Don Lorenzo remained still for a long time, slowly sipped his coffee, then placed the cup on the table, took a deep breath, and looked me in the eye. “You did well to keep the secret,” he said.
“If I had told anyone, I’d be dead by now.” Or worse, the relief was so great I almost collapsed. But now things are complicated. She continued. If Jacinto is suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.
And when he does, he won’t just take the treasure, he’ll kill you. I know it, I whispered. And there’s something else, said Don Lorenzo, his voice lowering even more.
That disturbed earth I found wasn’t opossum, it was people. Someone already knows there’s something buried there, and someone’s going to come back. Fear returned, icy cold, rising up my spine.
What should I do? Don Lorenzo got up and went to the window. He stood there gazing at the full moon, his hands behind his back, lost in thought. When he returned, his face was resolute. There are three paths.
She said, “First, you take everything, run away, try to start over far away, but it’s going to be dangerous. A woman alone with gold is easy prey. Second, you report the find to the authorities, but they’re going to take everything from you.”
They’re going to say it’s national heritage, they’re going to investigate, and in the end, you’ll be left with nothing.” Tercero stopped. Tercero, what? We’ll face it. My heart leaped in my chest.
“What?” Don Lorenzo returned to his chair and leaned forward, speaking softly, as if someone might be listening. “You take out what you can carry, hide it somewhere else, leave the rest there, but change the hiding place.”
When his son returns, he’ll show her the empty house. She won’t believe it. She’ll turn everything upside down, but she won’t find anything. And without proof, she can’t do anything. “And if he hits me, if he kills me, I’ll be there,” Don Lorenzo said firmly.
He wasn’t going to lay a hand on her. I looked at his scarred face, his tired but determined eyes. And I understood that he wasn’t offering me protection out of pity. He was offering it because he cared.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice choked with emotion. He gave a half-smile, a sad expression. “Because when Joana died, no one helped me. The children left, the neighbors disappeared. I was left all alone.”
And I learned that the worst kind of loneliness isn’t being alone, it’s needing help and having no one. Hot tears streamed down my face. I don’t want her involved in this.
I don’t want him to get hurt because of me. I’m already involved, Doña Teresa, he replied. From the day I agreed to fix that house, we’re going to see this through to the end. We returned to the hill together that same night.
Don Lorenzo brought tools, a sturdy lantern, and two burlap sacks. When we arrived, the house was silent, bathed in moonlight. But I felt, I felt that someone was watching; I didn’t see, but I felt it.
We went inside quickly. I locked the door. Don Lorenzo lit the lantern and we went to the corner. I lifted the board. The sacks were still there. “How many?” he asked. “Six sacks, four of coins, two of stones.”
We took two piles of coins and one pile of stones. We hid the rest outside the house, in a place no one would ever look. We worked quickly. Don Lorenzo was strong and experienced.
We took three sacks, closed the hole again, and covered everything well. Then we went out the back door, entered the thick undergrowth, and walked for almost half an hour to a place he knew, a small grotto hidden behind a thin waterfall.
The sound of the water muffled everything else. We hid the sacks in there, among the rocks and roots. When we returned, it was almost dawn. Don Lorenzo stopped in the doorway. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
I’ll stay here for three days until your son appears. Don Lorenzo, don’t argue. He said, but his voice was kind. We’ve passed the point of no return. He left at daybreak.
I went inside, lay down on the bed for the first time in days, and slept. A deep, heavy sleep, dreamless, because for the first time in months I wasn’t alone. The three days passed slowly.
Don Lorenzo arrived early in the morning with tools and began fixing the roof, something that didn’t need fixing, but it was an excuse to be there. We worked in silence. I cooked, he ate, night fell, he hung his hammock on the porch, and we waited.
On the third day, Jacinto returned. There were four men this time, all on horseback, all armed. They arrived in the mid-afternoon, when the sun was strongest. The sound of hooves on the ground announced their presence before they appeared.
I was inside the house, Don Lorenzo was on the porch, sitting in a chair smoking a cigar. When the horses stopped in front of the house, he slowly got up.
Jacinto came down first. His face was red with rage. “I warned you, Mother,” he shouted without even looking at Don Lorenzo. “I warned you he couldn’t be here.” “He’s working,” I replied from the doorway in a firm voice.
Working. Jacinto let out a dry laugh. Three days straight. What kind of work is that? That’s when Don Lorenzo spoke. His voice was low, but it carried weight. The kind of work an honest man does when an honest woman needs help.
Jacinto turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “And who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” “Nobody,” Don Lorenzo replied. “Just an old carpenter doing his job. Now, if you came here looking for trouble, you can leave.”
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