“This island can be very harsh in the winter—I won’t deny it. But it also has a lot to offer, if you look in the right place.”
“While we’re on the subject,” Roberto said with a grimace, “may I ask you a question?”
“Yes, of course.” Varatorta gave him a quizzical look. “What’s it about?”
“Have you been on the island long?”
“About three years. Why do you ask?”
“I’m sure it’s silly but ... Have you ever heard of someone calledTangaraño?”
Varatorta stared at him, a strange look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but apparently thought better of it.
“I think whoever it is has some kind of problem with me,” Roberto continued quietly. “I’d like to know who it is.”
“Not who but what.” Varatorta frowned. “Take a look at this.”
The lighthouse keeper went over to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a slim, leather-bound book. On its cover, in faded gold lettering, it saidMyths and Legends of the Isle of Ons.
“This book must be almost a hundred years old,” said Varatorta, flipping the pages. “Where was it? Ah, yes!”
He held the book out to Roberto. On the page was an old engraving in black ink. It showed a stooped man, of uncertain age, dressed in a long overcoat and wearing a kind of hat made of braided greenery. Roberto shuddered to see three decapitated bodies at the man’s feet.
But most disturbing was the expression on his face. His eyes were wide open but unfocused, shot through with madness and pain. The engraver had captured the moment perfectly, and the more Roberto looked, the more he felt himself drawn into the black pit of insanity that seemed to lie behind that gaze.
“The legend of theTangarañoarose in the late nineteenth century,” Varatorta said in a low voice. “Apparently, a sailor by that name came to believe that his wife and two small children were possessed by the devil. To free them, he drowned them and then chopped off their heads.”
The cozy library had suddenly grown quite cold.
“ThisTangaraño, either guilt stricken or fearing arrest, committed suicide by throwing himself into the Burato do Inferno, one of the shafts on the western side of the island. That part made the newspapers at the time, so it’s taken to be true, and the myth begins from there.”
“And what does the myth consist of?” Roberto asked hesitantly.
“Legend has it thatTangaraño’s spirit is still trapped on the island because of his terrible deeds.” Varatorta read from the book: “‘On stormy nights, the spirit of the ill-fated sailor wanders the paths of the lush Isle of Ons, condemned to relive his family’s gruesome fate. Any person or animal who has the misfortune to cross his path will meet the same fate as the two innocent children and his wife, all that time ago.’”
“What a horrible story.”
“And that’s not all.” Varatorta turned the page. “‘Legend has it that theTangarañolingers around people’s homes, longing for the human warmth within, so that he can rid himself of his curse and place it on someone else’s shoulders. That is what they call ...’”
“The dead man’s kiss,” said Roberto, almost in a whisper.
“That’s right.” Varatorta looked up, surprised. “How did you know?”
Roberto swallowed. He didn’t want to be taken for a madman, but he needed to tell someone. He began telling the lighthouse keeper everything that had happened since his arrival on the island, the discovery of the dead rabbit, the severed head on his front step, and his strange encounter with Elvira Couto. However, he said nothing about the money or Víctor Pampín’s death.
“So? Think I’m making it all up?”
“Not at all.” Varatorta shook his head. “Albert Camus said myths are more powerful than reality. If you want my opinion, someone’s messing with you.”
“That’s what I think too,” Roberto said, regaining his composure. “But who, and why?”
“Beats me.” Varatorta shrugged, shutting the book. “But remember that curses only have power when the victim believes in them.”
Not a sentiment that Elvira Couto would agree with,Roberto thought to himself.
“Is that also Camus?”
“No, no, that’s Iker Jiménez.” Varatorta laughed nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t give it much importance. There’s no such thing as ghosts, and the same goes for curses.”
