The Silver Moon Hotel. ®.

The Silver Moon Hotel. ®

Fantastic realism with its magical shadow.

Intrigue and suspense.

Story from the author's book: Amber and Jasmine.

Story author: Jorge Ofitas. ®

He parked the old diesel car at the top of the hill. The sun was circling at midday; in the distance, the sea seemed like a turquoise climax of water and wind. There wasn't a single cloud in the visible sky. The sea. "Where will I go now?" He left the car there and set off down a path of loose grit, bordered by prickly pears. The green hat protected his crown to some extent. He would walk until he found someone virtuous. "And if the virtuous one were me?" In that case, there would be no need to find anyone. What a greeting, turning his head, barely overheated, and seeing that sea. The wind is inexcusable in these parts, and I have nothing to look for or guess; in reality, I already have it—whatever it is, I must have it...

​Seagulls always go with the sea, just like the wind, like the white caramel foam, or someone naked. "People shouldn't be allowed to wear clothes near a beach; it’s an offense against the environment," he thought. The clash of a great wave against the small reefs and the subsequent flying spray made him stop his salty, sandy trek under the blazing sun. He would have one last cigarette and then quit.

​"Oh, help me, great sea! I remained anchored, anchored..." He walked along the edge of the ebony that jutted out from the summer snows, lit with a plenteous yellow, dripped with salt. He wasn't even thirsty. "Oh sea! My great sea! Direct child of my mother moon's silver star. I will no longer be able to come and ask you for what you already know..."

​A large wave rinsed his sandals.

​Sea, the sea, my sea, my love-sea, it seems as if the breeze brought the scent of burned galbanum, or sun, my sun. On the beach, there were bones of ancient abandoned fishing boats, ropes tangled in sticks, wires, and other maritime garbage that the wise tide expelled onto the muddy sands. Everything was the same—that dark and fierce sea of other days. He believed that had ceased to exist...

​An hour passed before he stopped walking along that beach. He looked, entranced, at the immense waves breaking right before his eyes. "Is it possible that the sea, in conspiracy with the moon, might grant us everything we desire? Sea! Perhaps I will never return here, great sea, what of what I have asked the wind for years?"

​"Hey friend, would you like a drink of water? You look thirsty."

​"Thank you, I will accept it."

​"Did the sea send you?" exclaimed the innkeeper.

​"How’s that?"

​"It doesn’t matter, ha, ha, ha. Thanks for the water."

​Sea, do you hear me, my beloved great sea? Thanks for the water...

​He prepared everything; before midnight, he had to have completed the ritual, memorized in advance.

​"Hey, you! You down there! Get out of there, a strong storm is coming!"

​"Okay, thanks!..."

​He remained sitting there, muttering words of salt. "So that’s how it is? You will take me with you, then I will lie down in the sun and cover my head with my hands, I will scream within myself. Why, great sea? I will no longer be able to come back. Not even She hears me, you don't tell me things like you used to, but you can help me; you are voluptuous, and perhaps upon seeing me here before your jaws, you will take pity on this marine spirit of other times. I am a wounded, sickly man, trying to stir your feelings. Ah, your salty skin is rugged; let me caress you and rest my head on your belly..."

​The hat fled with the gale. An imposing storm emerged from the deep, dark ocean, and the suspended sand scratched like cats afraid of water...

​"I know, oh sun, I have offended you, noooo, noooo..." A proud lightning bolt ignited the divine horizon, now darkened by the reflection of a black diamond beast that seemed to have swallowed the day without warning. Aeolus pushed him toward the rocks; he stumbled and took a hard blow that left him unconscious. It was over, there was no need to fight anymore. He then saw the bottom of the black and deep ocean. He also saw the exterior, quiet and perfumed with myrrh. The waters seemed like a beryl aquamarine—the peace found by the man who returns to the matrix of the great mother. Where was he? Everything was dry, and not a breath of water was to be seen anywhere—no mountainous elevations, no vegetation, no animal of any kind. The landscape was a yellowish clod covered in the skeletons of cetaceans, resting where the great sea had once existed.

​"Mar. Where are you? Oh sea. Tell me, where did you go? Who stole you before your time?"

​He shouted like a madman, looking everywhere.

​"Ah, ah, ah. Amen."

​And he pressed his face against the dry ground, hoping to still hear the heart of the great Mother Earth...

​He walked for days; the landscape seemed repeated over and over. He wasn't thirsty—how strange—and he saw no fresh water to replenish himself. The sky was yellow and black on the horizon. He followed the trail of marine animal skeletons. Without a doubt, everything had ended. Suddenly, he let out a powerful sigh. In the distance, it seemed the waters were returning to their channels, great dark green waters. Everything was swept away, and perhaps centuries later...

​"Sir, wake up. We have arrived. Silver Moon Hotel stop! It’s right there, near the red lighthouse."

​"Thank you, I’ve had a nightmare."

​"It will pass with the evening air..."

​He took his suitcase and went down the steps stolen from the sandy hill that led to the beach.

​"We were waiting for you," exclaimed the receptionist, a man for everything.

​"Please, put on this coat."

​"Has She arrived? You know, I need to see the sea up close; I have waited so long for this moment."

​"I will prepare a drink for you, you look chilled. What liquor shall I serve you, sir?"

​"No, no, I only want to see the sea."

​"Well, a strong storm is approaching..."

​He heard the swaying and creaking of the woods that danced with the wind arriving from the depths of the ocean.

​"Oh, the waves are like delirious water horses, oh."

​"Sir, no more buses will pass tonight, and She will not come."

​"Yes, She will come."

​"Sir, go by the fire; I will go to the kitchen for some dinner."

​"Did you hear that?"

​"Hear what?"

​"The bell at the front door, it’s Her."

​"I haven’t heard anything like that. It must have been the wind."

​An impetuous but noble wave struck the windows facing the beach.

​"Help me quickly, or we will be blown away!"

​"It will not harm us."

​"Please, give me those planks."

​"You know She is coming here, and She will withdraw."

​"But who is She? Stop saying those things and come here! Hurry, have you gone mad or what?"

​"Do you hear that? It’s the phone."

​"I’ll go answer it, wait. Close everything tight, what are you waiting for?"

​"And what if She comes?"

​"I already told you, what came is that storm."

​"She will come. She will."

​"The storm will last all night. I advise you to take a bath. Breakfast is at six. I’m sorry about your stand-up."

​"If you dare to say that again, I will kill you. She... She never missed her appointment with me..."

​The structure of that wooden building swayed from the fierce wind of the dark night. He climbed the stairs; the planks creaked under his step. It was a third-floor room, and from there he could see the sea—avaricious for sweet kisses and always angry at the behavior of Divine men; it is his mother, the great mother, who tells him so. Perhaps men are snitches, that is why. He could see almost nothing through the rain-soaked windowpane, and he lay down in the cold little bed while the storm kissed the horizon, inscrutable to the eyes of man. After a long while, he woke and glanced at the skylight. A violet-blue luminosity crept through the window, and he could hear neither the waves nor the wind, nor any disturbance at all. He got up and went to the skylight. The moon was nearby with its friendly face, but he didn't see it. He opened the window and breathed in the quiet night, filling himself with its astral love. He looked at the great sea; there were no waves, only a calm so great that he became intoxicated, and then he saw Her amidst the lavender mist of the Moon. She was looking toward the window; a shining white dress gave Her away.

​"It’s Her!" he exclaimed while looking in the mirror with an estranged gaze. "It’s Her! Oh."

​He rushed to his travel bag, smiling with the lightness of a madman, as if something truly extraordinary had just happened to him.

​"Oh, it’s Her," he whispered incessantly.

​He took out a knotted handkerchief that contained an object: it was a pendant with a precious sapphire embedded in a sterling silver setting. He held it up to the moonlight, closed his eyes, and wanted to look again to see Her, but he didn't want to tempt fate.

​"It’s Her. The tunic! Yes, the white tunic! Like Her, yes, like Her! My reason, oh great sea, where has it gone..."

​He went down in a hurry with the sapphire and a garland of jasmine; his heartbeat was intense. He removed one of the planks and stepped out into the calmed night. The moon was before him, and She was looking at him intensely. From that distance, their gazes crossed like the continuous kiss of a sapphire glint. Once equipped and upright, he walked toward Her. He knelt and placed his head on Her belly; he could divine Her skin and Her scent of galbanum. She stroked his hair and beckoned him to stand. Finally, face to face:

​"First, let me place this sapphire on your neck. So it must be."

​"I place this amber on your neck, as it should be."

​"And this jasmine for your hair, Goddess of men."

​"And this scent of my skin I give to you."

​"Forever."

​"Forever."

​She gave him Her left hand, he took out a small dagger, and both, while mixing their blood, said: "Always together." They began to spin in circles with their hands intertwined and reached the shore of the great sea—quiet now, as in some blue dreams. They kept spinning in circles as they entered the sea. They muttered something; their gazes flashed like prey to an exalted joy. They disappeared along the whitish path that the moon invented, and no one ever saw them again, neither alive nor dead...

​

THE END

Story author: Jorge Ofitas.

Spain. 2009. ®. Europe. 2026. ®.