When Durval crossed the entrance gate of the house, a shiver ran down his spine. He simply didn’t know what he would do if Dolores hadn’t returned home yet. He couldn’t live without the woman who had been his inseparable companion for almost fifty years. The only one who had stood by his side through a lifetime, in good times and bad. Durval couldn’t imagine his life without Dolores. She was an integral part of his existence.
He looked back. Botelho’s truck was parked on the street. The professor had said he would wait for Durval to check if Dolores had come back. And what if she hadn’t? What would they do? Police? Hospital?
The living room light was on, but that didn’t mean anything. Joana, the maid, always left it on when she went out in case one of them needed to go down the stairs to the kitchen and not trip in the dark.
Durval crossed the front garden of the house. A pergola full of flowering vines formed a path from the street gate to the entrance of the porch. He remembered when he and Dolores chose the plants that would make up the passage. The dilemma was between the Star Jasmine and the Honeysuckle. Two white flowers that would look beautiful at the entrance of the house and would match the bromeliads, aloe vera, and rose bushes on the porch. The final word was Dolores’s: Star Jasmine. The shape and the unique sweet scent had been decisive. According to Dolores, it was what would make you feel closer to heaven. The dark, shiny green leaves contrasted with the white flowers. At that hour, it must have been past midnight, the flowers seemed to light up, illuminating the path to the house. Durval held his breath as he approached the porch of the house. He took one last step and stopped.
And then he heard it. Yes, he heard her! It was her!
The living room door opened, and he saw Dolores. A beautiful smile spread across her face as she came toward him.
Durval’s eyes filled with tears as she hugged him. He laughed and cried at the same time. He held her tightly with his eyes closed and promised himself that he would never lose her again. The repressed air in his lungs slowly escaped, taking away the anguish he had kept in his chest. She was fine. She was fine.
— Dodô, my love — he said, breaking the hug to look into her eyes.
— Durval, my dear — Dolores whispered.
— What happened, Dodô? Where were you?
— I discovered something about the… — she stopped speaking and looked at the street gate.
Botelho’s truck was still parked in front of the house, hidden in the shadows. Durval couldn’t make it out clearly, but Botelho must have been watching them. He waved to his friend, wanting to say that everything was fine and that he could go.
He heard the deep sound of the engine starting, and the truck drove away.
He turned to Dolores, and she looked frightened. Eyes wide open.
— What’s wrong, Dodô?
— Were you with Botelho?
— Yes.
— He is the murderer, Durval!
Episode XXVI continues in the next edition.
JOSÉ GASPAR
Filmmaker and writer
www.historiasdooutromundo.com
jagramos@gmail.com