Chihuahua Karma

by Rice, Debby

  “Charmaine, I would like you to meet Mrs. Trudy Dichter. You are sooooooo lucky. Trudy is a world-renowned medium. She doesn’t usually take new clients, but as a favor to me, she’s agreed to help. If anyone can fix this problem for you, she can.” Cristoff glowed with self-importance.

  “Thank you so much for coming, especially on such short notice.” Charmaine, holding me in the crook of her arm, extended her hand for Trudy to shake.

  Trudy stared at Charmaine as though she was cuddling a snake.

  “Do not come any nearer. Nothing that touched that dog should touch me! I must be in a state of complete purity to perform my spiritual work. Cristoff, do you have the Holy Wipes handy? Please find me one right away.”

  “I told you you would need to put the dog away.” Cristoff made a show of rummaging through the satchel and finally extracted a foil packet that looked like a condom with a crucifix printed on the front. Trudy ripped it opened and pulled out a towelette. While we watched, she individually scrubbed every finger of each hand. She gave the towelette back to Cristoff. He put it in a plastic baggie and put the baggie back into the satchel. Trudy removed a pair of white cotton gloves from her bag and put them on.

  “I can’t be too careful. The Holy Wipes are a godsend. We special- order them from the Vatican.” The pun was obviously unintended. Trudy did not crack a smile. Charmaine was too offended to laugh. I, on the other hand, wanted to howl but restrained myself.

  “Sugar is my absolute best friend. I wouldn’t think of putting her away.” Charmaine clasped me more tightly and glared at Cristoff. “Aren’t you, my little ABFie?” Charmaine said rubbing her nose against mine. “I wouldn’t worry about catching any germs from Sugar. She’s probably cleaner than you are. She goes to Fancy Dog—they’re the best in the city—for a spa day twice a week. Don’t you, Suggie Woogie?”

  Trudy’s mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed. “Sugar? Didn’t Ruby Lin bring a dog name Sugar to séance that time Don Paco got so upset?”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Cristoff.

  “Well, let’s not stand in the foyer. I’m sure there are lots and lots of tiny dogs named Sugar. We got this one from a breeder in Indiana, and she’s a perfect little lady. Aren’t you a lady, Suggie Woogie? You go everywhere with mommy. Don’t you, baby doggie?” Charmaine flicked her hair and led Trudy and Cristoff into the salon (her name for the living room).

  We sat around the marble coffee table.

  Charmaine crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “Would you like me to tell you about the problem?” She began with the cautious tone of someone having a medical consultation.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. We don’t really need any information from you.”

  I felt Charmaine’s chest sag with disappointment that she wouldn’t have the cathartic opportunity to describe the chronology of fearful events we had experienced.

  “We should be able to make an evaluation based on the vibrations we discover throughout the condo. I do like to get the business part out of the way so that Cristoff and I can concentrate on our readings. After we’ve done an astral scan of the premises, we’ll know what level of cleansing is necessary. Then we will do the purification ceremony and that should be that. All your worries will be over. No more frisky spirits bothering you. My usual fee is $3,000 for a level-three extermination, guaranteed to remove even the most malicious entities. But I’ll give you the Friends and Family discount of $2,775. I strongly recommend you go this route. Some invaders are incredibly tenacious. You don’t want to know.” Trudy’s eyebrows lifted, and she nodded her head as if recalling a particularly nasty encounter.

  “No, I don’t want to know one more disgusting detail,” said Charmaine. “Can you send us a bill?”

  “I’m sorry dear, but we don’t deal in credit in the spiritual world,” Trudy said, smoothing the leather satchel on her lap as if in anticipation of a heavier load.

  “Well, just give me a minute. We don’t have a lot of cash around the house. Is a check okay? I’ll get my book. Suggie, you stay here and keep Trudy and Cristoff company.”

  Charmaine got up and dropped me back into the chair. Trudy and I were facing each other across the table. She was staring at me like a prison guard considering where she could twist or pinch that would not leave marks. She got up and walked over to my chair. I cowered reflexively. Hands on her hips, she glared down at me.

  “You bitch, and I am not referencing your gender. You’re the cause of all this trouble. I feel the disfigured spirit inside that rat-body, and I know you are evil. If that girl realized she was rubbing noses with Beelzebub… Say your prayers, because you’re going to final rest any minute.”

  Her vehemence was electric. Trudy was not some phony waving a crucifix and a garland of garlic. She made the air snap. Her energy was powerful and chaotic. I was certain she could send me tumbling into the darkest reaches of oblivion, and I was terrified. She was the mistress of forces she neither understood nor controlled, a nuclear warhead that was missing its operating system. I summoned all my concentration to try to send her a message:

  “I am not evil. I am good. I am just a woman. There is no one evil here. It is just Veronica. She’s upset.”

  “Trudy, are you sure you want to go in that direction?” Cristoff seemed as stunned as I was. “You know Charmaine is nuts about that dog. She won’t be happy to think it’s possessed.”

  “Cristoff, you know as well as I do that I have to follow the vibrations. And right now they are pointing straight to this revolting little creature.”

  “Do you think you might be just letting your feelings about dogs skew the vibrations?”

  “All right, we know I’m a cat person. But absolutely not. I’m completely objective. I always approach my work scientifically.”

  “Please, please, please. I am Cherry Paget. Not an evil spirit.” I imagined these thoughts as arrows that could pierce Trudy’s consciousness.

  “I really think that’s a bad idea, Trudy,” said Cristoff.

  “Oh, what’s the matter? Why are you staring at Sugar?” Charmaine had returned with the checkbook. She shot a troubled look in Trudy’s direction.

  “Don’t worry, dear I think you may have a little problem with the dog. We’re going to start with our readings. You just relax. Here, take this.” Trudy handed Charmaine a pen and watched her expectantly.

  “What do you mean ‘a problem with Sugar’? Is something wrong with her?” said Charmaine. She ripped a check out of the book and handed it to Trudy. Then she picked me up and inspected me, turning me back and forth like a tilt-a-whirl.

  Meanwhile, Cristoff and Trudy had disappeared down the hall with their satchels.

  When Charmaine finally set me back in her lap, my head was spinning. I thought the dizziness must have affected my eyes, because there was a blurred patch in my vision hanging just over the coffee table.

  “Oh Suggie, I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you! You’re the only one who really loves me. Everyone else has an agenda,” Charmaine said as she compulsively petted a spot in between my ears. “Larry only wants sex and a secretary, and I don’t really have any girlfriends. I miss Texas and my parents. I wish I was sitting around the TV with Mom and Dad eating popcorn and watching Jeopardy. We used to have such good times. I don’t know why I ever came to Chicago. You know, sometimes I feel like you understand exactly what I’m saying. It’s like you’re my sister, and you know what I’m thinking.”

  Charmaine suddenly stopped the petting, which was a relief. Her obsessive affection had already given me a bald spot. Her hand froze in midair and her eyes glazed over. Her head slumped to her chest. I knew from the tingling in my tail and the way my stomach clenched what would happen next. The room became still. All the little background noises—the muted sound of traffic, the rustling of houseplants, the ticking clocks, the whoosh of central air, electronic hums and bleeps—stopped as though, for a moment, time had been snatched in a fist. As I watc
hed, the cloud hanging over the coffee table began to vibrate. It swelled, contracted and bulged. Out of this innocuous bit of gas slowly materialized the bloated face of Don Paco. His head bobbed above the table, a hideous perversion of a party balloon. He looked at me and licked his fleshy lips. My skin crawled.

  “Hola, mamacita. How’s my leeetle perrita chula?” A fleshy hand stroked my thigh. The calluses on his spade-shaped fingers scratched. But it was so great to feel my legs again that I welcomed even this filthy caress.

  “Hey, Don Paco. What are you doing here?” I blew a couple of air kisses his way and hoped that I’d score points for this enthusiastic greeting.

  “That Trudy, she piss me off. Calling me all the time to answer stupid questions. Then, when I tell her something, she get it ass-backwards. I say as clear as I can, ‘Her wedding ring is under the couch,’ and Trudy tell the client her ring on top of the house. She got the poor lady tearing up her attic or climbing ladder to look on the roof. My talent get totally wasted with her.”

  “You are so right,” I said, sucking up. “She doesn’t seem to get what’s going on here at all.”

  “I got some advice for you, chica. When the living call, do not listen. The first time you hear a voice, it fill the emptiness and sound so beautiful. But once you answer, you got to come, no matter what, every pinche time they say your name. Now, they never shut up. It like a thousand crows screeching in my ear—‘Don Paco, is my husband okay? Don Paco, do you see my baby? Don Paco, Don Paco, Don Paco!’”

  I wanted him to focus on my issues, but I knew I had to let this tantrum play out.

  “The zombie whining never stop. I’m stuck with Trudy and her death junkies for eternity unless we can get La Loca to cross over.”

  “Trudy hates me. She said she’s sending me to final rest. Can she really do that?”

  “She think she so smart. Getting you out of that containment vessel gonna be harder than getting some cabrón to marry her, and she been working on that for ten years since Victor passed over. You can bet he got his earplugs on. But you know, she so screwed up, she might just do it by accident. By the way, I don’t know why you want to leave that vessel so bad. You got it pretty good in there. Four squares, sleep all day. You don’t appreciate the finer things.”

  “Please, you’ve got to stop her. I can’t go to final rest.”

  “How many times I heard that line before,” he sighed, looking less like an ogre and more like a sad, wrinkled jack-o’-lantern. “Everybody begging for more time. It don’t matter how old they are. Even the hundred-year-old lady. She can’t see, can’t hear, can’t walk—pissing in her pants and eating baby food—even she want to feel the sun on her face and see the trees against the sky one more day. Me, I just want this spirit guide gig to end. And trust me, baby, they don’t make it easy.”

  Just when I had lost patience and was ready to interrupt Don Paco’s whiny monologue, he threw me a bone

  “But guess what, mamacita? You lucked out. We got some simpático going. We’re working together—we’re compadres. You’re helping me and I helping you, no?”

  I felt his hand move toward my breast, and I did my best not to react in any way that might upset his delicate equilibrium. But now that we were compadres, I thought I could risk a new tack.

  “Listen,” I said in the placating tone I might use to coerce a petulant child, “I really can’t work with you if you keep distracting me. I have to be able to think clearly. The vessel makes it hard. Dogs have extremely limited concentration. I like you so much, but you’ve got to stop squeezing my melons, or I won’t be able to help.” Miraculously, the hand disappeared. He winked at me.

  I couldn’t repress a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t worry, chula, we got plenty of time for playing mercado later.” He gave me a thumbs up and chuckled.

  “Okay, you’ve got to tell me exactly what to do,” I said, feeling a burst of confidence in my role as sidekick. “Because I have no idea how to get through to Veronica. I’ve tried and tried. Either she disappears right away or she has a temper tantrum. I can’t figure out how to get her attention.”

  “La niña’s mama is acting loca right now. She don’t understand the rules for interface and causes lots of trouble. I try to talk to her about moving on, but she too upset to listen. You got to be the girlfriend, convince her that you gonna take care of her baby.”

  “That’s brilliant. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Lucille is my EM. But I can think of a hundred reasons why it’s impossible, starting with Veronica hates me. I stole her boyfriend. Why would she want me taking care of Lucille?” I sensed that I had acquired some genuine supernatural clout and thought I should test my limits by being a little cocky. I was sure Don Paco wasn’t telling me everything. Perhaps I had powers I wasn’t even aware of. Maybe that stuff about Chihuahuas being guides for the dead was true.

  “You don’t understand, chula. Death make people focus. She don’t care about that guy or about you—all she care about is that little girl.”

  “But if she won’t listen to you, how am I going to get her to listen to me? And there’s a really big problem: What if Trudy ends up sending her away, and she gets the credit instead of us?”

  “You ask way too many questions. I told you. Don’t overthink. The universe got to flow—that’s one of the first lessons in the manual, baby. You should pay attention to that one. Work your vessel. Be like the dog—mas corazón, menos cabeza.”

  “But don’t we need to have a plan?” In the Wonderlandish world of the undead, practical advice seemed to be in short supply. He had me hanging on every word.

  Just when I sensed that Don Paco was going to say something critical, Charmaine’s head snapped up and he disappeared. All that was left were a few droplets of vapor hanging over the coffee table.

  “Wow, what happened, Suggie? Did I fall asleep? I feel like I have a really bad hangover!”

  I licked Charmaine’s face enthusiastically.

  “What’s that disgusting stench? God, is something on fire? Don’t tell me it’s set the house on fire.”

  A clanging noise and a cloud of smoke that smelled like a cross between eucalyptus leaves and cattle dung accompanied Trudy and Cristoff back into the room. Charmaine gasped and covered her eyes when she saw them. In one hand, Trudy was waving something that looked like a court jester’s wand covered in tiny bells. Her other arm was crooked, and a large ominous object was attached to it. At first I couldn’t make sense of this strange shape. Then the pieces began to fit together; there were feathers and wings and claws. I grew excited, thinking it was a bird. But it didn’t move, and there was no scent. The ratty thing perched on Trudy’s elbow was dead, stuffed by some taxidermist in another century. Fierce orange marbles glared from the owl’s eye sockets, and two tufts of feathers made tiny horns on either side of its head. A nasty-looking hooked black beak dominated its evil pixie face.

  Cristoff held a bundle of twigs tied together with a smoking joss stick on the end. He was sweeping the floor with this contraption. The two of them walked in circles around the room, sweeping and chanting. Trudy handed Charmaine a printed sheet and motioned for her to join them in circling the room and singing:

  Sweep the spiral inside out

  Widdershins and round about

  Beasom broom and Cedar stick

  Out unwanteds quick quick quick.

  Clean the sacred space this night

  We shall weave a Witch’s rite,

  By power of the moon and sun

  Shining Lord and Changing One.

  Sweep them all leave not the least

  Before the broom the nasties run,

  Enchanted Magick has begun.

  (room cleansing chant, author unknown)

  Charmaine was coughing too much from the incense to sing. But she dutifully marched in time to Trudy’s jangling bells. All the while, Trudy’s unwavering gaze was directed at me. Her eyes shot bullets. I frantically scanned myself for tics or twin
ges that might indicate I was on the brink of annihilation. But nothing happened. Perhaps it was like anesthesia: One moment I would be present and the next dissolved, gone forever without knowing that I had left.

  After they had completed about thirteen rotations, there were beads of perspiration sprouting on Cristoff’s skin like sweat on taffy. Trudy led them to the middle of the room. She raised her arms in the air. When she did this, her blouse untucked from her skirt, and we were treated to a view of doughy midriff.

  In a tone that was somewhere between Don Paco’s growl and a fascist oratory, she chanted, motioning energetically for Charmaine and Cristoff to join in:

  Let the North wind carry you to final rest.

  Let the South wind carry you to final rest.

  Let the East wind carry you to final rest.

  Let the West wind carry you to final rest.

  There is no road.

  There is no path.

  There is only emptiness.

  The sun is dark.

  The moon has paled.

  The stars grow dim.

  The sea is dry.

  The mirror’s black.

  The void is near.

  Be gone. Be gone. Disappear.

  Trudy and Cristoff clapped their hands sharply. Sensing that the voodoo floor show was over, Charmaine breathed a sigh of relief, and so did I. I shook myself. I was grateful that I had not been transformed to something even more hideous.

  “Well, that should do the trick,” said Trudy. She brushed her hands together to indicate that she was done with this business.

  “Cristoff, please take Minerva and place her gently back in the bag.”