I might become familiar with the loss, but I would not recover from it. For a while life became frighteningly empty and pointless. My capacity to concentrate evaporated, childhood memories filled my mind, and I looked forward to nothing. It seemed silly to carry on with the search for my ancestry when I had just lost the most precious part of it. Great-aunt Afon Wen had also passed away, with her cloudy memories of my Native American, smuggling and Welsh Druidic heritage. Great-aunt Katie was still alive, but her health was failing. My track record uncovering ancestors was poor; I had only found a new descendant. I discovered the references to Chupat, Brazil I had found on the Net should have been to Chubut, Argentina. They related to Patagonia. I eventually read City of Frozen Fire, the book Gilberto had sent me in Rio de Janeiro, and it was indeed about the discovery of an ancient Welsh civilisation in the forests of Brazil; Paulo Coelho’s recollection had been correct. But it was a poorly written fictional boys’ adventure story providing nothing of interest and plenty of disappointment.
