They were an odd couple. He was a stocky, Hispanic man with a flat nose and beady eyes, and a thick moustache that only framed the fleshiness of his lips. Carlos Sanchez had never considered himself to be an attractive man, but if one looked closely enough beyond his unattractive exterior, you would see the kindness in his eyes... but he had learned to keep this hidden for the most part, the pain of a childhood filled with taunts and pain staying with him forever.
She, on the other hand, was exquisitely beautiful. Maria Sanchez was his younger sister by 3 years, and at 25, she was in full bloom. Of a medium height but with a slim build, she had flawless features with huge brown eyes and full lips, framed by her dark curly hair that hung down almost to her waist. She had had her fair share of suitors in her life, but the constant presence of her bulldog of a brother had kept them mostly at bay.
Now, they stood together on the upper deck of the cruise ship, watching the amazing sight as the Empress of the Seas negotiated the thin channel to enter the port of Saint George in Bermuda. Small local kids waved at them from the rocks and boats down below. Along with about 500 people on the other deck, they waved back, the huge cruise ship with its 2000+ passengers being an almost weekly sight but one that never paled with its magnificence.
Carlos had to pinch himself. A simple bus driver in Panachajel Guatemala, who lived a modest existence in a small one room-house, all his savings had gone to put his little sister through university in Guetemala City. She had only now started her career as a doctor, and he was as proud as can be. It was as if their long-dead parents, smiling on their children, had elected to send them a gift from heaven - her a graduation present, and he the first holiday outside of Guatemala in his life.
He had always indulged her love of the girlie magazines, especially Cosmopolitan. It represented a world of beauty he would never be a part of, but it gave her great pleasure, and she loved filling out the competitions. "Someday, hermano, you will see... I will win, and take you on the trip of a lifetime!" Prophetic words indeed.
Carlos considered himself a lucky man, so it was no surprise when she called him to say: "Time to get a passport brother! We are sailing to Bermuda!!!" But now, standing like a king on deck to see the magnificent island enveloping them as they entered the bay, he considered himself a very lucky man indeed!
As he turned to glance at the church in Saint George´s, he was filled with the strangest feeling of Deja Vu... as if the church tower was a wholly familiar sight. He was filled with a sense of great sadness, and regret. Glancing furtively at the tower again, the feeling passed... but a distant memory lingered.
Her voice brought him back to his surroundings:"What is it, Carlo? What is wrong?"
Shaking off the strange sensation, he ushered Maria towards their cabin. After all, it was but 9 in the morning, and they had a whole day of exploring ahead. He was in one of the most beautiful places in the world, where the rich and famous spent their holidays, and he, Carlos Sanchez, was there with the most important person in his life. He could think of nothing better...
As they walked across the gangplank, he was seized by a strong sense of anger... and for the briefest moment, as he looked at the waters below, he imagined a mutilated body in it. He angrily shrugged off the image, and forced a smile at his sister, who was clearly enjoying herself.
They had an incredible day, despite the thoughts on the edge of his mind. A tour of the island was included in the package, and they visited the beaches, the historic sights, and the beautiful views. They dined a sumptuous seafood meal overlooking the Atlantic and did an afternoon cruise of the nearby shipwreck...
As dawn approached, the tour bus dropped them off in the centre of the town of Saint George´s. They were about to go back to the ship for dinner, when Carlos made the decision. "Maria, you go ahead. I will be along shortly..."
He knew that she could sense something was amiss, and it reflected in the worried look in her eyes. Her question remained unspoken, as she noddded and went up the gangplank. Somehow, she realized this was something he had to do himself.
The feeling of familiarity had persisted in other parts of the island... but especially when he had looked back at their ship as they got onto the bus. He had the strongest feeling of loathing... as if he hated the ship, and had been on it for too long.
Following a distant memory on the edge of his consciousness, Carlos navigated the narrow streets up to the small church. His feeling of having been here before... and his feeling of trepidation as he neared the church just grew stronger.
As he went inside, however, the feeling vanished. The church was deserted, save for an old black man sweeping the floor. It was a beautiful, small church, and he scoffed at himself.
"Getting old, Tonto... starting to chase ghosts!"
But as he went outside, the feeling returned. His gaze was drawn to a small building next to the church... barricaded, it seemed like at one time it might have been the pastor´s house, but now it had seemingly been deserted for many years. Carlos found himself irresistibly drawn to it. There was a small cemetery next to it. The names on the cemetery all dated back a hundred years, and were quite unfamiliar to him. He read a few of them...
"Gerhard Esterhuyze, Jacques Viljoen, Gideon Jonker..."
He was unaware of the old black man coming up beside him. "Son, whatch lookin´for? Ain´t nothin´here but some very old, very dead war prisoners from the Boer War..."
Carlos asked cautiously: "Pardon my ignorance, sir, but what was the Boer War? And why is this house barricaded?"
The old man brightened up at the prospect of being a tour guide for a bit, and motioned Carlos over to a nearby bench. "Boy, not many people this side of the world know of it. Ya see, in the late 1800´s, the mighty British Empire declared war on a bunch of craggy local farmers down in the colony of South Africa. This bunch of white farmers called themselves Boers, and kept the mighty British running around the African plains for the better part of six years before they could win that war... It was all about the gold down there, ya see."
The old man´s eyes twinkled with the telling of the story. "Them British had to be tough... and one of the things they did, is they sent that them war prisoner Boers out to another of their colonies to keep ém out of trouble. Guess where they sent em?"
He did not wait for the answer. "Well right here to Saint George´s of course! Not a bad spot as far as prisons go ya would think, but the poor sods got the meanest old warden ya could think of... fellow by the name of Christopher Walker. He was a rotten sod by all accounts, beat many of them prisoners to death, as ya can see from the graves. Would´ve gotten away with it too, the Empire was very tolerant about this sort of thing in those days... oh, hi sweetpea, you back from school?"
Carlos´s eyes squinted against the late afternoon sun. A lovely girl in her mid twenties, with rich dark skin, short curly hair and twinkly eyes had snuck up on him and thrown her hands around him. "Hey grandpa, are you tellin´that mean old story again. You know I hate that story..."
The old man turned back to Carlos. "I´ll tell ya boy, my granddaughter Denise here - the finest teacher in all of Bermuda I tell ya what- she just hates that old tale. Keeps on sayin´ that it all feels way to real for her. Tell ya what, Denise, go get me and this fine young fella a cuppa water in the church, I will finish up soon..."
As she walked back, Carlos saw her eyes dart to the church... and the cemetery. She lingered on on one specific grave. As he followed her eyes, he felt a pang of unbearable sorrow and loss as he read the inscription: "Johan de Villiers, 1880 - 1904". His eyes met hers for an instant, and it was as if they shared something incredibly deep and powerful. She suddenly turned away, and rushed into the church.
The old man, meanwhile, had continued with his tale:"Yep, so about a year before the war ended, they sent a fella here called Johan de Villiers. He was a spirited lad, and would not let old Walker get him down. Snuck out plenty of letters to his wife back in South Africa too, and was sure that Walker would get his comeuppance once the war was over. Thing is, Walker was a born bully, and things got out of hand one day when De Villiers defied him. This was shortly before the end of the war, but the beating was so bad that De Villiers didn´t make it..."
He checked to see if his granddaughter was back with the water yet, then leaned forward, beckoning Carlos in a conspiratory fashion.
"This is the way it went, son. That there young lad´s wife came lookin´ for him, not believing that he had died. She was sure he was out here on the island somewhere and that the British were lying to her. She did some awful things to secure passage on a ship here, so by the time she got to the island she was quite a world weary sort... the legend is that she was, even then, a great beauty, despite her hardships."
Carlos, strangely, suddenly had a perfectly clear vision of this woman´s face... and then watched it, slowly, turn old... and ugly... and twisted. Shivering, he refocused on the old man´s story, even as Denise came up with two glasses of water.
"So she got here, and all she found was a cemetery... after the cryin´s was done, so the legend goes, she went a lookin´ for old Walker. Suffice it to say, Walker disappeared... legend has it that some body parts were found driftin´in the bay, but nothin´was ever confirmed. She, on the other hand... she came back here and became caretaker of this church. Looked after it real well too, but somethin´had twisted her deeply... she withdrew from society, never spoke to anyone, and kept to herself in the house over here..."
He sighed, and patted Denise´s hand on his shoulder. "After she died, a good forty years ago, no-one ever wanted to take up in that house again. Me, personally, I been doin´ this job for over forty years, and I tell ya, her presence is still there..."
The sadness returned to Carlos, as he watched the old man get up. "Denise, won´t you keep this youn ún company. I need to finish up... see ya back at the house."
As she sat down next to him, Carlos was surprised to have her take his hands. "Do I know you?" she asked intently. He had just mumbled his name when he could suddenly, vividly, in her face see a handsome young man... full of life and energy, with sparkling blue eyes. Just as suddenly, the image vanished... but he felt that amazing connection again as his looked in her eyes.
"I don´t know," was his uncertain reply. "But I feel like I know you... or some part of you. Like, you know... I have been looking for you for a long time, and now I found you again?"
She squeezed his hand, and touched his face tenderly. He could suddenly see a tremendous love in those eyes, looking at him... but also beyond.
"Carlos, do you believe in second chances?"
