The rain drummed lightly on the clay roof, even though it wasn't forecast. The dry season could be surprising: sometimes the forest decided to breathe on its own.
Clara stood motionless in front of the open window. She was still a beautiful woman, despite being over forty. Her short, blonde hair was a symbol of practicality. Her bright blue eyes always had a veil of melancholy. Steam rose from the cup of coffee she wasn't drinking.
Behind her, her husband Carlos, a handsome Latin man, gently closed the door of the medical bag.
"You haven't slept much," he said in that low, caring voice he used with no one else.
'I wasn't sleepy,' she replied without turning around.
"I know when that happens. You have the same look... the one you had before."
Clara turned around.
— That boy, Gabriel. Yesterday, in the forest. I saw him do something... impossible.
Carlos stopped. — What kind of thing?
"He stopped the fire. Not with water, nor with his hands. It was as if the fire had noticed him."
The doctor approached slowly. "Are you starting to see signs where others see only coincidences?"
"No," she shook her head. "Not this time."
Carlos took her cup.
"Do you remember why we came here? Why we left everything behind?"
"Of course I remember. I left the convent for you."
"And I left the hospital in Puerto Viejo for us."
A heavy silence fell.
"But Clara," he continued, "you never stopped searching. Even when you were dressed in black, even when you called it silence, God, rules... you were always looking for something that trembled beneath the surface.
She lowered her gaze. "What if I found it? What if that boy was a sign?"
Carlos didn't answer. He took a sip of coffee, then took her hand.
"Then please, this time, take it slow. You're not alone anymore. Neither is he."
******
The schoolyard was filled with high-pitched voices and laughter, as if nothing had happened. Only Gabriel remained on the sidelines, sitting in the shade of the large guanacaste tree, a book open on his knees and his gaze lost among the branches.
Clara watched him leaning against the doorframe of the house opposite the school. She didn't call out to him. She waited for him to notice her. When he looked up, their eyes met. Neither of them smiled.
"May I sit down?" she asked, approaching him.
Gabriel nodded and closed his book. She didn't know if she was in for a lecture or a lesson.
"Are you feeling better today?"
"Yes, Mrs Clara. I slept a lot."
She looked at his hands. "Carlos told me he examined you."
Gabriel stiffened. "Did he say anything... strange?"
Clara shook her head. "No. But he sees more than he says. And I know him too well not to notice."
There was a moment of silence. Then her voice lowered:
"When I was young, I lived in another world. Silence was my language. The rule was my home. There were no screams, no fires, no children stopping time. Only silence and prayer."
Gabriel hesitated. "Were you in a convent?"
"In a monastery. First a student, then cloistered. My days were light, low voices, solitude and long waiting. Then a young doctor came through, returning from missions in Africa. Hands stained with disinfectant, a tired smile, eyes full of doubt. He spoke to me of invisible wounds and sought God where I could no longer find him.
"Dr Carlos..." whispered Gabriel.
She nodded.
"What I saw yesterday doesn't scare me," said Clara, "but it asks me to make a choice.
"What choice?"
"Whether to enter your life. Or stay out of it forever."
She stood up, leaving a folded piece of paper on the desk.
"There's a place there. Go only if you want to. At dusk. No one is forcing you."
She turned away without saying another word. Gabriel opened the piece of paper: no words, just a drawing. A path leading to an isolated hill, beyond the school, behind the bend that descended to the river.
Isabelle appeared behind him.
"What did she want?"
Gabriel showed her the piece of paper. "I think she wants to show me something. Or maybe... help me."
******
At sunset, Gabriel followed the path with the paper in his pocket. The bright quetzal crouched among the orange flowers, and even the brightly coloured lizards seemed to be watching him. Each step took him further away from the school, deeper into something he couldn't name.
The semi-destroyed cottage was hidden between two minor ridges, just beyond the dry riverbed. A wooden door hung on a single hinge. No sign, just silence and the smell of alcohol.
Pushing the door open, he found a small, messy yet clean room: folding beds, water tanks, gauze, bandages. An open cupboard contained medicines with labels in several languages.
On the walls were black and white photographs: men in torn uniforms, boys who were too young, women with burns. He recognised one of the faces: the commander of the nearby military post.
On the table was an old Bible. He opened it and saw the teacher's name on the first page. Inside were handwritten notes: Farmer. Left hand, petrol burn.
Smuggler. Gunshot wound. Does not speak Spanish.
Gabriel understood: Clara and her husband had not served just one type of person. They had treated everyone. Soldier or arsonist, farmer or smuggler. Without judging. Without asking questions.
On the back of the sheet left on the counter, a sentence in beautiful handwriting:
'No one is alone in their pain. You can't always choose which side to heal.'
The door creaked. Clara was there, without her rucksack, her arms folded.
"It's not a secret. But it's not an easy truth to tell either. I'm talking to you as an adult."
Gabriel approached the photos. 'I was too young to know. But now I understand why here... everything seems more complicated.
Clara nodded. "The jungle has never been just nature. It's a refuge, a battlefield, a home. Sin and redemption are mixed here.
"Is that why you brought me here?"
"Because you're changing. And when you've changed completely, you'll have to decide who to offer your hands to."
She sat down on a metal crate, her gaze fixed on the open Bible.
"Before coming to Costa Rica, I lived in Rome. The monastery had ancient ties to the Vatican. Few of us had access to the private library. I didn't understand why they had chosen me. I was transferred to Rome. There I met Cardinal Raimondo.
His voice became slow and grave.
"A man of science and faith. Translator of ancient scrolls, he spoke six languages. He studied apocryphal texts, legends, obscure manuscripts. They all spoke of the same thing."
"What?" asked Gabriel.
"The cyclical awakening of celestial forces on Earth. The veil between Heaven and Earth would thin. Clear signs would appear: children with unexpected gifts, fires extinguished without water, voices in the forest, time bending.
A shiver ran through Gabriel.
"The cardinal believed we were approaching a clash. Not just a war between armies, but between intentions. Between souls. Between those who want domination... and those who want freedom and free will."
"And you believed him?"
"Only when I saw you."
The wind blew through the branches, deep as a breath. Gabriel looked down at his hands.
"What if I'm not ready?"
Clara smiled slightly. — No one ever is. But some are born with a fire inside them.
She stood up, her voice steady.
"Now you know enough to sense that what is happening to you is not random. But you don't know enough to understand it. If you accept my help, I will show you where to look. I won't give you answers, because certain things must be experienced, but I will guide you with what I have learned."
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"There is one condition. For now, you will not talk to anyone about this. Not even Isabelle."
"Why?"
"Because certain truths, spoken too soon, break people. You need to grow up a little more. Listen before you reveal. Gather information before you explode. Promise me."
Gabriel nodded. "All right. I promise."
Clara nodded. "Then we'll see each other here often. In silence."
She turned and walked out into the twilight. Gabriel remained alone within those walls steeped in pain, blood and faith.
He lingered for a few more minutes. Then he too went out.
He had many questions. But one new certainty: he was no longer alone.