⚠️ WARNING ⚠️The following chapter may contain sensitive material 🩸related to domestic violence and confusing scenes.Some fragments might be uncomfortable for bothSpanish-speaking 🇪🇸 and English-speaking readers.The author does not seek to provoke or indulge in morbid content.Remember, everything narrated here is fiction 🕯️.Reader discretion is advised. 🙏
📝 AUTHOR'S NOTE 🫠Guys, we've reached one of my favorite parts of the story 💫.I wonder, when I adapt Teodoro's sketch into a webcomic,what really scares me is how the female audience will take it 🧐🍷if it even exists 🤷.Thank you for continuing to read ❤️.
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April 20, 1964Lisbon awoke beneath golden light.The majestic buildings reflected the sunrise,the streets stretched toward the heart of the city,embracing the Jerónimos Monasteryand the neighborhoods resting beside the Tagus River.
A beautiful postcard…if not for the shadow of political disasterlooming over the nineteen-sixties.
But that splendor lay far awayfrom the direction we were heading.
Beyond, among hills and olive trees, the air smelled of simplicity,a layered simplicity, typical of the northern lands,in Odivelas.
There, in a white estate with worn walls and old tiles,a large house rested amid dew and the crowing of roosters.
Its green windows trembled before the first light of day.
It was an elegant ranch, almost a relic of another era.
Inside, a young boy slept beneath a soft, warm blanket.The silence was so pure you could hear water boiling in the kitchen.
From there, a firm yet tender voice broke the calm:"Young Teodoro, breakfast is ready—get up."
The boy sat up clumsily, feeling the air.His hands searched for the wall, the wood.He walked slowly, guided by the railings his nona—his caretaker— had asked the father to install to prevent falls.
He was a beautiful boy, with an ambiguous, serene face.His delicate body barely reached one meter fifty.He had curly hair, fair skin with freckles, and sharp cheekbones.But there was something else about him—something painful to see.
His eyes were white, with thin reddish veins around them,as if an old wound still breathed beneath the skin.The marks looked faint, yet they burned in memory:silent, yet expressive.
Before the mirror, his face remained motionless at the sight.He was young, marked, as if his skin had touched some external agent,and through pure intuition, through the mirror's reflection, we could see his eyes.They had the appearance of burns, white, yet unnaturally so.
This young boy was blind.While drying himself with his towel, his nona,as every morning, shouted from the dining room:"Young Teodoro! Come on, breakfast is ready!"
The young boy moved with difficulty toward the dining room,guided by the walls."Good morning, Teodoro.""I need you to eat first, so I can go to the market."
They sat at the table. There was variety for breakfast:bread with cheese, jam, milk, tea, and a few olives.The nona continued serving him patiently.
"Listen to me well," she said. "Things will get better little by little, alright?""After breakfast, I have to go to the market; I need to post some notices,because Miss Cintia resigned yesterday."
"Cintia?" he asked."Yes, my son. We need a new housekeeper, someone to help me,because I can't do everything in the house.At least three people. Madame Beauchêne won't be able to help;she's moving away to care for her daughter."
She paused and looked at him with tenderness, almost like a mother."Do you know, Teodoro? That woman has cared for you since you werein your mother's womb."
"So if you see her again, greet her respectfully, alright?"However, Teodoro's mind was elsewhere."When will I be able to see Mom?"
Nona's gaze drifted toward the bread.The silence of her soul gave her away; it wasn't the first timeTeodoro had asked about his mother."The doctors say she hasn't recovered yet, Teodoro.It's not time to visit her."
"It's been almost four months without seeing her.Shouldn't she be healed by now?" he asked."Young Teodoro, how about we finish breakfast?" proposed Nona."Alright, Nona," he replied.
A faint movement stirred the calm: someone knocked on the door."Who is it?" she asked.When she opened, she saw Teodoro's father.The man entered, saying,"My God, Nona, if I'm knocking fast, it's because I'm in a hurry."
"I'm sorry, I don't have time for formalities.I need to find a document,or I won't be able to return to the capital."
"To the capital?" she asked."No—better said, to recover the capital.Sorry, my mind is still in my office."
"Here, take this," he said, handing her a letter."Register this under my name, please. You can do that, right?And take better care of Teodoro. I'll raise your pay."
"Alright, but… but please keep this here.""I have to sell the land, Nona,or I won't be able to keep supporting you.And by the way, you're not hiring another housekeeper—just one.If you want your pay to increase, stop posting flyers."
"But, sir…""I don't want arguments right now, alright?"
While they argued, Teodoro thought:
"He always watches me. I can hear his footsteps coming closerjust to see me, but I can't see him.I can only feel his voice..."
"And when he comes, I don't feel like he's my dad.Even though it's his voice, I don't feel like he's my dad."
"Every time he comes home, I can't help but thinkthat he doesn't love me anymore."
Teodoro is a boy who is always dissociating.His mind is his only refuge from reality:nothing more than an escape, but also his prison.
Because his imagination lives alongside the memoriesthat tear at his soul.
A glimpse into the past.
"Damn it!... it can't be!""Teodoro! Teodoro! Listen to me!""Lourdes! Shit! Bring water, bring water!""My love!... my love! Calm down, calm down, calm down!Nothing's going to happen to you! Nothing's going to happen!""Look up! Look up, please! Don't rub your eyes!"
"I still remember that day…The pain I felt in my eyes makes me rub themevery time I get nervous."
"My nona told me not to do it,but I can't help it."
"I can't stop crying while I rub them."
"Sometimes I put a wet towel over themto ease the itching."
"The doctor said that the bleach that fell on me that daywould leave me blind forever, there was no cure."
"But that's not where my attention was,it was on how they held me that day."
"On how my parents triedto stay calm while I heard their desperation."
"My first contact with this reality came through pain.Could it have been like a second birth?"
"Mom says babies cry when they're brought intothe world. I did the same, but in reverse."
"My eyes burned and ached,and they still do,as if someone had thrown a stone at them."
"Mom was distant since that day,and Dad left with his other family.""I found out through Mom."
"She told me he was a bastard…but I don't know."
"I just know I don't feel goodwhen Dad is home."
"I get scared when I seeand hear him unbuckle his belt."
"Hearing it scares me."
"It scares me."
"But sometimes he wasn't that bad,I was curious when he camewith my little sisters."
"They used to visit me.They were kind to me;they played with me,even though I'm blind."
"But Mrs. Antonia is mean.She pinches me when I get close to my sisters."
"They don't visit me anymore."
"The memories of my mother are the only thing I keepfrom my world before I lost my sight."
"The hospital was horrible."
"Only the nurses were nice to me,and the only one who visited was my nona.""Why didn't Mom visit me, or Dad?"
"I thought my parents would come to take care of me…My mother stayed away when they took meto surgery, and I don't understand it."
"Nona said she felt guilty,but I think my mother stopped loving me."
"I couldn't go to school anymore, my friends stopped visiting.I can't read anymore."
"I can barely find my way to the bathroom on my own.""But ever since Mom got sick, I feel like she startedloving me again."
"She smiled and cried when she hugged me."
"But I don't know why they won't let me see her now."
"They told me I only needed one surgery and nothing else."
"But I feel like they're not telling me the truth."
"I know when people lieand when they tell the truth."
"Maybe it's because they stutter whenthey try to make something up, their breathing gives it away."
"Nona doesn't tell me anything."
As he thought about this, the silence of the housemixed with the creaking of a distant door.The echo of footsteps resounded in the hallway; his fatherwas leaving his mother's room.
The wood gave way with a sharp thud.The air seemed to tense up.
As he walked, he said to Nona:"Ma'am. Ma'am, please, consider it, yes?"
The man said:
"Look, I'll tell you one thing, and make it clear, Nona.If I raise your salary, I assure you that the other person who'd wantto work here won't do it, because of the small amount of money thatwould be deducted from your unchanged pay.Because, to begin with, this place is very far away.And second, because this house doesn't need three, but twomaids at most.The only reason I want to raise your salary isbecause you're going to stay longer here with Teodoro!"
"Sir," said Nona, looking at him with a cold face."Please, don't speak like that in front of Teodoro."
The man grew angry. His voice became hard, cutting:"You know well what happened… don't look at me like that.We both know I'm not the bad one here."
"I know," replied Nona, lowering her gaze."But he's not to blame…"
The man turned toward Teodoro, with that mixof anger and guilt only a father can poorly hide.With a dry, deep voice, as if unafraid to hurthis son's feelings, he spoke:"Oye, why do you have such long hair?""What?" asked Teodoro, uncertain.Even without sight, he knew where his father was.He hesitated for a moment and said:"Dad… what's wrong?"
The man turned his gaze to Nona, with a reproachful tone:
"Nona, why does Teodoro have such long hair?"
"Does it reach his shoulders?"
"No, no, no, sir," replied Nona.
"Young Teodoro is very, very handsome.He's a very good-looking boy… just like you.One of the requests that Matron Lourdes left me,when she was hospitalized,was to let young Teodoro… keep his hair long."
"What matron?" asked the man, frowning.
Nona lowered her head."That's what she told me, sir…"
The father was a man whose character was enclosed by fear.And in response to what, for him, was an offense,he took a pair of scissors as one would wield a weapon.
He strode harshly toward his son.Teodoro was frightened.
His father was never a gentle man.When he still lived in that house, he used to be aggressivewith him all the time.
Teodoro could feel his father's steps,he already sensed his purpose—almost all ended the same:
"I'm going to cut off those girlish locks of yours."
Nona stopped him just in time."No, sir, please… don't."
He held the man's shirt tightly,as if he knew what would happenif he dared to touch Teodoro's hair.
"As you wish, nona," he said in a low voice, dripping with venom,"but let me tell you something.
"When I return, I promise you one thing:I don't want to see my son with that hair."
"It's ridiculous!He looks exactly like a girl!He's not a girl!"
The father turned toward Teodoro.When he spoke, they weren't words — they were commands.
"Listen to me!I'll be back, and I expect to see you as a little man,not as a girl.That was your mother's awful habit.I'm not gentle like that whore, do you understand!?"
Teodoro nodded silently.The man suddenly turned and slapped the nona.The blow echoed like a door slamming shut.
"The next time you try something like that,I'll be the one to cut your hair, nona."
Teodoro trembled.He knew how violenthis father was.That alone was enough to unsettle anyone.
Defenseless. Vulnerable.
After that, the father left,slamming the door violently behind him.
The nona breathed, trembling.Air returned to fill the house.
The scissors lay on the floor,large metal tailor's scissors.
The boy was curled up, his lips trembling.Silence weighed heavier than fear.
Then his voice broke."Does Dad hate me?" he asked through tears.
The nona approached slowly, kneeling down to his level.Her voice was a clumsy attempt at calm, trembling as well."He doesn't hate you, Teodoro," she said through tears.
Teodoro lifted his face, searching for a point in the darkness."Does he hate Mom? I've always seen them fight, but… I don't know.Am I a girl… do I look bad?Dad…"
Teodoro couldn't help but break down.His hands began to move desperately,searching for his eyes, rubbing them hard.He breathed unevenly, gasping.
"No, no, no, young Teodoro," said the nona, holding his hands."Your father is just too frustrated, all right?"
He only nodded, his voice breaking:"Please, take me to my room.I'm so disoriented… I don't know where my bed is."
The nona held him gently, guiding him.Each step was a contained sob."Holy God…" she whispered."Teodoro is a good boy… he doesn't deserve this."
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While these people tried to comfort themselves, a fewkilometers away, in another scene—On the seashores, far from the port of Lisbon,along the coast of Parede, two figures emerged from the water.
Galton and Helena staggered out, exhausted.The cold bit at them; their bodies trembled.The water from the open sea was nearly freezing that dawn.Spring was already peeking on the horizon.
Despite being saints, that didn't meanthey couldn't die from hypothermia.
"At least we've arrived," said Galton, struggling to breathe."Girl, listen to me… the sun is up.To keep from getting sick,take off your clothes so we can dry off by the fire and…"
Galton arched a brow upon seeing her.Helena was burying herself in the sand,seeking warmth from the ground as the sun touched her.Helena spoke through chattering teeth."I… I… I'm s-s-sorry, Galton, I… I didn't hear you…the sand is warm."
"Oh, my leg hurts!"
Following that absurd scene, Galton lit the campfire.He placed Helena's clothes over it to dry faster.They set the stolen map atop the sand with stonesso the wind wouldn't blow it away.
They would then place the orb there, to findthe direction where the Saint of Ice was located.
Helena said:"The Saint of Ice is a European child.""Well, we're here now, aren't we? This is Europe, right?" she said."Yes," replied Galton, "we're in Europe. This is Portugal."
"Things are looking up now.We couldn't do anything back in Brazil.Now we need a direction;we can begin the search.It'll be easier to travel by land."
"I know you can't keep up with me.I'm too fast, so I'll carry you.Is that all right?" asked Galton.
"That's fine with me," replied Helena.
As he drew out the Orbs of Creation, he said:
"Well, let's see where you are.Now all that's left is for God to choose a dogto be the Saint," he muttered.
"Though frankly, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Aren't you speaking blasphemies?" asked Helena, incredulous.
"Please," replied Galton. "The last time I chosethe Saint of Ice, he came from Egypt."
"What a contradiction, huh?" he said shamelessly.
While placing the orb of creation over the maps,the orb begins to float.
The hook's direction points with a triangletoward the northeast.
The appearance of the orb of creation resemblesa coin.
But when it opens, as if it were a sea clam,it takes its second form.
It takes the form of an Icosahedron.Inside it lies an Octahedron, and within these tworepresentations of reality rests aTetrahedron pointing in a direction.
Wherever it points, the orbs of creation always indicatethe saints.
They are spirits as well; besides following orders,they possess their own consciousness.
To distinguish them, one must observe carefully.If the tip of the orb is golden and its sizerelatively larger, it means the saint ison another continent.
But if the tip is thinner and of the same coloras the orb, then the saint is near the place.
The orb is like a crystal: within it, you can see forms,see how they move endlessly, and if you pay attention,you can glimpse the Code of Creation,the Language of Creation.
It is made up of Trigonarchatrias, which givefoundation to the Theozogloss of existence.
The Theozogloss is the structure of all spirits,of all that was created. If you understand this language andknow how to touch it, you can comprehendhow life is made and all that forms the universe.
The orb told them that the saint wasn't far from there.
"He's here," said Galton.
"What?" replied Helena, incredulous.
Galton grew excited:
"He's here, it can't be!" he exclaimed.
"What a stroke of luck…"
"What are you talking about? Is he here, in this land?" she asked.
"Yes, Helena, the Saint of Ice is Portuguese," he confirmed.
"I didn't see that coming," she said, surprised. "Great, and now what?"
"Since he's close, seems just a couple of kilometers away, not far."
"In fact, I'm surprised he's Portuguese. I really didn't see that coming."
"Listen, Helena, I'll go to the village to ask for some things. Do you rememberwe stole money?"
"This money will be for you to eat, but,as I promised, I'll go to the village for cognac."
"And what's wrong with you now… why are you being so nice?"
"No, I'm just happy. I thought the saint was Greek."
"This will make things easier for us."
"I just hope everything goes well. I'll have to leave Helenahere. I hope everything goes well."
"Lord, please protect us. If the vault has fallen, it's becausethe end is near."