Spellbound - Stories of Women's Magic Over Men

by Joel Willans

  Rather than risk going outside, I carry on walking down into the cellar until I reach my den. It smells of mould and varnish. I look at the rows of chairs lined up and try to imagine how much room you’d need for nearly two thousand, and sit down in an old cherrywood Windsor sackback rocker. ‘Shame Lola never got to see you.’

  After enjoying the silence for a while, I pull a bag from the shelf. I keep Lola’s old black bobble hat inside, so I have a little something of her at work. The day she bought it was so chilly that each time she spoke, her words came out with little puffs of breath. When I told her she looked like my gran, she giggled and smacked me with her handbag. That was three months, two weeks and four days ago. I bury my face in the hat to breathe her, but it doesn’t smell of Lola, it smells of dust. Pulling it low over my face, I put on my battered sheepskin jacket hoping that if Vernon’s still there he won’t notice it’s me.

  The sky is watery dark. I count twelve streetlamps standing like guards, their fizzy light making the skip shine. I amble towards it with my head down, listening out for Vernon’s voice. Lola’s chair has been dumped on top of the pile. I move at a trot and, fast as I can, yank it free.

  Mrs Albright emerges from the courtyard and waddles closer. ‘Is that you? Blimey, I hope this isn’t the chair you plan on giving your lady friend.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘You can’t use that old thing to woo a lady.’

  ‘I know what Lola likes.’

  She tugs my sleeve. ‘No woman would want that in her parlour. Why don’t you get her something new?’

  I feel my face turning red and want to tell her to leave me alone and get out of my way. I want to tell her that I know better than anyone what Lola likes, because I love her. But I don’t. I say nothing. I just walk away, hugging the chair. Only when I get to the end of the street, do I look over my shoulder. Mrs Albright is still there, but now she’s nothing more than a shadow in the twilight.

  It takes me nearly half an hour to walk home. Every time I hear a car, I think it’s Vernon. By the time I arrive, I’m sticky with sweat. I make my way through the brushes and pots of varnish scattered on the living room floor, and place the chair in the centre of the room.

  ‘I bet her husband would’ve understood,’ I say to myself. ‘I bet he’d have done the same.’

  This chair is the one. I just know it. I feel so pleased that I hug myself. I know it’s only me hugging me, but it still feels good. I carry on, squeezing harder. Then I close my eyes and imagine it’s her. That’s when the doorbell goes. It’s so long since I’ve heard that sound that I stay frozen for a few seconds. Smoothing down my hair, just in case, I run to the door. My hand trembles when I open it.

  ‘Evening, son. Expecting someone else?’ Vernon says.

  I shrug.

  ‘Knocked off early today, did we?’

  I shrug again.

  ‘I just got a call from a concerned resident.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs bloody Albright, that’s who. She said you’d been acting a bit funny and wanted to make sure you were all right. Mentioned something about a chair.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’m doing it for Lola.’

  Vernon shakes his head. ‘You’ll get banged away if you keep this up. You should forget about her and forget about chairs, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then you’re more of a fool than you look.’ He crosses his arms. ‘This is the last time I’m covering for you. You hear?’

  I look at my feet and nod.

  ‘Good. Now I’m off home. Don’t be late tomorrow.’

  Once he has driven away, I close the door and get my toolbox. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I sandpaper off the scratched varnish on the smooth curve of the chair leg. I carry on until my arm throbs, then I re-varnish the legs in slow careful strokes, smiling when the colour seeps back into wood. Once they’re all done, I march into the kitchen and pick up the phone. I take a deep breath and dial her number. There are nineteen rings before anyone answers.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Lola, it’s me. It’s Robbie.’

  ‘Why do you keep doing this?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me. You know what.’

  I feel the blushes blistering my cheeks. ‘I’ve got a dining chair for you. I think it’s Edwardian. Birch with a cherry veneer. It had a couple of scratches, but I’ve fixed them up for you. You’ll love it. I know you will.’

  ‘How many chairs have you got me in the last three months?’

  I bite my nail. ‘Eleven.’

  ‘And how many times have I come over to see them?’

  ‘I’ve tried so hard to find one you’d like and you don’t even come and look. Please, Lola, the least you can do is see it for yourself.’

  A click and the phone starts purring.

  ‘Lola?’

  I stare at the receiver, willing her voice to come back. But when willing doesn’t work, I go back into the living room and sit on chair number twelve. It feels good, solid and comfortable, smooth yet sturdy. I sit there for a long time, eyes closed, thinking. I decide I’ll keep this chair in the house.

  Mind made up, I smile and start calculating how many chairs I’d find Lola in thirty-six years. Not that I’m going to search that long. Course not. One more, that’s all. It’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it. Lucky number thirteen might just be the one she can’t resist. It might just be Lola’s chair.

  Estrella and the Gringo

  Estrella was shelling peas in the courtyard when Aunty shouted at her to come and say hello. Merengue blasted from Radio Panamericana, so she pretended not to hear, sure that it would be the padre or one of Aunty’s stupid friends. But when she looked up she saw it was a young gringo. She was so surprised she knocked the bowl over, spilling peas across the concrete.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t normally have that effect on people,’ he said in Spanish, looking at her the same way Alejandro had the day they first meet.

  He said his name was Doug. Up closer, she could see he was older than she first thought. Twenty-five at least. Perhaps more. He had messy maize-coloured hair, and a nose that took up too much room. His mouth was pretty though, like a girl’s, and his eyes were river green. A gold stud glinted in his eyebrow. He touched it when he saw her staring.

  ‘I got it in Rio. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘I think it suits you,’ Aunty said, putting a painted fingernail to her lip.

  It was then Estrella realised that Aunty had curled her hair and put on the yellow blouse she normally kept for the padre’s visits. Perfume too. Aunty had known the gringo was coming, yet hadn’t said a word.

  ‘I’ve never seen a man wear gold like that. Is it a gringo thing?’

  Aunty patted her on the head as if she were a dog. ‘Oh, don’t mind this one, Señor. Estrella may be nineteen, but she still has plenty to learn about manners.’ She grabbed Doug’s elbow. ‘Now, your room is ready. I’ve made it up especially for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You’re very kind.’

  Estrella watched Aunty flutter her eyelashes, as if Doug had told her she was most beautiful woman in the world. He didn’t notice. He was too busy looking around the courtyard. ‘Your flowers are amazing.’

  ‘They’re my babies. I treat them well and they keep me happy with their colour.’

  Estrella rolled her eyes. It was true, the yellow angel’s trumpets with a fragrance that gave you strange dreams, the cantutas, and the purple orchids stuffed in old paint pots, were beautiful. But if they were Aunty’s babies, why in the Virgin’s name was it her who watered them every morning and every night?

  ‘Give me a little while and I can show you around our town,’ Aunty said, pushing her bosom out.

  ‘That’s okay. Once I’ve dumped my gear, I can check it out myself.’

  ‘I need to buy some bread,’ Estrella said. ‘I’ll come with you.’


  Aunty’s mouth puckered up like a dried plum, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Estrella knew what she was thinking.

  While Aunty showed Doug his room, Estrella counted on her fingers how many gringos she’d seen in her life. She could remember seven. Three missionaries. Two doctors. One NGO man and a tourist who came through town once on a motorbike. She wondered why this one had come.

  When Doug returned, he’d changed into army shorts and a T-shirt that said ‘Born to Surf’. A big camera hung around his neck.

  ‘Ready?’ Estrella asked.

  ‘I’m always ready,’ he said.

  She led him through the courtyard and out into the street. A campesino was herding his goats, making dust rise into the air like mud-coloured fog. Doug pointed his camera at them. ‘Damn, this place is cool.’

  ‘You think? Surely goats are goats everywhere?’

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t see them wandering down the street where I’m from.’

  As they walked, he turned his head this way and that as though he was looking at the world for the first time. When they got to the plaza and he saw the statue of Bolívar riding his horse, he clapped his hands together.

  ‘Bet he’s a hero round here, right?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bolívar.’

  Estrella laughed. ‘Don’t be stupid. He’s been dead over a hundred years.’

  Doug got on his knees and started snapping again. ‘I’ve read all about him. Not many people who’ve freed a whole continent, hey? Just shows you can do worthwhile stuff when you travel.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been anywhere.’

  ‘I’m going to teach English in the countryside. My dad says I’m a bum just travelling around, so I’m going to show him different.’ He spun round, taking pictures of the church, the mountains, even Don Miguel sprawled on a bench.

  It was funny seeing how people reacted to him. Mamitas held their knitting still, men froze, cigarettes hanging from their lips. Kids stopped their games and giggled. When some boys Estrella used to play football with pouted and made kiss-kiss sounds, she blew kisses right back.

  Yet despite the looks, and the way words chased each other out of his mouth, Estrella enjoyed his chatter. He was full of energy, like a child after too much cake. She was listening so carefully she didn’t notice the padre until he squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘And who have we here, young lady?’ he said.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? He speaks Spanish.’

  Even though the padre’s sunglasses covered his eyes, Estrella knew he was looking down her top. He stroked the scar on his chin. The one he said he got in the service of Christ, but that Estrella knew was really from falling off his motorbike, drunk.

  He took Doug’s hand in both of his. ‘We’re always happy to see new faces in our little town. Will you be staying long?’

  ‘Few weeks, maybe. Not really sure yet.’

  The padre ran his hands through his gelled hair. ‘My church is there. You’re always welcome.’

  Estrella tugged Doug’s elbow. ‘We have to go.’

  He paused for a second, then followed her across the plaza. ‘You got a problem with him?’

  Estrella wanted to say that the padre was a son of a bitch hypocrite. That after fat Gloria had caught her with Alejandro in the forest, the padre had preached about the whores of Babylon leading good people down the road to ruin. And that two nights later, she saw him kissing Aunty in the moonlight and that the bastard came around her house all the time now. But she didn’t have the guts, so she ignored the question and instead asked Doug if he wanted to take her picture.

  Doug took the colectivo bus into the countryside the next morning. When he saluted Estrella from the window, she waved back, ignoring the gawping campesinos and the kids pushing their faces against the dusty glass.

  It was two days later before she saw him again. She’d just got back from the market, and was weighed down with granadillas, cherimoyas and maize. It wasn’t just her shoulders that ached. Her head hurt, too. It was tiring ignoring the sniggers and the whistles, the whispers and the stares, especially when Aunty said it was exactly what she deserved for spreading her legs for a travelling salesman.

  If Estrella had known then about Aunty and the padre, she wouldn’t have bitten her lip when Aunty said she was a slut just like her mama. Instead, she would’ve told her that she might be all high and mighty on the outside, but inside she was no better than Estrella. Worse even, because the padre was meant to save his love for God, not for a woman like her.

  Papi would have stood by her. He hated his older sister almost as much as she did.

  ‘It won’t be for long, Princess. Promise,’ he said, on the steps of the bus. ‘And when I come back we’ll get a new place together, far away from you know who.’

  It might have been nearly two years, but she still remembered the sound of his laugh when he said it. The memory must have made her look sad, because when she walked into the courtyard Doug jumped up as fast as a cricket and rushed over.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ He grabbed the bags. ‘Let me take those before your arms fall off.’

  ‘You’re back already?’

  He nodded at the granadillas. ‘Can I have an orange?’

  ‘That’s no orange, stupid!’

  ‘Well, it sure looks like one.’

  ‘Try to peel it then.’

  He did as he was told. The peel cracked and white fluff puffed out.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Pull the skin off and have a look.’

  He worked his fingers over the surface. When he saw the slimy green insides, his face screwed up as if he’d just opened a parcel of pig liver. ‘I’m not eating that. It looks like something you cough up when you’re ill.’

  Estrella laughed. ‘That makes you a coward.’

  ‘I’m no coward. Watch.’ He threw back his head and gulped the green jelly. ‘Wow, that tastes fantastic!’

  ‘See, bravery has its rewards.’

  Aunty leant out the window, her hair in curlers. ‘Estella, where have you been hiding yourself? The toilet needs scrubbing, and I’ve got Señora Lida coming over for a cafecito. Get to it, girl.’

  ‘Why don’t you get to it yourself?’

  ‘By all the saints, I don’t need your lip. I give you a roof over your head and you talk to me like I’m nothing. You know where the door is if you’re not happy.’ Her face froze. ‘Oh, Doug, I didn’t see you there! I’m just making some lunch. You’ll eat with me, won’t you? I want to hear all about your time in the countryside.’

  ‘Is your Aunty always like that to you?’ he whispered behind his hand.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘A stupid witch.’

  Estrella giggled. ‘Yes. Nearly always.’

  When Aunty reappeared she looked like someone out of a Colombian soap opera. Doug stared at her, just like all the men did whenever Aunty dressed up special.

  ‘Come, Doug. I want to hear all your stories. Did the campesinos disturb you? Isn’t it terrible how they live?’

  Doug followed her into the kitchen. A hungry puppy after a bone. When Estrella heard them laughing together, she put her fingers in her ears and sung.

  A few days later, Doug caught up with Estrella while she was walking to the park. Although Estrella didn’t have time to play football anymore, she still liked to go there to watch the kids play. It reminded her of the days before Papi had left.

  ‘Guess who?’ Doug said, putting his hands over her eyes.

  ‘The President of the Republic?’

  ‘If only. Where you going?’

  ‘To the forest. Want to come?’

  She took him the same way she went with Alejandro, but this time she made sure they walked further from the path. Maybe he knew what she wanted, but he didn’t say anything. They sat by the river for a while, listening to the birds and the crickets.

  ‘You have pretty fingers,’ she
said eventually.

  ‘You think?’

  She took his hand. ‘They are soft too. Like baby skin.’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t tell my dad. He thinks I’ve never done a hard day’s work in my life.’

  ‘You always talk about your papa.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. Do you miss him?’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Is he handsome?’

  He threw a stone in the river. ‘If you like bald men with glasses.’

  ‘Do you think Aunty is pretty?’

  ‘Yeah, for an older woman.’

  ‘She wants you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As her lover.’

  ‘What?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t be stupid. She’s just being friendly.’

  ‘I know her and she’s after you. She thinks because you’re a gringo you’re rich.’ She edged closer. ‘Have you ever kissed a Peruvian girl?’

  He arched his back and cracked his knuckles. ‘Oh man, if this is going where I think it’s going, we should probably be heading back.’

  ‘Is it that you want Aunty or are you just too scared to try? Like you were with the granadillas?’

  He blinked and licked his lips. ‘No! I’m not scared. It’s just I came here to do something worthwhile, not to party.’

  She caressed his neck. ‘I think you’re scared.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He grabbed her face and kissed her hard. His mouth tasted of mint and cigarettes. He pushed his tongue deeper than Alejandro had and Estrella remembered what they said about all gringo girls being easy. Even though she didn’t like his smoky taste, she made sure she didn’t pull away.

  After that, whenever he was back from the countryside, he tried to find ways to be alone with her. Even when Aunty was in the same room, he’d squeeze Estrella’s elbow or bang into her and pretend it was an accident. Aunty was too caught up in her own head to realise anything. She still made Doug take lunch with her and still dressed herself up like a soap star.