The footsteps quickened, but the woman tapped on the door, and they came to a halt.

"No. No. Brother Fofo is coming. So calm down, calm down."

The boy stepped into the hallway and stopped right in front of the woman with a smile.

"Yes, my boy. Fofo is at the entrance."

Brother Fofo, from the street, made his way in, opening the front gate himself and flashing a good-natured smile at the upstairs window, empty, where the boy watched him.

By the time he reached the stairs, ready to attend the gathering as an observer, and nothing more, Brother Fofo was taking off his hunter's jacket and hanging it on the coat rack, letting out an innocent chuckle.

"Do you remember, Magos?"

Mrs. Margarita smiled at him, her clouded eyes lighting up with deep joy at the sight of him. As she hugged him warmly, she replied:

"Of course I remember, Fofo. Of course I do."

Brother Fofo was referring to the time when the boy, unbearably playful, had been taken on a mission and brought back home safe and sound. Fofo had hung him on the wall rack, telling him he wouldn't let him down until he promised to calm down, brush his teeth, and go to sleep. The boy eventually promised, no matter how restless he was after all the excitement of the missions, the Sierra de Hidalgo, the Otomí families to whom they spoke of God and mathematics, and who welcomed them into their homes...

How could he settle down after learning to drink coffee in the mountains, after eating tortillas with salsa?

No.

No, sir. How could that be possible?

Still, just after being let down, he kissed Fofo goodbye, kissed his mother, Margarita, and went to his room.

"Forty years already, and it still feels like yesterday."

"No, not forty years, but to me, it's both yesterday and as if it were many, many years ago."

Brother Fofo gave her a look of understanding, of shared sentiment.

"Thank you for coming, Fofo."

"It's a pleasure, Magos. A true pleasure," he said, placing his warm hand over the back of the woman's.

"Coffee?"

"I'd love some, Magos, but I just got back from missions, and you know how that is—two weeks of nothing but little cups of coffee."

"And mountain coffee at that; say no more, if I give you mine, you'll turn your nose up at it."

Instead of politely declining, Fofo laughed, and the boy did too.

"Ah... there you are, my boy..."

The boy looked at him from the stairs, and Fofo smiled. How he wished he could hug him. The woman watched him on the stairs, happy to see her friend.

"He's still here..." Fofo said.

"Yes. He's always with me."

Brother Fofo turned to the empty stairs and smiled with a tinge of sadness, amid a wave of happiness, and with longing, he said aloud, as much for one as for the other:

"I had some handmade tortillas, drenched in red sauce, absolutely delicious."

The boy grinned from ear to ear, and the woman let out a knowing chuckle.

"Those famous mission meals, how I crave them; and to think they seemed like hardships."

"Only if you don't eat spicy food, Magos. But you do; and I remember that he did too... he ate it. I remember," he said, laughing. "We thought we'd play a good prank on him the first night, when finally, after walking and climbing all day and part of the night, we arrived at a house that gave us shelter in their barn and prepared us dinner. Your son poured salsa on his food as if it were ketchup, and we all laughed, expecting him to take a burning bite; but the surprise was on us when he asked for permission to get another tortilla and drench it in salsa again. Even the hosts were amazed."

The woman turned to look at him, smiling, and the boy smiled back. Fofo could tell he enjoyed these shared memories.

"Do you miss the Otomí Sierra?"

The boy nodded impulsively, and the woman laughed.

"I'll make you a little rum and Coke; that, I can get right."

Brother Fofo nodded with a smile.

After chatting about trivialities, travel anecdotes, missions, and troubled children they had rescued, the woman asked:

"Any child in need of salvation right now?"

"Hmm... There is one. But I haven't made up my mind yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Magos. It's exhausting, and I'm not young enough to be reforming kids anymore."

"You're crazy, Fofo. You don't reform them; you save them. If anyone knows that, it's me."

He smiled.

"When we met, I had just come out of the seminary; I was full of energy and illusions. Now, it's different. Now, it's another world."

"Oh no, Fofo. Don't come at me with that. The world is the world, and you are you, whether you're twenty or sixty."

"Well, what can I tell you, Magos? You know things are different now, if not worse. You must see it in your work."

"I see the same things, ever since I had to learn this Gift."

Fofo looked at her seriously, then glanced toward the stairs.

"There's a boy, Magos. I don't know him yet, but I know who he is, and he reminds me so much of your son. We haven't even met, and I'm already worried. And I don't want to be; honestly, I don't want to be."

"But he needs you, doesn't he?"

"He needs God."

"Then show him the way. And don't give up."

Fofo smiled; only with her could he be honest, only with her could he be human, not needing to have the perfect answer, the best attitude, the cordial disposition. Only with her, with whom he had crossed the same hell. And although they had not won, they had made it out, and since then, they shared more than just a beautiful friendship—pain, scars, loss, defeat...

"And you, Magos?"

"Me what?"

"Any special work?"

"You know how this is; usually, it's just bad news."

Magos told him she had given suicidal instructions to a boxer to save his sick child's life; that she suspected a confused spirit was haunting an executive—perhaps something worse. And that something was lurking.

"Something is lurking, Magos?"

She sighed as, imperceptibly, the boy carried down suitcases filled with money and placed them behind Brother Fofo.

"You know, when you peek through the Veil, something always peeks back."

After a few cold rum and Cokes and an excellent and unusual conversation with a dear friend, Fofo got up to leave and nearly tripped over the suitcases behind him.

"Oh God. This kid is going to kill us."

Fofo laughed, grateful.

"It's a lot, Magos."

"Not enough. You help children find their paths, find happiness."

He smiled at her warmly, stepped out into the front yard, and let out a herdsman's whistle, putting two fingers to his mouth. Soon, a pair of seminarians peeked in from outside the gate.

"Can they come in, Magos?"

Magos nodded with a smile. The seminarians began loading the suitcases, and Fofo embraced the woman again, saying goodbye with a fraternal kiss on the cheek. They were two older people who looked much younger than they really were and yet, exhausted from a long journey of heavy backpacks, would return to their regular duties as soon as the sun rose on the horizon.

"See you soon, Magos."

"Soon," she affirmed.

At the gate, Fofo glanced up at the empty window and murmured a soft, "Thank you."