I let a few days pass before showing up at Mrs. Herminia's home. Not just because of the amount of work the lieutenant might have prepared for me, but also because of the distance between the Malvedo property—this being the family name of these people—and mine.

After all, the house that once belonged to my grandparents was sold years ago, shortly after they both passed away. At that time, all the children were already living in the city, and having settled into their respective jobs, no one thought of returning to the village. So, when it was decided this year that I would be stationed in this place, I was forced to rent a small house at one end of the village where the building serving as our barracks stood.

Mrs. Herminia and her family didn't live in that village. No, their property was much closer to the Ribera, in a village situated high on some cliffs, partially hidden in the woods but not so close to the vineyards. To be precise, it was the village that was highest above the river level. And, as such, it had incredible views of every plot and

path that stretched for kilometers and kilometers down below. On sunny days, one could even perfectly see the mouth of the river at its most well-known tributary.

This place could be considered the paradise of someone who didn't suffer from vertigo. Because, impressive as the views were, it didn't change the fact that it was located on the edge of a mountain. Despite there not being any cliffs per se, the plateaus were steep and the paths as winding as they were narrow. With the main road so close, there was no danger of getting lost even in the most untimely hours. But just a few dozen meters in the direction of the river was enough to step out of the range of the streetlights and be trapped in darkness.

I, in that sense, had no problem: Although there were about three good kilometers separating my house from Mrs. Herminia's, having to cut through the vineyard area so that the distance didn't almost double, I made the walk during the day.

I didn't have a horse or my own vehicle, but in those weeks, I had already gotten used to patrolling the villages that made up our municipality on foot. My boss encouraged it, even when I wasn't on duty, as he was one of those who believed that it never hurt to patrol our domains to constantly ensure that everything was in order. And so, it felt natural for me to take that walk on my own, without needing anyone to take me.

The rain had subsided, and although the skies remained gray, that Saturday afternoon showed no trace of fog. The sunlight seemed to want to peek through the clouds every so often, and I felt safe wandering through those woods again.

Without venturing into the vineyards, I always stayed on the main road that would later lead to the village I was heading to, stopping only occasionally to greet some workers who, with their usual good humor, were delighted to stop working in their respective plots for a few minutes with the feeble excuse of chatting with me about any unimportant topic.

I went alone, but considering the above, I didn't feel lonely. I didn't even need to carry a flashlight, for obvious reasons.

Around four in the afternoon, I reached Mrs. Herminia's house. I didn't even need to knock on the door, as they were expecting me. Having seen me coming from the moment I entered the square that communicated with their property, several of Mrs. Herminia's relatives came out to greet me.

The Malvedo family was extensive, I must say. Mrs. Herminia had six children, four of whom had emancipated and moved away decades ago, either to other houses in the same municipality or to a nearby city. The two remaining ones stayed with their parents. One never married, the other did, but decided to stay in the family home to remain close to his parents and help his sister take care of them in their old age.

Then there were Mrs. Herminia's grandchildren, from that son who decided to stay and put down roots in his lifelong home. Mrs. Herminia had four sons—and it was these,

who were my age, and with whom I used to play in my childhood—three of them went to the city, one stayed: Since the Malvedos owned a few plots of land and also animals, it was natural that someone stayed in the countryside and maintained the livestock business that they had carried on for several generations.

Needless to say, this individual also got married eventually and had his own children.

Thus, the Malvedo house was always full of life and, above all, people. With several generations still living in those parts, there were always stories to tell and children running around nearby. In fact, it was precisely a couple of Carmelo's kids—that being the oldest of Mrs. Herminia's grandchildren—who took the initiative to drag me into the house as soon as they saw me.

I must mention here that, except for those summers when I made an appearance in the village, I was never very close to any of the Malvedos. Of course, I enjoyed being with them, we were very good friends, and my grandparents didn't even need to convince me to pay them a visit, as that came from me willingly. What I mean is that we didn't keep in touch beyond that, we didn't exchange letters or anything like that.

I lost track of some of Mrs. Herminia's descendants years ago. Others, despite not seeing them, I knew what they were up to from rumors I had heard from my own family circle.

Be that as it may, and although my relationship with these people could be described as "cooled by the passage of time," there was always an exception that proved the rule. And the exception, in this case, had a name and surname.

Leandro was one of the old woman's grandchildren and, I would venture to say, with whom I got along best since we were children. The said person had moved to the capital to study architecture as soon as he finished high school, and subsequently settled in another city near these mountains to practice his profession. But if there was something that hadn't changed about him, it was his fondness for rural areas, for staying in quiet towns and cities with little traffic. So, even though he no longer lived with his parents, he visited them often.

I hadn't seen him in ages, since I started at the academy, but my sporadic correspondence with him hadn't ceased over the years. That's why, despite not having seen each other in person for so many years, I was better informed about his adventures than about those of the rest of the Malvedo family as a whole.

Even so, and despite believing that I knew everything I needed to know about this individual, I was still surprised to see him appear at the door that afternoon to greet me with the rest of his brothers and nephews.

When had he arrived in the village? Probably in the last few days. The last letter I received from him was dated a couple of months ago, and he didn't mention anything about a vacation. But, just like I wasn't exactly a stranger in those lands, the rest of the

neighborhood knew Leandro well and wouldn't have kept quiet about his return if it had happened a long time ago.

I correctly concluded, then, that no more than a couple of days had passed since he arrived, and therefore the news hadn't had a chance to spread.

"It's been a horrible coincidence to arrive home on the day of a funeral," Leandro commented later on this, when we were alone. "It brings bad luck, according to what some have told me."

As soon as I arrived at the Malvedo house, they ushered me into the kitchen. And it was there, at the table, where I talked at length with Mrs. Herminia and her relatives. We had a couple of coffees, played several rounds of cards, and later, they invited me to dinner, which I gladly accepted.

It still wasn't time for that, but having tired of the card game and with the women ready to prepare the food, Leandro and I had decided to sneak away to the small gallery overlooking the first rugged hills of the Ribera, in order to catch up on our respective misadventures.

"Although, to be honest," he continued, "I'm glad I came when I did. I didn't have time to stop by the church, and anyway, I couldn't help the deceased anymore."

Leandro hated going to church; he had always considered it a waste of time, even when he served as an altar boy for the local parish. If I considered myself agnostic, he could very well be described as a staunch atheist. And it was because the only occasions he attended mass were when duty called. That is, when there was a funeral for someone close or if he was invited to a wedding or baptism.

"Is it true he fell off a cliff?"

"That's what Ballejo says. And I think the lieutenant is starting to believe it too, because we haven't found a single person who claims to have met with Herrero the night he died," I recalled something I had been told, pointing out with some irony. "So, either it was an accidental death, or it was something to do with the Holy Company."

Leandro laughed heartily at this. He wasn't a superstitious person, but having grown up where he did, he knew more about those legends than I did.

"But wasn't the Holy Company supposed to be a benevolent procession that only went after the dying? If you told me it was the lard man, it would make more sense."