It was night again, and the rain had ceased. Moonlight entered the window and the open door. The kerosene lamp was unlit. He heard monkeys.
The cinnamon smoke was gone, and his head was nearly clear. He wondered if mañana was the day he had to drive nitroglycerine through the mountains.
He looked at her again, the dark skin that mingled with shadows. The blue dress still lay upon the floor where she had dropped it, precisely when he could not pinpoint.
That’s when he felt it, and he reached up and pulled a small green feather from his forehead. It was a remnant from another world.