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It has been a few days since María had been bitten by the snake, soon after they had figured out that she was only in a coma state. This information was comforting to her father and Joaquín, although they were both still angry at Manolo, General Posada more. María still had yet to wake up, everyone was worried although her father was taking it the worst.
Carlos was starting to be worried about Manolo; he hadn’t come home and Carlos didn’t know where he was. It had been a few days, Carlos had started pacing around the house, stopping and looking at Manolo’s mother’s alter.
He started asking around town if anyone had seen him, but everyone said no. He searched around town, worry growing in his stomach as the sun began to set. He went home exhausted, the night cold and dark. He tossed and turned for a while before finally falling asleep.
He woke up late the next morning, he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. He slowly got out of bed and looked out a window after getting ready to head out, it had rained pretty hard late last night. It had calmed down but it was still raining, Carlos didn’t quite care right now, the roads were slick and wet.
He knocked on General Posada’s door, Joaquín answered. Joaquín looked Carlos up and down looking confused and slightly worried. Joaquín had seen Carlos as a father or uncle growing up, seeing him worried, tired, and wet from the rain was unsettling. Carlos had a pleading and worried look on his face.
“Joaquín have you seen Manolo? I’m getting worried, I haven’t seen him in days and I looked all over town yesterday.”
Joaquin’s face changed to mostly confusion.
“No, last I saw him was a few days ago on the bridge out of town.”
“Thank you Joaquín”
Carlos started walking towards the bridge out of San Ángel, Joaquín watched as he left closing the door after a few moments. Carlos kept walking but a gut feeling was telling him to run. None of this was like Manolo, he would never stay away from home, disappear randomly. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, he could see the bridge. He wasn’t used to running this far and was running out of breath but something in him told him to keep running at least until he got to the bridge.
After a few moments he reached the beginning, he slowed down at the sight of the hundreds of candles that ran along both sides of the wooden bridge. All of the candles were extinguished, some from the rain, and a small few fully burnt out. The bridge was slick due to the rain, and some candles had been knocked over by the wind and rolled along the boards. Carlos was careful not to slip, moving as fast as he could. He called out Manolo’s name as he got near the end of the bridge.
“Manolo! Mano-“
The air was cold and wet, a bead of sweat rolled down his face. There was a large tree, a wide base, and massive branches spreading across, the leaves dense. It cast shadows over the land it was on; the tree choked patches of grass of nutrients and sunlight.
Carlos looked down from the tree, the sight before him stunned him. A sight every father feared. He was breathing heavy, stumbling forward slowly his legs threatening to give out. He didn’t know if it was from running or seeing his son’s dead body. His mind was a blur, his vision in and out, the world spinning, dropping to his knees pathetically.
The sun was almost directly above the tree, the shadows engulfed Carlos, his thoughts, his body, this situation. A shiver slid down his back like a snake, sharp scales cutting. Constricting his lungs, heart, and thoughts.
He reached down, he brushed the back of his hand against Manolo’s cheek, his hands trembling with dread. It was cold, he expected that but still slightly flinched. His only son, cold, dead, and soaked from the tears of clouds.
Clouds too selfishly kept the sunlight for themselves, killing with storms and tides.
His movements were a haze, his hands leaving streaks in his sight, he wasn’t thinking. He soon held the cold, limp body close to him own, tight and protective.
He felt motion sick looking at the hazy branches swaying in the wind. He noticed the wind, it made the air feel more alive with whistles although it made him colder, blowing against his rain soaked back. He shivered, his body attempting to warm up albeit that wasn’t happening. The wind and cold body against his chilled him.
That darn snake was doing loops around him empty ribs, it still restricted his chest. Its fangs sunk deep into his throat, sharp, burning, inflamed.
Was he crying? He hadn’t quite noticed, he came to his senses for a few moments. Carlos wiped the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve, the fabric tough and the metal pieces eroding his face, scraping at his skin.
All this felt so foreign, even from a young age his own father drilled these standards into him. Sánchez’s are tough, they don’t cry, they don’t apologize. He let himself cry, even if he had tried he wouldn’t be able to stop. That was his son, his boy, one of the few left of his family.
God he had hated Manolo’s passion for music, he was meant to be a bull fighter, that’s the family shadow and he was meant to be part of the mold. Carlos hated that stupid guitar, he had thought about getting rid of it or destroying it a few times. Manolo never wanted to fit the mold, he didn’t care about the generational pressure, he just wanted to follow his dreams.
Carlos realized his mistake, he cursed himself out for it, he couldn’t do much about it now. He became more distraught, feeling guilty, helpless, and the fog keeping his thoughts away was passing. He held onto the body tight, staring off at the tree as he cried. Emotion washing over him.
He sat at the water’s edge, a small child. A large wave was coming although it looked small at first, growing as it rushed toward him. The collision was forceful, his head whipped back into the sandy shore, freezing salt rich water shoving its way into his nose and throat, choking him. Sand and small shells picked up from the ocean floor dug into his skin and eyes. That one moment, he felt small, helpless, and weak. The wave retreating slowly back into the ocean. It seemed like a slow surrender, although it passed just as quickly as it had came. The climax of the wave felt like it lasted more than a moment, it felt like minutes or an hour while the retreat felt like only a moment.
He was stuck, pushed down by a wave, the water choking him, the snake constricting his lungs, the tree with-holding nutrients, and the sky crying.
He let out a strained yowl, his throat burning and raw. Thunder cracked the sound distant and quiet. He rested his head on Manolo’s, his eyes still refusing to look at his face.
Carlos felt the wave receding, emotion running down his skin and fading off into the sea. He felt so empty, he was exhausted, so very exhausted.
He tried to remember Manolo’s voice, all he heard was distorted sounds. He tried to recall his face, but all he saw was hazy foggy confusion. His eyes refused to look down at his face, he tried but they wouldn’t let him. He had looked at his wife’s dead face and it haunted his every memory of her, he couldn’t let that happen to his son.
The sky was getting darker due to the looming storm clouds rolling in. Carlos hadn’t said much, he didn’t know what to say, everything he thought to say sounded wrong, his lips wouldn’t let them out. Carlos wasn’t in control of his own body, he felt far away.
Joaquín had heard the scream, he had already been worried since Carlos had talked to him. This made his skin crawl, it was so full of emotion. Joaquín wasted no time, he ran out of General Posada’s house and to the bridge. He too was careful not the trip, he reached the end. He stood frozen when he saw the scene before him. Manolo had been like a brother to him, and there he was pale, limp, dead in his father’s arms.