Chapter 3 The Garden Girl

Elías didn't know if the garden was really big, or if everything in that house had the capacity to seem so. He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, avoiding looking at the windows. He still felt like an intruder, as if clean clothes weren't enough to remove the mud from the night before.

No one was there at that hour. The gray-uniformed maid had told him he could walk if he wanted, "as long as he doesn't bother anyone."

He wouldn't bother anyone. He was an expert at disappearing without moving.

He stopped near the side wall. From there he could see part of the house: white columns, tall windows, a balcony enclosed by vines. Everything too clean. Everything too far away.

He turned his head.

She was there.

A few meters away. Sitting on the edge of a switched-off fountain. Alone. As if the entire garden belonged to her, but she didn't want to claim it.

She was dressed in black, her hair loose, no makeup. She had a novel open on her knees, but she wasn't reading. He was staring at a fixed point in the bushes.

He hadn't seen him. Or he had seen him, but pretended not to.

Elias stood still. By reflex. By instinct. As if entering his field of vision were a mistake. As if it were dangerous... or sacred.

The girl calmly closed the book. She looked up.

Their eyes met.

A second.

Two.

She said nothing.

Neither did he.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she stood up and walked toward him.

"Are you the new one?"

Elias hesitated.

"I guess."

"What are you doing here?"

"They told me I could leave."

She narrowed her eyes, still calm.

"That wasn't a complaint."

The silence stretched.

"Do you have a first name?" she asked.

"Elias."

"And a last name?"

"I don't use a last name."

The answer surprised her. Not because he was insolent, but because he was naked.

"Curious," she murmured, taking a step closer. "My father is usually reserved, but not with strangers."

Elías didn't answer. He lowered his gaze, without tilting his head.

"I saw you last night," she said. "From above. You didn't sleep."

"And you did?"

The question came out before he could stop it. Victoria raised an eyebrow. She didn't smile. But it didn't go away either.

"Do you know what you're doing here?"

"Not entirely."

"Then we have something in common."

Elías blinked, puzzled.

"You don't know what you're doing here either?"

Victoria held his gaze.

"You don't always choose the place you live in. Sometimes you just learn to endure it without shouting."

Elías didn't know what to say. That phrase... he had heard it, or thought it, or felt it before. But in another language. In another confinement.

Victoria turned around. She walked away without looking back.

He watched her until she disappeared among the paths. As if the shadow she left behind were more real than herself.

Fragment of Memory – Non-Chronological

Tube light. Metal chair.

A girl. Braided hair. Forced silence.

An old notebook. A word written in pencil.

"Elías."

Someone erases it with their palm.

"No one must know your name."

Renato's Office – Later

"How did you feel today?" Renato asks, without looking up from his papers.

"Fine," Elías says.

"Have you met anyone in the family yet?"

"A girl. I don't know if she's in the family."

Renato nods with a barely perceptible gesture.

"Victoria. My daughter. It's hard not to notice her."

"She doesn't seem to want to be seen."

Renato remains silent. He closes a folder with more force than necessary.

"That's who she is. Don't expect me to speak to you twice."

"I won't look for her."

"Better."

But Renato's tone didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like a warning to himself.

Victoria goes back to her room, locks herself in. She throws the book on the desk, carelessly. She pauses in front of the mirror.

"She doesn't use a last name," she says quietly, as if repeating something that doesn't fit.

She opens her desk drawer. She takes out a black and white photograph. Two men in an old factory. One is wearing overalls. The other, a child at his side. The child's face is marked with a pencil cross.

Victoria watches him, but not with fear. With doubt.

As if something were beginning to thaw.