Days later, after seeing little or nothing of Eva and her partner, who seem rather restless and rarely at home, El Horgas awakens. He does not know what time it is, nor does he care. He lies in the hammock hanging from the porch at the back of the cabin, a porch five steps across white sand from the beach and, in turn, ten or fifteen steps from the greenest, purest water he has ever seen or imagined in his life. He wakes, but does not get up. For some time now, he thinks he has heard Eva laughing in complicity with her husband. He did not want to open his eyes; he would only see more of that kissing that unsettles him. He chooses to remain there, swaying gently back and forth.
A faint, warm breeze barely nudges the hammock, just enough to keep him serene. He draws a deep breath of sea air into his lungs. He feels a certain peace he had forgotten. Just then, all at once, he hears one, two, three footsteps on the porch's resonant wooden floor. Alarmed, he starts and tries to scramble out of the hammock; instead, he becomes tangled, spins around, and crashes awkwardly to the floor. The thud against the boards sounds worse than it hurts; nothing has been wounded but his pride. He hears someone laughing at him with a very distinctive feminine giggle. Little by little, El Horgas raises his eyes from the floor.
He sees a pair of delicate bare feet, their toenails painted red. His gaze travels up strong yet slender legs, ending in white denim shorts. He continues upward and sees a short white shirt that leaves her navel bare. When he reaches her face, he finds a very cheerful, friendly young woman, with small but full lips, large brown eyes, and dark hair tied in a high ponytail. Her laughter does not bother him; he might even say it is contagious. El Horgas gets to his feet, and they stand facing each other, three short paces apart.
"Hello. I've been here for a few days. This is Br... Eva and her partner's house. They live next door. Are you looking for her?" His words make the young woman laugh even harder. She cannot speak to him until her laughter finally subsides.
"It's me, dummy! Don't you remember me anymore? That reflects very, very badly on you," she teases, smiling brightly.
"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. Do we know each other?"
"María Alba Machado. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Freeman." Looking at her more closely for a moment, El Horgas realizes that he remembers her very well. A broad smile spreads across his face.
"Louse? Is that you? Britania's little sister? The little louse who was always hopping around beside us?"
"Hey! None of that louse business, all right?" she jokes.
"What a joy to see you!" he tells her, genuinely surprised.
"My sister brought me here to live with her. I gave Mom some trouble. I wasn't very convinced at first, but you know what my sister is like..."
"Yes, she can be very persistent. Call her Eva or she'll get angry."
"Ugh, yes, she's unbearable." They both laugh knowingly.
"Well, I think she did what she believed was best for you."
"And for you too." He reflects for a moment.
"I suppose so." The silence does not last long.
"Hey, Dave, I don't have any friends or anyone here. My sister is with her... you know, all the time."
"Yes, I know."
"Would you like to go to the beach with me? I still haven't enjoyed that sea, and it looks so wonderful. Look at all that beauty."
"Sure, why not?" he answers without a second thought.
"I'll be back in half an hour. I'll change and come right back. Okay?"
"Sure, half an hour, yes. Sounds good. Great."
"Perfect. I'll be back soon. See you later!"
"Goodbye!" She waves as she says farewell, then leaves.
El Horgas runs the pad of his thumb over the spot on his arm where the tattoo bearing the nickname that rechristened him once marked his skin, and reflects. For the first time in untold ages, there is a smile on his face; he feels it with his fingertips. He looks at the beach. Its scent tastes more delicious, the landscape appears more beautiful, the smile does not fade, and his sorrows fall behind him. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath of exquisite air. He confirms that he no longer wishes, as he once did, for this dream—or supposed nightmare—to end. He decides not to think about it anymore. He wants to enjoy it. To do that, he knows he must stop asking himself, day after day, who Brittany Condon is.
THE END