In the early morning, we returned to the camp path.
The sun was just starting to light up the hills when we found the ford, Rodrigo was walking ahead, Maeva and I behind him, none of us were talking. I spent the night trying to figure out what I saw, or thought I saw.
Every time I thought about the silhouette, I wondered if I hadn't just dreamed, and then I thought about the word Kamino. A chill was running through me.
Before we crossed the river, Rodrigo stopped and I remember he looked at us in turn.
- Don't come back here alone.
I expected an explanation, something, but he simply added:
- Promise it.
We promised. At the age of twelve, promises cost little. We still didn't know that they can sometimes cost an entire life.
When the camp finally appeared in the distance, we realized that something was wrong.
People were running, adults were talking loudly, children were gathered around caravans, and when our mother saw us, she didn't cry.
She did not run to us, she remained frozen as petrified. I remember seeing Rodrigo approach her, talk to her in a low voice, I never knew what he said to her, but I would swear I saw the blood leave her face.
The next moment, she collapsed in Ella's arms.She cried, no anger, no relief, tears of fear, I had never seen her like this and it was that day, something changed. Something I only understood much later.
My child's life had just ended.
For several weeks I stayed near the camp. I didn't go back to the river, I didn't go away, fear made me cautious.
Maeva changed in another way. It became inseparable from Rodrigo, wherever one saw one another, the other was never far away. They disappeared for hours, returned without giving any explanation, and when someone asked them a question, they exchanged a look before smiling, as if they shared a secret.
At first, nobody seemed to worry about it. The elders considered this to be a lover of teenagers, even mother seemed reassured.
Rodrigo had just turned fourteen. Maeva was about to reach them. In the eyes of the camp, their future seemed to have been traced. Still, something bothered me in the situation, but I didn't know what.
Sometimes I surprised Rodrigo watching the hills, or the river, or simply the emptiness, with the same expression that Maeva had the night we had crossed.
An expression I couldn't define. Like a wait, as if they were listening to something I was unable to hear.
The weather passed, the summer arrived, the evenings extended, the tourists were more numerous than ever in the Sacromonte.
From the heights, we could see them climbing to the caves. They came to see the Gypsies dancing.
Hear the guitars.
Drink wine.
Go home with a story to tell. The elders shook their heads.
— They watch people survive and think they're watching a show.
I didn't understand yet. At that time, I thought that the whole world looked like ours, that everywhere people sang around the fire, that everywhere children ran barefoot, that everywhere families lived with the ghosts of their absences and gradually discovered that this was not the case.
That year, several families left the region, cousins went to Barcelona, others to Madrid, some to France. Adults often talked about it, times became difficult, work was scarce and many dreamed of it, Manuel was one of them.
At that time, we had become close, I even think I was in love with him at least as much as a teenager could be. With him, I found something I had lost after that night at the edge of the Darro.
Lightness.
When we were together, I almost managed to forget Kamino. Almost, because the name came back regularly, always in a low voice. Always in interrupted conversations as soon as a child approached.
Sometimes I surprised Ella watching Rodrigo and that his gaze was nothing affectionate, that he looked more like that of a shepherd watching a wolf as he approached his flock.
Then came the day of an umpteenth disappearance of Maeva and Rodrigo where this faith I decided to follow them. I don't know what pushed me there anymore. Jealousy? Curiosity? Or just that old fear I was trying to forget?
I saw them leave the camp after sunset, I followed them at a distance, without noise, as when Maeva and I used to go out exploring the hills.
They walked long, always in the same direction, towards the river. My heart will tighten immediately. I knew only too well this path, I would have recognized it with closed eyes.
The Darro shone under the moon when they stopped. I hid behind a rock and waited. What I was living that night didn't look like any ritual, any mystery, anything supernatural.
Only to two teenage lovers, Maeva and Rodrigo kissed, talked to each other, laughed, like all the young people in the world since the dawn of time.
I remember feeling immense relief, for the first time in months, maybe even since that famous night. I was wrong.
Everything was simple, everything was normal, there was no secret, no curse, no Kamino, only two lovers who wanted to be alone.
I left without showing myself and kept their secret, which was not one for almost a year.
But sometimes, when I think about this period, I wonder if it wasn't exactly what Kamino wanted me to believe.