The First Circle

by Paul Perea

  The three were all exquisitely dressed, their hair fashionably combed. The woman who had spoken was tall and thin. Her face was severe, angular and beautiful, with dark and knowing eyes. The second was youthful looking and Gabriella could see that as a girl she must have been a great beauty. She still was, with shiny dark hair tinged with silver, and wide glistening eyes. The last was handsome, as well, a little stouter than the others and just as elegant, but with a downturned mouth that made for a dour appearance.

  “Pardon me,” Gabriella requested in a meek voice. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your conversation but I didn’t recognize you and was curious as to how you knew my grandmother.”

  “Oh my, we have known your grandmother for ages, my dear. We’ve been away for a very long time, but when we heard about Mirabella’s passing, we had to come to pay our respects. My sisters and I loved her very much, and although we had lost touch, you might say we kept an eye on her.”

  Gabriella looked at the tall woman, trying to remember if her grandmother had ever mentioned this grand-looking lady. She could not place them or recall a description. Surely if they had been close to her grandmother, Mirabella would have mentioned them to her.

  “You should be proud of your family line. Mirabella was a powerful witch, as was her mother, Levinia,” stated the tall woman, pausing for a moment before continuing, “but not as great as me or my sisters.”

  This statement startled Gabriella and she looked around nervously, checking to see if anyone had heard what this mysterious woman had just said. To her relief, no one appeared to be within earshot.

  “Who are you?” Gabriella whispered.

  “What? Your grandmother never told you about us? She must have been very angry with us, sisters! Ah well, I guess we will never know, for the dead tell no tales,” the tall woman said, addressing the other two women, who giggled at the comment.

  “My dear girl, I am Mancha! These are my sisters, Maria and Magdalena,” she said in a formal tone while pointing to the youthful Maria, and the Rubenesque Magdalena, respectively.

  Mancha looked at Gabriella, who wore a look of sudden realization and disbelief on her face, causing the three women to laugh again. They enclosed Gabriella in a hug and she took note of how wonderful they smelled, like roses and rainwater.

  Mancha continued to speak for her sisters. “Look here, girl. Don’t be sad. Like you, we didn’t expect Mirabella to leave us so soon and her departure from this world could not have come at a worse time!”

  “What do you mean?” Gabriella asked.

  Mancha looked around the room and then grasped Gabriella’s chin with her long slender fingers. “We have much to share but now is not the time nor the place. We will come to you tomorrow night, after the funeral has taken place and the mourners have retired.”

  They bid Gabriella farewell and in unison stepped out of the candlelit church into the dark night. Gabriella was momentarily stunned and too surprised to move.

  They’re real! They really do exist! Uncle Joe’s stories are true!

  Gabriella looked over at her mother who was still at the front of the church conversing with Father Jimenez and the rest of the family. Seizing the opportunity, she ran out into the night to catch up with the ladies, but they were nowhere to be seen. She ran to the end of the churchyard and looked up and down the road.

  They couldn’t have walked away that quickly, she thought.

  A loud cry from a bird startled her, and in her head she heard a voice. Gabriella looked up at the sky and saw three large crows flying northwest toward the Jemez Mountains.

  “Keep your tongue, girl. Do not reveal our presence to your family. Lock up your heart and close tight your mind. Stay alert, for evil is seeking you!”

  CHAPTER 27

  The church filled to capacity as mourners arrived and quickly occupied the pews, leaving others to stand against the cool adobe walls, fanning themselves with prayer books and taking some relief from the electric fans that had been placed at each end of the church. The casket was draped in a funeral pall embroidered with a gold cross, and on the altar sat the box, draped with a similar cloth. Within the box, the wine and wafers, the body and blood of Christ.

  Gabriella knew the Mass by heart, having attended some with Mirabella. As a young girl, she had often dreamt of being an altar boy even though she knew that could never happen. In her fantasy she would sneak a peak into the mysterious box to see what else was hidden there. She would steal away into the sacristy behind the altar. She would be the one to light the candles and help the priest in offering the wafers to the parishioners. She would wipe the priest’s lips from the chalice. But she was older now, no longer a silly girl intrigued by these rituals.

  Gabriella still found it hard to accept, but the casket, along with all the women in their long black veils, were the proof that assaulted her heart. She wept openly. She didn’t care what anyone thought. The person she loved more than anyone in the world was dead and she could not, and would not, hide her grief. It was a pain like no other—an unexplainable and relentless hurting that left her hollow, for when someone you love dies, they take a bit of you with them and that bit can never be recovered.

  Father Jimenez presided over the mass, and at times, even he choked up with emotion at the loss of his dear friend. Their history included many milestones, some joyous, some not. He had met Mirabella when she was a young woman and he not yet a priest. He had administered her wedding to Philip Cortez and when Philip died, he conducted the funeral and was a source of support and strength for the young grieving widow. He had baptized her children. They had shared meals together. They had danced. These memories could neither be ignored nor dismissed. He grieved along with everyone else.

  Joseph delivered a eulogy that aroused laughter from the congregation and then sobs as he touched on personal memories to which everyone could relate. The mariachi band played traditional hymns and favorite Spanish songs throughout the mass, and ended with “Amazing Grace” as the pallbearers carried the casket down the center aisle of the church, out through the yard, and across the dusty road, La Estrada de los Animas, to the Campo Santo, the cemetery.

  Father Jimenez led the solemn procession. Joseph followed next, walking alone, staring straight ahead, not daring to look into the eyes of the mourners, lest he be overcome and breakdown. Next were Grace and Sam, who in turn were followed by Gabriella, Ruth and David, their arms interlocked, as if combined they would have the strength to get through the awful day. The mourners followed the family until all had gathered around a newly dug grave, the red earth in a heap next to the dark earthly chamber.

  There was no more music. Only the sound of the cicadas’ electric hum as the sun shone high overhead.

  The final rites were given as Father Jimenez sprinkled holy water over the casket. As people took their roses and placed them on the top of the casket, they bid their final silent goodbyes to Mirabella and offered hugs and kisses to the family who sat grief-stricken on folding chairs. At last, Joseph thanked everyone for attending and encouraged everyone to come to his home to share in a meal with the family.

  When the last of the mourners had left the graveside, the family gathered together and walked away from the cemetery plot, not wanting to be present for the actual burial. All except Gabriella, who stood next to the casket, not wanting to leave, staring at the flower-covered rectangular box with blank eyes. Her usual rosy complexion now pale and her thick dark hair pulled back from her face, giving her an air of someone much older.

  Joseph turned and saw her there, and for a moment, he was reminded of another young woman who looked and acted older than her years. For a moment, he saw his sister, back when they had first arrived in this wild territory. He was astonished at how mature and sophisticated Gabriella looked, standing there with erect posture in her finest black dress, no longer a little girl, now a young woman.

  He told the rest
to go on without him as he turned to join Gabriella. He didn’t say a word, he simply put his arm around her slender shoulders and together they stood and stared. After a few minutes, he broke the silence.

  “Here,” he said as he reached into his pants pocket and extracted Mirabella’s rosary beads. He let them fall and gather into her cupped hands. “Your mother told me you had asked about these. It will be a nice remembrance for you. They were special to her, just as you were.”

  Gabriella threw her arms around her uncle and cried. To Gabriella, this simple gift, this chain of beads with a silver cross, was worth more than all the gold in the world. How many times she had admired it. It was hers now and someday she would pass it on to her daughter. She would share the stories of Mirabella and Levinia, and how the rosary had been created in a faraway land and blessed by the Pope himself.

  “Come on. Everybody’s waiting for us,” Joseph said as he wiped the tears from his eyes and led her away from the grave.

  At the far end of the cemetery and unnoticed by anyone, a large raven stood in silence on the branch of a cottonwood tree. The raven watched and waited patiently until they had left and the gravediggers had completed their job. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, the raven flew over the cemetery, alighted on the fresh mound of dirt, and walked in circles as if inspecting the workmanship.

  “I kept my promise, Mirabella. I held up my end of our pact. Damn you, woman, for dying on me!”

  The raven’s coal dark eyes glistened in the waning light of day.

  “Rest in peace, Mirabella, for peace is so rare a thing for beings such as you and I. You could have walked the path of immortality should you have chosen, but I envy your decision. I have watched over my kingdom for centuries, far too long for any creature, and would welcome your slumber.

  “Rest in peace, my friend. I know you would never have suspected it, but I did love you, and you can be assured that I will do my best to watch over your granddaughter.”

  The raven shook out his great wings and readied himself for flight.

  “Yes, I’ll do my best to watch over Gabriella, but I fear she may already be lost.”

  CHAPTER 28

  The afternoon and evening included a whirl of people, voices and noise. Everyone had gathered at her uncle’s home—laughing, talking and drinking. No more crying, save for a few sniffles here and there, and swipes of a kerchief across the nose or a dab under each eye. Gabriella regarded them with a critical eye. She knew her grandmother’s friends. She knew those that had loved her and those that didn’t. But she didn’t care for any of them right now.

  Gabriella, her mouth dry and her mind blank, felt so far from herself, from the girl she knew. But she was no longer a girl. Daniel had seen to that. Now she stood by herself, stoic and silent, which was just as well. She wasn’t able to find the words, and when she tried, she choked on the ones that attempted to spill from her tongue. Then she would break down.

  Sometimes it’s best to just be silent. That was something her grandmother had once said to her.

  Just be silent, dear, Mirabella had suggested. Just watch and listen, and if need be, nod when appropriate, smile if you can, and then move on. Ignore those that seek to injure. They don’t matter.

  Yes, move on. Ignore them. But could she? Did she have the patience and the forgiveness her grandmother had possessed? She hoped she did but in her heart, she knew that she did not. What would she do now that the one person who kept her in check was gone? She watched the room and wished the one other person whom she could truly depend upon had not left.

  Selma.

  Selma had been her saving grace. Selma had stayed close throughout the whole ordeal. She loved Selma. Her best friend, as close to a sister as she could have had. When everything went back to normal, as normal as it could, she would tell Selma. She would tell Selma what she had done with Daniel. Selma would understand. Selma would tell her what to do next. What comes after that—after sex? Selma would know and would tell her what to do, and would make it all better.

  As Gabriella stood in the corner of the room, a wallflower dressed in black, her private thoughts were interrupted by people stopping to offer their condolences. They spoke to her in English and Spanish. They laughed and cried and clutched her hands. They offered advice and blessed her until she thought she could take no more.

  “God bless you, child!”

  “God be with you!”

  “God take care of you!”

  Please, God, let this day end, she wished.

  Gabriella wanted to disappear. She thought of leaving—simply ducking out without a word to anyone—but escape was out of the question. Too many people barred her way to freedom and she had a sense of duty to her family and to the people that came to pay their respects—a duty to converse and appear interested. So instead of escape, she remained in her quiet corner where she could be alone for a moment and observe the people that she wished would just go away.

  Her study was interrupted by a group of schoolmates who came to say their goodbyes, moving and talking as if they were a single unit and behaving as the adolescent horde they were. Gabriella wished she could go with them, and she smiled at her friends, her first smile in several days. If she snuck out, she could accompany them as far as the Puerta Azul Cantina, assuming that was their destination, and then take the lonely walk home. But she knew her wish was in vain. So instead, she thanked them all for coming, leaned against the wall, finished her bottle of Coca-Cola, and watched their departure as a friendly face approached.

  She straightened up, pressing her dress in place as if she needed to be perfectly creased for the priest. Gabriella thought Matthew was a handsome man and the last thing he was, at least to her, was a stodgy old priest. Over the years she came to know him well, as he had spent a lot of time in the company of her grandmother and her uncle. She liked the fact that she could ask him anything, question anything, and he would answer her with honesty and respect, even when other people might think her attitude was either childish or sacrilegious. He was definitely one person whose opinion mattered to her.

  “Gabriella. I’m afraid everyone here has kept me occupied and I haven’t had a chance to really visit with you. How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly I can’t say. My emotions are all over the place. I guess I’ve spent the last couple of days crying so much I don’t have anything left in me. And to tell you the truth, I feel like this is all so surreal—I still can’t believe she’s gone. I feel as if I will wake up and it all would have been just a bad dream.”

  “Your mother tells me that Salome is sick and Gabriel is caring for her. Have you heard anything?” he asked.

  Gabriella nodded her head. “It’s so awful. They’re so far away and devastated by grandma’s death. I’m really worried. Aunt Salome is close to death herself and Uncle Gabriel is beside himself. When I talked to him yesterday he could barely contain himself. I’ve never seen him like that!”

  “Talked to him? How in the world were you able to connect? Long-distance?” Matthew asked, puzzled and keenly waiting for an explanation.

  Gabriella silently scolded herself for being careless. She couldn’t explain that she cast a spell and had talked directly to her uncle through her mirror, a spell she was accustomed to using.

  “Uh, I meant I read it in a letter,” Gabriella stammered. “I’m upside down, Father. Sorry. I just can’t think straight anymore. What I meant to say is he sent a letter and his words were unlike anything I’ve ever read from Uncle Gabriel.”

  “Ah, I see. I’ll make sure to say a prayer for your aunt and uncle. Now, as for you, I know how you must feel but I hope you will take comfort in the knowledge that your grandmother loved you very much. She was so proud of you, Gabriella. Whenever she talked about you, her eyes sparkled like I had not seen since her husband was alive. You gave each other so much in this life, perhaps more than other people ever
experience, and I’m sure she will be waiting for you in heaven.”

  His words comforted her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if heaven awaited people like them, people who practiced something that the Bible stated should not be tolerated. She had asked the question many times but was usually dismissed or simply told not to worry. But she couldn’t help but worry and wonder what waited after death.

  “Tell me, Father, do you really believe in a heaven? Do you really think that we will meet our loved ones again? Sometimes I worry that this is all we have. What I mean is, what if we live and then we die, and then there is nothing? I can’t even fathom nothingness, but it scares me to think about. What if heaven and hell are just another fairy tale?”

  Matthew looked thoughtful as he pondered her questions. “Well, it’s always been my belief that there is something else waiting for us beyond this mortal coil. I feel it within me and I see it in the world around me. There is an energy that I can’t explain. I think it’s beyond our puny minds to understand the nature of God, no matter how hard we try. It goes way beyond what we know.

  “Now, what I do believe in is the holy sacraments and of salvation through God’s son, Jesus Christ. Heaven does await those who live good lives and who spend their lives preparing their soul for everlasting life with Him.”

  He was about to go on when Daniel approached, interrupting their conversation. “I’ll leave you two alone. We can talk more about this later.” Matthew deposited a light kiss on her cheek, smiled, and walked away.

  “How are you holding up?” Daniel asked, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he nervously shifted from one leg to the other.