Arrival to Villa Ferro – 6:15 AM - PET
Marta Guzman opened Villa Ferro’s massive wooden door and remained static, her eyes glistering. Two long years had passed before Ms. Ferro’s return.
“Miss Ferro! Santo cielo! It’s you!” Marta was all she was able to say while holding back her tears.
Marta!” Mila said, stepping into her colonial home as flashes of her life inundated her brain. Marta, the faithful housekeeper, also returned to Mila’s memory.
“What happened? Are you alright? Where were you?”
“Ask me instead what didn’t happen,” Mila answered with a weak smile. She walked to the old Italian fountain in the center of the front patio and garden, followed by the housekeeper. Mila stood there admiring the cherubs. She couldn’t go to the jungle without stopping in the place that held her last year with her mother. She traced the polished marble as if greeting her mother’s oldest friend. “Among so many things, I was kidnapped and lost my memory,” she explained to Marta, gazing around the beautiful garden.
“But you remember me, yes? And the fountain… it was very special to your mother Flora,” offered Marta, furrowing her forehead, studying the new Mila in front of her.
“Yes, Marta, I remember you,” Mila sighed, holding the worried lady’s hand and giving it a friendly squeeze. She also remembered all Marta had done for her during her grieving months after her mother’s passing.
“Oh, Miss Ferro, you can’t imagine how much I asked Santa Rosa for your return!” Marta said, shaking her head. Her hands instinctively clasped the silver rosary she wore on her neck.
“And prayers were heard!” Mila turned to the house, thinking about the hell from where she came. “Could we have something to drink?”
“Let’s go to the kitchen, I’ll make you something to eat as well.”
“Thank you!” Mila smiled and let Marta lead the way. As she entered the living room, the couple of assistants cleaning, stopped to welcome the lady of the house.
Mila strolled through her colonial treasure, absorbing the place from corner to corner. Voices and visions of the past filled each place. There she was, a baby crawling towards the staircase, trying to stand and pushing the old ceramic base. She brought the memory of Flora by the window, arranging her flowers freshly cut from her garden. Mila’s heart tightened. She was unable to move, afraid the vision, so real, would dissipate like a smoke figure. She couldn’t hold her tears any longer, she was grieving again, but this time, for someone she never thought she would have to grieve: Alexander. Yet she was called to action in the midst of her pain. Perhaps it was better that way. Preventing Masae to find the Sacred Garden was her personal quest in honor of the loved ones who had lost their lives trying to accomplish the same feat.
Mila turned to see Marta’s dismayed eyes. “Don’t worry Marta. It’s been a long trip and I still have some more ahead. If you don’t mind, I’ll freshen up before eating.” Mila wiped her eyes with the back of her hands as she climbed the steps of the old staircase.
She entered the first room. Her mother’s flowery scent surprised her. The light arrested her as the earth trembled; Time took her to a moment with her mother. Mila fell to her knees. Both women were standing at the ample window, talking. Mila watched the women like ghosts that the room housed. She walked towards Flora, her real mother, and listened.
“Classes with Eli must be going well.” Flora offered Mila a knowing smile. “Where were you both yesterday? You weren’t studying in our study room.”
“Oh! No, no, no! There is nothing of… whatever you are thinking.” The Mila in the scene blushed. “We are studying the physics of ocean waves, so we thought that holding class on location would stimulate deeper learning. You see?” Mila looked at the fountain in the garden. “I’ve learned that, for example, waves are energy moving through matter. The surface of the wave moves up and down, which is perpendicular to the left-to-right direction that the wave itself moves…”
“Eli is a good person, and so are you.” Flora grinned conspiratorially. “Is he a good swimmer, too?”
Mila’s heart shrank and expanded with pain, hearing her mother’s voice and seeing her so close. She wanted to embrace her, wishing it was more than a vision. She didn’t know the rules of her moving in Time—what would happen if she embraced Flora? As she was about to do so, the Mila in the vision, moved toward Flora to inspect her pale face, and Time took Mila back to the present.
“Look, but don’t touch. I get it.” Mila whispered, pressing her chest which felt as trapped between boulders. She roamed around the room. Everything remained in place. The photos, the jewelry, the brush with some strands of Flora’s hair. Marta hadn’t had the heart to pack anything away, although the place was immaculately clean. Mila opened the perfume bottle and smelled the refined flower scent, just like her name and the person she was.
Mila’s thoughts lingered on the verb ‘was’. Or could it be possible to still say is? Wasn’t that the point Time was making? Was there another realm, another sphere where loved ones awaited? Wasn’t that what Alexander had said? Theoretical physics and quantum physics were to be taken seriously… and what was the most powerful energy humankind possesses, capable of moving mountains… and Time? Love. One day we will understand, but it seems that we first have to cross the threshold of realms.
“Who would have thought he was a romantic, a dreamer?” Mila uttered softly, could he be waiting for her in that other realm? Maybe?
She approached the rocking chair in the corner of the room. It glowed with the midmorning golden sunshine entering through the opened curtains. Mila opened the window for air and sat down to gaze at the garden as her mother used to do. She now remembered being a baby, cradled and rocked in Flora’s arms in that very spot. She felt the warmth of a gentle sun on her face while her eyes indulged in the riot of colorful flowers. Their fragrance drifted with the wind to the room with the sound of chirping swallows and the water splashing against the marble of the colonial fountain. She understood why that corner was her mother’s refuge when seeking solitude. It was healing beauty for the aching soul. It was a space without shadows of doubt. It was a celebration of life and being alive despite the struggles.
“I miss you, Mother. But, I’m afraid I’m no longer who you knew. So much has happened and so much has changed,” she whispered. “Yet, sitting in this place, I can almost see you and hear you. And I needed this strength before facing the uncertainty that lies ahead.”