The Queen of the Cicadas

by V. Castro

  When I was finally called back to see the doctor, I was told we needed a scan first. There it was. Black and white, blipping and swishing quickly like the flapping of hummingbird wings. Two sacs, two babies. Hector and I were startled. We’d only implanted one embryo. The chances of it splitting were low.

  The doctor continued to prod my belly and take measurements. “Is everything all right?” He looked at me more startled than when we first saw two embryos. “Please excuse me.” He rushed out of the room and returned moments later with another doctor, a woman about my age, dressed in fashionable clothing and shoes.

  My doctor didn’t like the idea of making a mistake, judging by the way he kept his brow furrowed. “Check both. I swear they’re at different stages of development. One is older than the other. It’s impossible.”

  The other doctor gave me warm smile and patted my hand. “Just so you know, both are perfectly healthy. I’ll double check what my colleague has found.”

  More painful prodding with the wand. Measuring on the screen. Both doctors slowly looked at Hector and me.

  The female doctor spoke again. “Like I said, healthy. But the dating is not very accurate right now. We will check in a few weeks. You may leave now.”

  It had to be Arie’s child. I knew it in my heart. My body felt it.

  Hector smiled and said, “Sisters,” with tears in his eyes. We agreed to wait further into the second trimester to tell our families the good news. Every scan showed the same thing. One baby was older than the other. But I needed to know. I decided on an amniocentesis. This procedure carried a risk, but I could extract DNA and know for certain. Hector agreed to me doing this; he wanted to know as much as I did. I would only inform Arie when the result came back and if Arie had no interest in the child, Hector wanted to take on the role of father for both children. For him, it was the miracle of a lifetime. Hector’s heart astounded me sometimes. He was a true brother to me.

  Two sacs, two little girls, two fathers, three mothers.

  * * *

  The church was closed for the evening when we walked there after dark hand in hand. It was time to tell Arie the results of the tests he wasn’t aware I’d taken. I told Arie I wanted to pray and recreate the first time we were together. My sickness was passing, and my hormones craved sex, but I thought it would be fitting to tell him I carried his child where our daughter was conceived. I know the Queen had this in her cosmic plans. Why else would she have been there? After he pulled out our bedding from the storage room, I made him sit next to me in the first pew. I gave him the news as plainly as I could.

  “Wait. You’re pregnant with two babies and one is mine. The other is Hector’s?”

  I felt shame again. I always placed too much concern on what men thought of me, something I hoped my daughter would not do. He didn’t need to stick around if he didn’t want to. I had a plan. I had thought I needed enough men in my lifetime to know I never really needed them.

  “Yes. Here are the results. If you want nothing to do with us, Hector said—”

  Before I could say anything else, he slipped his hand beneath my loose blouse. His palm covered my small belly.

  “I want you and her.” He kissed me, making me forget that this was good right now, but a baby is the definition of hard work. Would this last through sleepless nights and temper tantrums? Could we thrive as a couple when I felt betrayed by my body when it had to work overtime to accommodate three lives? I dismissed these thoughts that didn’t matter in a moment that felt good, as good as his fingers moving from my belly to between my legs. We slept in the church that night. I stared at the mural of the Queen. I hoped she would appear to me, but I knew there was nothing hidden from her.

  * * *

  One of the little girls growing inside of me decided to wedge her head between my pelvic bones, which felt as if they were being ground to dust with every step. Raised bumps covered my body as a reaction to the baby. PUPS occurs in pregnancy when the immune system thinks a foreign body is attacking. The steroids helped, but the itching would not stop until the babies were out. And none of this is said lightly, because I know how hard it can be to conceive. The only thing I wanted besides finally giving birth in Catemaco, Mexico was an extended vacation in the sun with my son and Arie. They would meet for the first time.

  My son didn’t seem fazed by my pregnancy, or the news he would be a big brother on the cusp of manhood. He was far too concerned with his new car and the class load. I was content with hearing, “I love you, Mom,” when we ended our conversations. I remember being that age, and very little concerned me except myself. We planned to rent a home in the Yucatan. Hector’s entire family would attend the birth, which would take place at a hospital because of my previous c-section and the fact that I was carrying two babies.

  For any woman, as pregnancy progresses, sleep becomes difficult. You can only sleep on your side; they say the left side is best. With less room for the baby to move, every kick and stretch pushes your uterine wall to bursting point. One night their kicks proved too much for my body.

  I continued to dream about drowning in the ocean or tumbling down from the top of the pyramid. I was afraid. I was afraid of raising a child, a girl. Just before sunrise I lifted myself out of bed for water. The pain when my feet touched the ground caused me to scream out loud. It felt as if my flesh was unzipping, tiny teeth ripping my insides. Something was wrong. It was not time. I used the wall to guide me to where Hector and Benny were sleeping, because Arie was in Mexico on business. He wanted to build us a new home there. Every step pushed sweat from my pores. I had to get to them. The floor beneath my feet was slippery from my blood. This was not like I imagined. This was not like the vision in the ceremony.

  “Hector! Benny!” I screamed between sobs.

  Benny was a doctor; there had to be something he could do. When I reached their door, Hector was just opening it. He looked at me with half-opened eyes. Then he saw my blood-soaked legs. One hand held my belly while the other was flat against the wall for support.

  “Benny! Benny! Hurry!” I wanted to lie on the floor and fall asleep.

  Unlike with his great aunt, Benny went into action. I remember Hector laying me on my side on the cool tiled floor. It felt good on my hot skin. In my mind I called out to anything that would listen. For years I didn’t want to exist and now I did. My next memory was of the nurse preparing me for general anesthetic and my arm extended for a blood transfusion. The doctor was between my legs.

  “Her uterus has ruptured from her previous cesarean. This is the only way. We need to remove her uterus.” See, scars never heal.

  I remember nothing of the birth. All was black. Not even the Queen made an appearance.

  My next memory was Hector next to me with a small bundle in his arms. He was glowing, despite probably not sleeping since I made my way to his bedroom door.

  “How are you?” he asked softy.

  I gave him a smile. “Ready for a damn drink on the beach. I’m alive. But the babies, please tell me they’re okay.”

  “Thank La Virgen, Jesus and the Queen, you’re all fine. Your daughter with Arie is in an incubator, her lungs were not as developed, but the doctors said she’ll be strong enough to breathe on her own in no time. Arie hasn’t left her side. Also, it’s all over the news.”

  The pain subsided once I knew my babies were all right. Arie would do anything for the daughter he couldn’t wait to meet, even rushing the home he was building for us as a first birthday present she wouldn’t remember.

  “Why are people interested? This isn’t exactly a virgin birth.”

  “People are curious. The gay curandero, the Mexican Jewish billionaire leading a church dedicated to Mictecacíhuatl, the woman who’s given birth to two babies from different fathers? That and they all live in a haunted house? What’s not interesting?”

  I tried to laugh but the pain only caused
a grimace.

  “May I have a look?” Hector placed the infant in my arms. She was beautiful, perfect with two large strawberry birthmarks at her temples just above her eyebrows. They looked like hot fingertips had scalded her skin when they placed a crown upon her head. The rest was like all newborns. It would be some time before her features would fill out and we could see the color of her eyes. Her little mouth began to search for my breasts, which were leaking as I held her close. She could smell the milk.

  “Will you feed her?”

  When I heard these words I instinctively looked around, expecting to see the Queen. It was Hector. I was hesitant because I didn’t enjoy breastfeeding. In fact I only breastfed my son for four weeks because I couldn’t endure the pain or constant bouts of mastitis. Truth be told, I wanted my life back after his birth. But I knew the importance of at least trying, even if it didn’t work out. I placed her little mouth on my nipple, remembering as much as I could about placement. The initial latch feels like a piercing, then it subsides. She was a hungry little girl taking her fill from me. The sweet scent of her head filled me with guilt over all the wasted time not cherishing the little things. I wished I could take all that sand and put it back into the hourglass. But I did the best I could, and I knew my son loved me. This baby was not mine; she was something else. I kissed one of her birthmarks. The infant opened her eyes. I was scared and enamored at the intensity radiating from them.

  Hector must have sensed my thoughts. “Do you feel that? She’s magic. My sister was the first to bring it to my attention. She held her after the birth. She says we have to keep her safe, loved. She will be home-schooled for the first few years.”

  I remembered the cicada shell I ate before I knew I was pregnant. “Hector, I need to tell you something. I found a shell with something inside of it. I ate it, but this was before I knew I was pregnant. If anything happens....”

  “I know, Belinda. She gave it to me. It was meant to be. I’ll have more children, too. Don’t worry, you don’t have to go through this again for me. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the birth would be like this.”

  I switched the baby to the other breast. The pained expression on his face told me he was truly sorry that the doctors had to remove my uterus. This didn’t bother me.

  “I didn’t plan on having more children.”

  “I know. But I feel terrible.” We shifted our attention from each other to look at the real star in the room.

  “What’s her name?” I asked as I handed the infant back to Hector now that she was sound asleep and no longer feeding.

  “This very special princess, one day a queen, is called Milagros Ix Chel Dominguez.”

  It was a name fit for a queen. Hector placed the baby in a wheeled bassinet. Hector had chosen a beautiful name. “I also need to let you know your son wants to talk to you. He seems very upset over something. It’s an urgent matter he said he won’t even discuss with his father. I told him as soon as you were awake and not on the good drugs, you’ll contact him.”

  The last time I spoke to my son, I was fine and we were talking about the things we would see and do on our vacation. Now I was in the hospital post-surgery. Hector handed me my handbag and left to give me privacy. He would be back when baby Milagros was ready to feed.

  My son answered my call immediately, which never happened, as if he needed time to think about if he really wanted to speak to me.

  “Mom. You okay? I need to tell you something.” His voice was shaking. He didn’t sound like a young man, but a small child afraid to tell me he had ground Play-Doh into the rug or spilled a pot of paint. There was fear in his voice. “It was supposed to just be a joke.”

  I knew immediately what he had done, but I needed to hear it from him. I had to believe she wouldn’t harm my child.

  “I was at Cameron’s house. We had a few beers. Sorry. Then we called her. Nobody believed it.”

  I was asking God in my mind to make everything okay. It was going to be okay. It was a chant that continued even when I spoke. “And?”

  His voice was still shaking. “Nothing. They all laughed at me. But last night I had a dream. I saw you die having a baby. Then I had another dream that was like a movie. I’ve been up all night writing it down. It’s called ‘The Book of Ikal’. I’ve emailed you. I don’t know what it is, but I had to write it down.”

  “I love you, baby. I’ll read it now. And I’m not angry about the beer as long as you don’t drive or anyone else who’s been drinking is driving you.”

  “How are you, Mom? Hector said you had the babies, but you needed surgery.”

  “I’m going to be okay. I didn’t die. You want me to buy you a ticket? We can start that vacation now if you want.”

  “It’s fine. Get better. I’ll see you in a few months. Just read that dream. I swear it came out of me like a gospel.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Book of Ikal according to Jacob

  All the bodies. All that blood. What did they do wrong to receive such hate from the gods, or were these men gods manifested on earth, as some said? No, he knew these invaders were men. Their lusts were those of men. Ikal knew he was dying. It was just the beginning, but the small red marks on his body told him it wouldn’t be long. He had seen so many of his people fall from this plague brought by the pale demons. He would need to use whatever was left of his life to save his daughter, Ix Chel. She had the heart of a warrior in a female body, like a goddess. Her body was a vessel for life and magic. Her body would be the vessel to keep their bloodline safe.

  He moved quickly through the thick foliage of the forest and sweat stung his eyes. It was a day past when he needed to bring her fresh supplies. She hid in a hidden hut dedicated to his queen, Mictecacíhuatl. It was a place where he poured as much blood from their enemies as possible and offered their split hearts to show his devotion. He had been hiding Ix Chel for weeks to keep her free from the ropes and eyes of the invaders as well as the sickness. As long as his people continued to fall ill, the invaders wanted more human chattel to refresh their stocks of slaves. Ikal was once a powerful priest with the king, but since that king tried to make a deal with the demons, Ikal had been hiding or fighting. He wouldn’t remain long on this earth knowing he was plagued with a sickness no one recovered from.

  The small hut looked undisturbed and quiet. His tensed muscles relaxed. He knew she remained safe. Once inside, his heart slowed to its usual steady beat.

  “My love, Ix Chel, are you here?”

  Ix Chel poked her head from behind the wooden altar. She smiled at her father then rose from the ground. He held a flat palm towards her not to come closer. She sunk inside, knowing she could never hold him again. For the rest of her days she would carry an obsidian knife should she need to take her own life or that of another. Before her brothers were murdered, she had been shown how to use the blade usually meant for warriors.

  Before he could speak, he heard a rustle outside the hut. The door burst open. It was one of them. The part of him that had sunk like a sacrifice in a cenote now clenched.

  “I knew you were hiding something, you dirty old man. Not only do you sacrifice to Satan, but you have a concubine for him. Not for long. And what is this blasphemy? You’ll pay for your worship of that whore god.”

  Ikal had seen that look in many men’s eyes, but not like these demons. Their sport was beyond evil. And his queen was not a whore. She embodied beautiful death, powerful and all that makes the end something to embrace because it is inevitable. The soldier stepped closer.

  “Give the girl to me and I might let you live. By the looks of it you don’t have much time.”

  The soldier raised his gun and fired at the bloody stone idol of the queen in the center of the altar. When he saw this blasphemy, Ikal’s anger, which began as a silent cry in his mind, traveled to his mouth. The veins in his face, neck and arms protruded as he screamed his quee
n’s name out loud. The soldier feared the sweating, pustule-riddled man intended to kill him. As Ikal rushed to the soldier, a bullet flew into his chest, knocking him down. He lay there, only sorry he could not have taken the soldier with him into death. Ix Chel would find a way. With his dying breath he told his queen and his daughter he loved them.

  Ix Chel had shuffled to the corner of the hut, unable to weep because there had been nothing but tears and sorrow since these things arrived on their shores. The anger that she saw in her father’s attack fled his body and jumped into her. Fury and revenge stirred in her blood and it was as delicious as Xocolatl.

  The soldier licked his lips with a sneer on his face. “Come with me, girl.”

  He was already laying down his harquebus and untying the leather around his waist when Ix Chel approached him calmly. Her black eyes sucked the light out of the room and focused all her energy on this invader. She parted her lips as if she was about to invite him into her arms.

  “Yes, no need to be afraid, young one. You’ll be in my home to serve me and my wife and children, but mostly me.”

  Ix Chel thrust her hand into his sweat-sodden trousers. His stench rolled in her nose as he threw his head back with closed eyes, letting out a moan. He never saw Ix Chel withdraw her obsidian blade or see it swipe across his belly, spilling out his bowels. He stumbled backwards, looking at his wound then at this girl no older than fourteen pulling out his entrails with a grin on her face. The sparse light falling into the hut cast shadows across her face, making her look like a creature from another world. It would be the last image before his death. She was finding pleasure in his slaughter. He continued to walk backwards until he stumbled over her dead father and fell to the ground.

  Ix Chel mounted his body and began to chant the way her father showed her. It was a song from her crib that always soothed her. With another swipe and all her body weight to crush the bones of his chest cavity, she clawed out his heart with her bare hands the way she had seen so many times before but had never done herself. Holding another’s mortal life force, the heart of an enemy who would see her enslaved or dead, gave her great pleasure. There was power in her fingertips, which trembled as she continued to stare at the heart up close. She placed the bloody mass on the altar then picked up the fallen idol and laid it next to the heart. Ix Chel fell to her knees, cradling her father’s head. She prayed to the Queen to keep his soul comfortable and guide her bloodline through the ages of time. She wanted to live. She begged the Queen to give her the power to survive this apocalypse that was befalling their people. Ix Chel removed her father’s heart and wrapped it tightly to dry later and grind it to powder. His death, their power, would live on even when foreign soldiers came to take what was not theirs. More were coming every day. Every day their cruelty was more apparent. Her people would all be slaves soon. Not her. Ix Chel gathered everything she could that she would need to survive the jungle for as long as possible.