But Mateo couldn't help himself. The wax was already brittle, and as he turned the envelope, it snapped open. Inside was a single page, written by a man who knew his time had run out. It wasn't a message to a lover or a child. It was addressed to .
As Mateo's spade struck a patch of soft dirt near the edge of the fresh grave, he saw it: a small, cream-colored envelope, sealed with red wax. It hadn't been there a moment ago. It seemed to have fallen from the pocket of the deceased's coat just as they began the burial. LA CARTA DEL ADIOS "Los Sepultureros"
"To the ones who will hold the shovel when I cannot hold my breath: But Mateo couldn't help himself
Mateo looked up at the old oak tree. The moon was indeed rising, silver and cold. Eladio, who had been listening in silence, let out a long, shaky breath. He took the letter from Mateo, his rough, calloused fingers tracing the ink. It wasn't a message to a lover or a child