La Dama que Saluda

The house of Gael Serrano was clearly still a work in progress. The outside wall paneling was a mix of white, robin egg, and black paint. An aluminum ladder clung to the side, the top ending at an unpainted window frame. On the concrete steps leading to the screen door was a black and white dog, who paid no mind as we entered. Gael led me to the upstairs section of the small home, the place I would be staying for the next three months. It was quaint and smelled of wet paint and sawdust, but it did its job.

I took a seat in the metal-framed bed, undoubtedly an antique. As I set the pillow I brought from home down on the mattress, Gael handed me a stack of handwritten papers, held together by a single paper clip. The first page was all house rules; don't stomp around too loud, don't give Coyote food scraps, and don't smoke any marijuana. The remaining pages were all of the tasks I was supposed to take care of at the cemetery. It was quite long, but given how much the man was paying me, I was willing to sweat every minute to see it all done.

"John, John, you need to know the two rules más importante of Cementerio Pasarela Verde. You listen and you repeat, okay?" Gael told me as he put a pair of spare blankets into the closet.

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Bueno. Numero uno; don't have your phone while on the job. You work, don't Facebook, okay?"

"What if there's an emergency?"

"There is a phone by the front gate. You call me or the police if there is trouble. Now repeat."

"I will not bring my phone with me while on the job. If something goes wrong, I use the phone by the gate."

"Yes, yes. Y numero dos. Do not wave back at La Dama que Saluda." Gael pointed as he laid down the second rule.

"What's The Waving Lady?" I asked back. This was never mentioned in the job description.

"She is why you are here. She haunts the cementerio for a hundred years. Everyone who lives here is afraid of her. Those who have seen her say she waves at them. Those who wave back…" Gael made a slicing noise as he slid his finger across his neck.

"The ghost kills you? How does a ghost kill?"

"They don't, but that is what the people say. Everyone here is afraid of seeing spirits, so they will make up any excuse to avoid the cementerio. But you, you are not afraid, and you were the only person who would pay for the flight to here. The cementerio is very important to our town, but bad guys know that many rich people are buried there. You just make sure the place is clean, that no one else comes in after dark, and you will be a very rich man before you go home." He wasn't wrong. The prospective pay made the flight cost a bit easier to swallow, but I could tell this was going to be hard work. I'd have to become nocturnal for this job, working sundown to sunrise, but I guess that isn't too different from how I'd been living before.

With a few hours left before the shift, I got acquainted with the kitchen and bathroom functions, made some meals for while I worked, and dressed well for the humid, muddy conditions I'd been warned about. At dusk, Gael chauffeured me three miles away to the cemetery, a walled area no larger than a football field.

With a trash picker and metal bin, the first order of business was clear. I scoured the graves for glass bottles, plastic wrappers, and empty spray paint cans. Graffiti tags were rampant, marking the headstones of notorious local figures. I knew I'd have to power-wash every last one of them sooner or later, but those in particular were going to be a real headache. The hours passed through, warm and muggy, before I decided to have a break to eat. I thought maybe I should get a watch to keep track of the time. Maybe that would make the night go by slower, though.

An iron bench, covered in rusty vine decorations, faced east and made for a good enough resting place despite its age. I looked down the hill before me to see the sleepy little town of Pasarela Verde as I ate my sandwich and chips. I hoped they were thanking me in their prayers for what I was doing.

I heard a rustling of bushes just beyond my line of sight. I turned towards the origin but saw nothing. Darn squirrels always like to make noises, don't they? I went back to eating but immediately heard another rustle. I tried to ignore it this time.

The humidity suddenly turned to a bitter cold, the tiny hairs of my arms and neck standing up on end. Another rustle. I sat my food down and turned to check, but this time, kneeling behind a bush was a figure, bright yet transparent. It seemed to be peeking back at me, watching me. If it was an intruder, I would tell them to get the hell out of here, but my mouth was still chewing on my food.

I stood up and kept an eye on the figure. As it cowered, I watched it raise its left hand and wave at me. I knew this must be the ghost Gael was telling me about, or at least that's what he wanted me to think. With the kind of money the man has and his peculiar nature, I wouldn't put it past him to pull some sort of high-caliber prank on me. I had guessed he wanted to make sure I was the right man for the job, the kind who wouldn't be afraid of a ghoul.

I swallowed my food and waved back at it. What's the worst that someone in a costume could do to me?

"Yeah, hi there," I said back at it. I watched it lower its hand and then vanish into thin air. I assumed it was a projection or something then. If Gael saw that, I hoped he wasn't going to dock my pay for waving at an illusion. I sat back down and sipped my coffee, the chilling air subsiding. For a few seconds. Then the chill suddenly came right back again, along with the figure appearing right in front of me.

"Thank you! I give you all my thanks, sir!" The specter said, speaking in an English accent. Her voice echoed through my head like a church bell. I spat out my coffee from her startling me, launching out of my lips and through the figure before me, who also recoiled in brief shock.

"Oh, dear! I didn't mean to startle you! Are you quite alright?" This would have been quite an expensive prank with how convincing she was.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Jeez… So you're going to kill me now?" I asked it as I closed up my thermos and put away my lunch. Maybe Gael thought I was taking too long on my break. I was looking for any reason why he would do this.

"No, of course not! I only want to speak with you, to have a conversation. I've asked so many before you and finally I can speak with a living person!" The ghost continued. I stood up from the bench with a sigh, grabbing my tools to get back to work.

"Right, well if that's all you're going to do then, walk with me. I've still got some work to do," I instructed her, the legless apparition floating along, following me like a balloon on a string.

"What is your name, if I may?" The ghost asked me. I stopped and turned to look at it to get a good view of how she appeared. She wore a dark silk gown, appropriate for English mourners from perhaps a century ago. Her collar was frilled, her hands draped with sheer fabric that nearly touched the ground. The skirt would probably have gone down the ankles, but it faded away into nothing at her knees. Her face was a very pale blue, and while having a mostly intact face with a nervous smile, her eyes were nonexistent, only gaunt, void sockets of solid darkness.

"John. John Harper." I told her, trying to make eye contact.

"A good name. Please, call me Dove," she replied while holding her hand out to me like I was to kiss the top of it. I decided to play along and obliged, but as I reached to take her hand, mine only phased right through. There was no weight to her form, only a sudden pocket of cold air. A projection can't do that. I was giving the benefit of the doubt that she wasn't real and just playing along, but all other possibilities are out the window. I shudder. Maybe I shouldn't have waved back.

"Oh…" Dove disappointingly bemoaned as she looked at her hand. I was always skeptical of ghosts, but not outright dismissive of the possibility. I never thought I would see one with my own eyes, let alone be having a conversation with one. It took me a moment to find my words through my mumblings, Dove bashfully turning her face away from me as I do.

"Ar-ar-are you buried here?" I finally asked. She turned her head to me, her hair gently floating behind her.

"Yes, I am. Would you like to see where?" Dove gestured towards the center of the cemetery. I only nodded, following her as she floated above the grass, fresh dew forming behind her. She eventually stopped at a modest headstone, black with age and stained with moss. Deidre Marianne Olvera … 1865–1890. I sat down before the grave as I tried to wrap my sense of belief into a tight ribbon and Dove floated down as she knelt beside me.

"I know it's not too elaborate… I hope you're not disappointed."

"No, I'm not. It's nice and quaint. But you're an Englishwoman. Why are you buried here?"

"I married a Spaniard when I was seventeen. His name was Gabriel, Gabriel Olvera. He fancied himself the Duke of Pasarela Verde. It was a rather elegant life at times. Short, but elegant."

"How did you die so young?"

"I must have fallen ill. Cholera claimed my aunt in eighteen-seventy-four. Perhaps it's a sign."

"You don't know how you died?"

"No, I'm afraid not. But since that was… How many years ago would that have been?"

"130 years ago."

"Goodness, that's a lot longer than I thought it's been! But yes, that was so long ago, so how it happened doesn't quite seem to matter anymore to me. That need to know faded soon enough."

"Is that why you're…" I gestured to her incorporeal form.

"It is possible. Perhaps God had other plans for me. What about you? Where are you from, John?"

"Uh, Canada. I'm here for the summer to help preserve the cemetery."

"How very noble of you! Oh, I've always wanted to see British Columbia. Are the mountains as beautiful as they say they are?"

"Usually, and I'm not sure about it being noble. If I can be honest with you, I-"

"Please do. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Go forth."

"The man who owns the property is paying me thirty euros an hour to look after this place."

"…is that a lot?" I should have said pounds, but even then the exchange rate would have made this difficult. I chuckled at her innocent question.

"It's better than most other jobs back home. I'm glad I'm putting my college Spanish classes to use," I joked, but Dove gasped at my statement, rose into the air, and hoovered above me with her hands to her mouth.

"How could such an educated man be doing such low labor?! You think yourself ignoble, yet here you are, college-educated and scrubbing grime off headstones. I pity you, John, truly!" I had felt pity for the dead, but never from them.

"It's not that bad, Dove. Besides, the scrubbing comes later. Speaking of which, I should get back to work. We can keep talking as I clean if you'd like," I explained while I sat up and reclaimed my tools.

"I would love nothing else more. Lead on."

"If you'd like, we can make it a game."

"A game?"

"Yeah; for every question you ask, I also get to ask you a question. Is that alright?"

"How do we win?"

"Uhh… Whoever runs out of questions loses?"

"That seems rather easy for me, but I accept! I'll go first! How is England? How is the current monarch?" She asked excitedly.

"That's two questions…"

"Oh, you're being such a bother! I won't let you ask me a thing if you don't tell me."

"Alright, alright. I was only teasing you."

"Teasing is for schoolboys." Dove huffed at me, but I noticed her smile straightened.

The night passed by quickly, every minute full of asking and answering. The last thing Dove remembered when being alive was going to bed; no symptoms or issues beforehand. She never woke up but emerged from her grave under the light of a full moon. She was initially distraught and tried to make her way back home, but found herself bound to the cemetery grounds. Every time the sun rises she sleeps again, only to reawaken at night and be forced to wander. Once she came to terms with her passing, she adopted the name of Dove, having accepted that Deidre Olvera was long gone.

Since then, Dove had been trying to make friends with anyone who entered the cemetery; vandals, robbers, paranormal investigators. Every time, they fled from her in terror. The only human contact she's had in over a hundred years has been fear. Seemed like she'd been doing a good job of protecting this place before me. She'd even hoped for more ghosts to emerge, but so far she's been the only one.

There was a lot left for us to talk about, but we had a couple of months to cover everything. I finished my work just before sunrise, Dove staying close throughout the entire process with eager curiosity. I was thinking maybe I should gather some things for her if I was to accommodate a guest. Or was I hers?

"Dove, how do you like your tea?" I decided to ask her. I watched as she grew a great smile. I'm sure her eyes would have lit up if she had any. Whether she can drink it or not, perhaps a conversation over tea would be better for her. Why I was considering her feelings at the time eluded me, but I suppose the moral compass always points north.

"I had oolong once and would love to have it again. Thank you for being so kind, John. Will I see you tomorrow?" She asked me, just as dawn broke.

"Of course. Every night."

"Oh, my prayers have been answered…" The rays of the sun flooded the cemetery, Dove fading away in the light. I was actually glad I wouldn't have to work all summer alone but be spending it with a ghost. A very pretty ghost.

Gael came around to pick me up not long after. I decided not to tell him about Dove, about how I waved back. He might have thought I was crazy or cursed, and either one could make him think I was unfit for the job. In the back of his car, my eyes were resistant to the morning light and begged for sleep, but I wasn't about to break a promise after the first night.

"Gael, could I run a few errands before we go back?"

"Are you not tired?"

"I just need to take care of a few things."

"Alright. You are lucky we wake early here." Gael took me to town and I gathered things for tomorrow night; a wicker basket, fine china cups, tea kettle, oolong tea, and biscuits with jam. I didn't know if she'd be able to taste any of this, but maybe the gesture would be appreciated enough. It was an expensive errand, far more than I've ever spent on a living woman for a first date. I slept through the rest of the day until my alarm woke me up at six. The hour between then and my shift was quite surreal. I was trying to figure out if Dove was just part of a dream or not the whole time, but I knew the answer would only become clear once I got back.

It didn't take long after the sun set for her to appear again above her headstone like out of a Romantic-era art piece. It did startle me at first to see her again, confirming that she was real. At least I hoped she was real…

"Hey, you're still here. I hope I didn't make you wait long."

"Do not worry, I have just woken up. If that is what it is to be called… Did you bring a picnic?"

"Well, I… Care for some tea?"

"Oh, you darling man. I would love a cup of tea." We returned to the iron bench, the lights of the town and the moon over the horizon just beginning to shine. I made the tea on a hot plate, and despite taking quite a long time for what I'm accustomed to, Dove was amazed at my speed of preparation. I poured each of us a cup and set it on a saucer, doing my best to try to emulate how she may have experienced this in life. I raised my cup, the steam rising out and fogging my glasses.

"I hope you enjoy it," I mumbled as I focused my attention on Dove. I saw her in the moonlight and it captivated me. I couldn't say for certain what it was, be it her spiritual aura or her charm, but I was struggling to form words.

"Save your hope, darling. I already am. I cannot even begin to remember the last time a man did something so kind for me, though I suppose accepting my greeting yesterday was quite considerable as well," Dove said, taking the teacup into her hand. She picked it up like she was material. Her fingers wrapped around the handle and raised it above the saucer without even noticing.

"Dove…" I pointed to the teacup in her hands with wide eyes. The moment she looked down and realized what she accomplished, she gasped and the cup fell from her hands and into the grass.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry! What a waste…" Dove lamented the spilled tea, despite the whole package only costing me maybe ten euros and plenty still left. Dove floated off the bench to retrieve the tea cup from the ground, but this time it wasn't working. Her hand just kept passing right through it.

"John, I… Could you… By God, I'm so sorry…" Dove hid her face in her hands, her sudden wails echoing across the cemetery grounds. I set my china aside and knelt beside her, retrieving her cup as well. This seemed like an awful lot for a dropped cup, so it was clear there was something much deeper troubling her. I tried to put my arm around her shoulder to console her, letting my arm float just as I began to feel the icy pocket of air she occupied.

"Hey, what's wrong? I can make you another cup, it's not a problem."

"No John, I… I held it and I felt it. I could feel the cup in my hand. John, I haven't felt anything in over a hundred years. I didn't even realize it until you brought my attention to it. But when I realized it, to be holding something with weight in my grip, it stung like a needle. But what stings far worse is that, for a brief moment, I felt alive again, John. I felt normal. But I am not, am I?"

"Come on, don't talk like that. You didn't want to be stuck like this, did you? I'm sure it did sting but… Do you want to try again? If you could hold a cup, then you are capable of doing a lot of things. I can help you. We can practice until it doesn't sting anymore." Her tearless, empty eyes turned to me.

"You'd help me?"

"This graveyard will be my home just as much as yours for a while. Why not make it feel like one?" I did my best to cheer her up. I didn't know how to cheer up a ghost, or what they would and wouldn't want to hear, but in her case, I think I figured it out pretty quickly.

"Goodness John, I'd give you a grand hug if I could. Thank you for helping out an old lady like me," Dove jested through sniffles. From then and three weeks on, any break from working the cemetery was spent helping her practice interacting with matter. At first, I thought she would have to concentrate hard to touch things, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. If she didn't pay attention to the object at all and let it become like nature, let her think she had real hands and forget she was dead, that was the key to it. I brought her a lot of things to practice with, books being her favorite, with her ability to turn the pages being the most intuitive. While I would be busy trimming hedges, pulling weeds, or mowing the grass, she would quietly be reading to herself on the bench, sometimes reading the same book several times in one night. The recent history books I brought maybe weren't a great idea, in hindsight. So much of it awed her, but just as much horrified her.

One evening three weeks in, just as Gael and I got into his car for my shift, he decided to bring me to the local cocktail bar to have a meal. I tried to protest, but Gael insisted that he should get to know the person working his property and sleeping under his roof. I had to act industrious, telling him I didn't want to even miss an hour of pay, but Gael only found that amusing, insisting we wouldn't be more than two hours. I worried how she would feel if I wasn't there, if she thought I abandoned her. If I was going to spend time with my host, I had to make the most of it.

The bar was mostly outdoors, allowing for a great view of the lake at the bottom of the valley. Strung light-bulbs and imported palms surrounded us just as much as the lounge music. It certainly isn't your average pub. If there wasn't a person I already decided to devote my free time to this summer, perhaps I would have spent more time here. I wished I could take her here…

As Gael and I shared our life stories over a plate of Iberic cured meats, I could only think of how Dove's ended. What if that was why she's trapped there? If she knew how she died, maybe she would find peace and pass on, assuming there is somewhere for her to pass on. If she's the only ghost in the cemetery, then I guess there has to be.

"So, did you wave back?" Gael asked. I nearly choked on the salty ham before fixing myself to appear calm.

"What, you mean La Dama que Saluda?"

"You remembered the name…"

"Well, yes because I, uh… Kept expecting her to show up, but I haven't seen anything yet. Must be just a rumor right?" I bluffed. I had no clue what the answer he wanted was, so I just rolled the dice.

"Ah, you are a funny guy. Yes, she is just a rumor. So many people scared of the dark, of what they can't see. I am glad you are stronger than that."

"Have you never gone there at night, Gael?"

"I never needed to. I'm an old man who loves to sleep, John. It's the most precious gift; a good night's rest. I wouldn't give up anything for it. That's why you are here, after all. I own the cemeterio at day and you own it at night."

"Right, of course. How did you come to own the cemetery?" I asked Gael when we were on our third beer.

"I bought it from the city council. Was very expensive, but it is an important piece of history. The city was going to destroy it and make it into a petrol station or 7/11 or something. I said no! Preservation of history is more important than a cheap pizza slice."

"Do you know all the people buried there?"

"I cataloged them all if that is what you mean. Looked for living relatives and previous property for documentation. I remember most of them."

"What about Deidre Olvera?"

"Ah, that's quite a name. Did you see her headstone?"

"I did. Dead at twenty-five, but not buried next to any relatives."

"Yes, it was very unfortunate, that lady."

"Who was she married to?"

"That would be Gabriel Olvera, who used to own the biggest sheep ranch in España. His house is now that fancy restaurant by the lake. Deidre may have been his wife, but she certainly wasn't his only woman. Theirs was a marriage for money, you know how it was."

"How come he isn't buried next to her?"

"He retired to Madrid and left the ranch to his rich friends."

"Is it possible that he… killed her?"

"No, no. Some then thought so since he remarried only two months after she died, but we know better now. She went into a coma one night, and I guess the doctor proclaimed her dead. The poor woman was buried alive," Gael explained. That would be why she haunts the graveyard and not the house she thought she died in. With that knowledge gained and enough beers in my stomach, Gael drove me to work an hour and a half later than usual. As I strode into the cemetery, I didn't find myself greeted by Dove. Instead, she was reading on the bench already, not paying me any mind until I sat down right next to her.

"You're late tonight…"

"I'm sorry about that. I was out with a friend."

"A friend?"

"Well, sort of. The man who owns the cemetery."

"Oh, I see," Dove kept her eyes on her book. I decided I might as well say it now.

"Dove, I need to tell you something important," I stood up and told her. Her attention shifted to me and she set the book aside.

"I think I know how you died. You-" I tried to explain what Gael told me earlier, but Dove shot up and closed the gap between us and put her finger on my mouth to stop me talking. Her hand had some weight behind it, feeling more like powdered snow than chilly air.

"Don't! Don't tell me, I don't want to know."

"Why not? What if that's what's keeping you here?"

"Exactly! What if it is? What if I know and I leave here?"

"You don't want to leave?"

"No, John! The Kingdom of Heaven will always be there for me when I'm ready, but the Earth will not. The grass, the sky, the wind, the calling of birds, the moon, the sunrise. If I go, I leave all of that behind forever. I'd rather wait for the angel's horns to bring me than go now. That and… I don't want to leave you alone."

"Dove, I'd be fine, but you-"

"John… I don't want to leave you," Dove proclaimed. My face flushed red. I guess she noticed too; she turned away from me and looked out towards the moon. I tried to think of how to respond. There's no way I could have said I like her. I never knew Deidre Olvera, only her ghost. What was I even falling for? She isn't real, that is to say, she isn't here physically. This couldn't be a lasting relationship by any metric, as much as I'd like it to be. I had to be rational, but I wasn't going to deny her outright.

"What do you miss the most from when you were alive?" I asked her as she faced the horizon, her outline glistening in the moonlight.

"Music. I wanted to be an opera singer, to sing for the courts of Rome and Paris. That was my dream. Sometimes, in the most blessed nights, I hear music from the town. Every time it is a wonderful treat."

"What if I brought the opera to you?" I offered. She turned around with a look of pure excitement.

"You could do that?"

"I could if you wanted me to. It might take me a few days to get, but I could bring it every night once I do," I said further. Dove floated down from the hill towards me, and before I even knew what had happened, her arms were wrapped around me. She felt like a blanket of snow; soft and numbing.

"Never have I met a man who gave so much heart to the heartless. I cannot thank you enough," she whispered to me. I did my best to hug her back, her long floats of hair nearly giving my fingers frostbite.

The moment my night shift was over, I ordered a new wireless speaker and a warm pair of gloves to be delivered three days later. In the meantime, I worked hard on just the right music playlist, nothing newer than 1900. I know Gael didn't want me to bring my phone to be distracted, but… It was for the good of the occupants.

I brought everything as soon as I could and set it up by the iron bench, which Dove and I started to call 'our' bench. With my phone and the speaker fully charged, I was ready to make it the best night for her. With the speaker between us, I started to play the first on the list, Bizet's Habanera. We both leaned back and gazed into the stars as the music played. I could hear her hold back tears and laughter, or at least the closest equivalent. I let it play without a word between us.

The shuffled play led to a waltz, Roses From the South. It was a bit earlier than I was anticipating, but I figured perhaps it would be better to not let her wait too long. I slipped on my gloves and stood up from the bench, turning to and offering a hand to Dove.

"May I have this dance?" I tried to ask like an aristocrat.

"It would be a delight." Dove set her hand into mine. Without the cold, I was able to focus on her weight. It was faint, but it was there.

"Where did you learn to dance, John?"

"My mother made me take classes when I was ten. I hope I still remember the steps…"

"You hope? Darling, I haven't danced in over a century. You lead me and I will follow," she instructed me as she directed my right hand to below her back. I did my best to step into a waltz, but at least Dove didn't have any feet for me to trip on. That allowed me to focus on her and her alone. I tried my best to imagine how beautiful she must have looked when she was alive. I imagined holding her living hands, warm and flowing with blood. But I realized she was warm, in her own way. Through her smile, her voice, the way she read, and the way she stayed so positive without finding peace in her soul.

Before I knew it, our lips were touching, or they would be. I was brought back by the cracks quickly stinging my mouth, the moisture sapped out completely. I don't think I ever made the move. Pretty sure it was all her. I stopped the dance, desperate to cling onto her fingers tighter but to no avail.

"Oh John, I'm sorry if…" She tried to apologize for something we both wanted but can't have.

"Dove, what if I stayed?"

"It is an adorable town, isn't it? If it suits your needs, I would love to be able to see you more."

"No, I mean here. In the cemetery. With you and you alone. Forever."

"John…"

"I can do research, find the best way to make sure I stay on Earth."

"John, you wouldn't dare!"

"Dove, I want to be with you till the end of all other things. Unless you don't want that?" I took her hands into mine.

"No, I do! That is, I would… But darling, unfortunately for both of us, I am a dead woman! Was I as alive as you, without a second thought, I'd say yes and be yours! But please, John, don't be foolish! Don't throw your life away for me! I had mine and it's gone, but you still have a very bright future ahead of you."

"But I… Dove, I'm in-"

"I know, and I am with you. But if you are capable of loving the living just as much as the dead, then I am sure you will love another; one who can experience all the joys of life to the fullest. I can never repay you for the kindness you have granted me. That is the way things are. I wish it were different, that I could kiss you and I am resurrected like a fairy story, but I had my time. I am merely a passenger of existence, but you are the driving horse who will go head first into the horizon," Dove proclaimed, her palms now gently holding my cheeks. Not cold, but cool. Either I'm getting adjusted to her temperature or she's getting warmer. I glided my fingers through her bangs to brush them off her face. It worked, somehow.

"What about just for the summer then? Can we be with each other for just the summer? Anything you want, I will bring for you."

"I am yours every night if you will be mine." I brought her more books, made more playlists, and we continued to practice and experiment with her ability to touch things; mine as well. One night we even got really experimental. I don't think either of us felt much of anything. I don't think anyone was ever supposed to try.

I introduced her to music past her time, working my way up the decades until today. Some of it she liked, most of it she laughed off and called "funny music." I learned she's a fan of Queen but not The Beatles. With my ability to bring the music of the world to the cemetery, eventually, Dove asked if I could bring the theater as well. I gathered what I could for a simple movie projector, bringing it piece-by-piece or mailing it directly to the graveyard so Gael wouldn't notice. I decided not to overwhelm her with the selection, focusing on silver-screen adaptations of period novels or nature documentaries. I could tell that she loved them, but it was difficult for us to focus sometimes as we sat close together on a blanket, staring at the projection on a white sheet. For me, it was like we were in high school, sneaking into a theater just for privacy. I couldn't even imagine how she felt about it given her upbringing.

I kept active in preserving the cemetery, maybe even more so than before knowing that I was doing it for her. I wanted to make sure it was a peaceful sanctuary for her to roam until the end of time. While I worked we talked each other's ears off, but sometimes she would sing for me. Dove started to learn the songs I had brought for her, reigniting her passion for music. I could barely hold back tears every time she sang, her voice the most magnificent I had ever heard. She could have been the best opera singer of all time if she didn't die so young, but at the same time, I wouldn't have had the immense pleasure of meeting her.

Our last week together felt like only a single night. I tried to promise to come back as soon as I could, every summer if I had to, but she protested. Our time together was special, the most she could have asked for, but I shouldn't bear the burden of having to be with her for the rest of my life to only make some of her years go by easier. Though I may have been well-educated, she was the smarter between us. I knew she was right, from the very start in fact, but that didn't make it any harder for us.

I wasn't going to leave her with nothing of course. I made her a care package of items, waterproof and camouflaged. She called it her box of treasures. Within I put some of her favorite books and the nicest King James' Bible I could find, sheet music of her favorite opera pieces, and most important, pen, paper, and envelopes addressed to my flat back in Toronto. We agreed to write to each other at least once a month since she wanted to know I was safe and happy. I told Gael that I had a friend in town that would leave letters for me at the gate of the cemetery and asked if he could mail them for me. Thankfully, I think he was so impressed with the reclamation of the cemetery that he happily obliged, no questions asked.

We spent our last hours together on our bench in silence, waiting for the sunrise. I held her close with my arm around her shoulder, her head resting on mine. I could have canceled my flight home right then and there. I wanted to, but we had already made our peace.

As the sun rose, I closed my eyes. I wanted to say goodbye, but I couldn't. Goodbye sounds so final and sad, so I didn't say anything. I didn't open my eyes for what must have been almost an hour. I didn't want to face her and see nothing. But I heard Gael's horn honking which spooked me back to reality. I didn't even look where she was, I just stood up and left, not looking back.

"Fall asleep?" Gael asked me as I went into the back of his car for the final time.

"No, I just… It's such a beautiful place. Thank you for this opportunity, Gael. This was my favorite job I've ever done," I thanked him, but my voice was breaking. I did my best to hold back, but Gael noticed.

"Tu eres un gran amigo para el muerte, John. They are just as thankful to have had you help them, and so am I," Gael assured, handing me back my last check with a large bonus inside.

As soon as I got back home I wrote a letter to Dove, telling her how much I missed her and spending every night with her. Her letters came soon after, her penmanship just as beautiful the words they formed. We kept in correspondence for almost an entire year, detailing everything we did and learned in the greatest detail we could describe, and proclaiming our love in the subtext. To say it out loud would make it hard for me to love a living person, and even harder for Dove to be so far from me. But luckily, nine months later I got an email from Gael, asking if I'd like to come back for another summer to watch over Cementerio Pasarela Verde again.

In the email, Gael said that there were no more reports of La Dama que Saluda ever since I left. However, the locals are more scared to go to the cemetery than before, even during the day, which is why Gael wants me to come back.

The people are reporting a new ghost haunts the grounds; a banshee, they say. 

La Dama que Canta.