The Witch's Market

by Mingmei Yip

  Sabrina didn’t answer but just looked down, shaking her head. I thought of Isabelle, setting out for a dive to calm herself and then never returning.

  I knew Sabrina did not want to say any more, but I pressed her anyway. “Do you think the culprit might be . . .” But I just couldn’t say his name.

  “You’ve met him,” she said.

  “Who?”

  This time she didn’t respond. I sipped my tea and watched her pour herself more brandy.

  Finally, she spoke. “Eileen, I’m so happy that we met. I hope you can find out how Isabelle really died.”

  “Isabelle has been gone for two decades. I’m a scholar, not a detective. Sometimes even experienced divers drown. Just like good drivers can have accidents.”

  I feared I had been insensitive, but Sabrina looked unperturbed.

  Suddenly it occurred to me that hearing of my dreams might be of some comfort to her, so I said, “Isabelle came in my dreams a couple of times.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Did my daughter say anything?”

  “She told me to go look for a lake here on Tenerife Island.”

  “Yes, that’s where it happened. Please go there and see what you can discover.”

  Thinking of the lake, I was reminded of the cracks in the earth. Rationally, I knew I should ignore this, but Laolao had fed so much metaphysics into my mind that I could not dismiss such thoughts. I always remembered my grandmother’s constant warnings: “Don’t dismiss signs! Pay attention to them or you’ll never know what you missed. If you really listen, the world is full of voices that you need to hear.”

  I couldn’t tell if Sabrina felt better or worse after talking about her deceased daughter. I did not want her to become despondent, so I promised I would visit the lake and tell her what I found.

  Back in the hotel, I bought a map of the area, hoping to get a better idea of where things were. I saw Heartbreak Castle, and the pond where Cecily and her fellow witches had danced. Then, farther away, there was another blue area, labeled “Past Life Lake.”

  15

  The Village Carpenter

  Past Life Lake was near a small village seemingly not too far from the castle. I decided to visit the village first. Perhaps the villagers could tell me something useful about the lake, or maybe even about Isabelle.

  Before I set off on my “past-life” journey, I bought food that I could give as gifts to the villagers: candy, tea, coffee, canned fish, dried sausage, even some simple medicine like aspirin and poultices. I hoped this would help me befriend the probably impoverished locals.

  There was no public transport to the village, so with the help of the hotel’s concierge, I hired a car. After a tedious drive through empty land punctuated only by low bushes and trees, the driver pulled up beside a small path.

  “This leads to the village.”

  “Why can’t you just take me there?”

  “Sorry, señorita, the road is too narrow and bumpy; it might damage my car. It’s better you walk. It’s only about two miles.”

  I sensed that there was no point in arguing, so I paid, got out, and began my journey. Possibly to nowhere, but maybe to somewhere or even everywhere. A perfect April day—impossible not to be in a good mood, with the sky clear and blue, and the path smooth, though narrow. Rustling leaves and the occasional chirping of birds kept me company. With my senses opening to the fresh air and the pleasant smell of vegetation, I felt as if I were stepping back into a past life, or a fairy land.

  The palm fronds were a mixture of green and yellow, and the sun’s rays sprinkled gold dust over the foliage. Everything seemed to be gilded with magic. I had no idea what awaited me at the end of this path, but just concentrated on enjoying the fleeting moment before it vanished—or turned into a nightmare.

  After walking for about a half hour, I spotted a few houses off in the distance. As I approached I could see that all were flimsily built, as if pasted together by mud and vulnerable to being blown away by the next strong wind. Yet they had a strangely alluring fairy-tale quality, like immortals’ dwellings.

  I entered the village clearing, walked up to the nearest house, and knocked.

  “Quién está?” Anyone here? I called.

  There was no answer so I went around to the back of the house. In the distance I saw a young, muscular man splitting wood with an ax. Under the bright sun, this fresh-faced man flexing his muscles was a pleasant, sensuous sight. He was quite absorbed in his task so I enjoyed watching him, unnoticed. After a few minutes he put down his ax, looked up, and finally saw me. He smiled warmly like the morning sun.

  “Buenos días. I’ve come to this village to find a lake,” I said.

  “Hola, señorita. Yo soy Luis. Welcome to our little village. You must be thirsty after the long walk here. May I bring you a drink?”

  I must have lived a toxic city life for too long, because I found myself worrying that he might put poison in the drink, or try to lure me into some trap. After all, I’d already been drugged by the witches. Then I felt guilty being suspicious of this friendly, innocent village man.

  I smiled back warmly. “Yes, please, that’d be lovely.”

  The young man quickly disappeared into the house, then came back with a tray. He gestured for me to sit at a wooden table. Then he placed an earthenware teapot, two cups, and a plate of bananas and dried grapes on the table in front of me.

  My long walk had left me hungry and thirsty, so I eagerly sipped my tea and helped myself to the fruit.

  “Señorita, where are you from? What brings you to our village?” he asked as I ate.

  “My name is Eileen Chen. I’m Chinese, but I live in San Francisco in the U.S.”

  “My goodness, that’s really far away. Both China and America.”

  “Not all that far. Just a plane trip.”

  “I’ve never been in an airplane.” He looked embarrassed.

  “Surely you will someday.”

  “I hope so.”

  I looked around at the other houses scattered like chess pieces on a chessboard. “Luis, this is a small village to be found on a map.”

  “They must have sold you an old map.”

  “How’s that?”

  “This village used to be much bigger, but people keep moving out.”

  “It’s so peaceful here. Why would people leave?”

  He sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  I noticed that around his neck was a silver chain. I somehow felt I should not ask him about it, so instead I said, “Do you know about a lake near here?”

  “Señorita Chen—”

  “Please call me Eileen.”

  “We don’t like to go to the lake, Eileen.”

  “May I know why?”

  “It’s nicknamed the Ghost Lake. It’s such bad luck that some say it’s actually a pool of tears disguised as a lake.”

  “Who says that?”

  “I’ve heard that since I was a child. Everybody here knows it.”

  “So something happened there?”

  “They say that sometimes one can see people.” He lowered his voice into a whisper. “Not people but ghosts—dwelling deep underneath. Sometimes people can see their past and future lives unfolding under the water.”

  “That does sound scary. But also like complete nonsense. Are you sure this wasn’t just made up to scare the children and tourists?”

  “It’s why people have been moving away from here over the years. Only Father Fernando’s church and three families are left, and only because we’re too poor to move.” He smiled dreamily. “But I kind of like it here. It’s so calm. Besides, I grew up here and don’t know any other places. Sad, isn’t it? I’d like to see the world someday. I’ve read a lot of books about faraway places. Someday I hope to visit China and America.”

  “That’s good, Luis. The Chinese say, ‘Read ten thousand books and travel ten thousand miles.’”

  “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I think!”

  I found Luis’s e
nthusiasm and innocence quite touching, yet I doubted that a man stuck in this poor village with mostly ghosts for company could have a chance to see the world.

  “Have you been planning to leave?” I asked him.

  “Yes! I’ve been saving up money. I make furniture and sell it. This table here—I should be able to get twenty thousand pesetas for it!”

  This sounded like a lot, but when I did a quick conversion in my head it was only about one hundred and thirty dollars. Not much toward an airplane ticket.

  “So you’re a carpenter?”

  He nodded. “It’s quiet here so I have plenty of time to work and think.”

  “What do you think about?”

  “My future, Grandpa, the village, the lake . . .”

  “What about this lake?”

  “I guess you better ask Grandpa. He’ll be back for dinner. Grandpa knows everything.”

  I was curious to learn more about the ghost lake but was not sure I should wait until dinnertime. I also wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to go to the lake with Luis, a man I’d just met.

  As I hesitated, he asked, “Eileen, are you an educated woman?”

  It was an odd, yet appealing question. I couldn’t help but smile at this seemingly guileless young man. He had high cheekbones, a high nose, and a square, but expressive face. His physique was muscular but was the result of real work, not from lifting weights in the gym like the men I knew in San Francisco.

  “I guess so,” I answered. “I’m a professor, and I’ve come to gather material to write a book.”

  “Wow, a professor! You must have read lots and lots of books?”

  I nodded.

  His face lit up. “I’d like to be a learned man someday, but for now I just read books when I can.”

  I suddenly felt tempted to offer to teach him but swallowed my words. There was no need to raise a young person’s hopes since I was only a passing tourist.

  “You speak well—do you still go to school?” I asked him.

  “Yes, it’s about an hour’s walk from here. But now I don’t have to go every day because Father Fernando gives me lessons in the church. And I read a lot—Father Fernando lends me books.” He stood up and beckoned me to follow him inside the house.

  It was a small place but warmly decorated with rock figurines, wildflowers, and some rough-hewed wooden furniture, in shapes that made me think of rock formations or even a waterfall. Above a long wooden chair hung a plaque inscribed GOD IS LOVE.

  “Who made all of this?” I said, pointing to the furniture.

  “I did. Do you like them?”

  “They’re beautiful. You’re very gifted.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Who taught you?”

  “Grandpa. He’s very good with his hands.”

  “Do you ever think of going to the city to start a career?”

  “I don’t have the money. Besides, I can’t just leave Grandpa behind. He’s old and needs me.”

  “You’re a very decent young man, Luis. I love your house.”

  He smiled happily. “I like to make things.” He paused, then spoke again, blushing. “I also hope to have a family someday.”

  I didn’t know what to say to this, so I went up to look at the spines of the books on a nearby shelf. They were mostly novels but also some poetry.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Some I bought secondhand in the city market. And some are from my school library.”

  “Chinese call stealing a book an elegant offense.”

  He seemed a little discomfited by this. “I will return them eventually.”

  “That’s good. But finish reading them first. How old are you, Luis?”

  “I’m not sure, I think at least twenty.”

  “I’m thirteen years older than you!”

  “So you’re thirty-three?”

  I nodded.

  “But you don’t look it, not at all.”

  “Then how old do you think I look?” I asked, hoping he’d say at least ten years younger.

  “I think how long you live on this earth is irrelevant. Maybe you’re a goddess. You’re beautiful too.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “But I can feel it in my heart.” He put his hand on his chest.

  “Young as you are, you’ve already developed a glib tongue,” I said with a laugh.

  “I only say what I feel,” he said, looking very serious.

  “How come you live with your grandpa? Where are your parents?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “I’ve never met them. They both died when I was young. Whenever I ask Grandpa, he talks about something else. I guess he doesn’t want to tell me, but someday when I have some money I’ll try to find out what happened to my parents.”

  “Then what about your grandpa?”

  “I hope he’ll still be around and I can bring him along. And I hope I’ll run into a special girl . . . maybe someone like you.”

  We went back outside and sat at the table again. Luis begged me to tell him about China and America. It seemed to be his only way to explore the world outside his tiny village. We sipped tea and chatted as the sun descended to the horizon, dyeing the village a rich orange. Then I heard footsteps approaching. Luis dashed up to go greet an old man.

  “Grandpa!”

  He helped his grandpa to sit on a chair by the table. To my surprise, Grandpa was none other than the crazy old sculptor from whom I bought—or took—the four sculptures!

  I turned to the old man and smiled. “Hola, Grandpa!” I explained to Luis how I first ran into the old man.

  Luis looked surprised and amused at the same time.

  Grandpa cast me a nonchalant glance, then said to Luis, “I’m hungry, cook me something to eat.”

  I was shocked again that the old man was neither crazy nor a mute!

  I asked. “Grandpa, sorry that I thought you’re—”

  “Mute and deaf? Hahaha! When we met earlier, you acted so crazy that I was too scared to talk!”

  Was that so? Just as I thought he was crazy he had been thinking the same about me.

  “Did you work well today, Grandpa?” Luis asked.

  The older man shook his head, then took something from his pocket and handed it to Luis. It was a well-crafted horse’s head. But nothing special, nothing like the sculptures I’d bought from him.

  “It’s not yet finished,” said Luis. “Are you tired?”

  “No,” the old man said, casting me a dirty glance, “when this dark-eyed, yellow-skinned woman took my best works, she also stole my inspiration.”

  I felt alarmed to be accused of being a thief in such a horrible way.

  “Grandpa, I certainly don’t want you to lose your inspiration,” I said. “I did pay you. Do you want me to give you your sculptures back?” My heart ached at the thought of departing with my treasures.

  He caressed his white beard and thought for a while, then said, “No, it’s too late. What is done can’t be undone. Maybe God is telling me that it’s time for me to stop my rock carving. Anyway, what are you doing here in my village? Seducing my grandson?”

  What a thought! I almost laughed out loud but bit my tongue to suppress myself.

  “Grandpa, please stop talking nonsense again. Señorita Eileen and I have only been talking,” said Luis.

  With his cloudy eyes, Grandpa gave me an intense once-over. “Señorita Eileen, I’m sure you can tell my grandson is a nice-looking lad and he’s also a skilled furniture maker. So many women, young and old, especially the widows and their daughters, are infatuated with Luis. I only hope you’re not one of them. I can’t afford to lose my only grandson to a dark-eyed woman from a far-off land!”

  Instead of being offended, I laughed out loud.

  “Grandpa, please stop embarrassing me! Eileen and I have really only been talking!”

  “All right, then stop talking now and go fix me dinner!” He patted his protruding belly.
“Can’t you hear my stomach rumbling?”

  Luis swiftly disappeared into the house and soon I heard the banging of pots and pans, pouring water, and sizzling oil.

  “You have dinner with us and stay overnight here. Now come inside,” the old man commanded.

  “With pleasure, Grandpa.”

  I couldn’t believe that I had just gladly accepted such a rude invitation from a grumpy, racist old man.

  16

  Past Life Lake

  Luis, besides being a skilled carpenter, turned out to be a very good cook. Surrounded by plants and Luis’s woodwork, we helped ourselves to simple but tasty dishes of yellow rice with chicken, black beans, onions and green peppers, tilapia al ajillo, and big, soft slices of freshly baked bread.

  Wiping his sauce-smeared beard with a worn cloth, Grandpa tossed me a question. “Why did you come here?”

  “To see the lake.”

  “That lake is not a place for a young woman. But if you really came all the way from America, I’ll take you there after we have coffee. But whatever you see, don’t say anything because if the ghosts hear you talking about them, they’ll become real.”

  This sounded silly—but I was still scared. Would I actually see my future below the water? Or would I see ghosts? But isn’t everyone’s future to eventually turn into a ghost?

  “Can we go in the morning?” I asked.

  “Not if you want to see things,” Grandpa said mysteriously.

  The witch in me definitely wanted to see something ghostly. But the woman in me might not be able to take these ghostly sights.

  “It’ll be dark by the time we’re there, so how can we see anything?” I asked.

  “Haha! The dark is when they appear. But even if you don’t see them, they will see you. And when they see you, you’ll ‘see’ them by feeling their presence. Don’t worry, Eileen. If they want to take someone with them it’ll be me, not you. Your time is far from being up.”

  That was reassuring. But what if the ghosts here are like Americans, totally youth-oriented? Anyway, I might not have another chance. The old man was notional and might change his mind.

  After we had drained our coffee cups and cleared the table, Grandpa went inside and returned with two flashlights. Handing one to me, he told Luis to stay and watch the house until we got back.