Ruy and Lolita: Ruy and Lolita, #1

By Benedito Inácio Neto

The first book in the series ‘Ruy and Lolita’ tells the story of the beginning of the romance between the couple, where the social and financial difference do not influence their decisions and unites them even more, having to face the wrath of a powerful man from Évora. The country of Portugal will come at a halt to follow the outcome of this novel that involves crimes, curses, betrayals and interests. Ruy's life and his great love Lolita will be affected by the "Curse of Evora" the evil spirit of the Witch "Moura Torta" torments the family of Ruy for centuries, and will not give up tormenting him until he feels the consequences of this curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jun 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393945819

Book preview

SUMMARY

CHAPTER I: ESCAPE TO SPAIN

CHAPTER II: BRAZIL

CHAPTER III: MY CHILDHOOD IN ÉVORA

CHAPTER IV: INVESTIGATING RUY’S PAST

CHAPTER V: UNIVERSITY OF ÉVORA

CHAPTER VI: SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS

CHAPTER VII: MY AUNT’S DEATH

CHAPTER VIII: FORESEEN TRAGEDY

CHAPTER IX: THE PORT OF VIGO AND THE JOURNEY TO BRAZIL

CHAPTER X: ARRIVAL IN BRAZIL

CHAPTER XI: A NEW BEGINNING

CHAPTER XII: RETURN OF THE CURSE

CHAPTER XIII: THE TRIAL

CHAPTER I

ESCAPE TO SPAIN

The obscure night smelled of solitude, and the deafening silence of the small hours were persistent and bothersome. Sleep was stubborn and refused to show its face, raising tension and nervousness. My neurons resembled lightning in a violent tropical torment. The body and mind couldn’t take another routine of poorly slept nights in a cheap inn at Engenheiro Armando Rodrigues Square, and it did no favours to a well-deserved rest.

I get up from the bed and go to the dirty, foul smelling bathroom, a stench emitting from the centennial pipes that have run through the large house since early last century. The city of Braga in the North of Portugal would be my last stop, and from there on its off to the border between Portugal and Spain.

All feeling of rage, disappointment, love, passion, and fear of the unknown would blossom in my most intimate being. I was shaken, physically and mentally, the latter where I couldn’t handle that much pressure anymore. My body, dehydrated from fatigue, longed for a shower and liquid to hydrate. I try the shower in vain; no sign of water. I go to the sink, but nothing. I’m scared of going out of my room, being recognized, and handed over to the police. I can’t risk it, I’m so close to getting away and unveiling the darkest secrets of my ancestor. My hands are cold and sweaty, my pulse racing. I need water, I need to get out and look for some in the hotel hall to quench my thirst, and get rid of this dry mouth.

I unlock the termite-ridden, noisy door, and leave it ajar; spying out into the hall, I notice no one. I exit and lock behind me, cautiously towards the reception; all would be dark in the hall, except for the peering light of an outside sign. I notice a drinking fountain next to the reception desk, and I step out to meet it. However, I didn’t notice the mezzanine in the middle of the room; I trip and fall, as the noise awakens the inn keeper and some guests; she emerges from her room with a rifle in hand:

Get out of here, dirty thief, or I’ll shoot! The gun was appropriate for a museum.

Calm down, lady, don’t shoot, it’s me... I got a room last night, I only came down to look for some water—then I tripped over this furniture and fell.

My God, son, are you trying to get killed? Didn’t you read the inn rules, where it strictly says, ‘Do not leave the room after midnight’? You youngsters don’t respect anything.

I’m sorry lady, sorry about this incident, I admit I’m guilty; I read the rules, but I wasn’t feeling well and needed some water and fresh air, so I risked it coming here... forgive me. She noticed I was harmless, and calmed down.

Ok, this time you’re off the hook, but next time, I’ll have you removed from this inn. Understood? She said it like it would be some punishment.

I nodded yes, and she motioned me to help her put back to bed an elderly gentleman who had awakened from the commotion.

Is everything quite alright, Madam? said the man. She explained what happened to the guest, and he retired to his room.

I sat on the sofa; my head once only burdened with worries, now also had a huge bump. The lady brought me a glass of water and a painkiller and ice rolled in a towel for my forehead.

Here lad, this will do you some good. I put the pill in my mouth and take a sip of water.

Thank you! You’re really kind.

You may call me Antonieta, lad. What is your name, again?

I had to omit my true identity as to go unrecognized, since my true name was wanted on all corners of the country as a fugitive of the law.

Alright, Jonas, beautiful name.

Antonieta wore the marks of a bitter, burdened life on her face, but I noticed kindness in her gestures. I partially covered my face with the towel, to keep her from focusing on my features. She could recognize me from the countless pictures the police had distributed to the press, printed and TV.

I’m sorry lad, I thought you were a fugitive the news won’t stop reporting about. He’s circumventing our region, and he’s a dangerous murderer, who killed a powerful wine baron, descending from a royal bloodline in Portugal, Albuquerque de Bragança, in the city of Évora. I froze, until I simply said that I would return to my room.

I shall retire to my room, Antonieta. I need the rest, I’m exhausted and once again, I apologise for the scare I’ve produced.

Don’t worry about it, young man. Go rest, you’re in need of it.

Thank you, and have a good night, Antonieta.

I went to my room, where my distress grew; she warned me of the imminent risk I was under, remaining further in Braga. My infamy as a dangerous murderer was being erroneously spread throughout the Lusitanian countryside and I was on the edge, with no control over events in my life. I had to leave the inn immediately, and look for safer shelter. I might have been discovered by the old man who awoke from my fall—he seemed to have recognized me, I noticed him staring at me and became frightened. Suddenly, I hear knocking on the door, and orders shouted:

This is the police, open the door! We have information there is a fugitive in this inn, open immediately or we’ll use forced entry.

I quickly gathered my things in my backpack, being used to those situations as I was, and jumped out of the window. I franticly ran through the dark, old streets of Braga, and soon enough I hear police sirens in the back. ‘Where could I go at this time of night?’ I think. If I didn’t soon find a hiding place, I would be captured, with no more strength left to fight. I had to head towards the border with Spain and try to cross it, escaping the police.

CHAPTER II

BRAZIL

I was born in Brazil, but I’m the son of a Portuguese man and a Brazilian woman; I have two citizenships, and my coming into this world was highly dramatic, leaving a mark on me as much as my parents.

My father is Joaquim Afonso da Penha, born in Évora, in the Alentejo region of Portugal; the finest wines in the country come from that area. He graduated from University of Évora, the second oldest in Lusitania, founded in 1559. That’s where he studied engineering and obtained his degree in Renewable Energies. His dream was always to live and work in Brazil, with fossil fuels for airplanes. On one of his work trips across the Atlantic, he met my mother, a carioca from Rio, with green eyes and suntanned skin, bronzed by the Wonderful City’s sun. When he laid eyes upon her, his heart swelled with love for the Brazilian gal, and realized she would be the woman of his life. At the first opportunity to get near her, the love was reciprocal and they both fell in love.

Joaquim Afonso da Penha, 25, was a charming, tall, blonde man with blue eyes. His Lusitanian charm and conversation skills were decisive for the young Brazilian lady to fall in love with the foreigner.

He had always been fascinated by Brazil; he read everything about the indigenous people, its flora, wildlife, geography—something supernatural drew him towards the Tropical Country. He couldn’t explain it.

One day, rummaging through the old Penha Family documents, he found something that would be decisive for his move to Brazil, aside from the love he felt for Angélica. He found a job and moved to Rio de Janeiro. As soon as he had arrived, he asked for my mother’s hand in marriage, and she said yes.

The wedding ceremony was simple, but magical; at the seafront, they both officialised their union with only a half dozen witnesses and an ordained minister.

The love between them transcended spirit, and as soul mates, they savoured each moment of their immortal love. They did not know what brought them to feel that wonderful mutual attraction, with which fate placed two souls before one another to love, truly; it was as if they met long before, could it be perhaps, the reincarnation of a previous love, which destiny had united once again?

Before moving to Brazil, my father, Joaquim’s life in Portugal was limited to his sister, Maria João da Penha; a single, religious woman, devout to Our Lady of Lourdes, whom never married in order to care for my grandparents Manuel Afonso da Penha and Joaquina da Penha. After their death, she found herself alone in the World, and her age wouldn’t allow her an affair any kind, seeing as where she lived, people were aware of others’ lives, and religious traditions were mandatory for the people of Évora. Remaining single would be the more noble act before the rigorous traditions and customs of a strict society.

My Aunt became responsible for administering a small producer of wine, since the region of Évora produces the finest wines in Portugal. This story I will tell further ahead.

In Brazil, as soon as he married, my father went to live in the upscale neighbourhood of Barra da Tijuca, in Rio, by the beach. A beautiful place, drawn by God and sculpted by angels. It was everything my father ever dreamt of and desired, but the Penha Family curse would drastically change our destinies.

The mysteries involving our family ancestors had to have a solution. Brazil is a key piece of a complex enigma in a large gear of a great puzzle, which involves hundreds of years in the curse that was eradicating our generation almost completely.

The city of Rio de Janeiro hid historical facts in its entrails, which could help reveal details about the past, and somehow rid ourselves from this demonic misfortune.

The document found by my father reveals the voyage of an ancestor, an expeditionary, Manuel da Penha, to Brazil in the early 18th Century. He tells of a spiritual encounter he had in the quarters with African slaves, in the city centre of São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro, still a Portuguese colony, in which necessary steps are described to extinguish the Penha family curse eternally. The document, however, sheds no light on the details of the procedure, and our ancestor Manuel da Penha passed away as soon as he reached Portuguese lands, from an undiagnosed illness. In this document, the local address was present, but hundreds of years had passed since, and it probably no longer existed.

My father began to investigate, and discovered that the quarters was at the ‘Largo do Paço’, currently XV Square. Though there were no apparent traces of the locale, he did notice an Umbanda[1]terreiro[2]and decided to visit. The Umbandan Spiritism centre was located within a large, all-white, recently repaired house. The garden had images of saints made of clay on a small altar, in open air; hundreds of lit candles illuminated the altar further. Further ahead, a tronqueira, a tiny house with a small door that is always closed, which is always placed at the left of those who enter the terreiro; all who pass must salute in respect to the power of the god, Exus. Inside the great house, the altar of Orixá Ogum was surrounded by offerings from local visitors.

As my father is received by Babalorixá[3] Pai Pretinho, in his Candomblé[4] preparation room, something strange happens, and he feels such a great negative force irradiating from my father that he immediately enters a trance; the priest’s body begins to shake violently and his head turned and shook with supernatural force. My father, frightened and frozen in place, watched the scene with no reaction. At the moment the priest stops, he is face to face with my father, his face transforms and a raspy voice exits his mouth. He had received an entity:

Thou art trying to go where you were not called, you cursed mongrel. The voice spoke directly.

My father, frightened, replied:

I’m looking for an answer, to end the Penha family curse, I want to have children and that they may live without fears and worries like me and my sister, for we are the last of our line.

Damned Penha family, you haven’t given up on ridding yourselves of my curse? Know that you shall never have deliverance! Never! You wretched!

But, for what reason have we been cursed? We aren’t responsible for what happened in the past, free us, please! I beg from my very essence, rid us of this burden.

Never will you lift this curse, not you, nor your son who shall soon come! He will feel the weight of the curse even more, the evil is merely nascent and your impertinence has further increased my wrath.

As it last spoke, the entity left Pai Pretinho, who felt nauseous, and his body was beaten and marked with scratches. The