“Lourdes, I’m back,” Jorge del Pino greets his daughter forty days after she buried him with his Panama hat, his cigars, and a bouquet of violets in a cemetery on the border of Brooklyn and Queens. His words are warm and close as a breath. Lourdes turns, expecting to find her father at her shoulder but she sees only the dusk settling on the tops of the oak trees, the pink tinge of sliding darkness. “Don’t be afraid, mi hija. Just keep walking and I’ll explain,” Jorge del Pino tells his daughter. The sunset flares behind a row of brownstones, linking them as if by a flaming ribbon. —Dreaming in Cuban, Cristina García Identify the element of magic realism found within the passage.