
Long before the townspeople knew him as the man who could provide a different face for each of life’s occasions, Octavio Caras was a young stagehand at the Teatro Escondido, sweeping away confetti and cigarette butts left behind by travelling vaudeville artists. One night, beneath a half-collapsed paper moon, he found a mask: lacquered and pale, with a serene smile that seemed carved from the idea of patience itself. He slipped it into his coat without telling a soul, certain it had been waiting for him.
It was soon after that he met Señorita Amparo Luz, who sold ribbons and sewing needles from her stall in the Plaza. Her voice had the clarity of water drawn from a deep well, and her eyes—though never unkind—always seemed to gaze elsewhere, toward something no one else could see.
The people of Hometown, never content to leave a mystery unanswered, told many stories about her refusals of suitors. The barber swore she was still waiting for a sweetheart lost at sea. The apothecary insisted she had been promised to a widowed cousin in another province. The town’s oldest widow said she had a heart too fine to risk breaking in marriage. Others claimed she had no interest in men at all. Amparo, who heard every version, never confirmed nor denied a single one.

This is a short fragment from 'Replaceable Faces' part of my ongoing project 'Portraits for No One.
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