The Witch's Market (24 page)

Even if our love lasted, as the Chinese say, “Couples with no money have a hundred things to be miserable about.” At first a couple may be in the phase of “they're so filled with love that they can survive just by drinking water.” But pretty soon they'll need real sustenance. And then the quarrelling begins.

I got up to look for the package Grandpa had left me, and found it waiting in the closet, just as Luis's letter described. I set it on the table and inside found several of Grandpa's sculptures. I could see that either these were done some time ago or he'd gotten his muse back. I ran my hands over the clean contours and subtle molding. Was he a crazy old man or a wise one—probably both, I thought.

I sensed the set of sculptures were intended to tell a story, but my mind was too clogged with emotion to figure it out. At the bottom of the box was an envelope. Expecting another letter, I was surprised to find a crumbling newspaper clipping instead.

I knew Grandpa had a reason for saving this article, and also for being sure I would see it, most likely to warn me about Alfredo. I placed the article next to Luis's letter and turned my attention back to the sculptures. There were five and they resembled, or at least I imagined they did, Alfredo, Penelope, Sabrina, Isabelle, and myself. Suddenly I thought the figure representing Alfredo was pushing Isabella. The one I thought was me was just watching, a puzzled look upon her face. Or perhaps they were just sculptures after all.

I folded Luis's letter carefully and put it away in my purse. Then I took a last look at the little house and said another prayer for both souls—the one in the earth and the one under the sea. After that, I turned to make my way back to the hotel.

31

The Proposal, Again

B
ack at the hotel, the receptionist handed me a message. It was from Maria asking me to go to Alfredo's castle immediately. Anxious that there was yet another disaster, I called Maria from my room and was told señor had taken ill and was asking for me. I grabbed a taxi in front of the hotel and asked the driver to hurry.

Maria opened the front door, her face pale as she let me in.

“What happened, Maria?”

“Señor Alfrenso had a stroke! The doctor has just left and señor is now resting in his bedroom. Follow me.”

Alfredo looked weak and depressed, but he was awake and able to sit up, so I guessed the stroke wasn't too severe. I felt a wave of relief.

I sat next to him on the bed. “Are you all right, Alfredo?”

“Thank you for coming to me so quickly, dear.” His eyes filled with tears. “Eileen, I . . . want to tell you something.”

“Don't worry, I'll stay here to keep you company.”

He smiled faintly.

I remembered Grandpa's warning, but in Alfredo's present state he couldn't do me any harm. As I waited for him to speak, Alfredo had fallen asleep, so whatever he had to tell me would have to wait.

I went into the kitchen to ask Maria what had happened and was told that the doctor had said it was not serious and Alfredo just had to rest. I didn't have a lot of confidence in a country doctor, but there was little I could do. My guess was that the stress of discovering that Juan, not Luis, was his son had brought on the stroke. But of course I said nothing of this to Maria.

“The doctor says he needs to stay in bed for at least a week. Then he'll be weak for a couple of months,” Maria said.

Maybe I'd be gone by then—away from this island filled with the dramas of life, death, love, loss, greed, jealousy, heartbreak, infidelity, witchcraft, and revenge.

“Señor is not taking it very well. You know, he has always been very strong and active. He can't accept being sick,” said the housekeeper.

Of course, none of us wants to accept that life, health, and everything else are transient. Only death is permanent.

“Where are señor's friends? Has anyone come to see him?” I asked.

“Señor doesn't have friends, only business associates. But they live far away and only travel for business deals. Anyway, señor insists I not tell anyone but you about this.”

“Then why tell me?”

“He says you're the only one who doesn't care about his money. He doesn't trust anyone else.”

This surprised me but gave me a glimpse of the world Alfredo inhabited—a heartless one. For this reason I felt I should stay and comfort him, despite his unkindness to so many of the people who had cared about him in the past. I never fancied myself a nurse, but Laolao had always told me that her supernatural abilities were to help others who did not have her gifts. And this was true—no doubt many shamanesses were charlatans, but I had never known Laolao to cheat anyone.

“You're kind, Señorita Eileen. But señor just needs you to stay with him. A nurse will come soon to care for him and his lawyers will take care of his business matters.”

“Good.” I wondered what these matters were. A will? But I was not going to ask, lest Maria think I too cared only about her boss's money.

“Don't worry too much, señor has the best doctors and lawyers,” she said.

It was sad that he could afford the best doctors and lawyers, but not friends.

“I can stay for a few days; hopefully he'll get better soon,” I said.

“Good. I'll go and prepare your room.”

 

Along with the nurse, a physical therapist came from the hospital in the city twice a week. The stroke had left Alfredo's speech very slightly slurred and some weakness in his right leg. He was very frustrated and irritable with the nurse and therapist, but I cheered him on and he gradually improved.

I went to the temple on Grand Canary and bought herbs to prepare healing soups for Alfredo. Chicken with ginseng, red date, ginger, and astragalus to improve his speech and strengthen his heartbeat. Tortoise soup brewed with medlar, gentianae root, and radices rehmanniae to improve his dry mouth and weak pulse. I was going to cook snake soup, which improves circulation, but Maria screamed when she saw me bringing the wriggling reptile into the kitchen.

The soups Laolao had taught me to prepare seemed to work, because after a month Alfredo could go outside for walks, though he still tired quickly.

Maria and I were happy to see that he was well on his way back to normal. Now I felt I could in good conscience go back to the hotel to work seriously on my book. Also, I needed a break from caring for the crotchety patient. I knew Alfredo did not want me to leave, but one morning when we were sitting on his luxurious white leather sofa in the living room I broke the news to him.

“Eileen,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it tenderly. “Thank you so much for staying with me during my most difficult time. I've known many women in my life, but none like you. You have a natural goodness, something rare. I hope I can make it worth your while to stay.”

“Alfredo,” I said, subtly withdrawing my hand, “I'm so glad that you've recovered. But I have to get back to my book, my career. I've already used up most of my leave. I can't stay much longer.”

“You can have a good life here. I'll give you anything you want.”

I felt sorry that this proud man now looked so desperate.

A long silence passed before he spoke again. “Eileen, let me be honest with you. I've done a lot of harm in my life.”

I thought tears were forming in his eyes. His voice strained, he asked, “Do you think God will grant me the chance to do something right before I die?”

“Of course, Alfredo. There's a Chinese saying: ‘Put down your butchering knife and you'll instantly become a Buddha.' It's never too late to right the wrong. Do you want to tell me what sort of wrongs you did?”

“You know, Eileen, in business, especially my kind of business, you have to be ruthless. Otherwise, you'll be beaten. If you ever show weakness, you won't be trusted, and you won't get investors. Your former associates will shun you.”

I supposed this was true. Certainly professors who don't win tenure are despised. The business world must be even crueler.

“So you've harmed a lot of people on your way up?”

“Quite a few. Some were friends too.”

“What did you do?”

He looked upset. “I married Penelope mainly for her money. My wife was a beautiful, accomplished woman, but it was Sabrina who excited me. I treated both of them shabbily. I'd been an officer in the army, so I had the contacts to become an arms dealer. I never asked my customers what they wanted the guns and rockets for. I have many deaths on my conscience.”

Taking advantage of his vulnerability, I blurted out, “Did you also kill Sabrina's daughter, Isabelle?”

Seeing the horrified expression on his face, I immediately regretted my words. His mouth opened, but no words came.

“How can you think this? I would never kill anyone myself. If I caused deaths, it was only indirectly!” he finally said.

Of course every criminal has an excuse. Their only regret is getting caught.

“That's what Sabrina thought,” I said.

“She was just bitter about me.”

“Then who did kill Isabelle?”

“I can't tell you.”

“So you know, don't you?”

“Yes, but too many people would be harmed if I tell you.”

I couldn't think of a good reason to protect a murderer. And he was my last chance to find out—no one who might have known the truth was left. I feared Alfredo himself might not be long for this world. But I could tell it was no use to press him.

“Let's put away talk of these long-past, unpleasant matters. Please come outside with me for a walk,” he said.

We strolled slowly over by the pond. Then, in this place where so many strange things had happened, Alfredo proposed to me yet again. It began with an apology.

“Eileen, I know I am far from being a perfect man. But I love you and would treat you well. If you aren't happy you can always go back to the States.” He took both my hands into his and looked into my eyes. “I still hope I have a chance with you—please marry me. If we act quickly, Father Fernando can perform the ceremony.”

“Alfredo, I like you, too, and I like it on the island. But your life is here and mine, soon, will be back in San Francisco. I wish it were different.”

He planted a kiss on my hand, looking very sad and desperate. “I know you're not after my money, but I won't live much longer, and you would inherit my fortune. Then you can do whatever you want.”

It wasn't a very romantic basis for a marriage, but common enough.

“You're unique, Eileen,” Alfredo continued. “Even strange. It makes me love you all the more. But all I can do is wish you a happy life and hope that you'll visit me now and then while you are still on the island.”

I promised I would.

“And please don't tell anyone about my stroke. If word gets out, lots of women will flock to my bedside, hoping it's my deathbed.”

“So it's not all happy being rich?”

“I'm afraid not. Now that after all these years I've met a woman who's willing to be my friend . . .” He shook his head, not able to finish his sentence.

Although I would feel lonely without him, I would at least be able to focus on my book. Even though I might be able to extend my unpaid leave, my savings from the little bit of money Laolao had left me were running low.

Despite his questionable character, I was grateful I'd known Alfredo, a gentlemen of the old European style, quite unlike the American men I'd known. If he were a murderer, he was the most refined one I could imagine. I thanked him as graciously as I could for all his hospitality. He in turn thanked me for my care when he was sick. Then I took my leave.

 

Back at the hotel, I sank down on my bed, lonely, confused, and depressed. Needing someone to talk to, I had the hotel dial Brenda's number.

She recognized my voice immediately. “Hi, sis, what's up? Everything okay?”

My little sister's familiar voice was like a massaging hand comforting my eardrums.

“Things are okay here, Brenda, but also weird.”

“How's that?”

“It's complicated to explain over the phone. I've met witches like I planned. But now I'm stuck investigating a twenty-year-old murder. And that's just the beginning of what I'm caught up in. The rest will have to wait until I'm back home to tell you.”

“This all sounds very scary, Eileen. You sure you know what you are doing? A murder?”

“Oh, it was long ago, but I'm still working on figuring it out.”

“You and Grandma were always doing strange stuff. Why don't you just chill? I hear they have nice beaches there. You're slim. Why don't you buy yourself a bikini and hang out?”

Brenda frequently offered this sort of advice, which would have been right on—if I were a different person.

“Speaking of weird things,” said Brenda, “remember that animal skull on your birthday?”

“Yes, what about it?” That bit of unpleasantness had completely slipped my mind, given the much stranger events here.

“I found out it was a mistake.”

My heart skipped a bit. “Who sent it? Not the devil, I hope.”

To my surprise, Brenda laughed. “It's from a teenager—a boy!”

“A boy? You're sure?”

“Yes, he sent it as Halloween prank to his girlfriend who lives in Ivan's building. It was delivered to Ivan's apartment by mistake.”

“That's odd.”

“Ivan told me his neighbor asked about the package. He told me a while ago, but I forgot to tell you.”

At the time it had seemed a malicious prank. Or perhaps it had been an omen for my trip and all the death waiting for me.

“I got a marriage proposal,” I said.

“He's rich, I hope.”

“Yes, extremely. And handsome, a sophisticated European.”

“When is the wedding?”

“I turned him down.”

“What!? Eileen, you're impossible!”

“He just had a stroke.”

“Because you refused him.”

I could see where this was going, so I changed the subject to her life. There was plenty of legal work for her, but no romance. In a few minutes we wished each other well and hung up.

As usual, Brenda hadn't offered much in the way of help, or sympathy.

Talking with Brenda made me think of Ivan. Now that he was no longer pursuing me I realized that he'd actually been pretty good to me, better than I'd been to him. So, with some misgivings, I called him.

He sounded reserved. “How are things going on the island? Is everything okay?”

“Hmmm . . . Yes and no.”

“Eileen, you're not in trouble, are you?”

“It's a long story.”

“With you, it usually is.”

“I've had some very unusual experiences. And I still don't know how to handle them.”

“You want me to come over and help? If someone's giving you a hard time I can beat him up—or buy him off.”

“It's not like that.” I realized too late that Ivan had taken my expression of uncertainty as an opening.

“Then tell me what's bothering you.”

Obviously there was a lot I would not share with Ivan. I did tell him that I'd met witches, that they were strange, but made for good material for my book. I left out Luis's proposition and Fernando's proposal.