‘There is a town called Esperanza, where the houses are painted just like the moon to reflect the sunlight. The dirt roads stay smooth as long as big storms don’t remember their way to Esperanza. That hasn’t happened since the storm of 1954, but when storms come, the ocean takes over every inch of the land for miles, and the residents of Esperanza turn into colorful fish. Then the vibrant town—filled with seafood vendors chanting their catch of the day—turns into a silent fish bowl. The fish-people forget who they are. In the quietness of the ocean, there is no chanting, no roaring, no big tractor wheels tracking mud.’ Kristina tells the tourists.

‘The fortunate people of Esperanza enjoy a naive life. They are fish during hurricanes and humans during calm times. Nobody remembers what happened after the ocean receded; the human-fish simply return to their human form and go back home to clean the seaweed and sand.’

The unmarked road to Esperanza is right behind my land. That red-clay narrow trail has more craters than the moon. It’s rare when a stranger ventures down that path by car. If they do, they turn around quickly as soon as they get bounced up and down until their stomachs are inside out.

“What’s down that road?” Tourists ask me all the time.

“There used to be a town, but after the storm of 1954, the town disappeared.” I tell them.

“No town vanishes just like that, after a storm!” they insist. “There must be at least ruins. Who’s maintaining the road? How come the green brier hasn’t taken over with its thorns?” Those questions never find an answer. They’re like perfect roses sent to a stranger without a sender’s address.

Is that why Kristina stole my mare? Kristina, that rascal, was always talking about Esperanza. She swore there had to be treasures waiting to be seen. That girl is a dreamer. I knew that hiring her to work in the barn meant trouble. Everybody warned me. “Never trust beautiful things,” they said. I figured that if I wanted to get my mare back, I had to go and find her myself. With not much to do at my farm, and my only horse gone, I gathered some provisions and headed for the red-clay road.

There were no car tracks, but I could follow the hoof marks zigzagging on the path. Strangely, Kristina’s boots’ tracks followed my horse’s. Why would she take my dear Estrella and not ride on her? Let’s clarify: I only followed those tracks because of my horse. But in my mind, Kristina’s red hair bounced at the same rhythm as Estrella’s beautiful black mane. I wanted both of them back.

As I followed the winding path, my mind took me to the first time I met Kristina. It was thanks to my mare, who was also my confidante and business partner. Thanks to her, I could sell my produce in the nearest town, about five miles away. One morning, Kristina appeared between the crowd, driven by the beauty of Estrella’s long mane.

“Can I brush her?” asked Kristina.

Then she asked if I needed help at the farm. I didn’t, but I wanted to see Kristina again.

On her first day of work, she rode her bike wearing high boots and a long dress. That girl talked the whole time as she followed me around the gardens. Although I could use a hand harvesting green beans, Kristina was mostly interested in Estrella. She came to groom her every day, until one day my horse liked Kristina better than me.

Lost in my thoughts as I walked the winding path, I didn’t realize it had gotten dark. The air was warm and loaded with moisture. The wind picked up to the point I had to hold my hat against my head and push my chest forward. This is not nighttime darkness; this is a storm!

I needed shelter soon; turning around wasn’t a choice. Although it wasn’t a good idea to get into the deep forest without a marked trail, I was led by the wind into the dark madness of trees. “Oh, Kristina, you will pay back for the inconveniences!” I screamed. After hours of trudging through the uncombed woods and vines, I found a cave to spend the night.

Entering the cave was like crossing a void. I had never experienced that kind of silence, more so than my piece of land. I was used to Estrella’s neigh when she wanted grain and the crickets during hot days. That’s why farmers’ market days were so exhausting. Noise has always been a knife screeching in my ears.

As soon as my back touched the cave’s wall, I fell into a dream about Esperanza—not that I was obsessed with that place like Kristina was— but I could see the water seeping into the streets, up the wraparound porches, under the doors, up to their beds, and out the windows swam the colorful fish. I woke up gasping for air. “Estrella!” I yelped. I ran out of the cave to face a wall of water. It was a giant bubble. On my side, a cave; on the other side, a reef. I poked the wall to watch my finger turn into a tentacle, and I quickly stepped back. Maybe Kristina was right, and Esperanza was not a myth. Thinking that my world was limited to my little piece of land, I said, “I have nothing to lose,” and jumped into the bubble.

There is a world outside of Esperanza, with highways, cars, farmers’ markets, vendors, roosters, airplanes, loud music, construction sites, and wars. So much noise it blinds the soul from finding peace on earth. In that world, some people think Esperanza is a myth invented by a red-haired girl who stole my mare.

“I knew you’d only follow me if I took Estrella.” As I woke up to the sound of Kristina’s voice, I saw her and my mare walking toward me. They fused with the sunset as they walked out of the waves toward me.

“What happened to me?” I asked her.

She leaned on and picked me from the edge of the beach. My red tentacles were slipping off her hands as she laid me on the dry sand.

“Welcome back home, in Esperanza,” she said before I watched my tentacles turn into hands again.