When the Elephants Dance

by Tess Uriza Holthe

  I sat down and opened the basket of hot food. I would make Father a plate just as soon as I spoke to Esmeralda. The tenderness of the beef, with the sweetness of the onions, thin slices of ginger, and green peppers, exploded in my mouth. I shivered at all the flavors assaulting me.

  Her patron’s voice was timid, embarrassed. “I need a cure, a cure for happiness. I have too much of it. It scares me.”

  “But people search all their lives for this. What has caused you to feel you are undeserving of it?” Esmeralda’s voice was tender. She had a way of speaking, coaxing the hurt out of someone’s heart.

  “Undeserving?” The woman’s voice faltered, shaking the hard edges from it. “I had never thought of it that way. Undeserving. I have lived all my life with things given to me. This ring you see? My grandmother’s. The money for these clothes? My father owns many trade ships, to carry cargo from one port to another. It grows each day, bigger and bigger, this business, until I feel it will swallow me. I have never known a day of unhappiness, but Padre Ramirez says that someday it will come and I must prepare myself. This terrifies me, for I’ve never experienced one moment of hardship. What will it be like? I cannot stand the waiting any longer.”

  “Padre Ramirez said this to you?” Esmeralda asked in astonishment.

  “Yes, the day my father and he fought. Father refused to increase his donations to the church, and in passing the padre said to me, ‘Ah, Elena, you are so pure, so protected. I am sorry you had to hear such things.’ It was as if he had read into my most troubling thoughts. He said it sadly, as if it were a bad thing. He said, ‘You have had too much happiness in your life. Poor child, what will happen to you when the bad things come?’ I thought nothing of it at the time, but slowly the thought has crept into my mind, piercing my heart like a ribbon of thorns. I feel I can no longer breathe.

  “It came slowly at first, a simple question. I had never known unhappiness, what would it be like? The next time I saw the padre was during confession. I asked him what he had meant by that remark of having too much happiness. He sighed and said, ‘Your jubilation elevates you to the highest clouds. But what will the fall be like? For surely everyone falls.’ ”

  Esmeralda leaned forward and took the woman’s hands. “The padre is preoccupied with humility. It is his calling in life to be humble, the lowest of the ladder. Surely you have heard it said, ‘The meek shall inherit the earth,’ ‘The last shall be the first’? These are the padre’s teachings. You come from different arenas. He must not have realized that he was frightening you. Have you not scraped your knee or been spanked for misbehaving? Those are bad things. We all live through them. You have experienced bad things, Elena.”

  “No, those things have never happened to me,” Elena whispered, her eyes in agony. “You see?”

  Esmeralda shook her head. “Still, why anticipate bad things? We all experience these things, both the rich and the poor.”

  Elena snatched her hands away and placed them on the table to steady herself. “I never talk to the poor. They frighten me with their hungry eyes. They live just outside our house, just below the rise. Every day they watch me as I step in and out of our carriage, when I go to the market. It’s as if they are waiting for me to fall. I do not want to become like them; what a terrible way to live. I have no friends. No true friends, whom I can confide in. Please, Esmeralda, have you not some potion, some prayer, that would end all my happiness? Something that would sprinkle a few raindrops of bad luck, to soften my fall?”

  Esmeralda sighed. “Elena, there is nothing coming your way that you cannot bear up to. But if it is an immediate cure you want, if you are brave enough to face the bad luck all together, then I have a cure for your happiness. There is a flower that blooms only in Ilalim. You must pick this flower each day, and each day you must ask a different person for water to put in this cup. Tell them it is water for the flower. You will have no trouble finding the flower, for it blooms in abundance there.” Esmeralda took down a copper bottle engraved with words in a language I did not recognize. It was labeled Kontra sa kaligayahan, “To counter happiness.”

  “But the town of Ilalim is full of …” Elena paused.

  “Yes, the poor. And who has more bad luck than they? By giving you their water, they will transfer some of their bad luck onto you. And it shall bloom like the flower you choose. But first …” Esmeralda held up her finger and took down a matching copper flask. She held it up to the ceiling and closed her eyes for a moment in prayer, then placed a few drops of red liquid from the bottle into the cup. She peered up at Elena. “Truly, this is what you wish? For bad luck? A cure for your blessings?”

  “Oh yes.” Elena let out a big sigh, clasping her hands together excitedly. “I do wish it, with all my soul.”

  “Then go, and remember what I said. Only from Ilalim, and water only from the home of a town person.”

  Ahh, she was so clever, Esmeralda. That woman was forced each day to speak to what she feared most. Soon these people were inviting her into their homes, and they no longer became terrifying to her. They became her friends. The cure for her happiness was not bad luck, but to make her happier inside.

  Esmeralda had a second visitor soon after the scared woman, so I was forced to wait. I wanted to run in and tell her what I had witnessed at the San Lupe house, how I had seen her Tearso and this other woman. But again, I had to sit and wait, and with my confidence and the food I brought home, both emptied of half its contents. When I looked down into the pot of gingered beef, I saw that I had only one slice left for my father. I got up to give him the full plate of roasted lechón. But there was no time. I had to sit back down again with a plate of hot lechón on my lap as her next visitor entered.

  At first her room seemed eclipsed in blackness, but I realized it was just the robe of Padre Ramirez. The candles wavered violently as his robe cut through the stillness of the evening air. He came in, and though he could not know I was in the next window, I stood to attention. His presence had that effect on me.

  “You have not gone to confession in three days, my child.” It was odd for me to hear him call her “child,” for the padre was only a few years older.

  “Yes, Father, I apologize, but my customers have doubled in the last few months. I think perhaps it is the cooler part of the dry season. Many ailments seem to arise this time of year.”

  He smiled at her bottles with displeasure. “So Sister Mildred is right, you have been entertaining my parishioners again. You have been leading them astray.”

  “I merely listen to their troubles, Father.”

  “That is my job.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He took her hand, startling her. “Esmeralda, I do not mind you giving them cures for their back pains, or their stomach troubles, but when you begin to absolve them of their guilt by telling them they have done nothing wrong, you go too far. We have discussed this before, have we not?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Is it your customers or Tearso Batongbukol who consumes your time?” The padre’s mouth was smiling, but his eyes narrowed. I remember thinking at that moment, if one were to cover his smiling mouth, he would seem very angry.

  “Tearso does not take up all my time.” She lowered her eyes.

  “Esmeralda, how many times must Sister Mildred and I stress to you that he is from a different world? You see how you enjoy helping people? Your calling is with the church, beside me. The church took you in when you had no home. You owe them your life. This Tearso is a bad influence. I see no future for the two of you.”

  “A girl can still dream, Father.” She blushed with her own secret beliefs.

  “Think on what I have said. Give it time to penetrate your mind. Now, I am here to ask for some medicine for my arthritis. That heating lotion you carry?”

  “Yes, of course.” Esmeralda stood to grab a simple bottle from her bureau. “Shall I apply it to your hands, Father?”

  “Yes, that would please me.” The padre held out
his hand. On his ring finger he wore a heavy gold band, a gift from one of the parishioners.

  Esmeralda heated one of her bottles over a small flame, then rubbed the ointment onto the padre’s hands. Her ministrations must have worked miracles, for his fingers were always smooth and never once did I see him in agony from his arthritis. Why, his fingers were so nimble that he was able to play the organ in church.

  “Think seriously on this matter, Esmeralda. There is something spiritual within you. That is why people gravitate toward us. They need guidance. Now, if you were to spend your powers on more worthwhile occupations …” His voice drifted. “Why, with you by my side, we would be unstoppable.”

  “Unstoppable, Father?”

  “Take, for instance, this morning. Mrs. Concepcion confessed to stealing her husband’s money for gambling. Her winnings she saves up, for the time she is to run away with her lover.”

  “Padre, really. Are confessions not supposed to be a private matter?”

  “Ah yes, perhaps I become overzealous. But these are things we could discuss together at length. I value your thoughts on these matters. Drop this playing at witch doctor. You waste your time, and theirs. You distract my people from their prayers. How can one concentrate?” His last words were said with such fervor, he had to pause and fan himself.

  Esmeralda was startled by his words. She stared at her hands.

  The padre cleared his throat. He straightened his robe. “At times, my dear, I may seem too harsh with you, but I only wish you good things. You were made to serve the church. It is not a dishonorable thing, to serve God.”

  “But, Father, some people prefer to worship the Lord in private.”

  “Sinners! Why else would they hide in the dark? These people must be guided. They do not know any better. Look at yourself. My child, you may have good intentions, but do you really think you are helping people? You lead them to depend on you, when they should be coming to me. I am schooled in these matters. Their donations to you could be indulgences given to the church.”

  Esmeralda bowed her head. “I give half to the church and the other half to replenish my supplies, to buy my food, my clothes.”

  “Only half. You see how sin clings to you?” The padre looked deep into her eyes, and for a moment I forgot he was a priest. For a second, he appeared only as a man in love with a woman he could not have.

  “Yes, Father. I shall try to give more.”

  AFTER THE PADRE left, I tried to regain my earlier confidence. It took great effort. I found myself finishing the entire plate of steaming lechón for strength. I watched as Esmeralda took out a pen and paper. Each time she smiled to herself, I thought, Yes, go tell her now. A simple frown, even when she dropped her pen, would crumple my fortitude. What finally convinced me was a glance down the street. I could see Tearso at the bottom of our winding hill. He would be at her door in a matter of minutes. I threw myself from my seat and rushed to her door. She opened it before I could knock. She must’ve heard my footsteps and thought I was Tearso.

  “Carlos. What a pleasure it is to see you. Come in.”

  I nodded, glancing up at her, but I was so overcome by her presence that I could only stare at her leather slippers and how they encased her tanned feet. It was a few seconds later that I noticed I had the sweet sarsa sauce smeared across my chin. I wiped it away hastily as she led me to her table. I looked with fascination through her window into mine. I turned my head and stared in wonder at her bottles.

  “I have been longing to speak to you, Carlos. Have some tea.” She pushed a small stone cup to me.

  The cup was smooth and warm. It was the color of pale amber, with cracked lines running through the exterior. I chanced a glance from the cup to her. Her smile made my eyes water. This was a silly reaction, I know, but I was so happy to be there. I looked like an idiot with my awkward fumblings.

  “There is a certain matter I wanted to speak to you of, Carlos, that of your father.”

  I was surprised at her words and momentarily forgot my own.

  “He appears to be very sick, yet I never hear him cough or cry out in pain. Are the doctors certain it is tuberculosis?”

  I nodded, still unable to speak.

  “And he has had this symptom since your mother passed away?”

  “And sister,” I croaked.

  “Ahh, and sister.” She nodded. “And you, brave boy, have taken on the role of father, and he of child.”

  I looked at her, and my mind raced, trying to grasp what she was saying, not understanding but knowing, just knowing, there was a great truth in the words that skimmed past my head.

  “Has he always been this sad?”

  “Yes,” I answered, feeling a fragment of weight break off in my telling of it.

  “And you, such a great burden to carry. Have you never told your father how tired you are?”

  “I need to tell you something,” I said, blocking her line of questioning. It was making my stomach swoon.

  “Of course, but let me say these few more things. Do you not wish to play like the other children? Do you ever wish that your father would leave his bed?”

  “Yes, but he is so sick.” My voice shook. It surprised me, how strained my throat felt.

  “Then you must tell him, Carlito. How will he ever get better, if no one needs him to?”

  “I cannot tell him that. He would spank me.” I don’t know why I said those words. My father never spanked me. “I saw Tearso today,” I blurted.

  “Did you?” Her eyes shone with affection.

  “Yes, he was with another woman. I came to tell you they were holding hands, at the San Lupe house. I thought you should know. They are getting married,” I finished, gasping for breath.

  She did not seem in shock. “Tearso must attend many functions because of his family’s social circles. In these functions he must escort young women. It is difficult to explain, but—”

  She never finished her words. There was a knock on the door. Tearso strode in. He had in his hands two boxes wrapped in pale blue, with yellow ribbons. He was smiling so honestly with affection for her that my conclusions wavered. His expression changed when he saw me.

  Esmeralda stood behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Tearso, you know Carlito. He lives next door.”

  “Yes,” Tearso began. “Carlito, I wanted to ask you—”

  “I must give my father his medicine. Thank you, Miss Esmeralda.” I scrambled out of my seat and hobbled out the door before they could speak any more.

  Esmeralda called out, “Come visit again, Carlos.”

  I went straight to my room to listen to what they said next.

  “I saw him today at the San Lupe gathering,” Tearso began. He laid her presents carefully on her wooden table.

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “I was with Catalina Marquez. I was her escort.” Tearso’s voice was urgent.

  “Yes, that is what I tried to tell him.”

  “She means nothing to me, Esmeralda. I do these things for my parents. You know that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  And that was that. She was so blind with her love for him. What I said to her was already forgotten, but what she said to me, about my father, was like a little seed. I paid no attention to it at first. What was foremost on my mind was that I save her from any lies. I did not realize until then how pressing it was that she find out the truth about Tearso, that I find out the truth. It could have been as he said, escorting a woman from his social circle for his parents’ benefit. Maybe I was the one conjuring things in my head. My aunt had accused me of this often enough. So I went to the only person I could think of to clear the situation. I went in search of Catalina Marquez.

  THAT TUESDAY EVENING was already long in years. The occupants of our house were quickly falling off to sleep, yet I felt an urgency. Looking back now, I can see that I was frantically setting in motion what I feared most. I was setting in motion all the reasons for Esmeralda’s disappearance. But ho
w could I know this? I only knew that I could not bear to sit and listen to Tearso’s fraudulent voice and Esmeralda’s quiet murmurings.

  Catalina’s home was near the San Lupe house. I acquired this information in the guise of messenger boy. I went into town, to a tavern I knew. I asked the room in general where the Marquez home was. In the corner, a large man was hovering over a smaller man. They appeared to be quarreling over a debt. The smaller man appeared very frightened. This larger man turned at my mention of the Marquez name and asked, “Who needs to know?”

  “I do, sir. I have a message for her.”

  “Well, why did you not say? I have business with her father. Give me the message.”

  “I cannot. It is only for her ears.”

  The man surveyed me, picking his teeth with a toothpick and tasting his finds with a grotesque smacking of his lips. I thought if I stood there any longer, I would watch the man regurgitate his entire dinner from his teeth and eat it again. “What, you wish to ride with me, then?”

  “No, if you give me directions, I can—”

  “Arrive after everyone has fallen asleep. What kind of message, boy?”

  “An important one,” I answered, watching his eyes as they measured my worth.

  “Let us hope you do not waste her time. My carriage is outside. Tell Pancho I am coming and that you ride with us.”

  We rode in silence, I with my hands grasping the sides of the coach as it bumped at a furious speed, and the big man laughing every now and then at my constant adjustments.

  And that was how I arrived at Catalina Marquez’s, by way of luxury coach. I followed the big man, whose name I soon discovered was Gabriel.

  Gabriel lumbered into the room. “Tell the Catalina there is a messenger boy here,” he boomed to the servant. “And Arturo, do not try to uncover his secret,” he warned the servant. “It is only for the mistress’s ears.”