by Mingmei Yip
“What can I do?”
“First, don’t invite contact with her anymore.”
“But I don’t invite her!”
“But you think about her. That enables her to enter your mind.”
“I visit her mother and she talks about her all the time.”
“Be careful. Too much contact with the yin world will deplete the life qi you got at birth.”
I had planned to ask him about the witches, especially Nathalia, but given this warning, I sensed that I would not get more out of him. Instead, I turned the conversation back to him. “But if it can shorten your life, why do you do it?”
“I’m a man gifted with ample yang qi. Most ghosts, especially female ones, can’t harm me. After all, they’re yin beings. But you’re a woman. Although you’re young and strong, your heart is very soft. Both the living and ghosts can take advantage of that.
“But I’m different.” He pointed to his eyebrows. “See? My hair, my goatee, and even my brows all turned white. Their brightness will blind the ghosts so they can’t get too close to me, no matter how vengeful. Besides, I’m already ninety-three, so they know they’ll have me pretty soon.
“This female ghost is not angry at you. So my advice is, when she comes to you again, try to comfort her. Once she is finally at peace, she’ll leave you alone. Don’t involve yourself in other people’s business, especially not the dead. You are young. Live your life.”
It was good advice. I should have followed it.
22
Dinner with the Housekeeper
As the Chinese say, “If one has a ghost on his mind and in his heart, then it is real.” Real or not, now I would have no peace until I found out how Isabelle had died.
Even though I wanted to keep searching for the truth, my mind and body told me to wait. I needed a good rest. I needed to eat, watch mindless TV, take a walk along the beach, sip iced tea in a cozy café, or just watch life pass by my hotel window. And catch up on my sleep—hopefully without any dreams.
So I took two days just to relax and refresh. I also took time to write down all the happenings and organize the photos I’d just had developed—Alfredo’s castle, the village, the cracked ground, the Witches’ Market. I did not take any pictures of the ceremony in the temple, as that was absolutely not allowed.
I decided to call Ivan and Brenda. It had been a long time since we had talked. I didn’t know why, but instead of my little sister, when I picked up the phone, my finger dialed Ivan’s number first.
Ivan sounded so excited to hear my voice, which, despite myself, made me feel good. Whatever his faults, it was nice to hear a normal voice after all of the strange people I’d been spending my time with.
Ivan complained that I hadn’t called and he had not been able to reach me at the hotel. I told him most of what had been happening—the Witches’ Market, the village, Alfredo, Grandpa, Sabrina, her daughter, Isabelle, and Past Life Lake. I didn’t think someone as practical and materialistic as Ivan would understand or believe in any of my bizarre encounters, so I left out all the supernatural happenings, especially my visions at the lake and in the temple, and the opening of my third eye. To him I’d never have more than two. He’d already told me that I paid too much attention to Laolao’s nonsense and read too many New Age books. And of course I was not going to tell him about the wealthy Alfredo and his interest in me, nor Luis’s infatuation.
“Do you think about me at all while you’re having so many adventures?” Ivan asked, his voice wistful.
“Ivan! We’re talking now.”
“I know, I know. But I care about you and hope that you also feel the same about me.”
“Of course I do.” Maybe I did. After all, we’d been together for almost five years.
“Good. That’s all I need to know.”
“Have you seen Brenda?”
Some part of me wished Ivan and Brenda would become a couple. They seemed really suited for each other and it would solve two of my problems: get rid of Ivan and have my sister married off. And, best of all, it would keep Ivan’s wealth in the Chen’s family!
Ivan’s voice rose again, interrupting my wishful thinking. “Not really. Sometimes we talk over the phone.”
“Ivan, have you been having a good time with other women while I’m away?”
There was a long pause on the other end before he replied. “Well . . . not really.”
His pause told me the true answer. I could not help feeling a little jealous, even while I hoped he would find someone and leave me alone.
He knew he’d given himself away, so he quickly said, “What about those tall, dark, handsome, passionate Spanish men?”
“Ivan! Of course not.”
Since Ivan had no interest in witches, or anything else nonmaterial, there was really not much to talk about, so I soon told him I had to hang up but would call again.
I couldn’t tell if deep down I actually loved Ivan, or even if he truly loved me. Feeling strangely discontented, I dialed Brenda.
We chatted about ordinary things before I told her about Alfredo and Sabrina, this time including most of the details. Needless to say, all of her interest was in the rich Alfredo.
“Eileen, wow! Use your charm on this castle owner—better yet, seduce him! Once you’re his wife this castle will be yours too! Then we can all come and have a big party!”
“When did our parents teach us to be so materialistic?”
“It’s not that. It’s about not letting go of opportunities. Sister, this could be a bonanza dropping from Heaven.”
There was no point in arguing with Brenda. She had her priorities, and to me she was still my cute little sister, dear to my heart.
“All right,” I said, “maybe I’ll think about it.”
“Yes! That’s my big sister!”
My next move was to visit Alfredo at Heartbreak Castle, to see if I could fish something fishy from him. Of course I’d be particularly careful after Sabrina had painted a very different picture of him.
To my great disappointment, Maria told me that her boss had left for a business trip and would return in a few days.
“Señorita Eileen, Señor Alfrenso said that if you come back, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want and make yourself comfortable while you wait for his return.”
Excellent. Now I could snoop around the castle freely. “Thanks, Maria. I will stay for a few days.”
I was flattered that recently so many people desired my company. I thought that maybe since I had opened my third eye, I had some sort of charisma that attracted people to me.
Maria smiled. “Welcome back, Señorita Eileen. Make yourself at home. Why don’t you walk around and see some more of the castle while I get the guest room ready for you?”
“But my luggage is at the hotel.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll send the driver to pick it up.”
“Maria, this castle is huge!” Actually, I was feeling a little scared in this nearly empty place.
“Don’t worry. Adam the driver and the gardener are both nearby.”
Soon she was back.
“Señorita, your room is ready and I’ve prepared a hot bath for you. I’ve left everything you need—soap, towels, clothes, hair dryer—inside the bathroom. Dinner will be ready at six in the dining room. If you’re bored and want something to read, remember the library is five rooms down the hall from you. Now I’ll go start dinner. What would you like?”
“Maria, gracias. I’m not a picky eater. I know whatever you fix will be delicious.”
Looking happy, Maria left.
Soon my exhausted body was soaking in the steaming, scented water of the claw-footed tub. I sighed with pleasure as the therapeutic water eased the kinks in my muscles and joints, relaxing and rejuvenating me. Yet worries still lingered at the back of my mind like crawling spiders.
What would happen if I continued to be involved in Isabelle, Sabrina, Alfredo, and the unknown Nathalia’s world? Should I cut off from them t
o save myself? But, with Isabelle at least, it was not as if I had intentionally sought her out. And what about finding the witches, seemingly by accident? And opening my third eye? There seemed to be reasons I had come here, reasons that had nothing to do with collecting materials for an academic book.
I fell asleep in the bathtub until Maria woke me up again. She handed me a towel and set out a blue silk dress for me to put on. It looked beautiful, but I had misgivings, so I asked her, “Maria, is this Señora Alfrenso’s dress?”
She nodded. “Yes, we have many of hers. I picked this one out especially for you. You’ll look lovely in it.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the Chinese fear it will be unlucky to wear a dead person’s clothes. Anyway, I’d worn Penelope’s dress for the ball and nothing bad had happened, so I decided I’d wear this one and hope for the best.
“Señorita Eileen, as soon as you are ready, please come to the dining room. Dinner is almost ready,” Maria said as she was leaving.
Before I had only eaten in the kitchen, not the main dining room. It turned out to be huge, big enough for formal banquets and decorated with old-style European elegance. The walls were covered with oil paintings of tables overflowing with food, handsome horses, bull fighters with red capes, and a huge landscape. The paintings were dimly illuminated by a huge chandelier hanging low over the room like a pregnant belly. A place was set at the end of a long table that was surrounded by chairs upholstered in crimson satin with gold tassels. There were pale blue plates, a delicate crystal wineglass, and heavy silverware adorned with a floral pattern. A cloth napkin and vase of fresh flowers completed the arrangement.
Sitting down, I asked Maria, “Don’t you think this is too grand for a simple dinner?”
“Señorita, there are many rooms in this castle but not many guests. It’s sad that all of these beautiful rooms are neglected.”
The room truly was beautiful, but the truth was that it gave me the creeps. I felt that the big, empty room was actually not empty but filled with guests from the other realm. But I did not want to scare the housekeeper, so I said nothing.
I remembered Laolao had always told me that the “other beings” are everywhere and thus unavoidable. Those who died a peaceful death are mainly harmless—just passing by. But only people with yin eyes opened can see these entities—ordinary people can only see them when they are very sick and slipping into the yin world.
Laolao gave me careful instructions on how to handle these unwanted visitations. If I ever ran into a ghost, I should be careful to be polite in accord with the Chinese saying, “If you respect me one foot, I’ll return your respect one yard.” Of course, I knew this was not always true of living people, so maybe it was not true for ghosts either. In any case, if there was an “unclean encounter,” I was to burn incense and recite a sutra to speed these beings back to where they belong....
“Many rooms here have not been tended to for years,” said Maria.
“Oh yes?” Perhaps it was in one of these neglected chambers that Alfredo stashed his hoard of cash and gold.
“Señor travels a lot and has no time to enjoy this place. So half of the time it’s a waste, if you ask me.” Then she stood up. “Excuse me while I get the food.”
When she returned with a large tray laden with dishes and a bottle of wine, I invited her to sit and eat with me.
She looked startled, even alarmed. “Oh no, Señorita Eileen, that’s very nice of you. But I can’t eat with a guest!”
“Don’t worry, Maria, I doubt Señor Alfrenso cares.”
“But I’m a servant . . . Señor Alfrenso . . .”
“Maria, please. He’s not here, and I certainly won’t tell him!”
On the housekeeper’s face appeared a what-the-heck expression. Then she disappeared for a few moments, returning with a plate, silverware, and a glass. She set these on the table and sat down next to me.
Maria poured us wine, and after she whispered a short prayer we began to dig in. The first course was a soup served with grapes and melon, too cold by Chinese standards, yet surprisingly tasty.
“The soup is excellent, Maria, what’s inside?”
“Lamb stock, fresh bread, crushed almonds, olive oil, and pinches of garlic mixed with sea salt and vinegar.” Her face glowed happily under the warm, yellowish light.
“All these ingredients—that’s a lot of work.”
She nodded. “Yes, if you want it to be good.”
After finishing the soup, she served up various dishes—seafood paella, fried pork rinds, boiled octopus sprinkled with coarse salt, shredded flank steak in tomato sauce, pimento picante, and more.
“Hmmm . . . Maria, you’re really a good cook!” I let out a long, satisfied sigh, then wiped up the sauce on my plate with a slice of home-baked olive bread sprinkled with sesame.
“Thanks, Señorita Eileen. It’s because Señor Alfrenso loves to eat, so I always try to improve my skills. No matter how much he loves a dish, he gets bored quickly and wants new ones.”
The red wine was good, too, and seemed well matched with the food. I drank only a little of mine, but I noticed that Maria did not hesitate to keep refilling her own glass. After her fourth her tongue loosened and she kept on chattering. It quickly became tedious, but then I realized her tipsiness might give me the opportunity I had been waiting for to pry into her master’s and late mistress’s lives.
“Maria, how long have you worked for Señor Alfrenso?”
“My mother worked here first. After she passed, señor hired me. I never married, so I plan to continue working here until either he’s gone or I can’t work anymore.”
“Did you know Señora Alfrenso’s wife well?”
“Yes, Penelope Alfrenso, a very beautiful but cold woman.”
“So you didn’t like her?”
“No one liked her except herself. But I don’t blame her. If I were that beautiful, talented, and rich, I’d also love myself to death!” She laughed bitterly.
“How did they meet?”
“She was an opera singer. Señor Alfrenso always loved opera. Being poor as a young man, he would sneak into the opera house and stand behind a pillar to listen to her sing. One day he picked up his courage and went backstage to meet her. Despite his poverty, she fell for him. Señora’s father found out and sent his servants to beat Señor Alfrenso up and warn him away from his daughter. As young lovers do, they found a way to meet and eloped.”
“Did Señor Alfrenso tell you all this?”
“No, my mother. She knew everything that went on here.” She quickly crossed herself. “God rest her soul. Maybe that’s why I’m destined not to marry.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I knew too many secrets, so señor will never let me go.”
I thought Maria might leave, and quickly, if she could find some of the hidden cash and gold.
“How did Señor Alfrenso end up in this strange place?”
“He inherited it from his wife’s father. After señora died, it passed to him.”
“Does he really like living in this huge castle in this out-of-the-way place?”
“Oh, I don’t ask the master anything like this. I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“It’s so big. . . .”
“Actually, I haven’t been in all the rooms. I’m not sure even Señor Alfrenso has. There are rooms within rooms and more than one attic.”
“Why was it built this way?”
“Some crazy count in the last century . . . that’s all I know.”
This made sense, sort of. In a way this place was as strange as Past Life Lake and Uncle Wang’s temple.
Maria leaned over to me, and whispered, “Some rooms are not just abandoned—they are haunted!”
“And you’re not afraid to be here when Alfrenso is away?”
“Not really. Because I stay far away from those haunted rooms. Also my mother’s soul will protect me.” She held up the small gold crucifix hanging around her n
eck. “She wore this every day of her life and gave it to me when she died.”
“How can you tell which rooms are haunted?”
“There are noises. Sometimes pacing footsteps, other times singing. Opera singing.”
Maria excused herself and returned with another bottle of wine. As she skillfully extracted the cork, I noticed that her hands were pale. I chewed meditatively on an octopus tentacle while she poured herself another glass of wine.
When she was done, I asked, “Please forgive me asking, but can you tell me how Señora Penelope died?”
“It was a motorcycle accident. She was still young and beautiful. A tragic waste.”
Yet another death under bizarre circumstances! Anxiety welled up in me. “How did it happen?”
“Señor had an affair. Another singer, only worse—a whore.”
“So Penelope found out. . . .”
“She always had a hot temper. She was utterly humiliated. Here her husband was married to a famous opera singer and then took up with a cabaret singer!”
Cabaret singer—it must be Sabrina. Now everything was beginning to fit together.
“Señora Penelope once said she could understand if her husband fell for someone young and pretty, but not someone low-class.”
Maria didn’t say the name, but it was enough to confirm my hunch that the other woman was Sabrina.
“After all, not only was señora beautiful, she was an opera singer who wore expensive clothes and partied with famous people.
“One evening they had a screaming fight and Señora Penelope left the house and jumped on señor’s motorcycle. Later the police came and told us that the vehicle had plunged into the lake. She’d never ridden it before.”
“Do you think she might have committed suicide?”
Maria held up her palms as if to block my question. “Anyway . . . she’s dead and will never come back.”
Suddenly the room felt chilly to me. I thought of Isabelle, another woman who had died horribly. What if Penelope also came back? I thought of her body, like Isabelle’s, floating in Past Life Lake before being given a proper burial. Hoping to dispel this unpleasant image, I asked Maria where Penelope’s grave was.