October 22nd, 192X

A cluster of sheer boulders loomed over the river, creating a mountainous barrier that stretched beyond the horizon. The place was covered with woods and small plots, separated from each other by stone walls low enough so that it was not difficult to jump them. This was vineyard country, so it was also not surprising that dozens of narrow dirt paths diverged from the main road, continuing through these fields until they were lost in the vegetation.

That morning we were required early in those hills, not long after dawn. Although the sun should have risen more than an hour by the time we reached our destination, gray clouds seemed to refuse to allow light to illuminate the paths.

Not only was it threatening to rain at any moment, but a thick fog covered the valleys, reducing our field of vision to only a few feet.

I have to stop my narration here to verify that, despite never having dedicated myself to agriculture or even lived in a place so far from the big cities, I did spend several festivities in this part of the mountains. So no, the place was not unknown to me... Or shouldn't, because I also have to admit that the days I spent here in the past were in summer, a time when storms were more sporadic and there was no icy blanket covering the depths of the valley, even in the later hours of the morning.

It should be noted, then, that the feeling I might have had in my past did not correspond to the one I was having now.

The days of revelry and good weather had turned into a mass of cold and restlessness without me having a chance to process it. And that is what I felt when I set foot again in those fields, the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what terrain I was on despite the fact that my head pointed towards a specific place and memories.

A shiver ran down my spine as I dismounted, not only was the reason we'd been called rough in itself, but through the mist I could feel dozens of gazes settle on me as I did my best not to land in some small hole next to the main path: It had already been quite a feat to get to that point, the road was so narrow that cars could not pass and the only way to reach the exact place where they claimed us was by using horses that would take on the task of dodge the potholes, going down through innumerable slopes, in our place.

“Where is it?”

Just before my feet hit the ground, I heard Lieutenant Taboada ask this question ahead of me. The aforementioned had led the march since we arrived at La Ribera and, together with a couple of locals who offered as guides, it was also he who took the lead when he got off his horse.

"A little further down that road," said Freire, one of the farmers, pointing to a specific point through the mist; you couldn´t see three on a donkey, but the guy seemed pretty sure where he was aiming. “The land is owned by the Navia, they have a winery about twenty meters above the level of the river, from here it´s not possible to see. Be that as it may, we find it in their vineyards, at the bottom of a small precipice.”

"Did you find him? Who exactly?"

'To be precise, it was first noticed by merchants crossing by boat to the neighboring province. In a way, it seems we got lucky and the body fell in a sparsely wooded area, not far from the shore. So for those people who crossed the river it was not difficult to see it. They were the ones who called us.”

"I imagine those merchants won't be here anymore," my superior ventured to comment; he knew as well as any of those present that the current was no joke and, once on a fixed course, it would be difficult to turn around without risking capsizing.

“No. They were going through the middle of the stream when they noticed the poor bastard. They just yelled at us from where they were, hoping we could hear them. And boy do we listen to them! You don't know what it's like to be finishing manuring some farms, when one has just woken up, and suddenly an echo appears from the distance announcing that there is a deceased a few meters from you.”

"How close were you to the aforementioned?"

“Not so much, he was on the other side of the property and that way we had already finished paying. We stopped by the warehouse, we still hadn't even started to unload the manure we brought. And if you add to this the fog and vegetation… Well, the deceased would have taken a little longer to find, if not for the extra help.”

"We think he fell off the cliff," interjected another of the farmers who was listening, like everyone else, to this unusual conversation; It wasn't every day that someone died in the middle of the vineyards. “We´ve created accesses to reach certain farms, but even for people used to working here, it is difficult to move if there is not enough light.”

The lieutenant nodded and, although I could tell that he was wondering the same question as me, he didn't say anything else about it. How could a man have plunged into the depths of those rocky cliffs? It had to have happened during the night, since dozens of people worked in those parts during the day and, if they had seen it the day before, they would have raised the alarm much sooner.

But then again, someone dying there during the hours of darkness didn't make any sense. Who in his right mind would roam the plantation in the wee hours of the morning? Without any inhabited houses around, or even streetlights to illuminate the road to the nearest village, after dark it would be like being in the lion's den.

“I remember visiting Navia´s winery a few years ago and I know that there is a considerable slope to reach it. It wouldn't be surprising if someone had had an accident,” Lieutenant Taboada confirmed, indicating with a silent gesture to our guide that he had his permission to lead the march once more through the vineyards. “Is it known who the deceased was?”

“A resident of Parada, surnamed Herrero. He doesn't work here, but he's…was, a distant cousin of a couple of our guys,” he explained, referring to some of his co-workers but not pointing specifically at any of them. “From time to time he dropped by, passing through to his town, so we all knew him even if it was by sight.”

That was the most common thing. In that part of the countryside, and despite the fact that the villages were separated from each other by kilometers and kilometers of forests and little traveled roads, the neighbors socialized enough to recognize each other, even though they did not belong to the same municipality. It didn't matter if one person didn't remember another, it was highly probable that in his social circle there would always be someone who was a friend of the second cousin of the individual's uncle.

They were all related in some way or another.

“Be careful where you step, the floor´s slippery.”

Someone made such a warning from behind, once we began to walk in procession through the plantations, deep into a mist that soon caused us to lose sight of the road we came from.

Freire and the lieutenant were at the head of our little group, as seemed to be the norm on this unpleasant excursion to the Ribera. They were followed by Ballejo, the official doctor from the nearest village, closely accompanied by another of the farmers with whom he had been speaking until shortly before arriving at the Navia property. Then I ventured last, having instructed the few spectators still left on the main road not to move from where they were until we returned.

In truth, I was not very clear about what my presence was required for.