I must have spent the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon immersed in the stories once studied by that old parish priest, whose time was so distant from mine that the only time I left my seat was to grab something to eat, so I could have lunch while continuing to devour chapter after chapter of that guide.

The discoveries I made during this period divided into two distinct parts.

On one hand, I confirmed and even delved deeper into what Don Aurelio had mentioned about the Saint being very present in other parts of Europe as well. The names and the way they ensnared their victims varied slightly depending on the area where the legend was set, but the essence was always the same.

The procession focused its efforts on finding the souls of mortals about to die, but if they happened upon a perfectly healthy living human along the way, that didn't mean they'd let them go without consequence.

The question was, was there any way to counter it? Could one truly escape Orcavella, as it was called in some parts of Galicia? The book offered several suggestions in this regard. From always carrying a jar of salt to ward off evil spirits, to drawing a pentagram on the ground and standing within it as soon as one spotted the Saint, to the implausible case of having a blessed protection amulet, and the age-old advice to stay indoors after dark. After all, although the Saint seemed able to travel across entire regions and countries, she always had the courtesy not to break into mortal homes unless they were the dying individuals she had initially come to find.

Some of these suggestions I'd heard before from acquaintances. Others were completely new, though that didn't make them sound any less eccentric.

The point was, though, there was still something that troubled me more than the fact that the Saint existed. If I hadn't misunderstood, all the methods suggested here to rid oneself of the supernatural were meant for mortals who hadn't yet fallen under any curse.

But what about those who were already under the spell? Was the only solution to offer another sacrifice to take on the cross?

I kept searching until I had no strength left, and must have fallen asleep right in my seat, for when I regained consciousness, I still had the book open before me, my unfinished lunch to one side, and a backache that made me venture to think I'd spent most of the afternoon in that position.

What woke me up, regarding this, was the sound of someone softly knocking on my door, as if they'd sensed I'd fallen into a deep sleep and wanted to make as little noise as possible.

At first, I thought it was Leandro, but after glancing at the wall clock hanging in the corner of the room, I ruled it out. It was still early, and considering the emergency this could be, I didn't believe he would be waiting at the door when it was wide open and the bolt hadn't been drawn.

My suspicions were confirmed when I opened the door and came face-to-face with one of my neighbors: Sabino Peña, another of the many farmers who lived around the area.

"May I come in for a moment?" he asked, and perhaps sensing my hesitation, added, "It's about Joaquín."

This was definitely a surprise. What could he have to say about the dead man? I'd already spoken to this individual on previous days, during a routine visit to his neighborhood, and apart from the usual condolences for the passing of such a beloved member of their community, I hadn't managed to extract anything that could help me advance in the investigation.

Adding to that, I had just woken up and still hadn't quite processed that someone I barely knew was showing up at my door for such a reason. It was no wonder I decided to step aside and let him in. I didn’t remember to ask him the next question until he was already with one foot in my kitchen.

"Why didn’t you go to the barracks?"

Even if the lieutenant weren't there, it would have been more logical to look for him at his house first before contacting me. After all, no matter how much trust they might have in my uniform, I was simply the executing arm of a lieutenant, who, after all, was the one in charge.

"I didn't want to cause unnecessary alarm," Sabino seemed to glance at the bench for a moment, as if considering sitting down, but perhaps noticing that the table was occupied, he took an instinctive step back. "I have to go back soon to gather the cows, so I won’t stay long."

I wasn't planning to argue, so I just waited for him to feel comfortable enough to explain. And, as I expected, he didn't make me wait. Once I invited him to continue, he proceeded without hesitation:

"First, I want to clarify that I have nothing against Joaquín, nor against anyone I'll mention. What I’m telling you is only what I saw, nothing more. And so I’d appreciate it if, in case you have to tell someone, you leave out that it was me who gave you the information."

"I’ll keep it a secret," I assured him. "No one has to know that you told me, unless it directly points to you."

I said the last part in a whisper that Sabino didn’t hear, but I had to say it. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t reveal his identity to the lieutenant — or anyone else who asked — but I had to assure him I would. Otherwise, the flow of free information would have stopped instantly, and forever.

Sabino nodded, pleased by my eagerness to cooperate, and began:

"It was about a month ago. I don’t know if you know, but I own some land relatively close to where the Herrero family has their farms. And that day I’m talking about, in the middle of the afternoon, I had some errands to run that took me back and forth from the village; the usual stuff. The thing is, on my way back to my fields, I passed right by one of Joaquín’s plots, specifically the one with a shed on it…" Without being able to guess from my blank expression whether I knew the exact spot he was referring to, he must have decided it didn't matter for now. "Well, I was going by, and I saw Joaquín and Lieutenant Taboada talking by the door of the building. I was about fifteen or twenty meters away, passing by the path, and I thought of greeting them, but I didn’t because I noticed they were arguing."

"Arguing about what?"

"Something about frames, I didn’t understand it clearly. It seemed that when I passed by, they had already started arguing, and little by little, when I thought about greeting them, they were already shouting. So much so that I felt awkward making myself noticed, and I preferred to look ahead and continue on as if nothing had happened."

"I assume they didn’t realize you were there."

Otherwise, I assumed, the lieutenant would have said something to me. After all, one thing the lieutenant couldn't tolerate was people overhearing conversations that weren’t meant for them, even if it was unintentional, and then going around spreading their own conclusions to others who had nothing to do with it.

Unless, of course, what this witness had seen was not favorable enough to continue seeing him as someone innocent in relation to the crime. Given that assumption, I wasn't sure that my superior would keep such an encounter from me.

"No, I don't think so. At least, no one told me anything, either while I was leaving or later. And, to be honest, I didn’t mention it to them either, first because I thought it wasn’t my business, and then because I completely forgot about it. As I told you, I don’t have any issues with either of them, and I’ve only remembered this incident because I’ve heard that Joaquín’s death happened under suspicious circumstances."

"No, it was good that you told me, in any case. It’s always good to have more leads to follow, in case we hit a dead end."

And I suspected that, if no one had witnessed that argument, I would never have known it took place: The lieutenant, however eager he might have seemed to clarify what happened with our neighbor before the command, also didn’t seem very willing to discuss his own relationship with the man.

"About the argument," I continued, "did you see if they came to blows or was it all just words?"

"I didn’t see them hit each other, though it was a heated argument. I think, now that I think about it, one of Joaquín’s cousins was there trying to mediate."

"It would be useful to know the name of the person, if possible, to get another version of the events."

And Sabino gave it to me. Some advantage there must be to knowing the Herrero family so well; it only took a quick glance from a distance to recognize anyone from that family.

Once he finished telling me his story, and having reiterated his request not to be involved in further investigations, he finally left my home. Leaving me alone with the glaring question of why he would have told me this, specifically now. Was the incident between the lieutenant and Joaquín something of interest, or was it merely a strategy to distract and make one search for a supposed murderer elsewhere?

The latter seemed unlikely, it would be too great a paranoia.

Sabino’s story, at first and without having verified it, seemed coherent. Not to mention that the man was a calm person who didn’t usually get involved in trouble, and I certainly didn’t know of any neighborly enmity he had. At first glance, I would lean toward believing him, but only time would tell if that would be a mistake.

For now, I chose to return to the kitchen and immerse myself again in my studies, until a new interruption would stop my reading.