by Taylor Hobbs
“Isabella, what are you speaking of?” María asked. “I found Remy behind the main house mere hours ago. There were no damages.”
“The entirely inappropriate drawing on the back wall. Rather vulgar, in my opinion.”
Remy’s heart nearly stopped. “Was it a painting? A painting appeared?”
“If you could even dignify it by calling it anything other than vandalism,” Isabella said. “At first, we thought it was a cruel joke. But now with talk of the coup movement, nobody is sure. That was what we were all discussing before I was needed in here to help you all.”
Is it my painting? It was completely plausible. Nothing else that major had followed Remy through her time hops. The red door had been strange, the wine, her clothes…but the idea that her artwork, a piece of her soul, had traveled to this version of the village to be displayed to the public struck her as significant. There was a reason if her painting had appeared here, the most intimate part of her laid bare for all to see.
My wish.
Remy was out the door and onto the street before anyone inside could react. By the time they joined her behind the main house, Remy had recovered while they were all out of breath. Just as she had suspected, her spray paint mural stared back at her. There is something…wrong about it though. The essence of the painting was still the same, perhaps a bit more sensual looking now that she was looking at it in the context of a more conservative time period.
“It’s beautiful,” María murmured. “How can hands that insist on fighting create this?”
“That’s because they didn’t,” Bieito said. He stood, transfixed, next to Remy. He grabbed onto her hand and squeezed it. He knows.
There was a message here, Remy was certain of it. Her subconscious had created it, and then her wish had sent it to her. The answer to Lino lay in the painting, but Remy was too emotionally connected to her own work to see it. “Where is it?” she whispered.
She tried looking at it like a map. Nothing. Remy felt like a foolish art critic, the very column writers she despised who would come to her shows and demand an explanation for each and every painting. “What was your inspiration? What are you trying to tell us? What is the greater message within the context of a post 9/11 world?” On and on. Then they would type up their own interpretation anyway, ignoring most of what Remy said, praising work they had no real understanding of. The reviews gave Remy the notoriety that she needed, all while she bit her lip so hard she drew blood, nodding and smiling and giving the people what they wanted. Critics wanted to feel superior and insightful. She never told them they were wrong, just got a gold star for keeping silent. To ease her frustration, she told herself it didn’t matter, as long as she knew the true message.
The same was true with this mural. It was only for Remy, so only she could find the message within it. She took a deep breath and forced her eyes to relax. Remy let go of Bieito’s hand and took a couple steps back, never taking her eyes off the wall. The contrast, light and dark, positive and negative, were in equal parts within the painting. In fact, had Remy tried to purposely create the painting with this exact ratio, she wouldn’t have been able to do it. Exactly fifty percent of the artwork was black spray paint, the other fifty percent was negative space. Half and half.
Remy stared so hard her eyes started to water, the figures swirling together until they no longer looked like two people entwined and instead looked like a jumbled mass. Colors appeared, but when Remy focused on them too hard, they turned back to black again. The painting was in constant movement, until Remy started to see a pattern emerge.
What she had mistaken earlier for a crescent moon now looked like a C. The space between the bodies pressed together was arrow shaped, or an A. The curve of their pointed feet formed two R shapes. The hands reaching in prayer formed another A. Remy’s eyes jumped from point to point all over her painting, searching for more hidden letters. The final letter almost hit her in the face with its obviousness. The legs crossed to form the letter L, though it was upside down.
C. A. R. R. A. L.
Remy imagined Maggie’s voice saying the word. Her friend had mentioned the revolution and how the coup had failed. Yes, the Martyrs of Carral. That’s what we are trying to avoid. Wait, what is Carral? Remy had originally thought it was just a strange title they had assigned to the executed men. But what if it was more than that? What if it was a location?
“Bieito, what is Carral?”
He jumped at her voice, and Remy realized she must have spent several silent minutes in her trance. “Carral? The city?”
“It’s a city?”
“A town, I guess. A bit bigger than Ortigueira, but not as populated as Santiago. Why?”
“That’s where we will find Lino.”
Chapter Twelve
“Carral?” Bieito asked, skeptical. The others—María, Isabella, and Afonso—turned to listen. “Lino has never been to Carral before. I doubt he even knows the way.”
“I don’t know if that’s where he’s heading right now, but I do know that that is where he will end up eventually. We just have to be there to meet him. Otherwise, things are going to go very, very badly for him.”
“How would you know that?” Isabella challenged. “That’s impossible.”
“I don’t know exactly what will happen,” Remy conceded, “but you’ll just have to trust me on this.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “You know what?” Remy snapped. “I don’t think this concerns you any longer—”
“None of this concerns you, you-you-American! Go back to where you came from.”
“That’s enough,” Bieito said. His calm timbre rumbled through the group. “If Remy says this is where I need to go, then I am going there.”
His father spoke up. “Bieito, I know you mean well, and I adore Remy as you do, but Isabella raises a good point. How do we know for sure this is where we will find Lino? The chances seem far too slim. Act rashly, and we could miss our true opportunity. There is no evidence that this is where Lino will end up…”
Remy spoke up. “This is my painting,” she said, eliciting gasps of shock from everyone other than Bieito. “It’s here because of me. And it’s important. That’s all I can tell you.”
“How? You’ve been with me all day—” María started to protest but was silenced by a head shake from Bieito.
Giving her friend a reassuring smile, Remy continued. “Bieito and I need to go to Carral as soon as possible. I can’t remember the exact time line, but I know that this coup won’t last very long.” Realizing her slip, Remy added, “I would assume.”
“I will go to Carral,” Bieito said. “Alone.”
“Like hell,” Remy argued.
“These are dangerous people, and a volatile situation. I know how to reach my brother. Too many people will draw attention. The last thing we need is the entire family accused of treason.”
“I am coming.” Bieito’s father straightened up to his full height, which still put him about even with Remy. “My boys need me.”
“Father, I appreciate—”
“I’m coming too,” María said. “Lino is my husband.”
“You are all mad!” Isabella said. “This is nonsense. I cannot be associated with this any longer.” The gossip and speculation had been fun for her, but now that the family talked about serious action Isabella was ready to flee. Good riddance. One less problem.
Before the woman could go run and spread the new information she had acquired, Remy grabbed her arm. “Tell no one of this,” she warned, voice too low for the others to overhear. “If you do, I’ll make sure you never get married again. No one will want you.” Isabella’s face went white at Remy’s unladylike threat, before flushing red with indignation.
“How dare you—” she sputtered, but Remy had already turned her back on the other woman. Isabella slunk away in a huff, and the family turned back to discussing the more important matter at hand.
“We should go back inside,” Bieito’s father urged. The other villag
ers had been watching their heated exchanged with curious faces. Remy could just imagine what they were saying to one another as they watched her analyze her painting—That strange woman…She is a distant relative of María’s, I heard…Last anyone saw of her was at the wedding…Isabella says she is of questionable morals, and American…
Now with her obvious connection to the artwork, she wondered if they were adding “vandal” to her description. If they hadn’t already, Remy was sure that Isabella would make that happen. As long as she stays quiet about Lino, I don’t care what she does or what she says about me.
The family walked briskly back to the cottage; all the while María argued with Bieito about why she should be allowed to go. Bieito’s father said nothing, but Remy noted the grim determination in his face. He was not going to be easily persuaded to stay behind, either. The old man was unable to withstand such a journey. They needed to move quickly and quietly, and though he was fairly fit for his age from a lifetime of working outdoors, Remy didn’t want to risk his fatigue or injury. The hard part was going to be tactfully pointing this out without offending him. The key would be to convince María to stay behind, so Bieito’s father would have the important job of looking out for her. Plus, it was a good idea to have them remain anyway, in case Lino should return unexpectedly.
And if Afonso and María still wouldn’t listen to reason, then Remy wasn’t above leaving with Bieito in the middle of the night. She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that, especially after finally getting María to look past her disappearance at the wedding. However, if it got Lino back to his wife safe and sound, Remy figured that all would be forgiven.
Remy could not remain behind, even though she knew Bieito was going to try his damnedest to convince her otherwise. But Remy wasn’t about to have anything happen to either Bieito or Lino, even if it meant another wish. The first wish got the ball rolling to find Lino, and it was easy to think about making another one, should the situation arise. That was the danger of wishes. Remy was determined to prevent Lino becoming a Martyr of Carral in any way possible.
She admired the cause, she really did, but history was written by the victors. Lino was on the losing side. Even being made into a martyr wouldn’t be worth the cost, not for his family anyway. The only thing this coup would accomplish was bloody violence and unnecessary deaths. Maybe if Remy knew for sure that it would affect something in the future, she would have been more hesitant to get involved, but pulling Lino out and saving his life wouldn’t cause too big of a ripple, would it? He was just one person. The rebellion would still fail, only there would be eleven men executed instead of twelve. Just a minor change in the history books, right?
And if Lino and María had children, their descendants would live in the village until it was eventually abandoned. A couple extra people in Ortigueira wouldn’t change the big picture. Remy would still come to buy the village a hundred years later. Saving Lino wouldn’t dramatically change her own life path trajectory, would it?
It might not even matter anyway, if she was permanently stuck in this time instead of allowed to return to her own century. What if I change it so much I can never go back to my old life? Questions gnawed at Remy the longer she thought about the far-reaching implications of what she was about to do.
However, the only other option, the safest option, was to not act, and in Remy’s opinion, that was not a choice. She was just going to have to go with her gut on this, and deal with the consequences later. The best-case scenario would be if they were able to extract Lino before the revolutionaries even went to trial. Worst case scenario…well, she didn’t want to think about that, and what it would do to Bieito to witness his brother’s execution.
By the time the family reentered the cottage, the only thing that had been decided was that nobody wanted to be left behind, and tempers were starting to flare.
Sweet María, red-faced and shouting, was laying out her case to Bieito and her father-in-law, who were apparently on the same side for the moment. Their alliance would be short-lived, though, once Bieito turned against his father with the same arguments.
“I think,” Remy shouted above the din, “that we all need to sleep, and figure it out in the morning.” Nobody wanted to see reason in that argument, but the truth was that everyone’s nerves were too frayed to discuss things rationally anymore. We are further along now to getting Lino than we were before, Remy consoled herself. At least we know where we will find him. Better than nothing.
“Each moment we waste—” Bieito started to argue with her but was cut off by Remy’s meaningful look. We’ll talk later, it said. That shut him up, and he nodded. They needed to find a quiet place to meet, away from María and Afonso. Then the real planning could begin.
María sighed. “I think you’re right, Remy. Nothing will be accomplished on an empty stomach. Here, let us finish making dinner.” Her hands were already busy with the half-finished meal preparation from an hour before, prior to the interruption from Bieito. It was always easier to think rationally when one’s hands were occupied. Remy couldn’t help but notice that María’s hands trembled.
Poor girl. She is so strong, trying to keep it together. She must be terrified. It made Remy feel all the guiltier for what they were going to put her through.
“Actually, María, I was hoping to have Remy’s help out in the barn,” Bieito said. “Father, will you gut the fish for your daughter-in-law?”
A hesitant truce was declared between father and daughter-in-law as they silently worked next to each other in the kitchen, while Bieito and Remy slipped outside. Instead of heading to the barn, Bieito steered them toward the orchard. Once among the rows of trees, Bieito grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the largest one.
“First,” he said, and kissed her breathless. Remy felt the anxiety, regret, and sadness pour out of him as he focused his attention on her. Kisses were easier than words, and way more effective.
He broke away. “I’m glad you are here,” Bieito whispered. “That painting…you did it? Truly?”
Remy blinked, trying to clear her mind from the passion-induced fog that Bieito created. “What? Um, yeah. My first one in a long time, actually. And apparently it turned out to be pretty useful.”
“It is the most beautiful piece of artwork I have ever seen. Your talents are indescribable. I won’t pretend to know how or why you used it to guess the location of my brother, but if any painting held a divine message, that one would.” Bieito stared at Remy, awed that her mind had created the image out of nothing.
Remy squirmed under the praise, suddenly feeling like she was on display. The speculation that her hand had produced a divine message made her uncomfortable. She needed Bieito to still see her as she was; just Remy, not Remy the world-renowned painter. The last thing she needed was Bieito to fear that they came from completely separate worlds. Which, technically, we do, but that’s not the point. She leaned in to rest her cheek on his chest. “When this is all over, I want you to take me sailing again.”
The tip of Bieito’s chin dug into the crown of her head. “I promise, mi amor. Only if you promise to paint something just for me. It is selfish, I know, but I want something to keep by my side when you disappear again.”
Remy pulled back and smacked him on the chest. “I already told you I don’t like leaving you! It’s not like I’m trying to do it—”
“Then marry me. Stay here with me.” Bieito’s liquid brown eyes stared at her with wild hope. He looked just as surprised saying the words as Remy was hearing them.
“What?”
“We can build a life together here,” Bieito said. “Even if you are…elusive. Some of you is better than none of you.”
Remy shook her head, still trying to find words. Just a few months ago she had been a recent divorcee, and now she was listening to someone propose. Bieito couldn’t be serious, could he? He’s afraid to lose his brother, so he is trying to do everything in his power not to lose me, either.
Fear wasn’t e
nough of a reason to propose. In fact, Remy didn’t know if there was ever a good enough reason to propose. Granted, Bieito was a much better partner for Remy than Jack ever was, and she was older and wiser now. But would marriage set her on the same doomed path as before?
Not to mention the fact that Bieito knew nothing of Remy’s traumatic past. There were too many secrets between them. A promise to him wouldn’t be fair until Remy unpacked all the baggage from her past.
Still, the hopeless romantic teenager inside wondered, What if I said yes? Did Remy dare allow herself to dream of a future with Bieito? To focus only on the good instead of what might happen? Remy waged an internal war for a long moment, so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t see Bieito still staring at her expectantly. He cleared his throat, and Remy snapped back to the moment.
“No.”
Bieito’s face fell. “No?”
“It’s not the right time to ask me that. So, no.”
“But later?”
“You can try. I can’t promise I’ll say yes. But you can try.”
“That hope is good enough for me.”
How many times had Remy said that? Each time she and Jack had tried for another baby, there had always been hope. How many times could Bieito have his hopes crushed before he, too, ended up disillusioned like Remy? Did she want to be the person to teach him that lesson? This was too dangerous of a road to go down right now.
She changed the subject. “We can’t allow María and your father to come with us to Carral.”
“I agree. Though I think it would be safer if you stayed as well.”
“Nice try. I knew you were going to suggest that. Remember how I said I know way more about this than you do? You’ll need me if we are going to get Lino out of this alive.”
Bieito sighed. “I wish it could be otherwise.” Remy cringed at the word “wish,” but Bieito didn’t notice. “My father and sister-in-law will not stay willingly, however. Especially if they know you are accompanying me.”