The Witch's Market

by Mingmei Yip

  “Could you tell me how to go to this place?”

  He looked at the paper, then took out a map and studied it. Then he said, his expression puzzled, “Señorita, I believe this is in the south of Tenerife Island, not the Grand Canary. Anyway, why this place?”

  “Something wrong with the address?”

  “It . . . looks like it’s in some remote area. Tenerife’s south is very barren, nothing like the pleasant north.” He cast me a worried look. “I don’t think it is good for you to visit there.”

  I was not going to tell him the real reason why I wanted to go there, so I said, “I have a friend there. I am sure it will be safe to visit her.”

  “Sorry, señorita. Maybe she should meet you here. This place is in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it has a story. . . .”

  “Can you tell me the story?”

  “I don’t really know it, only that it’s something strange with a sad ending.” Now he looked at me curiously. “Your friend should come here.”

  This man was getting rather annoying. Did he think he was my father? “Don’t worry about me. But thanks for your concern,” I said.

  The next day I was back on the ferry to Tenerife, this time bringing my hand luggage with me. The carnival had ended yesterday and so I’d had no trouble booking a hotel room. I’d taken a nap and overslept, so I had to hurry to dress and get started on my journey to meet the witches.

  I had to ask several taxi drivers before finding one who was willing to take me to the address on the slip of paper. His taxi was a rickety old Ford, and I sensed that the driver, barely out of his teens, agreed to take me only because he was desperate for business.

  When we were on our way, I asked, “Have you been doing this for long?”

  “Not long. This car is my uncle’s, but he was busy today. I substitute for him.”

  My heart sank. “You think you can find the way?”

  He lifted up a torn, stained map. “See? I have this. Señorita, relax. Take a nap. When you wake up, we’ll be there.”

  Maybe he knew witchcraft, too, because I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It seemed but a moment had passed when I felt a light touch on my shoulder.

  The kid had already opened my door. “We’re here, señorita. What time you want me to come back?”

  I got out, stretched my limbs, and looked around. In front of me was a huge grassy expanse. At the end of a narrow footpath was a huge mansion. It was really a castle, with terra-cotta walls, dark green leaded glass windows, and a peaked slate roof. The crenulated towers, or turrets, stood like giants on guard. Though imposing, there was a pathetic air about the place. If an object could have feelings, then it definitely was not feeling well.

  I turned back to the kid. “Can you come back before sunset?”

  “No problem.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “To get something to eat and take a nap. Don’t worry, señorita, I’ll be back.”

  “All right.” I paid him for the first trip plus a generous tip, hoping he’d come back in pursuit of another fare and an even more generous tip.

  “Good luck,” he said, and smiled, then went back inside the car and started the engine.

  I watched the car until it disappeared down the road, then turned around to face the castle. A sudden fear gripped me. What was I doing here by myself? To see witches, really? Maybe at this very moment they were concocting soup mixed with menstrual blood. Or cooking the human flesh of their most recent visitor. Or perhaps the place was deserted and I was the victim of an elaborate practical joke. Or some sort of kidnapping. But it was too late to back out, so I braced myself and began to walk toward the castle to begin my witch-hunting.

  In the far distance, patches of ocean showed between the thick tree trunks. To the right of the castle, behind a low fence, stood a white horse, its mane swaying in the breeze, the only sign of life in this strange place. I went up to the haughty creature to stroke his nose and long mane. He stared at me with what I interpreted as kind, though sad, eyes. I was sure he could tell a moving story—if only he could talk. Unfortunately I was not like the Confucius’ student Gong Yechang, who could understand animals’ thoughts.

  Just then the horse raised his head and neighed, as if trying to tell me the secrets of the castle. If he was trying to tell me something, I couldn’t tell what it was, so I just stroked his beautiful mane once more and resumed my walk toward the castle. When I stood in front of it, I felt its surrealistic aura even more strongly.

  A signboard painted in red read:

  MAIDEN FORTRESS

  A strange name. Did it mean that all those who dwelled within were young women? After my knocks on the door elicited no response, I decided to walk around the edifice to better sense its qi, to feel whether it was positive, negative, or even haunted. Peeking through the narrow windows, I could make out some forlorn-looking furniture, colored vases, dingy oil paintings, and knickknacks that looked more like burdens than decorations.

  I circled the building completely without seeing any signs of a living human. I decided to explore the grounds a little. After wandering for nearly an hour I passed beyond a thicket of trees and spotted a pond sparkling under the afternoon sun. As I approached I saw four heads bobbing on the jade green water. Not sure how I would be received, I hid behind one of the nearby tree trunks. After intense scrutiny, I recognized the heads as belonging to the witches I’d encountered during the carnival.

  The four women were singing, laughing, and splashing water on each other. After a few minutes, they stood up and started to the shore. All of them were stark naked. In front was Cecily. Though middle-aged, she was surprisingly attractive, with long red hair, full breasts with nipples like two large berries, curvy hips, and dense vegetation between her thighs. The woman behind her was somewhat less voluptuous, but still shapely. The other two were younger, probably a few years younger than me, and looked very much alike, possibly twins. Both had lithe, muscular figures and strong legs.

  The four didn’t pick up any clothes to cover themselves with—there apparently weren’t any close by. I moved back around the tree trunk to watch them as they walked through the thicket and then sat down together where a large picnic cloth had been spread out. Cecily started to unpack a straw hamper, bringing out bells, purple candles, wineglasses, and jars of herbs. Together the women arranged the objects around the cloth. One of the twins took candles from a box and handed them to her sister, who lit each one, then placed it on the ground to form a circle. The light gave out a mysterious glow accompanied by a subtly intoxicating scent.

  It was then that I realized that the sky had begun to turn dark. I guessed the driver had already left, if he’d even had any intention of coming back for me. Anyway, I could not pull myself away from the sight of these strange women.

  Now the four women stood in a circle, closed their eyes, and seemed to meditate. They intoned a strange song. Next they dipped twigs into jars of water and sprinkled it in the air. Then, holding hands and raising them heavenward, they began to dance. As they circled the cloth, their breasts swayed, waists twisted, and legs kicked suggestively. After a few minutes they paused, swept the ground with small brooms, and lifted the bells to resume their rhythmic dance.

  Ending their ritual, they hugged, kissed, and downed some dark liquid, either wine or some homemade concoction.

  Then, suddenly, Cecily spit fire from her mouth!

  “Oh my!” I blurted out.

  The women all turned toward me. Instead of looking surprised at the intrusion, they smiled.

  “Hey, señorita, welcome to the circle of witches!” Cecily said.

  I stepped away from the tree I was partially hidden behind and approached them cautiously.

  “You’re the Asian witch we met at the carnival. What are you doing here?”

  As if in a trance, I told them my name and that I was Chinese, though lived in America.

  Cecily extended a long-nailed hand. “Come, Eileen, let�
��s dance, chant, and drink to celebrate life!”

  Before I knew what was happening, they had come up to me and swiftly pulled off my top, sneakers, and jeans. They then dragged me into their circle. Next they picked up their twigs to flick water onto me. I found myself drinking their strange concoction and joining them in dancing and chanting. Though I had no idea what the chant meant, it was pleasing to my ears. I felt myself gradually slipping into another universe....

  When I woke up the next morning the sun was filtering through lace curtains. I shaded my forehead and looked around me. A plain, fortyish, and slightly plump woman sat by the bed, reading a newspaper. I lifted my head from the pillow.

  Before I could saying anything, she yelled, “Qué bueno!” and dashed away.

  Seconds later, she hurried back. Accompanying her was a robust, broad-shouldered, fiftyish man with a rugged face, a straight, high nose, and intense eyes. Before I could say anything he spoke to me in accented English.

  “Señorita, I’m glad that you’re awake. Welcome to Heartbreak Castle.”

  Heartbreak Castle. Why would someone give his residence such an unlucky name? Anyway, wasn’t it called the Maiden Fortress?

  “Señor, who are you? I don’t know where I am. Have we met?” I said in Spanish.

  I realized I’d spoken abruptly, and that I was an uninvited guest, or intruder, in this man’s place. But he looked delighted.

  “Qué bueno, usted habla Spanish!” Good, you speak Spanish.

  I smiled and apologized for my rudeness.

  He smiled back. His teeth were neat and white, contrasting nicely with his tanned skin.

  “Señorita, my housekeeper, Maria, found you some distance from my castle, by the pond. You were so drunk that you could hardly walk, so she came back to get me and I carried you here. Are you feeling okay?”

  I took stock of myself. I didn’t feel great, but everything was intact, so I replied, “I have a headache, but otherwise I’m fine, Señor. . . .”

  “Alfredo Alfrenso. And you are?”

  “Eileen Chen, I’m from San Francisco.” He was being polite, but I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Señor Alfrenso, I’ve already troubled you and Maria for the whole night, so I think I should be on my way.” I tried to sit up but felt a wave of dizziness.

  I remembered that the witches had taken off my clothes before I danced with them and I was suddenly mortified. Was I still naked? I lifted the bedsheet and was relieved to see my body in a loose gown. I hoped it was Maria who’d put the gown on for me and not her master. Fortunately I was far enough from San Francisco for anyone there to hear about my current state of affairs.

  Maria handed me a glass of water, which I gulped down as if stranded in the desert.

  “You better stay with us for a day or two until you’re fit to go home,” Alfrenso said.

  “No, I’m feeling better,” I said, but just then I had a coughing spell.

  “Eileen, I’m afraid you can’t. You caught pneumonia and I had my doctor come give you an injection of antibiotic. Here in Spain we believe in hospitality. You were nearly unconscious for a while. I must keep you here until you’ve completely recovered.”

  I had pneumonia? I coughed again and realized he must be right.

  He went on. “You need to eat. Maria will fix you something,”

  He seemed to be a very kind man, so kind that I wondered if he hoped to take advantage of me. But this Spanish gentleman seemed quite refined, not at all that kind of man. I thought he must be rich to live in this castle and therefore could find plenty of women, so he had no need of me. I felt relief wash over me. And actually I wasn’t helpless. As a shamaness, or at least someone from a shamanic lineage, I knew all sorts of supernatural arts, or at least thought I did, in case I needed to handle this older man.

  Later, after I woke up from another nap, Maria helped me change out of my nightgown and into a dress. I couldn’t help but wonder whose gown it was—Señor Alfrenso’s wife’s? A mistress’s? But I was too hungry to speculate further and so allowed myself to be led into the kitchen. It was quite roomy, larger than the entire apartment in which I’d spent my Hong Kong childhood. There was a long, sturdy table, a metal-covered counter, an ancient-looking stove, and even a chandelier.

  Maria leaned over her pots while Alfrenso sat across from me, sipping his coffee and looking pensive. I wondered if someone entering the kitchen and seeing us together would imagine that we were lovers, enjoying breakfast together after a night of passion.

  “Señor Alfrenso—”

  “Please just call me Alfredo.”

  “Alfredo.” I took a sip of the chilled, fresh orange juice. “I think this place is called the Maiden Fortress? But you said it is Heartbreak Castle. . . .”

  “Yes, I changed the name. I just haven’t gotten around to changing the plaque outside.”

  “Oh . . . I . . .” I almost said that I was sorry to hear about the “heartbreak” but feared it would be impolite to ask.

  Some silence passed, punctuated by my coughing. When I had cleared my throat, he said, “Eileen, can you tell me how you ended up here?”

  I was at a loss as to how to answer him. Would he believe my convoluted story of coming here to find witches and ending up dancing naked with them? What would he think of me if I told him? But surely he must know about the witches, as they carried out their rituals near his castle.

  “I came to the island to do research for my book,” I said rather timidly. “I’m a professor of anthropology at San Francisco State University.”

  He cocked his head. “Professor! It’s an honor to have a professor as my guest.” He paused to sip more coffee. “Tell me why you came all the way to Tenerife Island and ended up at my castle. Do you expect to find happiness in a heartbreak castle?”

  “Heartbreak Castle or not, we’re all looking for happiness, aren’t we?”

  He eyed me with great curiosity. “Yes, we all are, whether we find it or not. It’s the journey, not the destination, right?”

  It was as if I’d just engaged in a Zen conversation with a high monk somewhere on a deserted mountain.

  “What is your research about?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to say that my field was witches and shamanism because I did not want to sound too strange or scary. But the rugged man in front of me didn’t seem as if he would scare easily.

  I decided to change the subject. “Alfredo, do you live alone here?” It was none of my business, but my curiosity won out.

  “Yes, I mean except for my housekeeper, Maria. I also have a driver and gardener, but they don’t live here.”

  “Do you have woman friends?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  I suddenly realized this sounded like I was trying to find out if he had a wife, or girlfriend, or mistress. And that if he did not, that I was available. He might think that anyway since I was the woman who had slept in his bed uninvited!

  Alfredo didn’t really answer my question, but replied, “I don’t have many friends, unless you consider my staff and my horse my friends.” He gave me another intense glance. “You still haven’t told me why you are here.”

  I couldn’t think of a good lie quickly enough, so I said, “Oh . . . I heard there was a nice castle here, so I came to take a look.”

  “And instead of knocking on my door, you went and got drunk by the pond?”

  “No, I didn’t get drunk. I fainted from exhaustion and hunger.”

  Of course he knew better, because he must have smelled the alcohol on my breath. And no one takes off her clothes because she is hungry.

  Alfredo looked amused but did not press me any further. “I need to go away for a few days. Please stay until you feel well enough to travel back to your hotel. Maria will take good care of you. While you were sleeping we checked your pockets and saw that you’re staying at the Santa Teresa. In fact, Maria has already canceled your reservation and Adam, my driver, is on his way to pick up your luggage.

  “I am afraid you wil
l find it boring just staying in this old place. I suggest you do some sightseeing. Adam can take you around and bring you back to the city when you are ready. If you ride horseback, you can take my horse Lonely Star—we call him Lonlon—to explore the beautiful ruins around here. You are welcome to stay as long as you want. It would be my pleasure to see you again when I return. It’s lonely here. I did have a wife, but she passed away many years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. But life goes on for those of us left behind.”

  I nodded. “When will you be back?”

  “A few days. Maybe a week. You can come and go. If you ring the bell loudly, Maria will let you in, even in the middle of the night. We do keep the doors locked even though there’s nothing here worth stealing, except maybe my heart. Don’t worry, no one will come here to trouble you.”

  How was he so sure? What about the witches? And the old castle was just the kind of place that harbors ghosts. Alfredo Alfrenso was not worried about leaving a stranger here by herself and he seemed to trust his servants completely. Strange. Here was a man who was quite handsome and seemed to have money, but said he had no friends and nothing but his heart to steal. Yet the few rooms I’d already seen were filled with antique furniture and old paintings. Perhaps Alfredo simply did not care; he seemed to be a sad man who took no joy in his possessions.

  “Eileen, make yourself at home. When you feel better, you can explore the castle if you want. Some of the rooms are sealed off—it’s a big place and we can’t use all of it. You won’t get lost.

  “Maria has already cleaned and prepared a room for you. Everything you need should be there. If you need anything else, just tell her. You can help yourself to food, but Maria will cook your meals, if you tell her what time you want them.”

  I was astonished. Last night I’d slept outside—though not by choice—and now I was living in a luxury I’d never imagined. And it seemed I really was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. But I had no idea of what life would be like here or how long I would feel comfortable with this stranger.