Before Nightfall

CHAPTER 9: When the Sun Sets

It is nearly midday when I arrive at the farm. The surrounding trees, where the goats are tied to, give off a shade where the other livestock takes refuge. Its leaves dance every time the summer breeze blows – the dry ones get blown off. At a distance, you can hear the sound of a plow truck getting the soil ready for planting, the blue sky filled with silvery clouds that cover almost its entirety. The air is still humid, and the grass enjoys its moisture. Nostalgic. Like a childhood memory stripped with responsibility and worries. A haven where one longs to go after a tedious day at work and spends the day without thinking about nothing. An embodiment of peace and tranquility. Because at the end of the day, we all long for the simplicity of life and the luxury of time. A woman slowly moves down the ladder, one hand lifting a part of her sundress. When she gets out the porch, the sunlight touches her skin, and it's almost like I was blind for a second. The color of the dress magnifies her pale skin and light brown hair at waist-length. The woman goes in for a hug – it feels nice, yet awkward at the same time. She tells me to come inside and wait at the porch and then goes off to make some tea. The structure of the house is a bit rustic with antique furniture. The woman is too hospitable to let me in without asking me what I came here for first. Most of the time, when I approach people, they immediately ask what my concern is like it consumes too much of their time. So it is rare to be invited for a cup of tea or going in for a hug. She goes out with a wooden tray on her hand, two cups of hot water on top, various teabags, and a few hard cookies you can buy at the market. She places it at the coffee table and settles down at a chair across me. "I have chamomile and green tea, which one would you like?" She asks me. I go for the green tea, and she puts a chamomile teabag in hers. To ease up my tense, I try a sip despite the knowledge of it being scalding hot. It made me flinch. The woman tries to hide her laughter, but she eventually gives in. "We have all the time in the world, just take your time." She gives me a smile and proceeds, "So, what brings you here?" I put down my cup and take Hugo's picture that I borrowed out of my bag and show it to her. "Does Mr. Santos live here?" I ask with hopeful looks in my eyes. She takes a good look at the picture. "He was a lot younger in that photo. I reckon this was during the annual derby," she replies. I'm delighted that she recognizes him. This is what I'm here for – to see Hernan and tell him about Aurora. All of this is not for nothing. Finally, after so many years, Hernan can fulfill his promise. "So where is he now?" I ask her. My heart is beating so fast that I can almost hear it. "Don Hernan? He passed away two years ago. He used to live here. Most of his life has been on this farm." And just like that, everything goes wrong. The enormity of it all seems to shrink, and so it disappears from my reach. "Why? What is it that you want from him?" She asks me with worried eyes. Is the universe this cruel to allow such a thing to happen? Just one last time, is that too much to ask? I pause for a moment, and then I tell her everything I know about Hernan and Aurora. In return, she tells me about how Hernan lived his days on this farm. It turns out Hernan did not marry. After ten years of living with his family in Milan, Hernan decided to come back home, where he then built this house. To lighten the mood, she leads me to the stables and shows me the horses, when a voice calls out for her – her husband coming home for lunch. We talk some more over lunch, she tells his husband about everything I told her. The man is Hernan's nephew. Both of them take care of the farm and everything Hernan left behind. Due to the skeletal workforce, they decided to stop the annual derby that Hernan used to do, but the horses are still in great condition. "He mentioned someone named Aurora once, but he was not very elaborate about it." He tells me. "My uncle wasn't a talkative man. There are times when we share a cup of coffee and he doesn't say a word. He just stares blankly at the sunset, yet it feels like his head is full of thoughts, then he lets out a long sigh." He continues. I listen intently while I slowly munch on a grapefruit. He looks at me with pitiful eyes and says "That's too bad. You traveled so far but gained nothing." He pauses for a while. "How about you take a piece of Hernan's belongings and give it to Aurora instead? He has a lot in his bedroom, you can choose whatever you think suits best." He suggests. I think about it for a second. Maybe it's not that bad to take away a dead person's belonging and give it as a present. Or maybe it is. Either way, Aurora needs to know about Hernan. He leads me inside Hernan's room. Upon entering, the smell of old welcomes me. Dust particles glimmer at the touch of sunlight coming in from the window. The room is neatly arranged. At the bedside is a grandfather's clock that stopped working. There's this huge wardrobe with a mirror attached to its door. I open it and find Hernan's clothes hanged and folded neatly. The one thing about living is that you can have everything your heart desires until death arrives and takes it away from you. I come across a bookshelf filled with books from different decades. On top of it is a burgundy hatbox sealed with a brown ribbon. I reach for it, and inside I find letters - Aurora's letters. I look around more for a while, the hatbox in-between my hand and my chest. Since I took enough time to find other things that might be valuable, I end up choosing the hatbox to give to Aurora. Both of them agreed that I take it with me without hesitation. The woman invites me to stay for the night and just go home tomorrow morning - to which I simply comply. After dinner, she walks me to the guestroom. I curl up in bed, feeling at ease that somehow I manage to get something for Aurora, just not what I wanted. I close my eyes, and my worries start to recede as I slowly drift away to oblivion. The next morning, I bid farewell and thanked them for their help. I tell them I enjoyed my stay and promise to visit again when I can. They let me bring a whole grapefruit for my family to enjoy. Both of them are very nice. I wonder if they're like that all the time. Because I'm not. People are not always good or nice. Goodness is selective, and the same goes for being bad. I wave my hand goodbye. On the bus ride, I take one look back – the mountain fog still visible.