Palm Trees in the Snow

by Luz Gabás

Two sharp, quick knocks on the door, a pause, and then two more. It is the agreed-on signal. José is on time. You have to hurry or you will miss the plane. You cannot hurry. You cannot separate yourselves from each other. You only want to cry. Close your eyes and remain in this state of unreality. The time destined for you has elapsed. It will not return. You have already talked. There will not be tears; things are the way they are. Perhaps in another time, in another place . . . But you did not decide where

to be born, to whom or to what to belong. You only decided to love each other, knowing that sooner or later this day would come.

Later, you will get on a coach and, in a short time, be with your own again. All the hours of the journey will seem too few to distance yourself from these years, the best years of your life. And this, recognizing that the best years of your existence were spent in distant lands, will be a secret that you will keep in the deepest recesses of your heart.

Clarence had computer, e-mail, and telephone to instantly connect with her loved ones. These developments made her generation impatient; they could not handle uncertainty, and any slight delay became a slow torture.

it is difficult to describe fear—once it has gotten into you, it takes a lot to get rid of it.”

For an instant, she was jealous of the long boat journeys of the last century. The long days at sea inevitably gave the soul time to mend. It was possible to prepare for the next stage on life’s journey.

How would