“It’ll only be over once they’re off the island,” Roberto said, and then looked over at Rosalía and Ramón. “And when these two finally decide to call it quits.”
Rosalía and Ramón looked at each other in embarrassment. In the light of day, under the sharp winter sun, everything seemed quite different.
Doubtless they were being assailed by all the bad calls they’d made—all they had done, all they had been on the verge of doing.Without the nefarious presence of money, it was as if a black cloud had dissipated and things as they really were had been revealed.
Docampo looked around, no doubt searching for Luis. Antía and Roberto exchanged a sad look. Even if he had been a murderer, Luis Docampo had also been somebody’s son, and a husband and father. There was still a lot of pain to get through.
But now wasn’t the time for them to say anything. That would come later.
“I think ...” Ramón cleared his throat. “I think I owe you an apology, Rosalía. On behalf of all of us, for everything.”
“Us too, Ramón.” The woman puffed out her cheeks. “I can’t believe we let it get to this point.”
Tentatively, she held out her hand, which the man hastened to shake. If they had been in a movie, everyone would have burst into cheers of joy at that moment, but there was only a disbelieving silence.
It was over. Finally.
“Your daughter and my Tristán.” Ramón shook his head. “Who would have thought?”
“Oh, come on, Ramón.” The woman patted him on the back. “We Freires and you Docampos have been hooking up for more generations than anyone can count. They’re hardly the first.”
“If only they’d told us ...”
“They’re young and stupid,” the woman concluded. “Time will heal both those things! As it will our differences, Ramón.”
Ramón gave a half smile.
“Sure, sure.” He nodded. “Although ... this doesn’t mean we’re even.”
“You’re right about that!”
The two became embroiled in a heated argument. Roberto gave Antía an incredulous look.
“Some things will never change, right?” he whispered, instinctively putting his hand in hers. Antía squeezed his hand in return, as if worried that he might be about to disappear.
“If they didn’t have something to argue over, they’d both die. They need each other like that.”
“As long as it’s just words, everything will be fine.” Roberto straightened up with a wince. Then he remembered something. “What about Ibaibarriaga?”
Antía shook her head disconsolately. “He’s gone. He lost too much blood.”
“Poor guy,” Roberto muttered. “I don’t think he was actually bad. The money just clouded his judgment.”
“I think he felt guilty about Pazos’s death,” she added. “He was devastated. His final moments weren’t pretty.”
“I hope he rests in peace. It’s too high a price.”
“Same with Pampín, and Ricardo and Luis Docampo, Elvira Couto too. They’ve all paid dearly.”
Roberto walked over to the lighthouse and slumped against the wall. He was exhausted. The amphetamines were wearing off, and his eyelids felt like lead, but he still couldn’t relax completely. Not yet.
He patted his pockets, looking for his cigarettes, before remembering they were doubtless somewhere at the bottom of the Devil’s Hole. He sighed and simply leaned his head back, enjoying the warm caress of the sun’s rays, the feeling of being alive.
Antía went and sat down beside him, and a few minutes later, they heard Diego shouting with excitement.
“Look, look!” He was jumping up and down. “Over there, by the headland!”
Everyone looked out to sea. The Colombians were racing away in the speedboat, although the efforts of whoever was at the helm would have horrified the late Chuco Barreiros. The sea was still choppy, and rather than negotiating the waves, they were trying to shoot directly through them like an arrow. Huge walls of water broke constantly over the vessel.
