Against Destiny

By Alfonso Tirado

Antonio Carrales, coming back after having visited Doña Leonor, his mother (in the novel La Dama del Silencio, from the same author), in Mexico City, with a deep pain in his soul by the sad omen that he will never see her again, returns to his life in New York City.

The story tells part of the life of Antonio, historical researcher, navigator of dreams and a passionate writer, and in parallel, it’s the story of the adventures of an ambitious Spaniard, traveling to San Francisco, attracted by the discovery of the gold deposits in the 1850's. The route to get to San Francisco on the Atlantic side was crossing through Nicaragua. As soon as he disembarks, Diego Ruelas, amazed by the tropical exuberance, changes his plans, stays in Nicaragua and in a short time falls in love, head over heels with a beautiful native girl. They live in the years of tyranny by the freebooter William Walker. His wife and their son disappear when the slave hunt is unleashed. Diego Ruelas, after a tireless search for his family, gives up and totally beaten decides to return to Spain. During the voyage back, the ship is struck by a storm and he dies.

Antonio Carrales sinks into the abyss of disappointed love and decides to take a long trip on his sail boat. He is caught by a storm and the ship is destroyed. When he wakes up he doesn’t remember anything about where or who he is. They rescue him, but because of his attitude towards the Coast Guard, they wonder if he has suffered any brain damage that causes him amnesia, and it gets worse, when they discover that he pretends to be someone else, someone who doesn’t correspond to the papers that identify him as Antonio Carrales and he insists on calling himself Diego Ruelas.

The case is assigned by the hospital to a doctor in psychology. Things get even more complicated when she falls in love with her patient during the process of clarifying his identity. They manage, with the intervention of a hypnotist and researcher to find an explanation, but the spirit of Diego Ruelas is against his destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Apr 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781547574162

Book preview

For my father

Who gave me the imagination.

For my mother

Who gave me the life.

Translation from Spanish: Barbara Henze

Cover: Ernesto Valdéz-Enzoft

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The characters in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to known people is purely coincidental. Location, names of places and public or private facilities as narrative instruments, to make fiction have an apparent reality. The author does not intend to give scientific or religious testimonies nor acquires responsibility for what is expressed by his characters.

Prologue

This novel that you hold in your hands began several years ago as the story of a risky journey, not so much for the adventure as for the uncertainty of its destiny. I stopped writing for some time when I myself was lost in the uncertainty of the path to follow, not that of the novel but that of my own destiny. The world - my world - kept going around until it straightened out and I found the time and place to continue writing. I found the pages of the manuscript among a pile of papers and uncovered other possibilities, as soon as I had discovered another way of appreciating life. The story began to grow and create the dimensions in which its characters could unfold, to follow their own destiny. Everything became a challenge that led me to the need to investigate other fields which were new to me.

The story has romanticism, like the previous novels and necessarily there is the presence of beautiful women, my favorite subject. On this occasion, I got involved in a more complicated subject that comes across situations that we call spiritual, cosmic or even religious.

The subject will surely cause bewilderment among some readers. However, I must clarify that I have always respected religions, regardless of my own beliefs or my personal opinion about their existence. But I am sure that you, no matter if you accept or reject the controversy, will find this story fascinating, because death is an issue that concerns us all and that inevitably, we all will have to face at some point - whether we agree or not - to enter the kingdom of heaven, or... to reincarnate. No matter if we accept it or not, something is right in this world... or wrong... And meanwhile, we all believe that we are right. And so it is...

The author.

May 18th, 1988 Mexico City Airport

Antonio Carrales told her, how passionate he was about the subject of death, and the fascination he had for life and Sonya didn’t seem surprised by the contradiction. She looked directly at him with her pretty green eyes and told him, as if it were something totally natural and universally accepted:

-It’s the same. How can you say that death is the end, when it is precisely the beginning of a new life. Life has no end, only matter is what vanishes, but at some point it reappears with new vigor.

-Reincarnation. - Antonio murmured.

They had been talking about this and that for a while, before they got onto the subject, that of death. That, although it seemed a bit ironic, arose from the comment of another passenger, who openly commented his fear of dying on a plane. The two of them exchanged glances, making fun of the man, whose face was bathed in sweat because of his panic.

It all started, in the frenzied moments, when people, between pushing and shoving, tried to find their place on the plane and seek to forcefully fit their bags in the overhead lockers, then crumble into the seat, displaying a triumphant smile. By habit, Antonio avoided those battles, simply by being the last one to board the plane. On this occasion, it wasn’t so much in his head as in his heart, that he carried a bitter regret. A few hours before, he had said goodbye to his mother and in her eyes had hung a shadow of anguish, giving him the irremediable feeling that he would never see her again. He didn’t know, if his mother had given him the premonition or if he had invented it, but it had broken his heart anyway. Stuck in the chasm of those ruminations, he didn’t hear the woman’s voice, who touched him gently on the shoulder.

-Excuse me... can I go through? - and she pointed to the seat next to the window.

-Yes, of course- he answered, standing up. The woman, necessarily, passed very close to him and the scent that surrounded her was of cosmic sweetness. Her hair, streaked in gray by the unstoppable passage of the years, showed still traces of feminine vanity in her wavy hairstyle. Antonio felt the lightning in her eyes. With subtle movements she got to her seat and thanked him, with a smile, for the attention. When she took off her jacket, he saw the luscious lines of her arms and the whiteness of her skin. She was not literally a beautiful woman but she had a supernatural radiation that made her very attractive.

-Thank you,- she said -it is not easy to fit in such a reduced space.

Antonio answered with some courtesy and didn’t dare to look her in the eyes and appreciate how pretty she was. He knew there would be a lot of time ahead to do so. They were meant to sit next to each other for a little over four hours. The flight took them from Mexico City to New York. She was dressed casually but very tasteful, probably in her fifties reaching sixty, maybe, and she didn’t worry, as women of her age usually do, to fool appearances with dyes that pretend to return the color of youth. She not only avoided it, but her hair, at the dawn of autumn, gave her face a frame of interesting coquetry.

-Are you going to New York? - Antonio said to break the ice.

-Yes, actually this is the flight’s final destination.- And she could not help a smile, letting him know that it was the answer to a silly question. Antonio tried to save his face.

-I know, but maybe from New York you’re connecting to go somewhere else.

-Are you Spanish? - she asked without caring about abruptly changing the subject, thus saving him from the predicament.

-No, I´m Mexican.

-Now I have put the question wrong- she said smiling, suddenly switching to Spanish with all naturalness.

-I wanted to say something like Latin American or... Mexican, precisely. What a nice surprise. We can speak in Spanish, right?

The surprise was Antonio’s, when he noticed her perfect Spanish, because her whole appearance didn’t correspond to Hispanic descent. She explained that she was the daughter of Polish-Jewish parents who immigrated to Venezuela when she was very young, from there came her perfect Spanish, as well as impeccable English because she had lived in New York for more than thirty years.

-I'm teaching at Columbia University, what do you do? - and she reclined in the seat to sit back comfortably.

-Things I like... - Antonio said, not to complicate the conversation and let her rest. Sonya closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Antonio could now enjoy the fine lines of her face. She had a broad forehead that came out above her eyes, slightly shaded in light purple tones. Her thin nose, slightly turned up, was separated from carefully outlined lips with red lipstick that gave them the touch of sensuality. Her complexion was almost natural, she didn’t bother to cover it because she didn’t need to, it was not that of a fifteen-year old, but it was smooth and fresh. He looked at her with discretion, enjoying a little bit of her beauty. And also, because he couldn’t help it, normally he was fascinated by women.

-My name is Sonya - she said without opening her eyes, making him feel totally discovered in his indiscretion. Women have the mysterious quality of having an extrasensory perception that makes them go beyond the understandable. Just to make it obvious, she shed a smile that made Antonio feel abashed. At his age, blushing because of something like that was very far in the past, but for the same reason he realized that there was already a connection of energies or sympathy between them.

-What is your name?... she asked again, a few seconds later, as a result of having left him speechless.

-Antonio...- he said, this time without looking at her.

He reclined his seat back as far as it was possible and tried to find a solution to the monotony that occurred on each flight after an hour. He looked at Sonya and doubted if she was asleep. Her deep breathing was marked by the alternate movement of her chest, covered by an off-white silk blouse, which ended around her neck with fine embroidered ornaments. He felt tired, the events of the last days had left him with an emotional wound, difficult to repair. He was looking for sleep everywhere, without finding it. He usually had sleep disorders, so he started with the practice of going back to a lonely beach or to the top of a mountain, imagining himself in total solitude. He had a lot of accumulated tension. He began to count slowly 97... 96... and had the feeling that surely, when he got home, he would find other problems... but he didn’t want to think about them... 95... 94... counting was the only way to get away from the tension of pending things... don’t think about that... 91... 90... find a path that leads to clarity... my mind is torn between the ghosts of memory that want to represent their comedies repeated for years... I don’t know myself... where do I come from?... Keep counting. My comedies are the same, my dramas are the same, only the actors change, but I am always in the midst of gales, provoked by my fantasies or my realities, I am the first pantomime actor and I am the intolerant spectator... 82... 71... 60... comedy of anguish in three acts... they have no end... the final act never comes... 30... 55... 80... 34... it doesn’t matter, still counting. On the screen of my creation appears a face that I cannot identify, it laughs and from its eyes there is an intense green light that illuminates me and getting smaller and smaller it loses itself in an uncertain horizon. The space explodes in a roar, throwing a shower of incandescent particles, it is night, the stars are moving vertiginously, it’s an eternal night turned into a single moving image. It reminds me of my first night sailing the sea, when I felt lost in infinite space, wrapped in darkness, covered by a roof, dotted with silvery particles. Now the space has been dyed with the deep blue that I like, the slight buzzing of the engines becomes part of my relaxation. We fly almost at the speed of sound and it all seems so natural to us, as if we had been doing it all our lives... I don’t know where I am anymore, but I like it, I like that vagueness of knowing... of ignoring. To arrive where I have not asked to be and to get lost without feeling it, to find something that gives back what I was looking for, loneliness... I get to a drawbridge that releases the screams of its moldy hinges and slowly lowers, until it connects with the ground I step on, I take it as an invitation to step on and cross that incoherent wall. I enter a huge lobby, full of white light, with walls of infinite dimensions, smooth surfaces that disappear in cold transparencies. A monotonous computer voice fills the space, dictating instructions. I walk on a surface without dimension that absorbs the noise of my steps, I feel their contact but I get the impression of being suspended in a vacuum. I get to the electronic information screens, they ask me to insert my identification card. I do not have it... I look in my shirt pocket... yes here it is... I slide it in. The screen shows a pretty face, surely one of those robots with a human appearance and with a smile, almost feminine, says slowly. -Vía escarlata. Elevator 6, level 72, space C-22... I stand on the ramp and pressing the scarlet button, the conveyor belt starts smoothly, to take me to the door of the elevator that opens its doors to accommodate a dozen citizens, who were waiting to board the same elevator. We enter and as soon as the door closes, the electronic board begins to show the changing numbers that make me understand the dizzying speed at which it moves in its ascent. From time to time it stops and opens its doors so that some of them get off, after the third stop at level 49, I am left alone in the elevator. When it restarts its unbridled ascent, I understand that I have already passed the level where I should have left, but without stopping, by the numbers of the indicator I realize that its speed continues to increase, I already feel the force of gravitation sucking at my body, my head weighs as if it were lead, the arms stretch and the weight of my body multiplies to the degree that my legs can no longer support me and the speed is still increasing, my eyes explode out of their orbits, now the elevator is buzzing, emitting something as if it were a howl of despair and I also cry out in desperation, because I understand that the elevator has reached the top of the building and it launches into space in the middle of an explosion, as spaceships do...

Antonio felt a hand on his face and opened his eyes, distressed to know that he was lost in infinity, but what he saw in front of him was Sonya's face.

-Are you OK? - Sonya said softly, without removing her hand from his sweaty cheek.

-Excuse me,- he babbled. -It was a nightmare.

With much tenderness she dried his forehead with a disposable handkerchief.

Antonio felt so comforted by her hands that he didn’t want to move, despite feeling the pain of having shown his emotional weakness.

-Don't worry Antonio, these things happen to all of us. Our dreams reflect our emotions, anguish and so many other things that cannot be explained, it is enough to suppose that they are reactions of the subconscious to the real impulses of our conscious experiences.

-Thanks Sonya, thanks for your words and your kindness.

He could have told her so many more things, he could have told her that when he woke up and saw her in front of him, it was like having seen his guardian angel, but he didn’t dare because it was too pretentious to tell a woman he hardly knew... he didn’t know; he looked at his watch, it was 12.45, they had only been 40 minutes in the air and it seemed like an eternity. He realized that Sonya had managed to return him to the present very easily, the gentle touch of her hand and seeing the calm of an emerald lake in her eyes, deep and crystalline that transmitted freshness and tranquility. For a moment he had the sensation of having submerged in its warm waters, floating gently, moving from semi-unconsciousness to a conscious state. Who was she? It was the first time something so strange happened to him, but of course, so comforting, so positive that it helped him to recover in a few seconds. At other times it took him many minutes to slow down his heartbeat and convince himself that he was not adrift in infinity, that he was not lost between life and death.

-Does it happen very often? - She asked, as if she had been reading his thoughts all along.

-Occasionally- Antonio said, without turning to look at her and as if it was the continuation of a long talk on the subject, he added -I never know when it will happen, when I least expect it, I’m already in its claws.

She was silent.

-Would you allow me to invite you for a drink? I urgently need one.- Antonio said vehemently, when he discovered that the stewardess was coming along the aisle, pushing the little beverage trolley.

-My nightmares always end up leaving me locked in some way, that's why they are so distressing; no matter how the dream started, it can even be very nice or innocent, but it is as if it were a trap, suddenly I realize that I am locked in some small space and that I will inevitably be trapped. Then no effort can change the course of the nightmare that brings me to the climatic moment. Darkness or lack of air, I see myself falling into an unfathomable void... and I wake up shaking, anguished and confused, as you have noticed. I wonder if this has a meaning, a kind of premonition or something similar.

-All dreams have a close relationship with reality.- Sonya said.

-Of course, they happen depending on the subconscious. But it is so difficult to interpret them. I think we would all like to know, if that connection is linked to the past or the future.

-Are you afraid of dying?

The question took him by surprise. Not because he had not asked himself this before, but because on many occasions he had been avoiding situations that could be called dangerous and knowing that he would die was not exactly his concern, he knew that the main thing was to save one’s life, while maintaining sanity. He had felt helpless in the face of the extraordinary force of nature's tempestuous ravages. He had found himself several times away from all humans and facing danger, when serenity or panic makes the difference of surviving or finding death.

-Not precisely, it's not fear of dying,- he answered by resting his head on the backrest, as if deepening his thoughts. -But I would worry about having to leave this world that I love so much and deprive myself of so many things that I still want to know. It worries me because I don’t know, if in the other life there could be love as we understand it in this life, with all its labyrinths and complications, but after all, love between a man and a woman, love that flows in torrents when the sexual passion is released without limits. I love life to its fullest and that is why, maybe, I have sometimes reached extremes, the boundaries where, if you die or remain alive, hang on a tiny decision of destiny.

-Hmmm... how interesting and I think I understand perfectly.- Sonya assured, fixing him with her bright eyes. -And we are not talking about two different things, as if life and death were two distant entities. It is not like one begins here and the other one ends. There is no death, everything is life. There is always life...! Only in a different way.

And she let herself fall into a deep silence, in which Antonio accompanied her, ruminating the words of that woman with whom, in the short time they had known each other, he could open up with feelings that he had never shared with anyone else before. He realized that now he was doing it with one of those people, who have the knowledge and go to extremes. How would it be possible to argue about reincarnation and have arguments to ensure its existence or deny it? How could he argue the existence against her assertion in favor of his imminent reality?

However, it cannot be denied that it is a universal theme, of primordial mystery, product of all cultures that in one form or another, from the beginning of time, looked for an explanation of the origin, the transformation