And every time a man chooses good,
an angel wins again.
Introduction
The sun warmed my skin. I looked at the sand still stuck to my wet feet. We were lying there, breathless, after running along the beach that had led us to our secret bay. Isabelle was always the most boisterous, the bravest, the most beautiful. I had known her for as long as I could remember.
My parents had arrived in Central America from Italy before I was born. I think they were enchanted by the constant warmth, the sudden rains, the smell of the sea and the earth. In Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, we lived in a quiet corner, close enough to the centre but far from the noise of the market and the few streets.
Our home was filled with the warmth of a loving family. I don't think there was a child more free and happy than me. My friend and I were in our last year of middle school at Colegio Talamanca de Puerto Viejo. On weekends, when I wasn't helping the volunteers at the wildlife rescue centre, I would stay longer in the hammock at , reading and dreaming of faraway cities: hearing the honking of traffic, breathing in the smell of hot dogs, travelling in the desert, taking the underground, going to the cinema.
My room was a small natural museum. I collected everything I found in the jungle. More than once, my mother had to fumigate the house because some insect eggs had decided to hatch under my bed, but in the end, it was always the voices of my friends that dragged me outside, ready to ride our bikes towards new adventures.
Then there was Isabelle and me. Together. In silence. Now.
"Where did you put the shells we found, Gabriel?"
'I hid them in our secret place,' I replied, pointing to the hole under the boards and dry banana leaves, 'but we should find a new one.
"I hope no one saw us."
"I don't think so. We're always alone here. Did you bring the pink bananas?"
"Of course. I picked them from Sam's banana tree while he pretended not to see me."
'We should bring him a shell too, he'll have a collection by now,' he said with a smile.
"We can give him the sticks from the beach, he uses them to make mirrors to sell to tourists."
"Great idea, but let's go far away from Puerto Viejo: tourists don't leave anything here."
"All right. Just a moment to fill in the hole."
We walked towards the most isolated beach in the cove. My father had forbidden me to go there, which made the place irresistibly appealing. Tall palm trees bent towards the sea. We zigzagged between the trunks, collecting sticks and stuffing them into the fishing net we had turned into an adventure rucksack.
Then, suddenly, a scream.
'What could it be, Gab? It sounded like a cry... a tourist who's hurt himself?
'Let's go and see. Stay close to me.
We ran across the stretch of beach where the sound came from. We weren't prepared for what we saw: a woman in a yellow bikini, covered in blood, trapped between the cliff and an overturned boat. The tide was low, but the current had pushed the boat against the rocks, trapping it.
Then the fins appeared: one, two, three.
'Sharks!' I shouted.
We rushed towards the danger, tackling the rough path along the cliff. We wanted to get her out of there, but three metres of water separated the shoal from the shore, and sharks ruled that stretch.
I remembered my father's teaching: count to five before doing anything dangerous. I hadn't reached three when Isabelle shouted:
'The current is dragging the boat away! She'll be left unprotected!
A shark struck the boat, freeing it from the rocks. The woman was left at the mercy of the waves. The scene appeared in slow motion: the jaws wide open, the woman closing her eyes... and a sudden heat flooded my head.
******
"Gabriel! Gabriel, wake up!" Isabelle was screaming.
A buzzing in my ears, blurred vision, the taste of blood in my throat. I realised I was lying on a rock, my hand stuck to the ground.
"Isabelle... did I fall? What happened?"
"You scared me. Can you get up? Are you hurt?"
— I can't move my arm... I'm exhausted. What happened to me?
"I'll tell you later. It was a miracle. The woman is alive. She's on the beach, injured but conscious. The rangers are on their way.
The last thing I remember is Isabelle screaming for help.
******
I woke up in the small village infirmary. My mother was sleeping next to my bed; she woke up with a start when I moved.
"Gabriel, my love... how are you feeling?"
— My ears are ringing, I feel a little nauseous... my arm and scars hurt, but I'm fine.
She hugged me tightly. 'You scared me to death.
"Don't worry, Mum. I'll be fine tomorrow. Where's Dad?"
"I couldn't get hold of him. He might be at the van, I left a note."
Then Dr Carlos Perez, the only doctor for miles around, entered the room.
"How are you, young man?"
"Fine, Doctor. Can I go home?"
"Not today. We'll see tomorrow."
Then he turned to my mother:
"Madam, can you come with me for a moment?"
I heard them walk away. The door creaked, my mother's dress rustled, and I could smell the flowers in the corridor.
— Your son's condition is not a cause for concern. Just... curiosity. We noticed some marks on his skin.
— Marks?
— They're not spots. Look closely: they seem to form a pattern.
— I thought they were birthmarks... I never noticed them before.
— I recommend a specialist consultation.
Left alone, confused memories assailed me: dark landscapes, flames, faceless hordes running towards me. What was happening to me? Had I hit my head? Was it the medication?
Then the ringing in my ears changed. It became music. Sweet, distant. And among the notes I could make out the sound of the wind, the sea... and voices.
******
Over time, the accident was forgotten. The marks on my body were declared harmless.
One day, a gift basket and a rosary arrived. Inside was a handwritten note:
My little friend,
there are no words for what I feel.
I have seen many miracles in my life,
but this one is beyond words.
Use this gift well, always.
Thank you.
Rose.