II

 [Umbra awaits].

Chance writes itself in an absurd dance that in its unimaginable dialectic usually misplaces signs in our direction with indifferent reproach.

The flames of the future shake and its tongue is the veladoras.

The life of a veladora is an attempt to utter a single sublime word.

Committed to rapturously vociferate the reforming schizophrenia of the universe.

Condemned to silence.

Everyone within the circles of magic experts knows of this silence and waits with fearful morbid curiosity for them to speak of that unnamable realm. Therefore: No one would dare ignore the call of one.

Any warning is absolute.

No one who understands the sway of the universe would dare ignore the call of a veladora or even a phone call.

While Faustino untangles the rope from the ceiling, Aurora silences her phone. A call from Hortensia was screaming down her leg.

No one could ignore a call from a veladora.

No one would dare not answer the call of the most respected veladora.

But her daughter would.

Hortensia slithered through the house, furious and in a certain sense fearful, like an imprisoned wind. She opened her mouth and felt the taste of the weather, the drizzle accused that the girl was not in the house, so she did not need to shout her name or go to her room to understand that Aurora would not participate in the ceremony, she felt the sting of not understanding why someone would not want to receive the greatest gift. Offended she dialed the number over and over again.

"Everything feels so serious and gloomy, let's change the tone, let's lighten the mood," Aurora announced as she took a huge bottle out of her backpack: a strong and cheap distillate that she stole from a shop a few blocks away after running away. 

Faustino turned and saw the bottle, thought about whether Aurora drank a lot, thought about whether she got aggressive when she got drunk, thought about whether she was there because of problems with alcohol, that maybe where she had been before she had been expelled for stealing things to sell and buy more alcohol.

"That's what poor people do, isn't it? They get drunk,"  Aurora tried to joke.

"Real poor people don't refer to themselves as poor. They wear expensive clothes, go into debt and disown their social class," Faustino answered while looking for a broom.

"And people who break ceilings don't have the ability to identify sarcasm".

After two full seconds of silence that Aurora felt unbearable, she resumed the conversation, as if everything that had happened since her arrival had been a draft: "Let's start again: you probably didn't get my call, but I'm coming to live here... if you don't have any problems".

Faustino looked at her impressed. He had realized that he didn't have a broom, that he had never bought a broom, he realized that he had never drank with friends in the apartment, that Aurora was the first visitor he had ever had and yet he had never invited anyone. Aurora still didn't realize that Umbra was waiting for her, she was still talking, trying to explain how she had gotten there. Faustino was not listening, he was still perplexed with all the things he was learning. Aurora mentioned something that had to happen and that they had to get ready but Faustino did not listen to her, the boy suddenly asked: "Do you drink now?"

"Yes, but don't worry about the bottle. I know you don't drink, don't worry. It's for when the rest of the group arrives". Aurora answered reluctantly, understanding that he had not been paying attention to her.

"Are they drinking now?". The boy asked worriedly.

"Yes, but it's not for them. It's for the ritual".