Prologue
It was Cinco de Mayo. The street was crowded with hundreds of people celebrating. It was clearly evening, as it was barely light outside; hence why there were so many lit candles.
There were families present. One example included a mother and her daughter, as they were holding hands. They held on as tightly as they possibly could, but the daughter could only grasp her mother’s hand for so long. Either she couldn’t hold tightly enough, or she was so distracted by the atmosphere that it caused her to let go so easily. Either way, the mother and her daughter got separated quickly.
“Seirra?” the mother called out, before loudly repeating herself, “Sierra!?”
But the mother’s calls were not loud enough, as the daughter attempted to dig her way out of the crowd. She was successful in doing so. But upon looking for her mother, something else caught her attention. There was an old man in a top hat standing right in the shadows of a nearby building ten feet away. It wasn’t until five seconds later that he looked right at her himself. For whatever reason, the daughter began walking over towards him. At that moment, no eye-contact was broken between the two.
But then, a familiar voice interrupted, “Sierra!”
Before she could turn around, the daughter was grabbed by the arm by none other than her own mother.
“Gracias a Dios!” the mother belched with relief, “I thought I had lost you!” “Your daughter has quite a future ahead of her,” said the old man.
While hunched over, the mother turned around and looked at him. “Disculpe?”
The old man introduced himself, “I am Diego El Curandero ... Soy un médico brujo.”
As she gawked, the mother asked him, “What did you say, regarding my
daughter?”
“I don’t know,” the old man vaguely answered.
The mother couldn’t tell whether the old man was lying or not, but she assumed that he was a raving lune either way. “Vamos, Sierra,” she said to her daughter.
“I speak to the dead.”
“I’m not interested,” the mother firmly responded, right before telling her daughter, “And I’m not letting you out of my site.”
“Tu marido quiere hablar contigo!”
Immediately then, the mother stood straight and turned around to look at him once again. “What did you say?”
“Your husband, he has passed on, no?”
The mother hesitated, “Last year, sí.”
“Was his name … Pablo?”
“Si,” the mother repeated while nodding.
“If you don’t mind stepping into my realm, I have much to talk to you about.”
After letting out a sigh, the mother then loudly thought, ‘Debo estar loco.’ While still holding onto her daughter’s hand, she then followed the old man as he guided her to the place he was referring to.
