Prologue

I remember Sylvia's voice as it pierced my ears, intoxicating like the perverted whisper of a lover who yearns to bed with her long-held passion. She told me once that we only remember the facts that are still going to happen. It would be ages before I could understand such words.That's why I write, not with the sweet poison of vanity running in my veins like a writer with a sold soul. I write these memories with steel and sign it with blood. But let's start at the beginning, in this case, it's the middle of the road.

In September XXXX I buried a body. I had at the time 24 years and was a ruffian, is not an admirable job. The cemetery stood on the highest hill on the outskirts of the city, and from a distance the silhouette of her tomb merged with those of the tombstones, clipping against the spiked horizon of hundreds of mausoleums and sepulchres weaving a red and grey twilight perpetually stretched over Tulip. It had rained since dawn, and when I asked if the sky was crying, the voices of all those present missed the funeral to give an answer.

While standing in front of her gravestone a police officer approached me and asked if my name was Miguel Ugarte. I nodded, without parting my lips. The policeman lit a pipe, calmly. He let it burn without touching his lips. He told me that there were a lot of questions which should have good answers. I nodded again. He looked into my eyes, eyes of mist and loss, always looking back. Studying me << You have 24 hours since the truth does not seem to be an option >> he said. Stood beside me for a few minutes and said goodbye, not asking where I was going or where I had been. I watched him walk away through the graveyard. The intact smoke of his pipe followed him like a faithful dog.

People left the cemetery one by one, until only one person remained: me. The minutes and hours slid like a mirage. Hours later, imprisoned by grief, I barely noticed the midnight bells in the cathedral ringing in the distance. Buried in the white light that the stars projected, I immersed into a world of images and sensations like I had never known them. Memories that seemed as real as the air I breathed dragged me into a tunnel of love and joy that I did not want to escape. Memory by memory, I let myself be wrapped around the figure of a woman until the breath of dawn caressed my face and my tired eyes gained focus again. I saw the tomb in the bluish twilight of dawn for the last time. I heard the sound of the sleeping city dripping over the sepulchres splashed with purple. The dream and the fatigue knocked at my door, but I resisted surrendering. I did not want to lose the spell of her presence or say goodbye.

I took a horse and went toward for the Kingdom of Nevada leaving behind this city of bad fame and a name. Sylvia.