The Witch's Market (5 page)

“Please just call me Alfredo.”

“Alfredo.” I took a sip of the chilled, fresh orange juice. “I think this place is called the Maiden Fortress? But you said it is Heartbreak Castle. . . .”

“Yes, I changed the name. I just haven't gotten around to changing the plaque outside.”

“Oh . . . I . . .” I almost said that I was sorry to hear about the “heartbreak” but feared it would be impolite to ask.

Some silence passed, punctuated by my coughing. When I had cleared my throat, he said, “Eileen, can you tell me how you ended up here?”

I was at a loss as to how to answer him. Would he believe my convoluted story of coming here to find witches and ending up dancing naked with them? What would he think of me if I told him? But surely he must know about the witches, as they carried out their rituals near his castle.

“I came to the island to do research for my book,” I said rather timidly. “I'm a professor of anthropology at San Francisco State University.”

He cocked his head. “Professor! It's an honor to have a professor as my guest.” He paused to sip more coffee. “Tell me why you came all the way to Tenerife Island and ended up at my castle. Do you expect to find happiness in a heartbreak castle?”

“Heartbreak Castle or not, we're all looking for happiness, aren't we?”

He eyed me with great curiosity. “Yes, we all are, whether we find it or not. It's the journey, not the destination, right?”

It was as if I'd just engaged in a Zen conversation with a high monk somewhere on a deserted mountain.

“What is your research about?” he asked.

I didn't want to say that my field was witches and shamanism because I did not want to sound too strange or scary. But the rugged man in front of me didn't seem as if he would scare easily.

I decided to change the subject. “Alfredo, do you live alone here?” It was none of my business, but my curiosity won out.

“Yes, I mean except for my housekeeper, Maria. I also have a driver and gardener, but they don't live here.”

“Do you have woman friends?” I couldn't help but ask.

I suddenly realized this sounded like I was trying to find out if he had a wife, or girlfriend, or mistress. And that if he did not, that I was available. He might think that anyway since I was the woman who had slept in his bed uninvited!

Alfredo didn't really answer my question, but replied, “I don't have many friends, unless you consider my staff and my horse my friends.” He gave me another intense glance. “You still haven't told me why you are here.”

I couldn't think of a good lie quickly enough, so I said, “Oh . . . I heard there was a nice castle here, so I came to take a look.”

“And instead of knocking on my door, you went and got drunk by the pond?”

“No, I didn't get drunk. I fainted from exhaustion and hunger.”

Of course he knew better, because he must have smelled the alcohol on my breath. And no one takes off her clothes because she is hungry.

Alfredo looked amused but did not press me any further. “I need to go away for a few days. Please stay until you feel well enough to travel back to your hotel. Maria will take good care of you. While you were sleeping we checked your pockets and saw that you're staying at the Santa Teresa. In fact, Maria has already canceled your reservation and Adam, my driver, is on his way to pick up your luggage.

“I am afraid you will find it boring just staying in this old place. I suggest you do some sightseeing. Adam can take you around and bring you back to the city when you are ready. If you ride horseback, you can take my horse Lonely Star—we call him Lonlon—to explore the beautiful ruins around here. You are welcome to stay as long as you want. It would be my pleasure to see you again when I return. It's lonely here. I did have a wife, but she passed away many years ago.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you. But life goes on for those of us left behind.”

I nodded. “When will you be back?”

“A few days. Maybe a week. You can come and go. If you ring the bell loudly, Maria will let you in, even in the middle of the night. We do keep the doors locked even though there's nothing here worth stealing, except maybe my heart. Don't worry, no one will come here to trouble you.”

How was he so sure? What about the witches? And the old castle was just the kind of place that harbors ghosts. Alfredo Alfrenso was not worried about leaving a stranger here by herself and he seemed to trust his servants completely. Strange. Here was a man who was quite handsome and seemed to have money, but said he had no friends and nothing but his heart to steal. Yet the few rooms I'd already seen were filled with antique furniture and old paintings. Perhaps Alfredo simply did not care; he seemed to be a sad man who took no joy in his possessions.

“Eileen, make yourself at home. When you feel better, you can explore the castle if you want. Some of the rooms are sealed off—it's a big place and we can't use all of it. You won't get lost.

“Maria has already cleaned and prepared a room for you. Everything you need should be there. If you need anything else, just tell her. You can help yourself to food, but Maria will cook your meals, if you tell her what time you want them.”

I was astonished. Last night I'd slept outside—though not by choice—and now I was living in a luxury I'd never imagined. And it seemed I really was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. But I had no idea of what life would be like here or how long I would feel comfortable with this stranger.

“Alfredo, thanks for you hospitality. But it can't be very convenient for you to have a guest.”

“No inconvenience at all.”

He started to get up and I knew this was my last chance to ask the question that had really been on my mind.

“Alfredo, do you know the witches?”

He cocked his head. “Witches?”

Obviously he did not want to discuss it, so, lest I offend my host, I let the matter drop.

6

Sculptor in the Ruins

A
fter Alfredo left, Maria came to the kitchen, cleaned up the plates, and showed me to my guest room. She took out a flashlight and a bell and put them on the bedside table.

“If you need me, just ring the bell as loud as you can,” she said.

“
Gracias,
Maria, I will.” I smiled.

After Maria left, I took a shower before dozing off. When I awakened I felt pretty much back to normal. I decided that my first priority was to explore the castle and its surroundings. With the owner gone, I could wander freely around the strange building. It seemed that I knew even less about the place now than I had when I first spotted it from the road. I didn't even know why Cecily had given me Alfredo's address, and why Alfredo claimed to have no idea of the witches' existence.

Although the place was called a castle, it was not a huge fortress with a moat, drawbridge, portcullis, and tall watchtowers. I counted about fifteen rooms, many concealed behind thick, padlocked doors. There was a main hall with leaded glass windows, and from the high ceiling was suspended a row of dim chandeliers. Thick wooden chairs with dusty upholstery were scattered around. I guessed that the room was once used for parties and balls, but the current owner didn't seem the type to host such events. Indeed, the dusty, tattered upholstery and stale air suggested that it had not been used for a long time.

Next to the main hall was a series of smaller rooms. There was a music room with an elaborately carved harp and a huge grand piano set against the stone wall, with music scores in uneven piles on the floor underneath it. The two instruments were silent, looking like sexless mistresses long deserted by their lovers.

I wandered into the master bedroom and three other guest rooms. Judging from the austere décor of the master bedroom, I was sure that Alfredo Alfrenso didn't have a woman in his life, at least not now. He was rich, manly, and seemingly a warm, generous person, but if he had any women, where were they hiding? Or was it him who was hiding? But from whom?

I went deeper into the castle's womb, feeling oddly anxious. There was an eerie buzz in my ears, as if the walls were trying to tell stories of what they had seen over the years. Some happy, some sad, some ghostly. Now I was using my flashlight and could see more doors down the long corridor, but I had no courage to look any farther. Alfredo had told me that some parts of the castle were sealed off, but he didn't say why. Maybe there was nothing in all these rooms, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

Lonely like its master, the castle nonetheless radiated an intense
yin
energy. Feeling a chill, I tightened my thin jacket, then hurried back to my room. I sat by the writing desk, took out a pencil, and from memory drew a simple map, in case I wanted to explore further. I also wrote down the events of the last few days, especially my encounters with the two brothers, the witches, and Alfredo Alfrenso. I wondered what other adventures I would have to write about before I found my way home.

 

The next morning I awakened to the mouthwatering scent of bacon and coffee teasing my taste buds and stomach. When I arrived in the kitchen, Maria smiled warmly, revealing a few irregular teeth. Soon I was heartily devouring bacon, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes, washing it all down with the strong coffee and sweet orange juice. Eating and drinking, I kept raising my thumb in appreciation of Maria's kindness to the hungry traveler.

When I was finished, I told the housekeeper I'd be out and might not return until evening. Though I didn't mention it to Maria, my hope was that I would run into the witches again.

“The whole day, señorita? Maybe that's not a good idea.” The housekeeper looked concerned.

“Don't worry, I'll be very careful.”

“You have the bell with you?”

I nodded. However, if I did run into mishap and ring the bell, I doubted she'd hear me. I planned to walk as far as necessary to find out more about this peculiar place.

Outside, the sky was covered with dense, dark clouds, the morning sun sneaking through to cast long, surrealistic shadows. My feet propelled me forward as if they had eyes of their own that saw something in the distance. Soon it started to drizzle, the tiny raindrops pricking my face like gnawing ants.

I ducked under a tree and sat on a rock, looking and listening. Why did Alfredo choose to live in this lonely place? I saw something moving in the distance, veiled by the drizzle. As it approached me, I saw that it was Alfredo's white horse, Lonely Star. The animal lowered his head and looked at me tenderly as if I were his lover. Did any women ever fall in love with a horse? Or harbor intense romantic feelings? If so, they would never admit to this secret love for a beast.

I went up to the horse and reached to caress his muzzle and smooth his mane. Full of tender feelings for the animal, I asked, “Dear, do you want to tell me something?”

To my utter surprise, the horse neighed and tossed his head.

“You want to take me somewhere?”

He neighed again as if saying yes.

Ivan had taken me for riding lessons, so I knew something about horses and could ride short distances. However, even though Lonely Star looked friendly, I wasn't in the mood to ride, not today. I caressed his muzzle again, telling him, “I'm fine sitting on this rock.”

He kept looking at me, refusing to budge.

“All right, then, be gentle. Don't hurt me or throw me off, all right?”

I rose up from my rock, stood on it, and climbed onto the horse. I had never ridden bareback, so I leaned over and clung to his neck as he began a leisurely amble. Then his hooves picked up speed, and though I shouted at him to stop he kept going until we arrived at a deserted ruin. He stopped by a low wall and I climbed off only to see him gallop away.

“Wait!” I yelled. “Don't go away! How will I get back?”

I had been so busy holding on during the ride that I really had no sense of where I was. I looked around and was relieved to see someone in the distance.

It was a white-haired man, busy working with his hands, but I couldn't tell what he was doing. The bizarre thought crossed my brain that he might be digging up graves to rob them. Then I drew closer to watch, hiding myself behind a boulder. At first I thought he was doing something with a knife, perhaps skinning an animal. My heart skipped a beat.

However, when I strained my eyes to look more carefully, I saw that he was chipping at a stone with a chisel. Since he was completely immersed in his work and looked too old to be dangerous, I took a deep breath and went straight up to him. To my surprise, the old man didn't even raise his head to look at the approaching stranger.

Besides the one in his hand, there were five or six other stone sculptures scattered on the ground. One was an odd-shaped abstraction, its surfaces twisting and winding, as if embodying the mysteries of space itself. Another was a simple figure but somehow a visual poem. Keeping silent, I took in this haunting scene, with the wrinkled hands of an old man giving birth to smoothly modulated surfaces.

Had I not seen the sure movements of his hands, I might have thought that the old man himself was just another statute. Whether he was oblivious to my presence or deliberately ignoring it, I could imagine that he'd been here almost as long as the stones upon which he worked.

My eyes fell upon the carving in the old man's hands, that of a voluptuous woman with a baby's head making an agonizing exit from her life-granting vagina. The mother's expression was of joy and pain, nirvana and samsara.

I gasped before I could stop myself.

The old man looked up and stared at me for a few seconds before returning to his role as midwife. Although our eyes met for only a split second, I could tell that he was slightly crazy. Crazy because he lived not in this world but another, one more perfect than the one I lived in. He might be starving, but he wouldn't notice the urging grumbles of his empty stomach, nor care. A genius in art but a fool in life, like van Gogh.

The old man's hands stopped. He put down the statue, took his scarf from his shoulder, and wiped his hands, his neck, and his dripping face. He then tenderly wiped the mother-birthing-baby figurine with the same filthy cloth. With an expression of satisfaction, he caressed the baby's head while smiling and making funny faces at it.

I realized that this meant he was finished and would leave mother and baby at the intense moment of life beginning. Setting his creation down, he took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and started to blow smoke in concentric circles. I watched the circles disappear into the air for a few moments, then looked down at the other works that were spread out on the ground.

There was a boy holding his penis, peeing. A brood of snakes engaged in a choreographed dance on a goddess's head. A big fish, in the mouth of which perched a smaller fish, in the mouth of which was an even smaller fish. A baby with a mischievous smile, sitting cross-legged on a big flower, his chin supported by his hand, lost in thought.

But I wasn't satisfied just by looking; I wanted to keep one, or more than one, of these modest but evocative creations.

I dropped onto my knees. The old man tilted his head slightly to squint at me, then went back to blowing smoke rings. He paid me no more attention than if I were one of the many solitary ghosts that had wandered all the way from ancient China to this deserted land.

Without asking permission, I reached to pick up the fish-within-fish and the birthing mother. My tone was pleading like a toddler anxiously asking his mother for a huge pink marshmallow. “Señor, would you let me buy these, please?”

He lifted his head to stare at me again with his seemingly bottomless eyes. I was certain that this man was truly insane. His mind was not in the real world, only in the realm of art.

“Can you please sell these to me?” I pleaded again.

Now he looked at me as if I were the crazy one, trying to purchase his work, which was probably worthless in the commercial market. But still, he didn't respond.

Desperate, I fished out a wad of pesetas and laid them on his lap. “Will that be enough?”

This time he studied me curiously, still without uttering a word.

We stared at each other like two cats trapped in a narrow alley.

“This is not enough?” I did not want him to think that I was trying to cheat him.

He still didn't respond. On impulse I quickly stuffed the two statutes inside my pocket and hurried away, my heart screaming as loud as an alarm clock.

Alas, in a few seconds, I heard footsteps chasing me from behind.

“Please let me have them,” I muttered. “I gave you a lot for these two small statutes!”

But I knew that just grabbing the statues without his consent was downright wrong. So I stopped and turned to face the mad artist, to see if he was willing to part with his stunning creations. Or if he wanted more money—maybe a lot more. But instead of trying to take back what I had grabbed, he surprised me by stuffing two more statutes into my hands—the snake-headed goddess and the peeing toddler.

“You're selling these too? How much more do you want?”

He shook his hand vehemently, and said, “Ah! You take!”

I pulled out more bills and showed them to him. “You want me to pay you more for all these? Just tell me how much. But I'll have to go back to my place to get more money.”

He gave me a vigorous, dismissive wave of his hand, then laughed heartily, displaying a toothless mouth that reminded me of the capacious vagina he'd just created. Suddenly I realized that, just as I thought he was a crazy old mute, he must think me a deluded woman. Only a crazy person would pay such an astronomical amount for a few pieces of stones shaped by a toothless old man living alone among ruins on a remote island.

But to be sure, I waved the bills. “How much more should I pay you?”

He shook his head.

“So you want to give me these two statutes as gifts?” I asked.

This time he emphatically nodded. I almost burst out laughing at my good luck.

Letting out a long, relieved exhalation, I smiled. “Thank you so much, great master.”

I put my hands together and bowed. After that, I dashed away, fearing he might change his mind and ask for his treasures back.

 

It turned out that I was less lost after my horseback ride than I'd feared. To get my bearings, I climbed a small hill and was able to spot the castle off in the distance. Tired after the long walk back, I sunk down on my bed and spread out the four stone sculptures to examine them more closely. First I appreciated them from above, then picked up each in turn and examined it closely. This had been an extremely lucky trip, one that allowed me to acquire these wonderful objects.

I glided my hands over the statues one by one, outlining their subtle contours, grainy textures, and oddly artistic shapes, sensing their creator's unfathomable soul within. Did he foresee the final shape of each work even before his chisel made the first incision? Did his hands have an unspoken philosophy as they made their arduous journey?

Though all the sculptures were exquisite, I liked the mother and half-born infant the best. It reminded me of a relief sculpture I'd once seen in a museum. It told the story of a young mother who had just died of an incurable disease and was sent to hell along with her newborn. Unwilling to renounce her life, she defiantly clung to the Life Gate while trying to reenter. But her efforts would soon be gone like a trace of smoke, for pushing against her on the other side were two giant armored guards.

The baby, though tiny like a thermos, seemed to have sensed the awaiting catastrophe from his mother's agonized cries and the dark, tremendous force pulling her onto the other side. The baby clung tightly to her chest, his tiny face distorted from his hysterical crying. I could almost hear his bawling. The baby's desire to live was so powerfully depicted that I could feel the waves of desperate energy crashing over me, tightening my throat and triggering my tears.