The Witch's Market

by Mingmei Yip

  “When will they come back? We can wait.”

  He waved his hands frantically.

  Did he mean they were gone for good? It seemed unlikely, but I needed to wait for Father Fernando to find out.

  I went back to join Alfredo to wait for the priest. An hour later Father Fernando finally returned and I asked him about our friends.

  The priest looked uneasy. “I’m sorry to tell you that they left. I’m worried that they will not come back.”

  “What do you mean?” Though fearing the answer, I had to know. I realized I’d forgotten to introduce Alfredo, but it almost seemed that the two knew each other, though there was no warmth between them.

  “Please come to my office and talk,” said Father Fernando.

  Alfredo and I followed him. Juan wanted to join us but was stopped by Father Fernando, who gestured him to sit in a pew and wait.

  After Alfredo and I settled into the priest’s small office, I explained to him how I’d found out that Luis was Alfredo’s son.

  Before Fernando could respond, Alfredo said eagerly, “Father, please tell us where Luis has gone so I can find him.”

  Father Fernando held up his hand. “First, I must tell you the sad news. Grandpa passed away two days ago.”

  “How can this be possible?” I cried.

  “He was in his nineties and had a weak heart. I think he’d had an argument with Luis, then collapsed. I rushed over and gave him extreme unction, just as he was dying. Yesterday we buried him. He was a good man and a good Christian.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you know what they fought about? Luis is such a gentle man.”

  Father Fernando didn’t answer me, but instead turned to Alfredo. “Señor, please excuse me, but I need to speak to Eileen privately.” He cast me an uneasy glance.

  I followed the priest out of the church and around to the churchyard. Leaves and earth whispered under our feet, as if telling a long-kept secret. Nearby I could see the fresh grave. Tears came into my eyes. At Father Fernando’s suggestion I followed him in saying the Lord’s Prayer. Afterward we walked through the small cemetery toward a cluster of trees.

  “Eileen, I’m afraid that you may be setting off a personal catastrophe for Señor Alfrenso and Luis,” the priest said in a worried tone. “You see, it is not Luis who is señor’s son, but Juan.”

  It was another shock to my already overtaxed mind. I’d wondered about the effect of telling the two that they were father and son. But my concern was about disrupting their lives, not the worse possibility that I would be telling them a falsehood. And just when Luis had lost his grandpa, and me telling him that we would never have a relationship.

  “You sound like you’re sure.”

  “I’m sorry, Eileen, it would be easier for everyone if you were right. But there is no question—Juan is Señor Alfrenso’s son, not Luis.”

  Father Fernando took something from his pocket. It was the red stone pendant on a silver chain.

  “That’s Luis’s!”

  The priest shook his head, then gazed into the distance. “Many years ago our village was prosperous and there were many young people. But even then, some of the women didn’t wait to take their vows in church and tried to hide their condition. Babies were sometimes abandoned at our church’s doorstep. Luis and Juan came to us that way. Luis was a vigorous baby, so Father Ricardo was surprised that his parents left him. As for Juan, he suffered from a palsy and no one would want him. So Father Ricardo took him in and took good care of him. When Father Ricardo found him, around his neck was this silver chain and pendant.”

  “Then how come Luis was wearing it?” I asked, my confusion growing.

  “When Juan was little, he had frequent tantrums and would bite on his pendant. Father Ricardo feared that he might swallow it and choke on it.

  “Since Luis was such a calm child, Father Ricardo decided to lend Luis the pendant, knowing he would keep it safe. If the mother ever showed, Ricardo would explain and return the pendant. But she never came.”

  Of course the mother never came. Sabrina had no idea about her son’s whereabouts and Cecily wouldn’t want to reclaim the afflicted child. Nor, I thought, would Alfredo want a son unless he was perfect. I thought of Confucius’ famous saying that parents should act like parents and children like children—in other words, care for each other. But the Chinese sage would not have said it unless it was often not observed, even in ancient times.

  I decided not to tell Father Fernando who Juan’s mother was, nor about the witch who had abandoned the child. The priest was a kindly man, but I feared even he might shun the boy if he knew about his connection to witchcraft.

  Father Fernando sighed again, shaking his head. “The human heart is so fickle.”

  It is said that the heart has its reasons—but unfortunately, too often the reasons are bad ones. The priest hadn’t said anything about Luis so I asked, but with trepidation.

  “Since Grandpa’s death Luis has been heartbroken. He decided he was ready to leave. When he came to the church to ask my blessing and say good-bye he gave me the necklace to return to Juan. I saw him off to the ferry yesterday. You just missed him by a day.”

  I suspected that it was not only Grandpa’s death, but also my putting him off that led to Luis’s abrupt departure. Despite what I thought had been good intentions, I had caused nothing but trouble for my friends.

  I wondered if things were even worse than I knew. Worried about Luis, I asked the priest, “Did you tell him he’s not Alfredo’s son?”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t have the heart, although I should have. Someday I’ll have to tell him. Meanwhile he’s trying to start a new life.”

  “What does Luis plan to do?”

  “He didn’t tell me. I’m not sure he knows himself.” He paused, then looked at me. “You may have already guessed that Grandpa was not Luis’s real grandfather?”

  “Of course. He was a foundling.”

  “Yes, Grandpa and his wife took a liking to the boy and took him in. When the wife died, the old man and the boy continued to keep house together.”

  “Luis didn’t say where he was going?”

  “No, but he left a letter for you. He likes you.”

  “You can tell?”

  He laughed. “Oh, yes, even as a celibate Catholic father. The day he met you, he talked about you nonstop, saying how smart and learned you are, a professor, and friendly too.”

  I was about to ask, “What about pretty,” but suppressed myself.

  The priest stood up. “All right, let’s head back. You can read Luis’s letter. As for Alfredo, I’m afraid you’ll have to explain, since it was you who told him Luis is his son.”

  When we were walking back to the church, he spoke again. “Eileen, I’ll be leaving the village too—”

  “When?”

  “In a month maybe, or even less, as soon as social service comes to help the two old people into a nursing home.”

  I felt bad that the elderly man and the widow would end up in a nursing home. And Juan’s situation seemed even worse, as I was pretty sure Alfredo would not acknowledge him. It was Juan who seemed to get the worst of everything.

  The priest must have known what I was thinking because he said, “I’m being reassigned to a larger church back in Spain. They won’t need me here. And Juan will be a verger, so he’ll be looked after, even after I am gone.”

  As expected, when we went back to Alfredo and I told him about Juan, he became agitated. I could tell he was completely heartbroken. He’d unexpectedly gained a son, lost him, then gained one he did not want. Nor did he have a woman who cared about him. He was an aging, rich man with bad karma.

  Back in the car, his self-control slipped. He pounded on the seat back and shouted over and over, “What did I do to deserve this!?”

  “Alfredo, you found your son, even if he’s not as you expected. Why don’t you take Juan back? Maria can take care of him, or with all your money you can hire more
help.”

  “No, absolutely not, I won’t have a son like this! Who knows if he really is mine? Sabrina was famous for sleeping around! Of course, she wanted my money. I want a DNA test on Luis. Juan could not be my son, absolutely not.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, inside of which was a toothbrush.

  “What’s that?”

  “My driver got it from Luis’s house. It’s for a DNA test.”

  I felt very sorry for the man. I could not blame him for wanting a normal son, though this did not excuse his intolerance toward Juan. The DNA would not come out as he hoped, but maybe that was the only way he could move on.

  When the car reached the castle, Alfredo invited me to go in, but I declined. I wanted to read my letter from Luis in private. I asked the driver to take me back to Luis’s house.

  Once inside the house, I sat on the long chair and tore open the letter. Even before I read a single word, tears coursed down my cheeks. Please, let me have some good news from Luis, I thought as I began to read.

  My dearest Eileen,

  I am sure you want to know about Grandpa. He died suddenly, but I knew it was coming. The day after you and Señor Alfrenso visited, Grandpa was not feeling well. He warned me that Señor Alfrenso is an evil man and couldn’t be my father. I’d never seen Grandpa so upset. I fear it brought on his death.

  There’s no reason for me to stay on here without Grandpa. The only thing I know how to do is carpentry. You know I want to see the world, so I decided to be a sailor. Maybe the sea will help me forget.

  Please take whatever you like from our house, even the furniture. I put Grandpa’s sculptures for you in the first drawer of the closet next to the bookshelf. I’m not sure I will ever come back because everyone I know will be gone.

  Maybe someday I’ll have made enough money to go to San Francisco to visit you.

  Whatever happens, my love for you will never change. I believe you love me but can’t bring yourself to admit it.

  I’ll miss you, my dear Eileen.

  Good-bye and good luck.

  The furniture maker who’ll never stop loving you,

  Luis

  I fought tears as I read the letter. I felt sad and guilty. Had I given in to Luis’s romantic longing he would have stayed. But despite my third eye, I had no idea if either of us would have been better off that way.

  Being a sailor didn’t seem like much of a life to me. But neither did living out one’s years in an empty village. At least Luis would earn a little money, have free meals, and maybe, as the expression has it, a girl in every port. The latter made me a little jealous, but also a little less guilty.

  If I had accepted Luis’s love, what sort of life would I have—especially when the passion wore off? If I had married him and remained on the island, I couldn’t be a professor anymore. The only work I could imagine doing was as a shamaness—just as Laolao had always wished. I could sell herbs, tell fortunes, and conduct underworld tours. But I doubted there was much need on the island for an exotic, Chinese witch. The other witches certainly would not like competition and were expert at spreading malicious rumors and casting spells. I was sure they’d do everything they could to drive me out of business.

  Even if our love lasted, as the Chinese say, “Couples with no money have a hundred things to be miserable about.” At first a couple may be in the phase of “they’re so filled with love that they can survive just by drinking water.” But pretty soon they’ll need real sustenance. And then the quarrelling begins.

  I got up to look for the package Grandpa had left me, and found it waiting in the closet, just as Luis’s letter described. I set it on the table and inside found several of Grandpa’s sculptures. I could see that either these were done some time ago or he’d gotten his muse back. I ran my hands over the clean contours and subtle molding. Was he a crazy old man or a wise one—probably both, I thought.

  I sensed the set of sculptures were intended to tell a story, but my mind was too clogged with emotion to figure it out. At the bottom of the box was an envelope. Expecting another letter, I was surprised to find a crumbling newspaper clipping instead.

  A diving accident took the life of a local young woman, Isabelle Sanchez. Though her body was found in Past Life Lake, police were baffled because they had never heard of anyone diving there, due to local belief that it is inhabited by ghosts. A geologist studying the lake some years ago noted that there is a severe undertow, making it dangerous for swimmers, particularly children.

  While it has been suggested that the death was not accidental, the police will not comment further at this time. They do, however, deny the possibility of ghostly involvement.

  A source who asked to remain anonymous told this newspaper that her death was related to a falling out with a close friend, local businessman Alfredo Alfrenso. He and Señorita Sanchez were overheard quarrelling about money the night of her demise. When questioned by police, Señor Alfrenso said the quarrel was of no importance and that he was shocked and saddened to learn of the young woman’s death.

  I knew Grandpa had a reason for saving this article, and also for being sure I would see it, most likely to warn me about Alfredo. I placed the article next to Luis’s letter and turned my attention back to the sculptures. There were five and they resembled, or at least I imagined they did, Alfredo, Penelope, Sabrina, Isabelle, and myself. Suddenly I thought the figure representing Alfredo was pushing Isabella. The one I thought was me was just watching, a puzzled look upon her face. Or perhaps they were just sculptures after all.

  I folded Luis’s letter carefully and put it away in my purse. Then I took a last look at the little house and said another prayer for both souls—the one in the earth and the one under the sea. After that, I turned to make my way back to the hotel.

  31

  The Proposal, Again

  Back at the hotel, the receptionist handed me a message. It was from Maria asking me to go to Alfredo’s castle immediately. Anxious that there was yet another disaster, I called Maria from my room and was told señor had taken ill and was asking for me. I grabbed a taxi in front of the hotel and asked the driver to hurry.

  Maria opened the front door, her face pale as she let me in.

  “What happened, Maria?”

  “Señor Alfrenso had a stroke! The doctor has just left and señor is now resting in his bedroom. Follow me.”

  Alfredo looked weak and depressed, but he was awake and able to sit up, so I guessed the stroke wasn’t too severe. I felt a wave of relief.

  I sat next to him on the bed. “Are you all right, Alfredo?”

  “Thank you for coming to me so quickly, dear.” His eyes filled with tears. “Eileen, I . . . want to tell you something.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll stay here to keep you company.”

  He smiled faintly.

  I remembered Grandpa’s warning, but in Alfredo’s present state he couldn’t do me any harm. As I waited for him to speak, Alfredo had fallen asleep, so whatever he had to tell me would have to wait.

  I went into the kitchen to ask Maria what had happened and was told that the doctor had said it was not serious and Alfredo just had to rest. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in a country doctor, but there was little I could do. My guess was that the stress of discovering that Juan, not Luis, was his son had brought on the stroke. But of course I said nothing of this to Maria.

  “The doctor says he needs to stay in bed for at least a week. Then he’ll be weak for a couple of months,” Maria said.

  Maybe I’d be gone by then—away from this island filled with the dramas of life, death, love, loss, greed, jealousy, heartbreak, infidelity, witchcraft, and revenge.

  “Señor is not taking it very well. You know, he has always been very strong and active. He can’t accept being sick,” said the housekeeper.

  Of course, none of us wants to accept that life, health, and everything else are transient. Only death is permanent.

  “Where are señor’s
friends? Has anyone come to see him?” I asked.

  “Señor doesn’t have friends, only business associates. But they live far away and only travel for business deals. Anyway, señor insists I not tell anyone but you about this.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  “He says you’re the only one who doesn’t care about his money. He doesn’t trust anyone else.”

  This surprised me but gave me a glimpse of the world Alfredo inhabited—a heartless one. For this reason I felt I should stay and comfort him, despite his unkindness to so many of the people who had cared about him in the past. I never fancied myself a nurse, but Laolao had always told me that her supernatural abilities were to help others who did not have her gifts. And this was true—no doubt many shamanesses were charlatans, but I had never known Laolao to cheat anyone.

  “You’re kind, Señorita Eileen. But señor just needs you to stay with him. A nurse will come soon to care for him and his lawyers will take care of his business matters.”

  “Good.” I wondered what these matters were. A will? But I was not going to ask, lest Maria think I too cared only about her boss’s money.

  “Don’t worry too much, señor has the best doctors and lawyers,” she said.

  It was sad that he could afford the best doctors and lawyers, but not friends.

  “I can stay for a few days; hopefully he’ll get better soon,” I said.

  “Good. I’ll go and prepare your room.”

  Along with the nurse, a physical therapist came from the hospital in the city twice a week. The stroke had left Alfredo’s speech very slightly slurred and some weakness in his right leg. He was very frustrated and irritable with the nurse and therapist, but I cheered him on and he gradually improved.

  I went to the temple on Grand Canary and bought herbs to prepare healing soups for Alfredo. Chicken with ginseng, red date, ginger, and astragalus to improve his speech and strengthen his heartbeat. Tortoise soup brewed with medlar, gentianae root, and radices rehmanniae to improve his dry mouth and weak pulse. I was going to cook snake soup, which improves circulation, but Maria screamed when she saw me bringing the wriggling reptile into the kitchen.