The Story of a Beautiful Girl

    People say that years ago, a young man from Managua was invited to a wedding in León, the old university city. On the appointed day, it was cloudy and drizzly. The spirits invited him to stay at home, but Ernesto, the young man in the story, didn't want to miss the awaited event because one of his dearest friends was getting married.

    Thinking it was worth the trip and considering that León isn't too far from the capital, he decided to leave early to arrive on time and avoid any delays. When he reached the area where Lake Xolotlán begins to flirt, showing its blue to the people traveling on the Old Road to León, a heavy rain began to fall mercilessly.

     He hadn't left behind the memory of the lake, nor had the scent of wet earth left his mind, when suddenly he saw a girl with beautiful hair signaling for help by the side of the road. Ernesto slowed down his car, and upon stopping, she told him that her vehicle was damaged and that she needed to travel to León to attend a wedding she had been invited to. He felt sorry to see her alone under that threatening weather, so the young man decided to give her a ride and thus take advantage of some good company. As he started chatting with her, he couldn't help but be drawn in by the warmth of her voice and the simplicity of her smile, contrasting with the cold paleness of her thin face. Coincidences of life, the wedding they would both attend turned out to be the same one, and amid songs and joy, he sought any free moment to step away from his friends and approach her. The girl, alone in a corner of the house, seemed to be waiting only for his company. Ernesto then offered to take her back to Managua, which she gladly accepted, and they both set off near midnight. The young man enjoyed the company of his companion, the dark background of her starry hair, and the serene conversation that only a person who has lost everything and is at peace can offer. The air was filled with the natural scent of a beautiful woman.

    When they reached the same area of the lake where Ernesto first saw her, she told him to stop. She insisted that she had to get off. He persisted on accompanying her to her house, but the girl adamantly refused. She explained that she lived very close by, that she didn't want him to be delayed because it was dangerous to travel at night. So he lent her his jacket to protect herself from the light drizzle that was still falling, seeking an excuse to see her again. The girl got off quickly and disappeared into the thick fog of a lost path. Ernesto would have sworn she floated as she walked, like apparitions in penance on warm nights of Holy Week.

    The next day he returned to the road, which looked different now in the sunlight. This time there was no rain, no fog, much less a girl. He got off, searched, asked in various hamlets giving the description and name of the mysterious and beautiful woman who had accompanied him the previous night. Surprised, the people who remembered her told him that the young woman had died about a year ago in a tragic accident on a rainy afternoon on the way to a party in Poneloya Beach. They even told him that there was a cross nearby with a name and date. The young man felt confused and, getting annoyed, thought that the good people were making fun of him. So he asked to be taken to the place where the poor girl was supposedly buried because he couldn't believe it. His heart pounded fiercely, and an unexpected shiver ran through his body at an unusual sight he didn't expect. Hung on the cross was his jacket, unmistakable. He took it in his trembling hands, brought it to his face to make sure it was his, and felt it damp, cold, withered. Mixed with his own scent, barely perceptible, the pleasant smell of that beautiful woman floated in the air.