The Witch's Market (21 page)

26

A Letter of Heartbreak

I
did feel sad now that the trial separation from Ivan was permanent. Not that I really wanted to be back with him, but it did leave an empty area in my life. Now there was one less person to welcome me when I finally returned to San Francisco. Craving friendship, I decided to visit Sabrina again. I pushed thoughts of Ivan to the back of my mind and set out for her house.

Despite Sabrina's eccentricity and her heavy drinking, I was looking forward to seeing her. But as I was ascending her steps I felt extremely apprehensive, as if a huge boulder was about to crash down. When I reached the door, I hesitated. Instead of knocking, I turned toward the setting sun. It was a bloody orange disc, about to sink into the sea like a huge, suicidal tortoise. I felt a chill, as if it were me slipping into the ocean. I turned back and braced myself to knock.

The maid opened the door and made a gesture for me to come in. I noticed that her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

“Is Señora Sanchez here?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Can I wait until she gets back?”

“No.” She shook her head mournfully.

“Then please tell her that I'll come back soon, maybe tomorrow.”

“Señorita, I'm sorry to tell you that Señora Sanchez has passed away.”

“What? What happened?”

“Two days ago. Alcohol poisoning. You know she had a problem. She wouldn't tell anyone, but she had also been suffering from stomach and liver cancer. So she knew it would be soon.”

Though it had been obvious to me that she was ailing, I didn't realize that her ill health was so advanced. I had assumed that I could just knock on her door and see her again.

The maid pointed outside the window. “If you want to pay your respects, señora is buried there next to her daughter.”

For the moment I just wanted to sit down, so I sank onto the couch.

“What will happen to this house?”

“It's Señor Alfrenso's house. He let Señora Sanchez live here and paid me to look after her.”

So perhaps Alfredo was not so bad after all. Unless it was all done just to keep Sabrina quiet.

“Oh, señorita, she said if you came back again, I was to give you something. Please wait.” She left and returned with a wooden box.

I opened the box and saw a letter enclosed in a sealed envelope of expensive paper. There was an object underneath it. I did not want the maid to ask me about what was in the letter, or to see what Sabrina had left for me, lest she claim it for herself, so I took my leave of her and went outside.

As I walked down the stairs, my eyes moistened. The tragedy of Sabrina's wretched life filled my whole being with sadness. At the foot of the hill was a tiny grocery store and I made my way down to it. There I bought a bouquet of white roses.

I swept Sabrina's fresh gravestone, which in Chinese culture is a gesture of respect, then Isabelle's more worn one. I knelt down and intoned a quiet prayer for both of them. Sitting beside the new grave, I took out the envelope. Under it, to my surprise, was a gold bracelet, from which dangled several little amulets: a red heart, a lamp, a violin, a bell, a cup, a stone inscribed with a sword, another heart with the number “13” inscribed on it, and a blue bead—to protect against the evil eye.

I tried to understand the symbolism of this interesting combination of charms. The red heart must be Sabrina's passionate, fiery love for a man; the kerosene lamp maybe referred to illumination, or a lit path; the ringing of a bell announced something happy; a violin makes beautiful music, to lighten up a depressing life, or to accompany her singing and dancing; a cup to hold water to quench thirst, but thirst for what? The red stone inscribed with a sword stirred a memory in me, but I could not think of what it was.

Most puzzling was the unlucky number thirteen, written on a heart. I thought how well it described her life, always unlucky in love.

Why had Sabrina left this bracelet to me? Perhaps it was all she had left and I was the only friend left to leave it to. But most likely it was simply a generous act to mark my kindness to her.

I took several deep breaths to calm myself, then took out her letter. My heart began to beat faster when I unfolded it and saw my friend's untidy writing, perhaps written during her last hours.

Here was the accusation of murder again. But despite my investigations, with both my normal eyes and my third one, I seemed no closer to discovering what had happened. Now I felt even more obligated to get to the bottom of this—to put Sabrina's spirit at rest—at least so that her ghost wouldn't also visit me.

I shook my head. There were all these terrible rumors about Alfredo, but how to know what was true? Sabrina was obsessed, understandably, and I knew she was inclined to embellish and dramatize things. Distressed by all the misery and uncertainty, I continued to read.

I kept reading, thinking that Sabrina was as rambling when she wrote as when she talked.

Instead of explaining things, this letter made them murkier than ever. That Alfredo had murdered Isabelle just didn't ring true to me. But then neither did his callousness toward Penelope. Clearly there was more to the man than I'd realized. It seemed that he hid his true self like a camouflage-skinned snake, fooling even my third eye. Anyway, there were so many flaws in this whole thing. Isabelle said in her diary that Sabrina had pushed her to get Alfredo's cash. But Sabrina's letter said something different. Maybe neither was telling the truth.

I put on the bracelet, hoping to feel closer to its previous owner. My eyes fell upon the red heart with the sword. I suddenly remembered that Luis always wore a pendant that was also a red stone inscribed with a sword! Could this mean that Luis was Sabrina and Alfredo's son? If this was true, then not only was their son still alive, he lived almost next door to his father! But father and son had never known each other.

I knelt and muttered another short prayer to both Sabrina and Isabelle, then stood up and walked toward the road, leaving mother and daughter behind forever as tears coursed down my cheeks.

 

All the way back to the hotel on the bus, I kept rereading Sabrina's letter, wondering how much was true and how much was alcohol-fueled imagination. And what about Alfredo—was he the gentleman he seemed to be, even if he was a bit of a womanizer, or a murderer? A womanizer I could handle, but not a murderer.

Alfredo was part of all the mysteries I'd become preoccupied with, but better leave the mysteries unsolved than put myself under the power of a killer. Laolao would have told me that with my third eye, I would see evil in his aura if he had killed anyone. I had seen nothing of the sort, so Alfredo was probably okay. But could I trust my life to my third eye? To add to my confusion, there was the question of Cecily, aka Nathalia. Seeing her again was essential to my research, but for all I knew, she might already have cast a spell on me.

27

Another Proposal

P
utting caution aside, the next morning I went to visit Cecily. When I arrived at her underground dwelling, I yelled down, “Cecily, are you there?”

After more yelling with no response, I climbed down the ladder. Reaching the floor, I saw that the witch was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of her possessions. It was apparent that she had moved out, but I could not imagine why. Perhaps some of her evil doings had finally caught up with her.

As swiftly as I could, I climbed back up to the open air and headed straight for the witches' market, hoping to see Cecily, or at least her followers.

When I arrived, I glimpsed someone at a booth who looked like her, but was disappointed when I realized it was not Cecily but a frumpy middle-aged woman hawking cheap jewelry and prayer beads.

I went up to her and smiled. “Señora, isn't this where Cecily and her group are?”

“Not here.”

“You know her?”

“Maybe.”

I was quite sure she knew something, so I decided the best way to loosen her tongue would be to buy something. I held up a bracelet made of evil eye dispelling beads and asked the price.

“Two thousand pesetas.”

About thirteen dollars, which was an absurd price for the beads, but not for the information I needed. I handed over the cash.

“So what about Cecily? She's my friend and if she's in trouble I want to help.”

At the word
friend,
she gave me a suspicious look. “I don't know where she's gone. They say she's afraid for her life.”

“Someone wants to get her?”

“Maybe a few, maybe a lot, maybe none but just her fear.”

This was either very confused or very subtle. Was she a Zen master disguised as a witch to give me advice through a riddle? Or was she just a crazy witch herself?

“Does it involve a rich man?”

“Señorita, please”—she cast me an annoying glance—“I'm not a psychic, so how do I know? Go ask someone else. I come here to do business, not chitchat with a stranger. You Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese?”

Now she looked at me curiously. “You're a tourist. You should buy more gifts for your friends at home.”

I was hoping that I might find her in a better mood later, so to build our “relationship,” I bought some loose beads, then walked away. Looking around, I did not see anyone I recognized. I was reluctant to buy more trinkets and get no answers.

I knew that sooner or later I would question Alfredo more about Isabelle and Penelope. I decided to not put it off any longer, so I hailed a taxi and told the driver to take me to Heartbreak Castle, full of apprehension.

I feared what would happen if Alfredo figured out how much I knew about these unfortunate women. My excuse would be to say a few words of condolences about Sabrina's death. Even if he was secretly relieved that she was gone, a few words of sympathy would still be in order. Of course I was hoping he'd inadvertently reveal something about his relationship with Sabrina and her daughter.

Maria opened the door, invited me in, and led me to sit in the living room.

She smiled. “I'm glad you're back, Señorita Eileen. Señor Alfrenso is just back from a trip and is taking a nap. Please wait here and I'll bring you some tea and biscuits.”

After I had sipped some tea and munched on a cookie, I fell into a reverie. When I emerged, I was startled to look up and see Alfredo sitting on a high-backed chair across from me.

“My dear Eileen,” he said, and smiled, “you seemed far away. . . .”

I sat straight up and nodded, feeling a burning sensation on my cheeks. Strange, this man was not my lover, but it was already the second time that he had seen me dozing in front of him.

“Sorry, I must be exhausted.” I certainly could not tell him what I'd been thinking about.

“No need to apologize, Eileen. I'm so happy you're here. Do you have plans for more sightseeing? Any place you want to see, let me know and I'll take you.”

His seemingly polite offer seemed ominous. I realized no one back home in San Francisco knew anything about Alfredo or the castle, so I could disappear without a trace. What if he'd take me to some isolated place and then . . . I couldn't finish my thought.

“Thanks, Alfredo,” I said quickly. “What about if we just have a nice chat?”

“Of course, whatever pleases you.”

“You know that Sabrina has passed away?”

“I was the one who paid for her burial.”

“So you knew her well?”

“It was a long time ago. She was a troubled woman. Let's hope she is finally at peace.” He stared at me with his penetrating eyes. “I am so happy to see you again. Eileen, let me be frank. I really like you and hope you can stay.”

I didn't know what to say to this.

He paused to sip his drink, then continued. “I mean long term. You can be mistress of this place instead of a professor with a meager income. I will give you a luxurious and glamorous life. Please think about it and . . . don't say no.”

This reminded me of Laolao telling me that for my whole life I wouldn't have to worry about money, because rich men would be attracted to me. But . . . why? I thought I was nice looking but not stunningly beautiful. Besides, I was probably not sophisticated enough for a rich guy—I didn't care about drinking hundred-dollar bottles of wine, nor did I wear designer brands—unless I found them at a thrift store.

I was as happy eating a bowl of shrimp mei fun in a Chinatown dive as I was at a trendy, high-end restaurant. And if taken to a nightclub, I'd likely doze off. So I didn't consider myself trophy wife material. But maybe it was because I didn't care about any of these things that some rich men found me refreshing. Like a breath of clean air in Beijing or a Buddhist temple in Las Vegas.

Anyway, it was not quite clear to me what Alfredo had in mind. I never considered myself the mistress type. But when he continued I was taken completely by surprise.

“Eileen, let's get married and have a child together. I'm sure he or she will be very handsome and smart.”

Whoa, slow down!
I thought. It seems rich men were always impatient to get what they want. First Ivan and now Alfredo.

But Alfredo was not getting any younger and so he might think this was a rare opportunity for true love, and with someone he must assume did not know about his past.

“I'm extremely flattered, but I don't know what to say. I didn't come here thinking I'd get married, but to write my book.”

He laughed. “But you can still write you book . . . without having to worry about tenure.”

I chewed on what he'd said, feeling distressed, not sure how to get myself out of this uncomfortable situation. Tenure, yes, an unpleasant reality, how nice it would be not to have to worry about tenure. And what progress had I truly made with my book? A few pages of notes, that was it. I had mostly occupied myself poking my nose into other people's business—jilted women, witches, and the dead.

“After Penelope's passing,” said Alfredo, “I've been waiting in this Heartbreak Castle hoping to find someone to mend, or better, capture my heart. I believe you came here in answer to my prayers.”

Was he really that lonely, or did he want something else from me? He was an appealing man, but given what I'd heard about him I did not want to be further entangled with him, let alone share his bed or his life.

Seeing that I was not about to answer, he smiled. “Eileen, take some time to think about my proposal. Our future son will be very fortunate. As my heir, he'll get my business, this castle, and everything else I can give him.”

I was quite tempted, but what if our baby was a daughter? And though Alfredo seemed not to know about Luis, Sabrina's stolen baby might show up and complicate matters.

He went on with a philosophical air. “You know, Eileen, women are like ships who need a safe harbor to moor. No matter how fancy or gorgeous a ship is, if she can't find the right harbor, she will drift aimlessly forever. Think of all the dangers one faces in life.”

I wondered if this was some kind of threat and was not reassured by him saying, “Just think of all the hazards one might encounter at sea—sharks, giant squids, towering waves, hidden rocks, typhoons . . . Excitement and adventure seem tempting, but eventually a woman needs a place where she is safe.”

He paused to see my reaction, then went on. “And I can give you a secure life.”

Like you gave Penelope,
I thought. Her ghost had asked me to write her name on a paper ship. She'd wanted the paper ship to bring her back to Alfredo, even though he had treated her badly. I sighed inside.

Other women would have already jumped at this once-in-a-lifetime bonanza dropping from Heaven. But if I believed the rumors, it wasn't a bonanza and certainly not from Heaven. Probably all of us do need a safe harbor eventually, not just women. But before coming to the harbor there should be a voyage—and that's where I was in my life. I believed my sails were lifted by the wind and my ship had a long way to travel before it was time to seek the shore.

“Well, think about my proposal before you give me your answer. In the meantime, Maria has set a table for us outside, so let's enjoy our lunch,” Alfredo said.

During the meal we talked small talk, but there was tension due to his still-unanswered offer of marriage. Laolao seemed to be right that rich men would want me, but she had not warned me that I might not want them. Before I could even imagine considering Alfredo's proposal, there was something I knew I had to tell him.

There was no easy way to bring up the subject, so I said bluntly, “Alfredo, maybe you already have a son somewhere.”

I could see that this caught him off guard. To compound his shock, I went on. “Sabrina told me she had a son with you.”

It took a few seconds before he answered. “Yes, she said it was mine. A few months after we'd split, she brought a baby boy to me and claimed I was the father. Since you know Sabrina, you know it may have been another man's child. Because I'm rich, she'd pick me as the father over some Bohemian wastrel. But I didn't know for sure so I paid for her house—they were cheap in those days—and also gave her a little money every month.”

Although this sounded like a kind gesture—it could keep her quiet about his illegitimate child.

“However, one day she told me that the baby had been stolen by Nathalia. When I confronted Nathalia about it, she said she'd never even known about Sabrina's pregnancy. Most of what that witch says is a lie, however. So who knows?”

“What happened to the baby?”

“No one knows. I was young then and I didn't really care. However, I did ask around and try to track him down. But no one knew anything. Or so they said. Nathalia has a very fearsome reputation as a witch and people here are superstitious. Anyone who thought she was involved would be terrified to say anything.”

He shook his head and let out a sigh. “It makes me sad so I try not to think about him. Even if the baby is still alive, I have no idea where—or how I could tell if he's really mine.”

“Alfredo.” I looked him in the eyes. “I think I know where your son is. . . .”

He looked at me as if I had just arrived from a UFO—these islands were famous for alien landings.

“Eileen, please don't joke about this!”

“I wouldn't joke about it, Alfredo. Let me explain.” I told him about my stay in the soon-to-be-vanished village. I went on to tell him about the pendant that Sabrina had told me about and that seemed to be the same one I'd seen Luis wearing.

When I had finished, Alfredo exclaimed, “Yes, I know about the village. But I thought it was completely deserted a long time ago.”

“It will be soon, but there are six people who still live there: Luis, his grandpa, Father Fernando, Juan, and the two widows.”

“Could this Luis really be my son? How could he have ended up in a place like that? That pendant sounds like a gift I gave Sabrina when we were together. For protection—she believed in things like that.”

He stared intensely into my eyes. “So you made friends with Luis—who may be my son—in that tiny village?”

I nodded. “He's a nice young man. Good for you if he's your son.”

From his dazed eyes came a spark of hope. “I want to go to the village as soon as possible. Can you come with me?”

I nodded. “Alfredo, can I ask you another question?”

“Go ahead.”

“You also had a daughter?”

“She wasn't really my daughter. . . .”

“What do you mean?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear his response.

“I adopted Sabrina's daughter, Isabelle, but informally, not legally. Anyway, it all happened twenty years ago, and Isabelle died in an accident. She drowned while diving.”

“Were you close to Isabelle?”

He didn't respond. Maria had told me that Penelope had also died of a freak accident. There seemed to be one too many convenient accidents. I was scared now that he'd realize I knew too much, so I decided to change the subject.

“Can you tell me about Nathalia? I've met her, but I need to know more for my book. You know, it's not easy to run across a real witch.”

“I know her, but I don't know her well.”

“She's now called Cecily. I have no idea where she's gone. A woman at the Witches' Market told me she left because she fears for her life.”

“How's that?”

“Because Sabrina's ghost may come after her.”