The message you observe from a corner takes a step forward. I observed the silver instruments on the table and then Yusha’s face, now completely illuminated by the morning light.
“I reminded you,” the message said. “You were a child when the governor’s daughter died. I saw her portrait in the town square. I had a bounty on her head that lasted five years.”
Yusha didn’t look up. “Entonces terínalo. Llama a los guardias.”
The messenger gazed at the sleeping boy, heir to a province, saved by the man who had been condemned. He looked at Zainab, who remained crooked like a sentinel, her blind eyes fixed on the messenger as if she could see the rot in his soul.
“My love is a cruel man,” the message said softly. “If you say who he is, you will execute him to save your pride. You cannot divert your son’s life to a murderer.”
“Then why stay?” —asked Zainab.
—Because the boy—said the message sent to the bed— is not like his father. He spoke of the angel while falling asleep. You have a heart that has not yet been borne by the city.
The messenger reached out and took the silver scalpel from the table. I did not use Yusha. Instead, he approached the fire and threw it onto the embers.
—The doctor has died—said the messenger, looking Yusha in the eyes—. He died in the fire many years ago. This man is just a beggar whom you suerte with a needle. I will tell the governor that he finds a wandering monk. We will go to the media.
When the journey finally began, leaving deep footprints in the mud, the silence that returned to the house was different. It was no longer the silence of peace; it was the silence of a truce.
Malik, Zainab’s father, watched the departure from the door of the small port where he now lived. I saw the royal coat of arms. I already saw the doctor’s hands. He approached the main house, dragging the cakes with a pathetic step.
“—You could have negotiated,” Malik thought as he reached the porch. “You can make a request to have your lands returned. That I return mine! You held your son’s life in your hands and let him go for free?”
Zainab turned to her father. It wasn’t necessary to see him to feel the marching code emanating from his pores.
“—You still don’t understand, father,” she said in a voice as cold as a bell. “A deal is what happens when we value things. We value our lives. Hey, we buy our silence with a life. That’s the only currency that matters.”
He reached out and took Yusha’s hand. Her skin was cold and her spirit exhausted.
