Fables & Other Lies

by Claire Contreras

  Shouts behind me got louder and I glanced over my shoulder to see the festivities were now spilling onto Dreary Lane; people had cameras pointed in the direction of the Caliban Manor. The crowd rushed toward the gates, swarming around my Vespa as if this was the Pamplona Festival and not the Pan Island Carnival. I had one foot on the ground and the other on the footrest to maintain balance as the cobblestones beneath me shook. More and more people charged toward the gates as if they were on a witch hunt, but they were all smiling, laughing, dancing around in costume, and seemed to stop as soon as they reached it. I squeezed my eyes shut as the chaos continued.

  “Penny.” I heard Esteban’s voice again.

  I opened my eyes, half expecting to find him standing in front of me. He wasn’t. Still, my gaze remained fixed on the crowd in front of me, the ones in line waiting to take a picture on the Devil’s Chair. It was as if something was keeping me there, watching, waiting.

  “Leave me alone!” It was my shout, I realized, and I said it again, “Leave me alone.”

  And just like that, I was able to move again.

  Chapter Four

  “Wela, how did Carnival start?” I asked over a bowl of white rice and red beans.

  “How did it start . . . God, it was so long ago I barely remember the story. It was the year we claimed our freedom from Spain. I guess that was it. A celebration.” Her eyebrows pulled in as she glanced outside. “You know, I used to hate all of this tourism, but I kind of like it now.”

  I followed what she was looking at. There was a group of tourists following a guide. Some took pictures, while others simply admired the house we were in. I wondered how far the history lesson would go. Would they tell them how the Calibans tried to take over the island? And how my great-great-grandfather fought back? How they all did?

  “I know the neighbors find it invasive,” Wela said after a silent moment, “but it’s nice to know that these houses will live on in more than just their memories.”

  “Do you remember that night,” I started, “when Papi told me to pack my things and leave?”

  “Of course.” Wela met my gaze. “It was awful. Do you remember that night?”

  “Bits and pieces. You said something to me, about the Calibans being responsible for what happened.”

  “Of course, they were.” Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “They’re devil worshippers.”

  “How do you know they are?”

  “Because I know the history of this island.” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I just . . . I feel like the devil-worshipping stuff and the Devil’s Chair and the disappearing house . . . they’re just stories.”

  “Of course, you’d suggest that.” She shook her head. “You think the Bible itself is a series of stories composed by men who wanted to ensure we would all be controlled.”

  “I don’t want to discuss the Bible or argue over our religious beliefs, Wela.”

  I regretted the day I even brought up the topic of religion in this household. It wasn’t like I didn’t know any better. She was a devout Catholic, who went to Mass on Sundays, prayed the rosary, and got on her knees whenever anyone she knew was ill. She’d even managed to get some holy water from Rome, blessed by the Pope himself, and sent me away with it when I left this house all those years ago. Wela was not the one to bring questions about faith to. Not unless you wanted her to call the priest she had on speed dial so he could perform an emergency prayer over your forehead just in case.

  “Why are you bringing up the Calibans now?” She sucked her teeth and glanced over at me again.

  “I was just wondering why you said what you said.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “Those people. That house . . . ” Wela shook her head with a sigh. “It’s a darn shame that they live there at all. It’s the only place we can get what would cure your mother.” She looked in the direction of the bedrooms.

  “What do you mean? What cure?”

  “There’s a tree on the property that blooms every year during Carnival.” She shot me a pointed look. “You asked why we celebrate. This is why. That tree is said to have magic powers. Some call it magic. We call it faith. It is said to have been brought here from Jerusalem. Planted right there, when the ocean hadn’t yet become angry with its surroundings, with its inhabitants.”

  “So, the tree only has leaves now?” I leaned forward.

  “It only blooms once a year, for one week.”

  “Have you ever seen it?”

  “Seeing it would mean crossing the iron gates.” She shook her head. “My mother saw it when my father worked there. It cured her of her suffering. The few leaves I had were used to help those in need and the rest dried up.”

  “Why hasn’t everyone tried to cross those gates for it?”

  “Who says they haven’t?” She pursed her lips. “Look at what happened to Esteban.”

  “Hm.” I nodded in agreement, then frowned. “But Tia Julia is alive.”

  “You know what they say about the island. It takes a life and gives another life.”

  I sat back in my seat. “Does she believe that?”

  “Of course, she does. Why do you think she’s become a hermit? She used to go out, always wore the latest fashion, painted her lips red, and then . . . nothing.”

  “Well, her son died. I can’t imagine her going back to regular life after something like that happened.”

  “It was more than that. It’s the Calibans.” She turned to the window again. “Those leaves, like I said, they’re healing leaves. In your mother’s case, I’d give it to her in a tea. My mother used to make potions out of the leaves and sell it to people who wanted to forget things.”

  “Forget what?”

  “Burdens from their trauma. It’s not our place to ask those questions.”

  Our place meaning hers and the long line of women who came before her. Outsiders called them healers; the locals called them witches. It didn’t come with the negative context that word often carried. My grandmother had helped many people. Her mother helped even more, but that was before we had doctors and nurses and hospitals. Even so, a lot of people still visited our house to seek treatment when they were out of options. It was something Wela passed down to my mother and that was where it stopped. Maybe if I hadn’t been kicked out of the house and left the island I’d have followed the same lineage of work. Maybe if I hadn’t found luck and a way to make a living in my own way. Maybe, but probably not, because unlike my mother and hers and hers, I questioned everything.

  “So what does Papi’s death mean?” I asked after a moment. “It makes no sense. Mami is really ill. Papi died. Shouldn’t she be well? What does the doctor say? Have you even called him or have you been working your miracles on her instead of listening to science?”

  “Of course, she’s been seen by a doctor. He has found nothing. He said it’s likely she’s shut down because of the experience.”

  “So, she’s not ill then, not really. How would any of those leaves help her?”

  “Like I said, they heal every wound—physical, mental, everything.”

  “This is all so antiquated. We’re not in the seventeenth century. If she’s having a psychiatric break, she should be in a hospital.”

  My grandmother pursed her lips. “There’s a nurse monitoring her day and night. You’d know that if you bothered to step foot in her room.”

  “That’s not fair.” I felt a flush of anger creeping up my neck.

  “Life doesn’t care about fairness. We live, we suffer, we die.” She met my gaze. “You’ve been afforded more than most. More than all of us. You’ve had peace and health and happiness. You’ve had freedom. And yet you sit here speaking about fairness?”

  I bit my tongue, unable to keep my eyes from burning. I hated when she lectured at me, but she was damn good at it, I’d give her that. We were both quiet for a moment, respectively brewing.

  “As for the meaning behind your father’s death,” she said. “I don’t know. My
theory is that the island wanted you back.”

  “What?” I stopped breathing. “Me?”

  “I think that was the reason for your father’s death.” She searched my eyes, as if looking for some kind of confirmation I didn’t have. “I think it has unfinished business with you, and I don’t know what it is, but my intuition says that you bargained with the Devil the night you sat in his chair, and now he’s brought you back to collect.”

  “Did you see that in your tea?” I glanced at the cup beside her.

  “Maybe. Not that you’d believe it if I did.”

  “It’s kind of hard not to question that. An island isn’t a person. It can’t possibly need anything from me.”

  “An island is a piece of land like any other. All of our ancestors rest beneath our feet. Don’t you think they have power?”

  “If they did, why would they let my father die like that? And my mother . . . ” I shook my head, standing from the table, heart pounding. “I don’t believe in witchcraft and you know it.”

  “What I do with this tea is not witchcraft, Penelope. You know that as well as I do. I’m a Catholic, after all.”

  “I don’t know what you people believe anymore.” I began picking up the plates and taking them over to the area of the sink.

  “Leave the plates.”

  “I’m going to set them here.”

  I just needed something to do. Someone would wash them. Not me or Wela, but one of the staff. Picking up my own plate and washing it was something I didn’t start doing until after I left the island. I’d been so spoiled when I lived here, with my nannies and maids. It wasn’t a big to-do, either. Even my maids had maids and my nannies had nannies. Normally, I’d take a moment to get to know them, but I’d decided that this trip I wasn’t going to tie myself to anyone. I was here to say my goodbyes, my final goodbyes.

  “Let me read your tea,” she said.

  “No.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. “You know that makes me uneasy.”

  “Uneasiness is a reflection of the state of your spirit.”

  “My spirit is fine, thank you very much.” I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter.

  “Your spirit is tied to this island, and the island has been uneasy for some time now. Maybe that was why you had to come back. Maybe you’re here to get those leaves and cure your mother. To right a wrong.”

  Goosebumps spread over my arms. “What if I die trying, like Esteban?”

  “You won’t.”

  “What if I succeed and someone else dies?” I licked my lips. “You said it gives a life and takes one away.”

  “That’s a price you have to be willing to pay to save your mother.”

  I swallowed and looked away. When I looked at my grandmother again, she was turning a tea saucer slowly in her hand. I didn’t want to know what she saw in it, so I stood up straight and started walking out of the kitchen.

  “I’m going to see my mother.” I walked to her room on the second floor, anticipation curling inside me with each step. I took a deep breath and opened her door, the low hum of the in-room air-conditioning unit greeting me. There was a young nurse dressed in pink scrubs who stood when she saw me.

  “Ms. Guzman.” She smiled. “I’ll let you visit with her. I’ll be right back.” She walked out of the room.

  My parents’ room had two sitting areas and two walk-in closets. I took my time walking past those before nearing my mother’s bed. I didn’t know what I expected to see, but what I found wasn’t it. She looked peaceful lying in the center of the king-size bed. Her dark golden skin a contrast against the white comforter. Her dark curly hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. I wondered how Wela was allowing that. My mother always wore her hair down, usually blow-dried straight, prim and proper to go with her makeup and designer dresses. My heart squeezed as I thought about her life before this and how it would be when she finally recovered. I pulled up one of the chairs to sit beside her hand and sighed, wondering if the heaviness I felt inside would ever lift.

  Last time I’d seen her I was so angry that she didn’t defend me. So angry that she’d let my father ridicule me and even more angry when I finally had spoken to her and she acted like all of it was my fault. That night was such a blur, but I remembered that much about it. I remembered crying as I packed my bags, crying harder when I realized my father wasn’t joking, I had to leave his house, and I did, though a part of me hoped he’d call and apologize, asking me to come back. He never did. I could only assume he wasn’t sorry. My mother, on the other hand, did call. She never asked me to come home, but she hinted that I should visit. I wish I had, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. Mami stirred in bed. I leaned forward as her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the room, to my face.

  “Penelope?”

  “Mami.” I reached for her hand, the grief of everything, the loss of my dad, of my relationship with him, with her, finally crashing down on me. I couldn’t stop the tears that came. “I’m sorry.”

  “Penny,” she said.

  “Yes, Mami. I’m here.” I squeezed her hand.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” She shook her head. Her voice was already hoarse, but she repeated it again, this time a rough whisper, “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I . . . had to come see you.” I swallowed, using my other hand to wipe away my tears. Wela said she hadn’t told my mom about my father’s death to not slow her down from recovery.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay now.”

  “You need to leave the island.”

  I sighed heavily. She really wasn’t lucid and it broke my heart.

  “They’ll take you, Penny. Don’t let them take you,” she whispered, tears trickling down her face.

  “I think she needs to rest, Miss Penny.” That was the nurse, back from her short break.

  “Has she been like this?” I let go of my mother’s hand and stood as the nurse walked over and touched the IV bag, injecting a needle into one of the attachments.

  “She’s in and out.”

  “P . . . Penny,” Mami said, a whisper as her eyes closed. “Get out. Please get out.”

  “Don’t mind her, Miss. She’s not herself right now,” the nurse said. “This is completely normal in a breakdown. She’s been through a lot.”

  I nodded, but a painful sob settled in my chest. I hadn’t seen my mother in six years and the first time I do, she’s bedridden and tells me to leave. I tried to swallow past the blockage in my throat, but couldn’t. I hadn’t cried in so long, but this felt like too much. After idling for a moment, I left my mother’s room and went to mine. I grabbed my bag and packed the few things I’d unpacked.

  “I’m going to stay with Dee,” I said to my grandmother.

  “Why would you do that? This is your house.”

  “Mami said I should leave.” I bit my lip, but it was futile. Tears pricked my eyes and ran down my cheeks. “The first time I see her in ages and she tells me to leave.”

  Wela’s frown deepened. “She said that?”

  “It’s fine.” I swallowed hard. “I mean, it’s not fine, but I’ll figure something out.”

  “She’s not in her right state,” Wela said, her voice low, brown eyes compassionate.

  “I know.” I swallowed hard. I did know that, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  “She’s not wrong about this island. What happened to your parents wasn’t an accident.”

  “I saw the video. It was a total accident.”

  “If you saw the video, you’d know that the accident didn’t kill your father, Penny. He walked out of that plane. His heart gave out on him afterward.”

  “Because of the accident.”

  “They both got out of that airplane unscathed. It wasn’t until they got back on the island that things started happening, and it wasn’t until you got here to pay your respects to your father that your mother’s health took a turn for the worse.”

&
nbsp; “So, you’re saying this is my fault.” I put a hand to my heart and took a step back.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s the curse.” She lowered her gaze. “This curse will be the end of us all.”

  “I don’t believe in curses.”

  “You may change your tune about that if you decide to stay longer.”

  With those words, I picked up my bag and walked out of the house.

  Chapter Five

  “I mean, you can’t blame them for being worried.” Dee shot me a sympathetic look.

  She was sitting in her vanity while Jose, a masterful makeup artist, worked on her look for the Carnival kickoff tonight. The theme this year was Black Swan and I had to assume most people would be wearing dark makeup and black tutus. Dee was wearing a short black tutu, sky-high Alexander McQueen sandals, and a lacey black bralette. She looked hot, and after Jose was done with the dark makeup, she’d look hotter. I still hadn’t decided whether or not I was going to join the festivities, which meant I wasn’t. I didn’t have anything to wear to it even if I wanted to and it was too late to go shopping.

  “Maybe she’s right about the curse,” Jose said, looking at me over his shoulder. “After the life I’ve lived, I believe in it.”

  “I don’t.” I pursed my lips. “She basically made it sound like I was responsible for all of this.”

  “I think she’s just worried for your safety. You know how the elders can be,” Dee said with a sigh when Jose pulled away to get some fake lashes. “Just . . . stay here. Come out tonight for Carnival. I promise it’ll be fun and you won’t regret it.”

  “I don’t even have anything to wear.”