Dear Alicia,

How are you? And how is our little Monica? Or perhaps little Ruben, of course. It cannot have turned to autumn in Sucre yet. Here, the waters of the Tagus have only just thawed. Lydia has been very well-behaved, and excellent at school too. She can even help me with simple work such as sorting reagents now. Do not worry. There is nothing dangerous in it.

I know you grow angry the moment I bring this up. Are you still angry with me over that? But look, Lydia has always been healthy. She is already eight years old, and not a single sign has shown itself. I promised you that “the thing” would do no harm, but you never trust what I say.

Eight years ago, when we were still living in Istanbul, where I may soon have to go again, those were the happiest days of my life. Whenever the night is deep and quiet, I remember our little red house in Uskudar, and the days and nights we spent in the Hagia Sophia Museum. Ali, if you had not idly leafed through “the thing” and discovered the miraculous force hidden within yourself, I would never have discovered that I possessed it too, though in a different form, of course, and still less could we ever have verified whether “the thing” was genuine.

I admit that before we had fully mastered that power, I should not have let you conceive Lydia, much less forced you to tattoo her while she was still a fetus. At the time I was utterly bewitched by that mysterious power of creation, intoxicated by your all-seeing eyes. To let your body endure such long concentration, I rashly worked on you as well… does your shoulder still hurt? I never imagined that black datura tattoo would prove so powerful. And your left foot… the Chinese arts I later procured should have helped somewhat. The spider pattern ought to have shrunk down to the top of your foot by now, should it not?

But one cannot deny that we succeeded. You created a great work of art: our dear Lydia. The dense script on that seed took root and flowered, slowly winding itself across our daughter’s back. Just as the old book recorded, the power contained in that seed pattern has indeed manifested itself in Lydia. She can identify any stone, name every ingredient in a mixed powder, and speak with boiling reagents. The finest alchemists of medieval Europe would not equal one fraction of her. Although “the thing” records certain taboos, I have been carefully avoiding them all, watching Lydia at every step, never letting her touch anything unclean, even to the point of moving back to Spain. Once she comes of age, every risk will disappear like smoke.

But what about you? At the very moment when I needed you most, and you needed me most as well, you fled alone to Bolivia, heavily pregnant, taking our little Monica, or little Ruben, with you. It was far too dangerous for both you and the child. I tried several times to find you, but you had that damned dog with you, what was its name? Torres? That was the pup born when you first tested your power on a pregnant bitch, was it not? I never imagined the gift you gave it would be the power of evasion. Bolivia is far too chaotic. In every street and alley of Sucre there are MNR thugs and killers. Sooner or later those Maya sorcerers will catch the scent of the power on you.

Ali, come back. I have finished reading “the thing” and learned several new patterns. They can dispel the evil omen hanging over us. There is even one pattern we can tattoo in advance on bull hide and make into a case to seal away “the thing,” perfectly safely.

You know that without me, when little Monica, or little Ruben, is born, your life will be in danger. Come back quickly, I beg you. If you are gone, what meaning is there in anything for me alone? What meaning would “the thing” still have?

Before you return, find a reliable doctor and get an injection into that place on your lumbar spine, the very one you know. It must be a high-concentration prednisolone shot, but under no circumstances use procaine hydrochloride. I know it will hurt terribly, but there is no help for it. Forgive me, my dear.

Kisses,

Your Oswaldo, always
June 24, 2008, in Madrid

Note: MNR, the Nationalist Revolutionary Movement, Bolivia’s largest opposition party.

[Image source] Freckle shared image.