19th Century

His body shivered, cold and damp. He opened his eyes with his cheek stuck to the sand and saw a wave approaching the shore. He didn't know how, but he was once again on the coast of La Ciudad del Sol. He tried to get up, but his body didn't respond; he felt like a corpse.

Suddenly, the hooves of a horse approached and stopped in front of him. The poet looked up, and the backlight that obscured the silhouette of the rider disappeared when he dismounted. It was a civil infantryman on patrol.

"This is the wretch who stole my hat!" someone standing nearby declared.

Christopher recognized him. It was that man, the one who had chased him when he borrowed his hat to transport the Mermaid. The corporal bound his wrists and secured the shackles before taking him into custody.

When they arrived at the police station, it was confirmed that he was a fugitive who had escaped prior to his execution. A messenger was quickly dispatched to contact Sergeant Francisco, who was searching for him in Guayaquil.

The corporal escorted Christopher to one of the cells.

"You have no idea what you're doing; I'm not a criminal!" protested Christopher.

"Tell that to Sergeant Francisco when he arrives," the officer responded as he opened the cell bars. "I'm just following orders."

He tossed him inside, and Christopher fell to the floor awkwardly. The place had brick walls and was completely empty, without a small window; it was a cold dungeon. Christopher got to his feet, and in the dim light, he watched the corporal walk away without remorse. His end had arrived.

Past

The woman in the crimson beanie no longer went to the library. She had rejected all of Christopher's attempts to meet again, and she didn't even reply anymore. Their conversations were always through messages and social media calls; he never considered it necessary to ask for her phone number, and she didn't mention it either.

Christopher was leaning against the back of the library. He had finished writing and was wasting time while his gaze remained fixed on the reception desk. He remembered the day when her mother and brother had come to fetch her. He tried to find a reason for her distance. The memory sent a strange chill up his legs, as if warning him that he was walking towards his own destruction.

According to her, that Friday, she couldn't meet him because she was busy. She couldn't meet on Saturday either because she had to help her mother, and on Sunday, she had church, yes, church. Since when had these things been impediments? Before, she had a thousand tasks and made every effort to see him.

When they couldn't meet at the library, they enjoyed walking along the same deserted streets, with the evening sun painting the surroundings gold, and the trees refreshing themselves in the breeze. Her scent of sharp pencils wafted in the air as they cast their shadows on the walls of those silent houses, which, as if they knew what they were experiencing, kept everything secret.

But now, she only had silly excuses, and it seemed like she was doing it on purpose, with the intention of distancing herself gradually. Christopher thought she was so cowardly that she couldn't be honest and tell him the truth. If there was anything he detested more than lying, it was people hiding things from him.

She had told him that her family was upset because she was dating a writer, that her father had mocked him for his height, and her mother had spoken ill of her for not finding a man with a car. A car! Despite all of this, she had been very clear in telling him that those things didn't matter to her because it wasn't what she wanted. That actions would always matter more to her than words. However, her actions now said something else.

Not all was lost. They still chatted through text, although she was more defensive, and she no longer laughed at the same things Christopher used to say. She had managed to make the only way to finish the story was to write separately. She would go to the library when Christopher couldn't because of work.

On Monday afternoon, the woman in the crimson cap arrived at the library, went to the last aisle, and climbed the stairs to reach the notebook they had agreed to hide behind some books. She sat on the floor to read, and when she finished, she took a pen from her messenger bag and began to write.

The next day, Christopher picked up the notebook from the same hiding spot and, as if their lives were connected in parallel, he also sat on the floor, in the same place and position as her, before he began to read.

19th Century

A long figure emerged rapidly on the sea's surface, heading towards Las Islas Encantadas. It came to an abrupt stop on the coast, causing an explosion of water. The liquid fell, revealing the Mermaid. She had returned to take the boat that the poet had left tied to one of the trees.

She slid toward the shore and began to convulse, transforming with cries of pain. When her beautiful and refined legs had fully formed, she stood up, ran to the tree trunk with the rope, and untied it.

She pushed the boat by the bow to make it float on the water and then submerged herself in the sea, forcing another transformation of her legs into a tail.

Afterward, she started swimming in a spiral around the sailboat, creating a current that carried the vessel deep into the sea. Then she dove in various directions, creating a torrent that propelled the sailboat. Gradually, they gained incredible speed and disappeared on the horizon.

It was beginning to darken when the boat arrived, carried by the sea current created by the Mermaid. It stopped on the shore of La Ciudad del Sol, behind a large rock, in an uninhabited and hostile area. The exhausted Mermaid lay down on the rocky sand while enduring the shape-shift.

She didn't know it, but as if both their lives conspired to lead them down the same paths, she was in the same place where Christopher had laid her down after rescuing her from the painful rocks.

It was the first time the Mermaid had exerted so much effort to cover such a great distance in such a short time, also taking care of the sailboat to prevent it from getting damaged. Despite the weakness of her body, she had no time to rest. She forced herself to stand and approached the boat.

She retrieved the dress with the ballet slippers that the poet had given her and quickly dressed. She opened her hand, which she had kept closed throughout the journey. In her palm, she still held the small and beautiful golden pearls she had brought from the depths of the sea.

She ran to the city and asked the first person she found for directions to the market. When she arrived, she was lucky to find the last vendors. With the pearls, she bought all the provisions she could and had them loaded into the barrels of the sailboat.

Then she went to look for the poet at the inn where she had met him. She threw stones at the window of his room for almost half an hour, but no one answered. Then, an old woman approaching the door came to her.

"Excuse me, miss, who are you looking for?" the old woman asked.

The Mermaid didn't know how to respond; it could be dangerous to mention the poet's name.

"In that room lived an artist, but he hasn't returned for several days," the old woman warned.

The Mermaid felt a little sad to learn that the poet wasn't there. The lady, seeing her reaction, realized that she was not a dangerous person.

"If you'd like, you can wait inside," the old woman suggested, inviting her in.

She led the Mermaid through the hallways of the inn, opened the door to Christopher's room, and let her in.

"Let's hope he returns soon," she said kindly and left.

The moonlight streamed in through the wooden blinds, gently illuminating the room. The Mermaid approached the desk and examined the papers, the stacked books, the pen, and the inkwell. Everything reminded her of the day she had first opened her eyes to see the poet. Then, she checked the bed, which remained unmade, just as she had left it before departing for Guayaquil. As she approached a candlestick, a smile appeared on her face as she remembered it was the same one she had thrown at the poet.

She lit the candles with a match and, having illuminated the room, sat down at the desk to wait for him. She leaned back in the chair and let her head fall back from exhaustion. For several minutes, she struggled not to close her eyes. But suddenly, she felt her breathing start to accelerate for no reason, something troubled her chest, a bad feeling.

She began searching among the books and notebooks on the desk with clumsy and frantic movements, not knowing exactly what she was looking for. Among them, a folded old sheet fell. She picked it up immediately and pushed her hair aside to open it. It was an old map of La Ciudad del Sol.

The image of the poet being arrested invaded her mind, and she understood why he hadn't returned yet. She had no time to lose. She quickly located the police station on the map.

Suddenly, the galloping of horses approaching from outside could be heard. The Mermaid rushed to the window and managed to open it with a flustered movement. She stuck her head out and saw a trio of horses passing by at full speed. It was Sergeant Francisco escorted by his subordinates.

The Mermaid spun around herself and burst out like a tsunami through the hallways and stairs of the boarding house with the map in hand, until she reached the street.

She ran along the sidewalk, following the officers while trying to locate herself on the map to figure out where to turn.

Past

The golden light of sunset covered the final corridor of the library. The woman in the crimson beanie moved the ladder and climbed up to retrieve the notebook from its hiding place. She took a seat on the sofa and began reading what Christopher had written the day before.

19th Century

The poet sat on the cold cell floor, awaiting his fate. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, although he could see nothing in the dense darkness that surrounded him. He could only think of the Mermaid. Had she been a mere fantasy, a product of the natural fear he felt in the face of his imminent execution? Had he never truly known her?

A tear slid down his cheek as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. He couldn't understand how he had awakened on the shore of La Ciudad del Sol once again. If the Mermaid had never existed, had he lost consciousness at sea before being washed ashore by the waves? Perhaps that man who had accused him of theft had simply mistaken him for someone else.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the poet turned his head to look through the bars of his cell. Three officers, one holding a torch and another carrying keys, were approaching.

When they opened the door, the poet stood up immediately. Before him stood Sergeant Francisco, who regarded him coldly.

"Your rebellion scheme ends here," the sergeant said sternly, "and don't assume I'll wait until tomorrow to assign your next execution spot."

"I haven't written anything against the president. Please, read it again or let him read it."

"Do you think I'm a fool who can't read?" the sergeant replied, raising his voice.

"Maybe it was just a mistake."

"I don't make mistakes. Seize him!

"No! Listen to me!" the poet struggled. "I'm not against him! I'm not planning any uprising!

"Shout whatever you want; this time you'll die by my hand," he demonstrated how he clenched his fist and then punched him, splitting his lip and making him spit blood. "That was for making me waste my time and my promotion."

Christopher felt the corporals securing his arms, rendering all attempts to break free futile. Sergeant Francisco took off his uniform jacket and handed it to the First Corporal. Then he rolled up his sleeves, placed his hands on the prisoner's shoulders, pushed off with one leg, and delivered a knee strike to the stomach.

The poet was left breathless.

"If you didn't want to die by firing squad, then you should have drowned," the sergeant said. He took the jacket and forcefully pulled it over the poet's head.

Christopher tried to remove it by shaking his torso in desperation. He had imagined that he would die standing in front of a firing squad, which had helped him mentally prepare for his departure, but he never expected to die by drowning nonetheless. It would have been better to be enveloped in that divine song that had seduced him in the sea.