It's said the Devil wanders these places.

In these secluded corners, where the trees stop the wind, where the light of the big city can't reach, where the noise of the cars is barely heard... places of witches, gualichos, covens, temptations.

But in the midst of this filth a temple was erected. A holy place where the name of a living God is glorified and his word is taught. And we are almost there.

Dozens of other cars invade the little town in the distance. I doubt there have ever been as many vehicles as there are today, on a last Friday of spring. They come in all colors, all shapes, old and new.

But no one comes for the little town as such: the also colorful little lambs step out of their cars on their way to the temple whose large roof seems to emerge from the trees.

“It’s going to be impossible to park,” says my mother at the wheel with the same tone she has been using all the trip.

“Leave us here at the entrance,” I reply.

“I can accompany you—”

“No need.” My tone is also the same as during the whole odyssey.

The car slows down on the side of the only road to the place. Finally, the world stops moving. My sentence is like a gag in everyone’s mouth. It’s for the better, to avoid more needless arguments.

On the sides of the road, a sea of trees seems to stretch forever. The green of its leaves flooding it all. The blue of the sky giving balance to the landscape, and in front of us, the gray of the small town.

We step out of the vehicle. We need to stretch our legs, not that this has been a long trip, at least not because of the distance. My mother takes advantage of the moment to get in front of us. I expect more of her lectures, but her expression seems softer now than the one I saw during the whole ride, glancing in the rearview mirror from the back seat. She grabs us both in her arms.

“Sharon, David, you know, if you feel bad, you don't feel comfortable... anything, you call me and I'll come and pick you right up. It doesn't matter if it's a weekday, it doesn't matter—"

“Goodbye, mom,” I slip out of her grasp and head where I’m supposed to go.

I can feel David's accusing look behind me.

“We’ll see you soon, miss. Don’t you worry, we are going to be fine, it’s no more than a few days. Besides, we’re going to be calling you all the time.” David’s farewell, with my slow pace, reaches my ears.

… The best thing to do is to concentrate on walking on. One, two, one, two.

What will my mother's face look like now?

…One, two, one—

The engine’s noise disrupts my concentration, disorganizes my steps and the breeze of the vehicle’s momentum finishes off the last bit of any pretended focus I had left.

But I’m not going to give her any glance. Or so I say, but…

I look beyond my own feet, all around me. She is already turning around, undoing her way down the opposite roadway. I can't even make out my mother's figure behind the opaque glass.

A small stitch in my chest plagues me, irritating, persistent.

…uelty

What? Was that David who said something?

I think of slowing down, but there’s no need, David matches my steps readily. He’s not saying anything, but with the look he’s giving me, he doesn’t need to.

I don’t think he’s uttered a single word all this time. When he gets like this, he gives me that silent treatment. Mi irritation only grows with that expression.

“It hurts her more that you don’t call her mom,” I break the silence.

I see David almost jump back. We stop for a moment, no traces of the face from just a few moments ago.

Such cruelty.

What? No... I'd rather have him look at me angrily than give me those eyes.

“David…”

“It is a little hard for me still, give me a little more time, I do not need much, really.” He smiles, but I know it takes effort to make that face.

How much more? Better not to give voice to my complaint. I have to think fast.

And again, was that a voice? A whisper? No matter, it must be the people, their mutter, their noise. I have more urgent things to worry about.

“You know how my mom is with churches now, I don't want to force her into one,” I seek to change the course of the conversation, or the burden of guilt perhaps

David nods, with a soft and slow gesture and a barely audible voice, his mind is elsewhere. He resumes his walk and I keep pace with him. A shaky, absent-minded stroll.

There has to be something, anything, around, somewhere, an excuse to restart a chat. A silly comment, a bad joke, an apology later.

That's how I notice how little by little the cars line up towards the road, an exaggerated contrast between the carriageways: one full of fleeing parents, the other empty, with no signs of life, like a body whose blood abandons it and receives nothing to compensate for its loss. Only anemia remains.

From one moment to the next the town seems dead. Although calling it a town is a favor. There are a couple of houses, empty I imagine, their owners must be working far away in the city. The only building that stands out has a rod of Aesculapius in the center of a large billboard above the glass entrance, whose edges are guarded by green crosses and... a little rainbow-colored flag attached from the inside. So even here they follow me.

There is no more noise of engines or murmur of people... the silence enhances the threat that that crawling animal wrapped in the cane unfolds.

“Let’s hurry to the temple,” I say.

“Hm?”— David raises his head — “. You are scared” —he laughs softly, his next steps suddenly a little firmer. Thank God, his countenance seems to lighten.

And suddenly, a rustle of trees. David's body tenses, he lets out a small "Ah.... ". Red-faced he looks at me as if expecting to answer some recrimination. Let him keep waiting then, from me all he's going to get is a wicked grin as his cheeks become more and more tomato-like.

But in unspoken affinity we quicken our pace. To tell the truth, who knows what's around these parts. It is especially in the vicinity of the Lord's house that the greatest dangers, the greatest temptations are to be found. To be out in the open is to be at the mercy of any arrow.

To reach the church, one must enter the forest. A small path where a car could hardly enter allows us the task. To our sides, trees. We are plunging into the sea through this small passage that connects the village and the church. It seems that everyone else has reached their destination before us.

David walks on my right, peering through the trees with the intensity and curiosity of a puppy. I can make out the end of the road. The further we go, the horizon is swallowed up more and more by the temple. Seeing such grandeur is truly welcoming. But my serenity is interrupted when the distance diminishes, the leaves of the trees move away and the image becomes clearer: cracks and faded paint can be distinguished, greenish marks in some areas due to mildew.

It is not so different from the temple in the city, then. Everywhere you can see churches in a deplorable state, only here the vandalism is committed by nature and time, not by certain political groups that push for murder and other perversities. I thought that being away from the noise, symbols and agitation could mean an improvement. I fear I was wrong.

When I come out of my stupor, David is not there. I look to my sides, backwards, back forwards. Even the temple, despite its immensity, is lost to me, it seems that the trees are closer, blocking my vision. I can't make out where I came from, where I'm going. I find no end or beginning to the path.

I cry out to God in my heart. In a second many thoughts invade me. I want to raise my voice to call out to him, but before I can say a word, I see the lost one coming out of the trees. The forest returns to its position, the path clears, the temple reveals itself once again.

“What are you doing?” I walk up to him.

“I just thought I saw something interesting, don't get mad," he says, taking a few steps back, wanting to go back into the forest. He won't be able to avoid me.

What I'm feeling has nothing to do with anger. How can he think of going into the trees like that?

“We're going to be late and it's going to be your fault,” my excuse.

“But it's just...”

I grab him by the hand and practically drag him away.

“Don't treat me like a child," he reproaches me.

“Don't behave like one then.”

That said, he doesn't let go of my hand despite his complaints....  I don't mind walking like this with him either. Soon our steps synchronize and we stride side by side. Only the sound of the leaves with a very subtle breeze keeps us company.

The little path doesn't look so scary like this. A glance back lets me see a part of the town still. The forest doesn't look so dense either, the leaves don't cover the sky so much. The figure of the temple grows larger.

This is my chance to tell him that…

“I’m sorry,” His words break the silence.

I look at him, not knowing what faces to make.

“I'm sorry for scaring you like that, I got distracted, that's all. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

I just nod. It’s not like I was thaaat scared. And where does he get that I’m crying? It’s a couple of tears from allergies, nothing more.

As I search for my words, we quickly reach the end of the little path. In retrospect our walk felt short to me, at least on this last stretch.

I don’t like this.

“¡…!”

Behind, nothing. To the sides, nothing either.

“Did you say something, David?” I can anticipate his answer, I know that voice was a woman's. But still, if there's hope…

“These lips are sealed, perhaps it was the forest?” he jokes.

“…”

At my lack of response, I see the humor drain from his face. He starts looking around.

“Let's hurry to the church,” I say. We quicken our pace, almost to the point of running.

Our hands clasp a little tighter. It helps to win over the fear a little.