Rogelia's House of Magic

by Jamie Martinez Wood

  “Hummingbirds are well known for being territorial little beasts,” Rogelia said.

  “I thought they were sweet. They’re so pretty,” Marina said.

  “Not everything pretty is nice,” Rogelia said. Nodding her approval, she added, “That’s a good lesson for today.”

  Eighteen

  The following Friday afternoon, Fern held the journal in one hand and swung a bag of black beans in the other as she walked to Xochitl’s house. A bunch of kids ran through sprinklers. The sun shone bright overhead, warming Fern’s back. Fern had been looking forward to her meeting with Rogelia.

  Rogelia opened the door for Fern. “Buenas tardes.”

  “Good afternoon, Doña Rogelia. I brought you some beans.” Fern held up the bag.

  “Gracias.” Rogelia smiled at Fern’s formal respect. “This way,” she said, making her way through the house to the kitchen.

  Fern followed her, stealing glances on either side of her for a sign of Xochitl. Rogelia passed through the house silently. “They are shopping for clothes at The Second.”

  “Clothes? Xochitl is getting new clothes?” Fern asked.

  “Yes. After Mrs. Peralta gave me a bag of Marina and Monica’s old clothes for Xochitl, my son realized that a young woman needs more than two pairs of pants.” Rogelia snorted.

  Fern smiled inwardly. The wish Xochitl had made during their magic ritual had come true! Rogelia ripped open the bag and poured the contents onto the peach tiled kitchen counter. “Would you please spread these out, Fern?” Rogelia asked while filling a pot with water. “Pick out the shriveled beans and any dirt.”

  Fern selected a few shriveled beans and threw them into a small wicker wastebasket.

  “A few bad beans can spoil the whole pot of frijoles. But with a little attention and patience, you can make a good thing better.” Rogelia scooped up the remaining beans, and put them into a pot of water to soak. She set the pot on an unlit burner on the back of the stove.

  The curandera took a metal stool from a cupboard and put it in front of the stove. She stepped onto the stool, opened the liquor cabinet above the stove, and removed a container of condensed coconut oil and a small brown glass jar. She handed the container, the jar, and a spoon to Fern. “Spoon the coconut oil into the jar. The oil will melt once we are outside.” Rogelia got off the stool, pulled open the screen door, and descended the few steps to the backyard.

  Fern scooped the oil into the jar and quickly followed Rogelia. She noticed a worn hemp rope with a swing tied to one of the branches of the avocado tree that had grown over the house. Fern wondered if Mr. Garcia had put up the swing when he first got here, in hopes his family would arrive soon. A black cat lay in a bright patch of sunlight beside the tree. Rogelia bent down to pet the cat. Fern stared conspicuously at the blue shawl over Rogelia’s thin shoulders despite the warmth of the day.

  “Old age makes me cold,” Rogelia answered without turning around.

  “It’s kind of freaky when you answer questions I haven’t even asked.”

  Rogelia shrugged, hands raised up to the sky. “Bad habit of mine.” She led Fern to a row of chili plants with orange, green, yellow, and red peppers of all sizes. “Siéntate.”

  Fern did as she was told and, hitching up her red vintage pedal pushers, sat down on the soft grass next to the plants. Ladybugs flew around her. She lifted her face to the sun and grinned. Rogelia watched Fern and waited for her to relax into the peace of the garden. Fern turned her gaze to Rogelia.

  “Today I will help you sharpen your ability to sense the aura or energy field around people by working with plants,” Rogelia said. “Sometimes it is easier to see an aura when the subject is still. The best part of seeing auras is that it gives you advance notice on how to best approach a situation or person. The trick,” she said with her index finger in the air, “is figuring out what the auras mean, and that takes mostly time and practice.”

  Rogelia traced the whorls of small, hooded white flowers of the basil plant, then tapped underneath the oval leaves, releasing the herb’s pungent smell. “Recognizing the aura is the first step to appreciating a plant’s unique spirit. Once you see the aura, then the fairy may reveal himself or herself. Now look deep into the plant. Move slowly forward, then back up and let your gaze fall upon the perimeter of the plant. Think of yourself as meeting someone shy.”

  “Like Xochitl?” Fern asked.

  “Yes,” Rogelia laughed.

  Fern dipped her face toward the plant until the broad basil leaves tickled her cheek. As she slowly backed away, Fern let her vision become blurry. She saw several wavy lines hugging the top of the herb. “There it is.” Gradually, the smoky lines of energy moved together to form one thick band of vibrant green aura. “Ooh, what was that?” Fern leaned in closer to the plant and moved away again. “It’s gone.” She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow.

  “What did you see?” Rogelia asked.

  “A green color, very bright, like in a rainbow.”

  “Muy bien. Very good,” Rogelia said. “Seeing colors is the next step after being able to detect the aura.”

  “I’ve seen colors before, but I don’t see any now.” Fern squinted at the plant.

  “It will come and go,” Rogelia said consolingly.

  “I thought once you saw an aura, you could always see an aura,” Fern said. She thought about telling Rogelia how she had seen the different colors around Tristán, but she didn’t know how to bring up the subject without admitting that she kind of had a crush on him. Also, Fern wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Rogelia might say about a gray aura, especially if it was bad.

  “It takes practice and trust in your instincts to see auras on a regular basis. My intuition and respect for the life force in each plant, or as you call it, the fairy, helps me understand how much water or sun they need. Then they become little friends that help me with my remedios whenever I need it.”

  “How do you know the difference between an instinct and something that you’ve just made up?” Fern asked. “Say, for example, you like someone, but you have a funny feeling about them at the same time. How do you know which side to choose?”

  Rogelia gave Fern a kind look. “Stop chattering long enough for the silence to answer.” Rogelia laughed at Fern’s look of indignation. “Now that you’ve seen the basil’s aura, why don’t you work on seeing the fairy? Direct your attention to the center of the plant, not the shadow outside the plant.”

  Fern hadn’t really gotten the answer she needed, but she figured the lessons were bound to help her figure out what auras meant. Then she could decide what to do about Tristán once and for all.

  Fern softened her focus around the plant. Immediately, she saw the wavy lines move into the green aura that outlined the plant. She looked deep into the center of the basil. Grass green eyes stared back at her. Fern held her breath, hoping this fairy would reveal itself in its entirety. She smiled encouragingly at the fairy and waited. Ever so shyly, a wide face with a yellow-green complexion, long pointy ears, and a shock of white hair styled in a cute bob revealed itself. Fern felt goose bumps spring up all over her body. She forced herself to remain calm even though she was bursting with excitement. Fern moved back, away from the plant, to give the fairy some room.

  The fairy, which was about the size of Fern’s hand, fluttered out from its hiding place and flew to the top of the plant. The fairy wore a tiered dress, brown and green striped tights, and pointed shoes covered with white blossoms and iridescent fairy dust. She looked curiously, and a bit suspiciously, at Fern.

  “Hello,” Fern whispered.

  The basil fairy laughed and covered her hand with her mouth. She pranced on top of the plant, swishing her skirt over her knees as she moved. After a few turns, she looked expectantly at Fern and fluttered her double set of green wings.

  “You’re very pretty,” Fern said.

  The fairy flew a loop around Fern, leaving behind the scent of basil. She flew back to the plant and
floated cross-legged above it. She winked at Fern.

  “Can I hold you?” Fern held out her hand.

  The fairy gave a startled cry and sped back into the plant.

  “Where did she go?” Fern asked, disappointed. She peered into the basil plant but saw nothing.

  “You were too forceful for the fairy’s comfort,” Rogelia said. “I told you fairies are shy. Well, most. Some of them can be very bold, but I know basil to be secretive and timid. Come on, I want to show you more of the garden.”

  Fern looked reluctantly at the basil plant, then followed Rogelia. As she walked behind Rogelia to another section of the garden, she couldn’t help feeling special and powerful. This was the second time she had seen a fairy!

  Rogelia squatted down to point out a myriad of plants. “This is my poison garden, where I grow datura, digitalis, belladonna or deadly nightshade, and a few others.” The healer pointed to a small, low wooden bridge. “Next to the bridge I grow very helpful weeds, such as stinging nettle and dandelion, as well as indigenous plants like white sage, yarrow, and yerba buena. And on the other side are thyme, rosemary, basil, and ginger. All these plants are helpful in some way or another.”

  “Even poisons?” Fern asked skeptically.

  “Intuition can help you strike the right balance, and then even so-called poisons can restore health. That is why you must be clean as a panpipe when you are interpreting auras or doing curandera work. If your fear stands between you and your judgment, you will only see the fear. When you form a relationship with plants, your connection to the core of Mother Earth deepens. Once you connect to her, the real magic begins. But during the process you will make some mistakes.”

  “I don’t like to make mistakes,” Fern whispered, looking down to her tank top, which featured peacocks and flowers.

  “Every practitioner will make mistakes,” Rogelia said firmly. “I have made plenty of mistakes. It is part of learning.

  El que la sigue la consigue.”

  That particular dicho, meaning “if at first you don’t succeed, try again,” was one Fern’s mother repeated often to her. She didn’t really like the idea of incessant attempts at success. She liked the notion of success as something that came naturally and intrinsically, not something she had to attempt repeatedly to get right.

  “You have a rare gift, to be able to see auras and the fairies so quickly. I believe once you learn their ways, the fairies will ensure that any leaf you pluck for magical or healing purposes will carry the most powerful essence of the plant. Allow your intuition to guide you and choose three plants and place them in your jar of coconut oil for your first healing ointment,” Rogelia said.

  “A potion,” Fern whispered reverently.

  “What?” Rogelia asked.

  “Nothing,” Fern said quickly.

  Fern strolled through the garden, observing the many different auras around the plants and trees. She selected yarrow leaves, orange blossoms, and a piece of ginger root to place in her coconut oil. Rogelia pulled the ginger plant for a new remedy she was making and helped Fern wipe the root clean of mud. After she made the remedy, Fern used colored pencils to write down her potion instructions in the journal. Next to her potion recipe she drew her favorite inlet at the Bolsa Chica wetlands. She fell into a trance while drawing. Fifteen minutes later she looked down to see she had drawn the likeness of Tristán right there in the journal she shared with Marina and Xochitl.

  Later that day, as Fern approached her house, she noticed a large rectangular package propped against her cobalt blue front door. Fern knew it was the posters. She hesitated a minute, then slowly increased her pace before breaking into a run. She picked up the package and ripped it open.

  She pulled out a single poster announcing the Hands Across the Wetlands, just two weeks from tomorrow, and carefully set the package down. Pride filled her heart as she stared at the glossy posters. The first thing she wanted to do was call Tristán. But even if she’d had his number, she wondered if she would have had the courage to use it.

  Holding the poster in her left hand, Fern ran her right index finger over the top of the eucalyptus grove as if she were tracing the line of an aura above the cluster of trees. This was a sacred place, and she was helping to protect it. She admired her color choices: seafoam green, cornflower blue, sand, soft white, cafe con leche. But that was only a quarter of the colors the printer had picked up. She could almost hear the seagulls cry and smell the salty air.

  “Hey, Fern,” a voice called out.

  Fern turned to see Tristán sauntering up her driveway. Before she could stop herself, Fern dropped the poster and ran to him. She gave him such a big hug, it nearly knocked him over. “Thank you so much for helping make this real,” she exclaimed.

  Tristán staggered in Fern’s embrace. “What are you talking about?” he asked, bewildered.

  “This! This!” Fern ran back to the porch. She carried the poster to Tristán and handed it to him. “You believed in my idea. You encouraged me to go for it, and I did. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  Tristán looked at the poster and back at Fern. “Congratulations. It was a great idea,” he said warily.

  “It was just a pipe dream, you know. But you believed it could be real. And here it is,” Fern continued to jabber.

  Tristán shifted his feet uncertainly. “Fern, I can’t thank you enough for helping protect Bolsa Chica wetlands. My ancestors are buried there, you know. My family means a lot to me.”

  Suddenly, Fern felt really foolish. Of course it wasn’t her he believed in, as much as he believed in the cause. Why can’t I ever keep my mouth shut? She smiled faintly at him. “So did you want something?”

  “I just came by to see, um…” Tristán fumbled over his words. “…if you got the posters, and you have.”

  “Yeah, we should put them up soon,” Fern said.

  “I’m ready to go right now. But before we go anywhere, I need to tell you something. See this bear claw?” Tristán held up his necklace. “It’s soapstone from Catalina Island. This carving has been passed down for so many generations, we’ve lost track. This land and my family are like one, and they are everything to me.”

  “I’m sorry I just thought it was my dream you were supporting,” Fern replied glumly. “Of course it was your family’s dream first.” She stared at the huge pepper tree in her front yard. She couldn’t bring herself to look Tristán in the eye.

  Tristán reached for Fern’s hand. “Fernanda, I also believe in you, if you would just let me show you.” He touched one of Fern’s ringlets. “I think you are really incredible.”

  Fern bit her lip and stared down at her pink toenails. She wanted to believe that Tristán cared for her this much and that it was safe to lend her heart to him. Impetuous though she was, something held her back from simply giving it away. As she glanced up, she saw a band of dark green light float over his body. The ring of light around him pulsated rapidly, like it was agitated. And the intense way Tristán was looking at her scared her; he was standing way too close.

  “Let’s go hang up some posters,” Fern blurted out suddenly. She backed toward the door and picked up the posters.

  Tristán looked hesitantly at Fern, as if he wondered whether or not she had understood him.

  “We’ve got work to do,” Fern insisted, forcing herself to sound light and cheery. “Where should we start?”

  “All right,” Tristán said. “Well, it’s got to be places a lot of people visit.”

  “The malls,” Fern said quickly. “Probably the ones closest to Bolsa Chica. That way it’ll make it easier for them to get to our, I mean, the event. So, um, how are we going to get there?”

  “I’ll drive,” Tristán offered.

  “Okay,” Fern said. “I’ll go get some tape and stuff to hang them.” Fern sprinted into the house. Shake it off, girl, she told herself. That was easier said than done, though.

  Tristán was waiting for Fern with his passenger door open.
She slid into the seat and squeezed the packet of posters to her chest. His car smelled like cherries. She wondered if she should scoot over the bench seat to be closer to him or just stay where she was. As he was opening his car door, Fern put the posters in the wheel well, and when she sat back up she scooted a little closer to Tristán. It might have passed for a smooth move, or maybe not.

  It was market day at the Huntington Beach pier. Tristán parked on a side street, away from traffic jamming up Pacific Coast Highway. He plunked a few quarters in the meter and turned expectantly to Fern. “Where to?”

  “Let’s go to the Surf Museum,” Fern suggested. “They’ll want to keep the coastline pure.”

  “Good idea,” Tristán agreed.

  As they walked down Main Street through the swarms of people, Tristán’s shoulder bumped into Fern, giving her the shivers. Emotions bubbled in her stomach, causing her to feel woozy. She started to feel warm all over. Fern tried to tell herself it was the heat of the blazing sun. But she knew it was because of the hot guy walking next to her.

  The museum manager was happy to promote their cause and offered to send some people to their event. Inspired after such a great start, Fern and Tristán ran from beach shop to surf shop to sandwich shop along the downtown Huntington Beach scene. At lunchtime, they decided to take a break and check out the marketplace at the pier. More than twenty white pop-up tents shaded the artisans, fruit mongers, bakers, jewelers, and other vendors as they sold their wares. Throngs of beachwear-clad people moved lazily through the warm July weather. While Tristán bought them a bag of kettle corn, Fern shaded her eyes to look down the sandy beach and out at the vast Pacific Ocean. A group of skaters were ripping up the cement stairs that led to the boardwalk. At the end of the wooden-plank pier, sunshine glinted off the red roof of Ruby’s restaurant. Tristán offered Fern the bag of kettle corn.