Years later, I always return to that memory. I don't know if what I'm thinking is coherent, but I can remember how this happened; though only in fragments. I don't know why, but I still can't explain how it was that only we were the ones left.
There had been many people in the village, but they disappeared. In some places I only saw their bodies, black and dry, as if something had stolen their lives. I don't remember my mother's face or my father's, but I do remember my sister's face: a girl with two braids and freckles. She played with me and her rag dolls. She was very kind to me. It still hurts that I don't know what happened to her when we were separated.
I woke up scared, because I heard a door slam hard from inside the house, and the metallic click of a gun being cocked. Now I know that most likely my father killed my mother, because there was no one in the house, not even my sister.
My father grabbed my arm so hard he broke it. It was obvious he would break it: we hadn't eaten in two days. I think he was drunk, because when I saw him —with my eyes full of tears from the pain of being lifted by the arm— I could see his face. He was in a trance, as if he were not aware of anything that was happening.
He took me to the cliff, tied me to a trunk and, with the whip they used on the mule buried in the garden, he lashed me so hard that when Kamei-san —a man with Asian features and braids behind his ears, a good man, I would dare say my second father— saw me for the first time, he asked Galton, the wretch who is supposed to be the First Saint, if he had been the one who made those wounds.
I never knew for sure, but they said my ribs could be seen and that I slept almost two weeks recovering.
I can remember how my father beat me. I asked him to stop. I begged him to stop. If I counted right that day, I think it was thirty-four lashes. From the moment my father struck the first lash, I felt my whole body tremble; the whip reached behind my head, my legs, and part of my ear. The whip tore a piece of flesh from me. I begged my father, crying and screaming —"Papa, please, no, no, papa"— but he kept giving me one more. I think he struck me near my forehead, because I had to close my eyes from the blood that ran, until I fell to the ground.
But I could still hear. And the only thing I heard was my father laughing and crying.
He said, "What have I done?" He laughed maniacally and, with the gun he had on his belt, he killed himself.
I know because when I woke up I saw him there on the ground. And I could only cry.
I loved my father. I couldn't even hug him because the rope they had tied me with was a mule's rope. I don't know why, overnight, he went mad.
I stayed there, crying while it rained. My body froze; I was cold and hungry; I could barely stand. I was terrified because the village lay between mountains, and there was a river that connected the foot of the mountain with the road to the neighboring village. That river became a lake: my village ceased to exist. There was only water, as if it had rained for days.
I was terrified because I don't remember clearly, but I saw a golden beast that seemed to burn in flames, as if it were made of lava. It had three heads: one of a man, another of an ox and another of a lion. Wings. Eyes everywhere.
That beast touched my forehead and I simply fell asleep.
When I woke up, I saw Kamei-san. He said to me:
—Don't move, child, or you'll open your wounds.
He tended me. He gave me medicine —although I still think it was a strange soup, black and bitter.
It scares me a little to say that this was almost fifty years ago. I was only five when it all happened. It still hurts to remember it, but for some reason I don't remember anything before that tragedy. I only remember the feelings I had before that day.
After that day, everything was suffering for me. They told me God granted me immortality, or rather that I could not age. And despite the fact that I am almost fifty-three, my face still looks like that of a twenty-year-old.
I remember how my body trembled from the lightning that struck my soul that night, when I saw the cherub.
That man named Galton, when I recovered, tortured me in every possible way and told me:
— I don't understand how God chose a piece of shit like you. I still think you are not the Santo del Fuego. You are just another waste of time.
According to him, I was supposed to be something called the Santo del Fuego and fulfill a prophecy. But I don't understand what prophecy that is.
He "trained" me —in quotes— because what he did was use my body to see if it could withstand heavy loads: dagger cuts, resistance training that lasted years and, on top of everything, tortures even while I slept.
I remember he tied my hands and feet and said he had to free me. The problem is he tied me to a tree full of ants and poisonous insects.
Almost eighteen years passed when he simply grew bored of me. I still don't understand why Kamei-san never did anything; though I don't blame him. When I learned of the power Galton had, not even I would have been able to do anything.
Since I woke up, I've been asking myself: I don't know why I'm here.
I only remember that they beat me.
When I look in the mirror I see nothing but an empty shell. A person without purpose. A prophecy.
I don't know why.
The worst part is that where I am I cannot leave: something prevents me. Something has me trapped in this cabin and in this forest that seems infinite.
—Why would He have chosen me? I have no attributes… I wish they had given me the right not to… to not exist. I wish to die. Living is a constant pain. But now… now I don't care.
I don't know which is worse: that I can't die, or that I want to die and can't because divine protection prevents it.
I wonder: did God make me born to suffer? Was it part of my prophecy that my parents die? Was it part of my prophecy that I would suffer for no reason?
I don't know.
I only know that I don't even have the strength to think.
I only want someone to kill me.
What hurts me most is that I don't remember what my name was before I came to Vermot.