventies. He was my daddy’s boss, the one who worked on his garden. And the old witch, she worked for him too.” She squinted her eyes. “They say she did some love potion on the young Englishman, and got pregnant by him because the woman was very ugly, really ugly. My mom used to say that at night you could see her snake eyes. But the truth is, Meropé died before having her son. They say the kid stayed inside her belly. Then, Riddle died. So no, it’s impossible, either you’re being pranked or…” She made a grimace of disgust. “Are you from around here?”
They shook their heads.
“No, we came on vacation. Our friend told us he had a weekend house and asked us to leave the books there,” Herminia lied smoothly. “But well, what a shame. Maybe he’s related to those Riddles from around here. Maybe we could leave them with you…?” she started to suggest, but the woman opened her eyes indignantly.
“No, no! I’m not touching anything that belonged to the witch! Have a good day!”
And she slammed the door behind her.