I dreamed of Papá again. Cassandra and I waltzed together in an empty ballroom. Papá watched us from outside the window. He banged on the glass, but we didn’t turn our heads. Papá stood in the garden of our house, frowning in sadness under the shade of the Drunken Tree, but then I noticed that he wasn’t in our garden at all, but in the middle of some field over which the stars shone brightly and black firs stood tall.
