The House of the Spirits

by Isabel Allende

Now he’s laid out on the sailboat of the gentle sea, smiling and calm, while I write at the blond wood table that belonged to my grandmother. I’ve opened the blue silk curtains to let the morning in and cheer up the room. A new canary is singing in the antique cage hanging by the window, and from the center of the room the glass eyes of Barrabás stare up at me. My grandfather told me Clara fainted the day he put the skin of the animal down as a rug, thinking it would please her. We both laughed until we cried and decided to go down to the basement and look for the remains of poor old Barrabás, sovereign in his indefinable biological constitution, despite the passage of time and so much neglect, and to put him where my grandfather had laid him half a century earlier in homage to the woman he loved most in his life.

okokok so Barrabás and Esteban are clearly connected fine yes I see now