The First Circle

by Paul Perea

  Please stop, she said to herself in an effort to quiet her second sight. The haunting images and sounds within the bosque were things of the past, but to her, they were as alive as she and Daniel.

  “Are you okay? You look upset. Did the heat get to you?” Daniel asked, noticing the look of worry on Gabriella’s face as they spread out a blanket.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Daniel. Yeah, I think the walk took a little out of me. I’ll be okay in a minute. Just let me rest.” She smiled at him and dabbed her face and neck with her towel as she tried her best to calm her nerves.

  “Okay, sweetheart.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stood up.

  Daniel began to undress and noticed her embarrassment. He smiled devilishly and decided to take advantage of her discomfort. He took his shirt off and tossed it next to where she sat. The shirt hit her leg, but she ignored it.

  “So do you think the water is cool or do you think it will be warm?” he asked, not really interested in an answer. Rather, he was more interested in making her look at him as he spoke.

  “The water is probably cool,” Gabriella commented while looking over her shoulder at the woods behind them. “Wow, the trees sure are pretty and I can’t believe how green everything looks. I love it when the trees are in full leaf. It’s all so deep and mysterious, like a secret. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Not really,” Daniel answered. “I hate not being able to see where I’m going. I actually like it more when the trees are bare—when you can see straight through and you know where you’re headed . . . everything in plain sight . . . nothing hidden.”

  “Kind of like life,” Gabriella muttered.

  “Kind of like you,” Daniel whispered.

  Gabriella felt her face flush and she looked down at the ground. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing . . . forget it.”

  “No. Tell me what you meant by that,” Gabriella said.

  “I don’t know, it’s like—”

  He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “What I meant is that you’re like the woods in summertime. You only reveal just so much—you keep things hidden, and honestly, at times you’re kinda dark and spooky.”

  Daniel could see she was embarrassed and he struggled to recover. “Look, Gabriella, I guess what I really mean is that it’s nice that you’re not like other girls. They’re silly and flirty and talk too much. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and tell you way too much. But you’re different. I like it, but sometimes I feel like you’re holding back. I mean, you let people in—you let me in—but only so far. I don’t mind the challenge. I just wish you would trust me, that’s all.”

  Gabriella blushed at his words but didn’t argue nor agree with his remarks. What he said was true. She couldn’t let him in. The fact that she was a witch was a secret, and she was far too embarrassed by her home life to talk about it. She had stopped inviting anybody over to her house for fear that her father would be drunk or in one of his moods. Whether drunk or sober, her father’s vulgarity had put an end to sleepovers with girlfriends or inviting her boyfriend to dinner. Home had become solitary confinement. No one would be allowed to see how it really was for her and her mother.

  “You okay?” Daniel asked.

  “Yeah,” Gabriella nodded and looked out across the river as Daniel kicked off his shoes and socks, unbuckled his pants and let them drop in a heap around his ankles, the belt buckle making a sound too familiar to miss.

  “So, are you going to join me or what?” he asked.

  Gabriella closed her eyes for a second and then looked up at the bright blue sky. “In a minute . . . I think I’ll sit here for a while.”

  “Man, it sure feels great to be naked!” he shouted as he jumped directly in front of her.

  She shrieked but before she could shield her eyes, she saw that he was dressed in a tank top and bathing trunks.

  Daniel laughed and dropped to his knees, tickling her and rolling over on top of her until she begged him to stop. “Now come on! Let’s stop being all serious and have some fun,” he said as he stood up and ran toward the river, splashing in the water and calling for her.

  His behavior helped to alleviate her anxiety. She removed her clothes, her bathing suit already on underneath, and gingerly waded into the river until she was standing next to him. They stood waist deep in the luxuriously cool water, and Gabriella, unsteady and feeling the slight pull of the river, held onto Daniel.

  “This is as far as we go, or else the current may be too strong. I’d hate for you to get swept away,” Daniel cautioned.

  “Agreed. You don’t have to tell me twice!” Gabriella responded, and was all too happy to stay where they were.

  She looked into his dark brown eyes and for a moment was transported to another place, a life free from worry or care, but her momentary bliss was interrupted by the brush of something against her leg.

  She shrieked and grabbed onto him as he tried to keep from toppling over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I felt something. I thought something grabbed my leg!”

  Gabriella started for the shore but Daniel pulled her back into his embrace. “Hey, don’t go. It was probably just a catfish or something. Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”

  “No! Something grabbed me! I felt it. It wasn’t a fish!”

  She pushed against him, struggling to be free, but he tightened his hold and his eyes turned dark.

  “Daniel, what are you doing?” she cried, but he held her tight and pulled her under the water. His strong arms were wrapped around her, suppressing her and keeping her from moving. She looked from side to side, panicked, as she kicked and scratched to break free. The water stung her eyes and she blinked, and for a moment saw faces staring back at her through the murkiness.

  Her feet found solid ground and she pushed and punched and kicked, and freed herself from his grip. Rising to the surface, she slapped at the water, scrambling to shore. Choking up water and sobbing, she crawled toward the blanket. Finding her footing, she ran to the edge of the woods in a panic, then turned and walked back.

  “What the hell were you doing?” she screamed. “Trying to drown me?”

  Daniel made his way to the shore, laughing. “My God, Gabriella. I was just having fun. Christ, stop being such a baby.”

  “Go to hell!” she said as she haphazardly grabbed her things and pushed them into her beach bag. “That wasn’t funny. You know I can’t swim!”

  “Aw, come on, don’t go,” Daniel said as he caught up with her and pulled her to him. “I would never, ever hurt you. I’m sorry, really I am.”

  He kissed her head and her face and her mouth. Over and over he said he was sorry as he continued to kiss her and stroke her hair. As his tongue met hers, she succumbed as he guided her down to the ground. Together, they tumbled onto the blanket, caked in sand and sweat and river water, kissing passionately as he undid her bathing suit and pulled his trunks down.

  “No. I can’t,” she said as he continued to position himself on top of her.

  “Come on, baby. I want you so badly,” he said as he entered her.

  “No!”

  “I love you.”

  “It hurts. Stop it, Daniel.”

  “Relax, it only hurts for a bit. It will feel better, I promise,” he moaned as his hips moved faster until his body jerked in spasm. He collapsed on top of her and kissed her lips, her cheeks, and whispered in her ear.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long. You set me free, Gabriella.”

  CHAPTER 25

  David and Ruth found her collapsed in the front yard. Her heart was beating and she was still breathing but she could not speak. Drool had run down the side of her face and onto the ground beneath her head. The scene had been horrific for Ruth—a crumpled form lying in their front yard—from a distance thinking it was a large do
g napping in the summer heat—instead, finding her—her eyes open and silently pleading for help.

  David picked her up and placed her in the car and they sped off for the doctor, but he was not home so they he drove at top speed to Albuquerque. There, the doctor and nurses moved quickly to tend to her. Ruth held her head as they cleaned her face and removed her clothing. Ruth cried silently as they ushered her out of the room so the doctor and nurses could do their work. She paced the floor for what seemed an eternity until David returned with Joseph, Grace and Sam in tow. Ruth shared what little she knew as the time ticked by slowly. At last, the doctor emerged to tell them that she did not survive their attempts to revive her.

  Mirabella was dead.

  The scene played out over and over in Ruth’s head until she thought she would go mad. There had been no noise, no blood, no cries of pain. The whole thing was surreal. Only yesterday her mother had been alive and vibrant. Now she lay in a hospital bed, pale, cold and silent.

  “She’s gone. I’m sorry, but your mother suffered a series of strokes. There was nothing we could do.”

  The doctor’s horrific words tormented her. Ruth wanted to scream.

  It had been dark for several hours when David and Ruth finally returned home. They had spent all afternoon and most of the evening at the hospital and the drama had left Ruth drained, but she summoned the strength for the task that lay ahead. Gabriella would be devastated.

  “I’ll go talk to her,” Ruth said coldly as she entered the dark house, her footsteps echoing throughout the room.

  David nodded and watched her walk down the hall toward Gabriella’s bedroom. He felt like a coward but he didn’t want to see the look on his daughter’s face when Ruth told her the news. He knew how hard this would be for Gabriella and told himself that it was probably best that the girl be alone with her mother. These thoughts were his only companion as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, tossed it back, and poured another.

  The scream was almost inhuman, causing him to drop his glass. It shattered into tiny pieces, flying in all different directions. He looked down at the sticky sharp shards and walked over them, feeling the broken glass compress under his heavy boots. He entered the room and found his wife cradling Gabriella, her scream reduced to a gasping cry. Try as he may, he could not avoid Ruth’s face. It was not cold nor was it accusing. In her eyes he saw something he had not seen in a very long time. Love.

  David sat down on the bed and put his arms around them as they clung to each other. He looked into Ruth’s eyes and reached out to lightly stroke her face—the first real intimacy they had shared in months, maybe years. His self-confessions, his secret transgressions, and his failings increased ten-fold as he held them in an embrace that was disingenuous at best. The last real words he had exchanged with Mirabella had not been kind, and this show of affection toward a wife and daughter that had become strangers to him felt empty.

  And then he realized the crying had stopped.

  He looked down at Gabriella, cradled in Ruth’s arms, and as he met Gabriella’s cold stare a feeling of dread overcame him. Her eyes were not filled with sadness nor were they vacant from shock. For the first time in his life, he saw pure unbridled hatred in his daughter’s eyes. He averted his and then closed them, and remembered the warning his daughter had issued when she was just a child.

  You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.

  CHAPTER 26

  Joseph received more visitors in two days than he had during his entire life. He accepted their condolences and was grateful for the stories people shared as they reflected on Mirabella. Some were familiar to him: the people who came to her for medicinal help and were “miraculously” cured of their ailment; the women whose children she helped bring into the world; the heartbroken men, like Sheriff Alary, who professed love for Mirabella and wept like boys.

  Then there were those that surprised him and of which he had no knowledge. Tales of generosity and kindness that were given without obligation and without any expectation of reciprocity. Even the ancient reticent priest stopped to offer his own recollections of the woman he found both aggravating and enchanting, and told Joseph that Mirabella had paid for the church’s new roof, but had asked that the donation be kept anonymous.

  “Ah, que feminista! That sister of yours was something else! So stubborn. So headstrong. But I will miss her murmurs during mass,” he said as he turned to hide his tears, and hobbled away on his cane.

  Joseph listened to friends, acquaintances, and others who knew Mirabella and wept as they shared their own memories.

  “Your sister paid our bills while we were struggling, and when we tried to pay her back, she simply asked us to bring her some vegetables from our garden and to say some prayers for her at mass.”

  “When my wife was in the hospital, Mari came to our home every day, cooking and cleaning for me and my children. She never asked for anything in return.”

  “One year, a blight killed all of our crops but she saw to it that we had enough to eat to get us through until the next season!”

  These stories and more were shared with Joseph and he committed them to memory. He knew that Mirabella often lent a hand were she could but he had no knowledge of all she had done for her community. Hearing the kind recollections about his sister gave him exactly what he needed for the eulogy.

  Although his sister could work some incredible feats of magic, their neighbors and friends had no idea that she was a witch. But it didn’t matter. The thing that Mirabella proved in her life was that one need not possess magical powers or have great wealth to have a positive effect on others. True, she did have both, but she didn’t live her life relying on those things. Mirabella had lived as she believed people should—with kindness, respect and generosity of spirit. Mirabella truly loved her neighbors and it showed in the way she had conducted her life.

  On the eve before the funeral, the family made their way to San Ignacio Church, each lost in thought and mute with grief. One common thread ran through their minds. Tonight would be the last time they would see their beloved Mirabella. The casket would already be placed before the altar, open, allowing people to bestow a final touch or kiss, and then tomorrow it would be closed for the funeral. It would be closed forever.

  A mixture of flowers and incense filled the air of the church and dozens of candles provided subtle light, dancing across the white-washed walls and polished floor as people filed in to attend the rosary mass. They shuffled single-file to the front of the church to gaze upon the face of Mirabella and to offer hugs and hushed blessings to the family who sat in the front pew. The congregation was mostly women, who dressed in somber black clothing and, as was tradition, wore black lace veils to cover their heads.

  The hushed din came to an abrupt halt when the altar boys rang the hand bells, announcing the arrival of the priest and signaling the crowd to sit. As was customary, Father Matthew Jimenez began the Rosary mass without any personal words or introduction. The parishioners followed along with their recitations, focused on the prayers, and as was the belief in this ritual, they prayed to purify Mirabella’s soul.

  Gabriella opened her eyes and subtly looked up, not really knowing what she expected to see. Would she experience a Marian apparition? The Virgin Mary, arms open, standing on the crescent moon and wearing a crown of stars. Would the Holy Spirit be invoked and reveal itself? Or would she see a beautiful angel, wings outstretched in protection over her grandmother’s body?

  Since early childhood, Gabriella had a fascination about the rosary prayer, and would sometimes peek inside her grandmother’s bedroom as Mirabella knelt next to her bed praying. She would observe in silence, wondering what kind of spell or ritual was being practiced. When Mirabella was not looking, she would sneak into the room and hold the rosary in her hands, admiring the beautiful shiny beads and intricate cross.

  The rosary beads! Will they be buried with her?r />
  Gabriella had not thought to look that closely at the rosary that had been intertwined in Mirabella’s clasped hands. She took a sideways glance at the casket, but from her vantage point she could not see inside the casket. Her eyes moved away from the casket and directly at Father Jimenez, who was continuing to guide the prayers with his deep somber voice. He was looking directly at her and Gabriella felt ashamed for having had the disrespect to look up instead of remaining intent on the prayer. But his gaze was not judgmental. Instead, his face was soft with care and understanding, and to her astonishment, he gave her a slight smile. She felt instantly relieved and bowed her head again in prayer and did not open her eyes again until the mass was completed.

  By the time the mass was over, it was dark outside and most of the crowd had once more paid their respects to the family and left the church to return to their homes. A few remained behind catching up with each other in hushed voices, with some soft weeping echoing in the near-empty church.

  Gabriella turned to see a group of Mirabella’s friends, Gloria Rios and some of the other elderly women, talking and sniffling into their kerchiefs. The scene warmed Gabriella’s heart. She didn’t want to leave the church tonight. She wanted to stay with those wonderful women and with her grandmother.

  Gabriella surveyed the people in the church, half-listening to the conversation that was taking place between her mother and Father Jimenez, when she spied a group that did not look familiar. Without an excuse, she left her mother’s side and walked over to the three women who stood in a tight circle near the entrance of the church. In their black dresses and glimmering lace veils, they looked like large black birds, regal and wise, the movement of their fabric like great feathers rustling in a light breeze. Her passive approach effectively ended their conversation as they turned to look at her.

  “Ah, Dios mio! Come here, child,” the tallest woman said in a thick Spanish accent, extending her arm out in a welcoming gesture and ready for an embrace. Gabriella admired the gorgeous fabric that made up the sleeve of the dress. It was black and iridescent—she could make out hints of green, blue, and violet. The woman’s fingers were long and elegant, her nails polished and beautiful, and she appeared to be not much older than her grandmother had been.