That night, after dining on yacare caiman with fried yuca—the specialty of Reyes’ cook, Rufina—Juan tore out a page from the notebook where he’d been doodling while the others had coffee （he didn’t partake） and gave it to her: it was a drawing of two dogs barking at a moon with rays that made it seem more like a sun, but it was a moon because it had a woman’s face. In the distance he had drawn two low towers, one for each dog, and in front of them a lake or pond with a creature emerging from it that could be a lobster or a scorpion. Underneath the drawing he’d written the words “La Lune,” and Tali immediately recognized one of the cards from the Tarot deck Rosario read—the Moon from the Marseilles Tarot. Her sister had tried to teach her, but Tali preferred the Spanish deck.
“I can teach you, too, now that she’s gone away,” Juan had told her.
“How did you know I wanted to learn?”
“Rosario told me. She said she never could explain it to you well. I’m a better teacher than she is.”
“And what does this card mean?”
“Depends on the interpretation.”
Juan slid the pencil into the pocket of his impeccable white shirt. He didn’t look sick, but she knew he was gravely ill. Why have they hidden him from me these past years? she wondered then. She found out soon enough, and it was brutal.
She still had that drawing, that moon, those dogs.
Gaspar, clean and sleepy looking, sat down in another of the hammock chairs. It wasn’t going to rain anymore, but night was falling damp and dark. Guillermito, the boy who worked in Tali’s house, turned on the patio and deck lights. Juan unbuttoned his shirt and shook it to dry his sweat a little. I’ll bring you the fan, offered Tali. No, don’t worry, he said.
“They must be looking for you.”
“They can’t find me. It’s harder to keep up the secret now, but I can still do it.”
“Betty isn’t coming this year, either?”
“Nothing has changed regarding her and her daughter. She can’t attend the Ceremonial until they decide what to do with the girl. Things are very convenient for her, for now. We’ll see what happens once they figure out what to do with her daughter, which will probably mean taking her away from Betty.”
“Che, you know they have new dogs there in Reyes. I’m terrified of them, they’re huge, they look like horses. There’s a black one that must be a meter and a half tall, named Nix.”
“A dog can’t be a meter and a half tall, don’t exaggerate.”
“What’s Nix?” Gaspar asked suddenly.
“Juancito, this child is dangerous, he hears everything.”
“Nyx is the name of the Greek goddess of night. She is the night.”
“Is that in my book?”
“I don’t think so, she’s a forgotten god. I told you about the forgotten gods. They had very few worshippers and they dwindled more over time, and finally people stopped telling stories about them.”
“That’s really sad.”
“It is sad, yes. But we do know some things about Nyx. She was married to Erebus, who is darkness, which is not the same thing as night. You can find darkness during the day, for example. And she had two sons, fraternal twins, Hypnos and Thanatos. Hypnos is sleep and Thanatos is death. They look alike, but obviously they’re not the same.
“And do they all live together?”
“We don’t know that, so imagine whatever you like.”
Juan looked at Tali and told her Gaspar was reading a book on legends. I promised him I’d show him the ceiba tree, for Anahí. In a low voice, Tali said, This one’s going to get pretty bored in school.
Guillermito came over to the table. I need you to go find a small mattress for Gaspar, Tali told him. Ask Karina, she’s got tons. A girl hardly older than Gaspar peered around the corner of the hallway. Her knees were muddy and her hair was in two messy braids.
“Hey, Laurita, why don’t you take Gaspar here to play with you a while. You want to go play with her, Gaspar? We’ll call you in for dinner later.”
It took a moment for the kids to warm to each other, but then Laurita told Gaspar about her new puppy and asked if he wanted to see it, and they left. Tali noticed Juan biting his lip as he watched them go.
“It’s okay, Laurita is from here, she knows the place, she’ll take better care of him than you. What you’re feeling is normal.”
“Nothing is normal. I can’t talk to her.”
“To Rosario? Juan, you have a Ceremonial in a few days. You need to focus on that.”
Juan looked at her, his eyes mercurial in the deck’s dim light. He took the bandage from his hand and showed her the wound. Tali looked at it closely: it wasn’t swollen, wasn’t infected.
“I can’t get her to come even with the midnight sign. If I can’t communicate with her using that rite, it means someone is keeping me from reaching her.”
“Can anyone do that?”
“Someone powerful could, or several people working together. I think it’s multiple people.”
“Sometimes we can’t reach our dead, you know that.”
“I don’t think that’s it this time.”
“Do you sense her anywhere?”
Juan looked at Tali and brushed a lock of hair away from his face.
“I feel nothing.”
Now that not even the kids’ voices could be heard, Tali came close to Juan and reached out her hand. Come on, I’ll give you a bath and clean that hand, she said. I bought a giant tub. It’s like I knew I was going to need it. He got up slowly, lazily, and in the hallway that led to the bathroom Tali stood on tiptoes and kissed him and pushed him to her bedroom and closed the door with her back. It was always a little rough with Juan, even when he was trying to be gentle, and now he wasn’t trying; it hurt Tali to open her legs to receive his broad body, it had hurt to fall on to the floor of her room, the wood hurt her back. There was always a moment of loving and delicate breakage, too, a push, a vertiginous slippage when she recognized the hands that grasped her hair and he was moving inside her. And there was always a dangerous moment when she had to somehow ask him to stop what began as a pleasant sensation, one of tremor and fever, and that ended up feeling like the fast advance of a tide, a wave that was warm and too deep and didn’t seem at all like pleasure. He always heard her and stopped: this time he sat up, pushed her away with one hand, and made her look him in the eyes.
Afterward, Juan lay down naked in the bed, on his side, and cried holding Tali’s hand; Tali knew him well enough to listen in silence and wait. Angá, this must be the first time he’s cried for her, she thought, but she didn’t say it out loud because she knew Juan couldn’t stand people feeling sorry for him. She caressed his hair, so fine and light, not darkened with age like so many blond people’s. He pulled away from her carefully. Are you going to find someone, one of these days? he wanted to know. Tali lay down beside him, lit a cigarette, and offered him a drag. He smoked with eyes closed and face damp; he hadn’t dried his tears. No, she said, you’re my man. But I don’t have Rosario’s courage. There are things I wouldn’t do for you.