The Witch's Market

by Mingmei Yip

  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!? Eil
een, 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.

  “Just as I thought,” he said. “You send me away, then get yourself into trouble.”

  He was right, but hearing his voice made me realize that I preferred my kind of trouble to a life with him.

  I sighed, realizing the call had been a mistake. “Ivan, I’m okay, really. Maybe we’ll see each other when I get back. Not for a while, though. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I hope you’re okay too.

  “All right, Eileen, be safe. And think about me sometimes. If you need help, let me know.”

  And that ended our conversation. For a moment I wondered if I had done the wrong thing in leaving him to take this bizarre trip.

  Like Brenda said, “Don’t waste a good catch, ever! Especially the big fish that has already swum inside your net.”

  But this just reminded me that there are many fish in the sea.

  32

  Digging Up Mud and Dirt

  While I felt some comfort hearing Brenda’s and Ivan’s familiar voices, neither showed any understanding of my present turmoil. Nor was anyone helpful. Alfredo hadn’t told me anything that clarified Isabelle’s death. Grandpa’s newspaper clipping only hinted at the solution, and Luis’s disappearance was one more mystery. I wasn’t getting any answers from the humans I knew, so it was time to consult the spirits again, though not without some misgivings.

  While I didn’t really believe the dire warning that channeling could shorten my life, it was hard not to feel nervous about it. And the atmosphere of the dim temple, the acrid incense, and the blindfold were pretty spooky, even though I was there to contact spooks. Which, according to Laolao, might hang around after I was done with them.

  There were also stories about mediums going crazy. I didn’t think I was crazy, but my months on the island had left me pretty confused. After mulling it over, I decided to go ahead, or otherwise I’d be haunted forever by the unsolved mystery of Isabelle’s death.

  During the ferry ride to Grand Canary I tried to relax by watching the waves. Once there, I got a taxi and was soon at the Luminous Spirit Temple. This time there was no crowd, only a few elderly Chinese people offering incense and muttering prayers in front of the altar. At first I was afraid Uncle Wang wasn’t there, but then I spotted him seated at a table in back, writing with a brush.

  He seemed to be surprised but pleased to see me. “Señorita Eileen Chen, what brings you here? Come and sit with me.”

  I got straight to the point. “Uncle Wang, I need to try ghost writing again.”

  “But we don’t have a session today. You must need urgent advice?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmmm . . . in that case, we’ll do a special session. However, the master of recitation and the scribe are not here. So I’ll have to represent them both.”

  “Will this work?”

  “Of course, I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

  “Thank you so much, Uncle Wang. You are very kind.”

  Since he was going to do me this special favor, I needed to pay him discreetly. I went to the counter to buy the biggest size bundle of incense, lit it, and placed it in the bronze burner. Under his watchful eye I also stuffed a wad of cash into the donation box.

  When I went back to Uncle Wang, he asked, “You know, talking with the dead is no small matter. In fact, it is a very grave matter. Are you sure you’re mentally prepared?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Meditate now to cleanse your mind.” He pointed to a corner. “Kneel down on the cushion and empty your head. I’ll go to prepare things and ‘open’ the altar. When it’s ready I’ll tell you.”

  I did what I was told and tried to empty my mind until Uncle Wang’s voice roused me. On the altar he had prepared the wooden tray filled with sand. The forked wand lay beside it. I noticed several people watching while trying to seem unobtrusive. Uncle Wang held his hand up to his mouth, signaling them to be quiet.

  Next Uncle Wang gently wrapped the red blindfold around my eyes so I would not be distracted by anything in this world.

  After that he said, his tone very serious and respectful, “Now invite silently the loved one, god, goddess, immortal, or whomever you choose, to come to the altar. Don’t try to write in the sand yourself, but let the spirit do it.”

  I nodded and picked up the wand, mentally inviting Isabelle to come. I patiently waited but didn’t feel any presence. Then after what seemed an interminable wait, I felt something. Not Isabelle, but someone else. I didn’t know who this being was, but I could tell it was female.

  She: Leave me and my husband in peace.

  Me: Who are you, and who’s your husband?

  She: He loves you, but you refuse him.

  Me: But I . . . haven’t done anything. . . .

  She: Yes, you have.

  Me: What?

  She: You have disturbed my rest.

  Me: What am I supposed to do?

  She: Don’t dig up the mud and the dirt. Know this: Whatever I did, I have paid the price. It was many years ago. Please, you are living. Forget us dead until your own time.

  Me: Did you murder her?

  She: You’re an outsider, so you don’t know our story or our life. If we didn’t get along, it makes no difference now.

  Me: I’m just trying to help!

  She: You can’t. We will not come back anymore.

  Then I was jolted back to the yang realm. Wang immediately untied the red cloth from around my eyes. I was dizzy and nauseous, so Uncle Wang had to help me to a chair. He and the few other temple visitors studied me curiously, as if I’d just returned from a hair-raising meeting with the King of Hell.

  “You all right?” Wang asked with concern.

  “I guess I’m . . . fine.”

  “But you’re pale and even trembling. Now come sit in my office and have some hot tea.”

  Once settled in his small office, Uncle Wang poured me tea and handed me an almond cake. “Señorita Chen, you don’t look well. Your face is paler than a ghost’s.”

  “I almost saw one.”

  “I see them all the time. You need not be frightened of ghosts. They’re more scared of you.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that last statement, as I was pretty scared myself.

  “So, have you also seen her?” I asked.

  “Yes, I saw the one who just appeared to you.”

  I almost choked on my tea. “Did you really? What did she look like?”

  “I just felt her presence, couldn’t see her face clearly. She was haughty! Above everybody and everything—including the law. I think I k
new this woman. She died in an accident. She comes back because she is still bitter. Miserable qi.”

  “Did she also see you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re the one she came for, not me. I didn’t hear any words, just a loud buzz.”

  “Were you afraid when you saw her?”

  He laughed. “At my age, what do I have left to do? I don’t need to plan for the future, so I do whatever I want. If she wants to take me with her to the other side, she can be my guest. I’ll soon join her anyway. I’m prepared.”

  “How do you prepare?”

  “Señorita Chen, you’re too young to understand. If you really want to know, come back in fifty years.”

  But then he wouldn’t be here anymore. Unless like Laolao and Isabelle, he would come to me in my dreams. Perhaps he would. Though I’d only met Wang twice, I felt a great affection for him, perhaps a karmic link.

  He handed me a sheet of paper covered in Chinese characters. “This is what I copied from your sand writing. I think it has the answers you’ve been seeking.”

  After I took the papers, he added, “Don’t look at them now, when you’re still agitated. Wait until you have meditated and stilled your mind.

  I thanked him profusely.

  “May I ask if you had some unpleasant experiences lately?”

  I debated telling him about recent events. He was, after all, an old man and shouldn’t be troubled by the dirty and bloody affairs of this world.

  When the word dirty entered my mind, I involuntarily gasped.

  Uncle Wang looked at me with concern. “Are you all right, Señorita Chen?”

  I took several breaths, trying to calm myself. “I’m . . . okay, don’t worry.”

  Should I tell him I’d just had a realization—was the “dirt” buried with Penelope’s body twenty years ago the fact that she had murdered Isabelle?

  But I kept my mouth shut.

  “I will give you some advice,” he said.

  “I welcome any advice you can give me, Uncle Wang.”