Monday, September 22. 21:35 hours.

It was nighttime. After placing Jorge's luggage in the car's trunk, he set off toward what Yusuf had always called the "main house." As soon as they left the airport facilities, the absolute darkness enveloped the vehicle, which progressed swiftly along a dirt track. The coolness of the night entered through the windows, flooding the interior with damp and pleasant aromas. Jorge was dying of curiosity.

—Is the road long to the estate? —he wanted to know shortly after starting the journey.

—We are in Bisinia, more than two hours from Tauride, my lord —was the employee's enigmatic response.

—Is Tauride the city where my house is?

—That’s right, my lord. The capital of your estate is Tauride, one of the main cities on the island; your main house is there. I apologize for not having told you this sooner, but everything has been so rushed…

—Indeed, I myself feel a bit overwhelmed by so many novelties; but I would like to know some more things. How big is this island we are on? And what size is my estate?

—Alfar is the main island of the archipelago; it is elongated and measures about one hundred and forty kilometers from north to south and about eighty from east to west; then we can look at maps, and you will have a much clearer picture. The Bisinia airport is located at the southernmost end, and Tauride at the northernmost, which is why the journey takes so long; we don’t have any asphalt roads, and although they are dirt paths in very good condition, speed is necessarily limited.

Indeed, the car's speedometer indicated seventy kilometers per hour, although it felt much faster. The powerful headlights pierced the darkness; Jorge noticed the driver for the first time, a black man in impeccable uniform who remained silent and attentively received any instruction from Yusuf in the local language.

—Why aren't the roads paved, at least the main ones, Yusuf?

—The car is not a very used means of transport, my lord.

—Oh really? But any other will be slower —Jorge objected.

—Certainly, but we are not in a hurry, my lord —Yusuf replied with an attitude that made Jorge recall the idiosyncrasy of the Canary Islands, where everything is more laid-back; perhaps that calm and horror of hurry was something inherent to any island, he thought to himself.

Little by little the terrain became steep, although the car's magnificent suspension compensated for the unevenness of the surface. Almost at midnight, the somewhat ghostly image of a building illuminated by torches appeared before the vehicle; it was on a rise, and as the winding road led up the small hill, the dark shapes became slightly clearer. The road passed through a huge stone wall, thick and tall, entered through a grating door that was wide open; in a kind of side booth, a couple of men could barely be made out, surely waitin...