The landscape that unfolded behind the car windows was a tapestry of muted greens and lengthening shadows. Tall, aging trees lined the road as if they were part of a silent funeral procession. Beyond the canopies swaying slowly to the rhythm of a distant wind, the gray sky seemed to hold its breath.
Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was carefully tempered, insulated from the murmur of the outside world. The voices inside floated softly, without effort or urgency. A woman of elegant bearing, though without definite details, was addressing her young companion, a boy of refined manners and measured answers, whose voice conveyed a somewhat old-fashioned innocence, unbecoming of his age.
They talked about the weather, the route, the silence of the road, the withered leaves that seemed to bid them farewell on their journey. She made some vague comments about the state of the road, the deterioration of the towns they crossed. He responded with meek curiosity, more out of politeness than genuine interest. Every now and then, his eyes wandered over the landscape, searching perhaps for something he couldn't name.
-This kind of trip always makes me think about how things fade away," she commented at some point, almost to herself. Families, customs, homes....
He nodded earnestly. As if those words, though not fully understood, had the weight of an inescapable truth.
The car continued to move forward until the surroundings began to transform. The vegetation became denser, the trees taller, the sky more opaque. And then, without warning, they appeared before them.
The fences.
They were tall, heavy, of iron blackened by time. Their ancient design had something cathedral-like, as if they had been forged to prevent the entrance to another world. Or perhaps to prevent exit. In the distance, between the bars, one could glimpse a stone path lined with trees in a row. Beyond, the outline of a colossal construction could barely be glimpsed in the mist.
The car stopped briefly. The silence that followed seemed to be contained by the rusted metal of the gates themselves. Someone, invisible to them from the inside, slowly opened the gates, whose hinges creaked as if awakening from a long slumber.
The vehicle started up again and crossed the threshold.
That instant was not minor. The separation between what was left behind and what was now entering was clear. One world had been abandoned on the outside. Another awaited them ahead.
The path, though firm, meandered in a slight ascent, lined with moss-covered sculptures and extinguished lamps that seemed to watch from their immobility. Finally, as they reached the top of the path, the ancient mansion rose before them.
An immense construction, of worn stone and deep windows. Its facade did not try to impress with beauty, but with permanence. As if it had withstood more winters than any member of that family could remember. Its walls seemed to exhale an ancient dampness, and the shadows falling on its main entrance were too dense to be just a product of the sunset.
The dark wooden double door opened without anyone knocking on it.
Upon entering, the first thing that was revealed before them was the great hall.
It was a vast space, with ceilings that seemed to extend to an improbable height, as if they wanted to get lost in the gloom. The walls were adorned with portraits whose gaze could not be distinguished from the entrance, and furniture that spoke of previous generations, perhaps extinct.
And there they were.
Many.
Men and women of different ages, gathered in silence or in light conversation, occupying sofas, standing by the windows, leaning against heavy furniture. Their faces, indistinct for the moment, seemed to share a common air, a measured reserve, a tension disguised as politeness.
There were no euphoric greetings. Just glances, slight gestures, and a subtle murmur that accompanied the entrance of the new pair.
It had begun. The meeting. The waiting. The confinement.
And perhaps something else, which was not yet apparent.
But the air contained it, no doubt.
As if the walls knew.
As if the portraits, from their mute height, were silently observing.
As if someone else, invisible to the senses, was counting every step, every word, every breath of each of them.