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It happens one summer night.

For this scene, the one of repentance and forgiveness, Carlos had frankly expected different circumstances. It would take place in his parents’ mansion. Outside, it would be pouring rain, and beneath the sheets of water José would bang the door knocker and wait. The butler would take one look at his muddy shoes and usher him in through the service entrance. Then a servant would inform Carlos. But he would not come down immediately. In his fantasy there was some reason for the delay, one unrelated to pride or cruelty. The pretext changed from day to day as he reimagined the scene. The other ingredients would remain unchanged: the night, the rain, the muddy shoes, the maid’s scornful expression. He could see himself descending the stairs so clearly that he was even able to identify the suit he was wearing and the title of the book he was holding in his right hand. And as he reached the bottom—after making him wait a very long time—he saw José standing in the parlor, soaked to the bone. José looking at him imploringly, then starting to speak.

What would he say?

That part never quite came together. Even in his dreams it was impossible to imagine José asking for forgiveness.