PROLOGUE
The plaza was full that night. Under the gaze of El Libertador astride his steed, couples from all over the city gathered in the moonlit square. Two men in white shirts and thong sandals strummed their guitars and sang melodies to lovers and love. Some songs were sad, tragic tales of doomed romance. But some songs made the couples, listening to those silvery voices, fall in love again.
A few of the young women tugged at the printed shirts of their partners and pulled them to the center of the plaza for a dance. Bodies moved in rhythms of samba, salsa, and berroche. There would be no sleeping that night for the young couples who danced the night away.
If during the day the tall palm trees offered an oasis to locals grabbing a few bites of their lunch, under the glow of the stars the trees cast long crooked shadows across the cemented streets. As time went on, it became harder to recognize the features of one person or another, unless you were the one holding them in a gentle embrace. The couples moved in and out of the shadows, disappearing and reappearing only to disappear once again. They laughed, they tried to harmonize their voices with the two musicians sitting by the stairs of the cathedral at the front of the plaza. The humidity that still pervaded didn’t faze them.
One couple danced a little away from the rest. Even as their neighbors began to take to the benches that dotted the plaza, this couple continued moving in sync. Then the musicians announced their final song for that night. A take on a classic.
The young woman of the couple smiled upon hearing the name of the song. It was one she had known since she was a little girl, the song her mother used to hum whilst walking around the house, picking up the odds and ends of her children’s belongings along her way. It was the young woman’s favorite song.
The song told the story of the enduring love between a young man and woman who promise to love each until they grow old and gray. The young woman lowered her head onto her fiancé’s shoulder and began to sing softly along with the lyrics.
At some point before the song neared its end, she stopped, and in a very matter-of-fact voice, announced that she had one request of her fiancé.
“Anything, my love,” he whispered back to her. “Just ask for it and I will do it.”
She knew he meant it, too. Even in the darkness, she could still make out the glimmer in his eyes. He was besotted with her; he had been since they were at school together. Even after all these years, the expression that had taken over his eyes the first day she walked into his classroom had never left. It had merely grown stronger.
“I want this song played at our wedding. I want this to be our first dance,” she murmured in his ear. The music was loud enough that, unless you were close together, deciphering the sounds coming out of your partner’s mouth was quite a challenge.
She continued. “I want to think about you every time I hear this song. About all the years we will live together until all our hair turns gray and…”
He chuckled. “All but my beard, I hope?”
She giggled and caressed the dark hairs covering his sharp jawline. “Until you grow bald, my love. And even after that.”
The song ended and the plaza erupted in claps of appreciation. The musician's bowed. More clapping. Before the applause could die down, a light glided across the sky, followed by a sound of loud crashing.
Fireworks.
Suddenly, it was like a light had been switched on. The sky was painted momentarily with blues and reds and lilacs and greens, golds and silvers peppering the darkness. Summer was around the corner. Excitement pulsated through the crowd of young couples. It was a beautiful display that stopped far too soon.
Finally, people began to make their way out of the plaza. Some walked home, swaying with drink and the jovial spirits of the night, some headed for the bus station. A few couples still lingered under the shadows of the palm trees, savoring the last sweet moments of the night. Like the last drops of sweet lemonade, they took small sips, hoping the night would never come to an end.
The young couple who had danced in the corner started to make their way across the plaza. The young man had promised to have his fiancée home by 10.30 p.m. and he was a man who kept to his word. The young woman stopped in front of the El Libertador statue. During the day, she hardly noticed it. Now, in the shadows of the night, it looked daunting. But also very lonely. She turned to her fiancé.
“What do you say?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.
He pulled her in for an embrace and they swayed as if the music had returned to fill the plaza again.
“I say, I have the most beautiful fiancée in all of Cartagena. No, in all of Colombia. And I am the luckiest man alive.”
The young woman blushed. “You’re exaggerating,” she whispered, forgetting all about her request for the song.
“I am not. I cannot even begin to tell you of all the love I am feeling in my heart,” he whispered with passion. “It is too much for me. I am overfilled with it. All I can say is that I hope everyone can be so fortunate to find this, the truest of loves.”
The young woman brought her ear close to the man’s chest. She listened to the beating of his heart.Dudum. Dudum. Dudum.
“Nothing can be so important in this life. Not money, fame, or any of these fickle things…”
Dudum. Dudum. Dudum.
“You are my whole world,” he whispered.
She looked up at him and their gazes met.
“You are my world, too,” she whispered back. “And you will soon be my husband before God. My family. My whole life. We will have so many children and we will be the happiest of all families in the whole of Colombia.”