Signal to Noise

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  Vicente smoked his cigarette and opened his notebook, re-reading his notes from yesterday. He had his great ideas, all scribbled tight, but when it came time to type them out he seemed to lose his rhythm. The brilliant sentence turned limp and stale. The turn of phrase was dull.

  Maybe his wife was right. Maybe he was never going to finish the book. It would be just like his musical career: down the drain and away.

  He quietly pulled out the hip flask he had taken to carrying inside his coat’s pocket and saw his face, distorted against the metal, before taking a sip.

  ANIMAL FETUSES OF different kinds sat in jars filled with formaldehyde. They floated in the yellow substance and seemed to stare at the students. There was a big vat with whale ambergris in a corner, which you could supposedly use to make perfumes. A large poster of the periodic table was pinned to the back wall. The blackboard was filled with symbols of a vague, alchemical cast.

  Everyone was supposed to have a chemistry partner during lab work, but Meche, Daniela and Sebastian worked as a trio. Miss Costa already had enough trouble trying to enforce the necessity of lab coats and safety procedures, so she let them have their way.

  But Daniela was missing today.

  “Remember to put on your goggles,” the teacher said in a monotonous drone.

  Sebastian placed the stirring bar in the large beaker and began pouring the potassium iodate.

  “You think she’s had another episode?” Meche asked.

  Daniela was often sick and they knew the drill. They’d bring her candy, sit by her bed, maybe even take turns reading one of those horrid romance novels to her—Sebastian often read parts of Flowers in the Attic or Corazón Salvaje, which took much aplomb on his part—then pat her hand and she’d be back in class in a day or two.

  “Maybe she just caught a cold or has an upset stomach,” Sebastian said. “It could be nothing.”

  “We should go see her, after school.”

  Isadora laughed. Sebastian raised his head and looked in her direction. Their pretty classmate was playfully sitting next to Constantino, in a position which was strategically hiking her skirt up. Meche thought Sebastian was going to turn into jelly and collapse upon the floor, foaming from the mouth. She wondered if she shouldn’t finish the chemistry demonstration for fear he would blow them up.

  “Turn on the stirring plate,” Sebastian said, checking his notes.

  “Stirring plate,” Meche muttered.

  “I need the hydrogen peroxide.”

  Meche passed him the diluted solution. They watched as the solution in the beaker turned amber and then a deep shade of blue.

  Isadora was laughing again, chirping about some inanity or other. She spoke too loudly and she did it to get the attention of the class. Judging by Sebastian’s reaction, it had the intended effect.

  “Well then, that’s a chemical oscillator reaction,” Meche said, carefully writing in her notebook. “You know, chemistry is a lot like magic.”

  “Huh?” Sebastian asked.

  She would have blamed his blank stare on the fumes, but Meche knew better.

  “Well, chemistry was started by alchemists. All of them with their formulas and books and secrecy. I think they were a lot like us.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Except we are not looking for the philosopher’s stone.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, the substance that turns lead into gold.”

  “Maybe we are. In a way,” Sebastian said.

  Meche glanced at Isadora and she thought she wouldn’t have Sebastian, not even if he was plated in gold. Sebastian was stupid.

  Then Meche remembered Constantino and realized she was as dumb as her friend.

  THEY WOULD HAVE taken the motorcycle, but Sebastian was out of gas and didn’t have money to fill the tank. So they walked instead. He did not mind. It meant they would spend more time together.

  “Are you going to need help with your literature homework again?” he asked.

  “Why? You need help with math again?”

  “Even trade,” he said. “My lit for your math, as usual.”

  “Throw in a bar of chocolate and it’s a deal.”

  “I’m not throwing in a bar of nothing.”

  “Blah.”

  “Stay and watch TV with me. That’s your extra payment.”

  Meche made a face, like it would be such a chore to sit with him and watch two hours of whatever stupid programming was on, but he knew that was exactly what she wanted to do. They could make cheese sandwiches and grill them on the stove. As far as Sebastian was concerned, that was his definition of happy.

  By the time they reached Daniela’s house they had decided Meche would purchase the Cheetos, seeing as Sebastian was in the gutter money-wise. Sebastian would make the sandwiches and they would fix themselves some lemonade.

  They agreed to stay with Daniela for an hour before setting off together. They regularly brought Daniela her homework when she was not feeling well and they did not expect anything but the usual “hello” and “come in.” But when Daniela’s dad opened the door he looked very tired and he had this sad, sad look on his face.

  “Can we see Daniela?” Meche asked.

  “Daniela is in the hospital,” her father said, shaking his head.

  Daniela’s lupus flared up now and then. Last summer she had spent a whole month in bed. When Daniela was sick, little purple bruises appeared all over her body and her face. She got tired and had to stay inside because sunlight made her sicker. Her mom was always afraid she’d get a kidney infection and die.

  “Is she really sick?” Meche asked. “Can we go see her?”

  “She has a fever... she has Macrophage Activation Syndrome. Her body is attacking itself. She needs to rest.”

  The long words floated in the air, stinging their ears. Meche did not say a word, twisting the cuffs of her sweater. Sebastian took the reins and spoke.

  “We’re very sorry. Can you tell her we came by?”

  “I will.”

  Meche and Sebastian looked at each other. They walked quietly back home, kicking an empty juice bottle. After a few blocks, Meche looked up at Sebastian.

  “But she can’t be sick. We are going to the party together next week. Her dad even gave her permission to go, which is a major win,” Meche said.

  “Yeah, but she’s really bad,” Sebastian muttered. “She might have to stay in bed for several days.”

  “We need to help her. We have to cast a spell.”

  “Just the two of us?” Sebastian asked.

  “We don’t have much of a choice. Come on, hurry.”

  She ran towards the factory and he ran behind her.

  GETTING MONEY THANKS to a spell was one thing, but Sebastian was not sure they could actually cure Daniela. He did not dare to air his doubts to Meche. She seemed very determined to find a solution and he let her keep her hopes up.

  “I feel something here,” Meche said, showing him a record.

  “Elvis Presley,” Sebastian said. “What song?”

  “Jailhouse Rock.”

  “Okay.”

  Meche put the record in place. Presley’s voice boomed across the factory. Dun dum. Dun dum.

  Meche tiptoed around in an imitation of Elvis Presley, hips swinging to the beat of the music. Though Sebastian knew nothing about the dance moves of this time period, and though he had rarely laid eyes on Elvis on the TV, his feet seemed to know the necessary moves. It all felt really fine, all the pieces coming together, and there was that flare of energy that rose from some deep place inside him, rose and became a golden thread, a vapour which reached the ceiling and dissipated. But this time, unlike the previous ones, he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach, as though someone had kicked him.

  Sebastian groaned and hugged himself. He saw Meche bending down, also touching her midsection.

  “Ouch,” he muttered. “What is that?”

  Suddenly the room seemed to grow too cold, even for autum
n and even for an abandoned factory. It was as though someone had opened a refrigerator door. Sebastian felt tired. He licked his lips and sat down.

  “Man, it’s like I just ran a marathon.”

  “It’s so... odd.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Meche said. “When I did that first spell by myself I slept for a long time and it was also very cold. But it hasn’t happened again.”

  “Maybe it’s easier when we are all together,” Sebastian said. “Maybe we shouldn’t ever cast spells by ourselves.”

  “Maybe that’s the whole point of the Witches’ Sabbath,” Meche said. “We are stronger together. Like a bunch of batteries in a remote control.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, teeth chattering.

  “Come,” Sebastian said. “You can have my jacket.”

  “I don’t want your jacket. I have my jacket.”

  “I don’t want it,” he said, taking it off.

  Meche hesitated. Then she sat down next to him, the jacket around her shoulders. She still shivered.

  Sebastian’s eyelids felt like they were made of lead. His muscles ached.

  “I need to rest,” Sebastian whispered.

  He lay flat against the hard floor and though it was uncomfortable, he was too exhausted to care.

  “You’re going to fall asleep here?” Meche asked.

  “I can’t reach the door.”

  “Okay.”

  She lay next to him. The floor felt as cold as a block of ice. The only source of warmth was Meche’s body, curled up against him, as she hummed a tune he didn’t know. Sebastian rested his chin upon her head and closed his eyes.

  He had this dream about a woman who was looking at him. She was standing on the other side of the street, and the sight of her made him very nervous, half-afraid. Her hair was short, her eyes dark and cold. Slowly he recognized her as Meche. An older version of Meche. He tried to open his mouth and say hello, but she walked away and he said nothing.

  When Sebastian woke up it was dark. The factory looked spooky when it was shrouded by shadows like this. Light trickled through some of the window panes, creating puddles here and there. He looked down at Meche and for a moment he was afraid she had changed, that she changed into that strange woman with the short hair. But it was still his Meche, still a teenager, still the girl with the very long dark hair and the resolute mouth.

  He stared at her, wondering if one day she might become that other Meche who did not seem to know him.

  Meche opened her eyes slowly and stretched her arms.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  Sebastian checked his cheap plastic wristwatch. “Past seven.”

  “Ugh, we better head home.”

  “SO WHY ARE witches always in groups?”

  “Is it time to talk about spells again?” her grandmother asked.

  Meche had Miguel Bosé’s Aire Soy on the record player and a glass of milk with her. She sat next to her grandmother, watching her as she knit.

  “Yeah,” Meche said.

  “A circle is the most perfect shape, isn’t it? A witches’ circle uses this perfect arrangement. It is wholeness, persons joining and connecting.”

  Meche thought about records being essentially circles. Power harnessed into the right shape.

  “But you can have lone witches?”

  “You can. If they are powerful enough.”

  “Did you know any lone witches?”

  “Well, one hears a lot of things in a small town.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “I heard there was a girl in town who could talk to the stones.”

  “That’s useful,” Meche snorted.

  “It was. Every stone has a story. Imagine speaking to the stones in a house and learning the secrets of the people who live there.”

  Meche decided that was actually a useful skill. She wondered if what they were doing with the records was something similar. Like listening to what the records were really saying while regular people could only hear the songs.

  “Did you ever try to cast a spell?”

  Her grandmother did not reply.

  DANIELA WOKE UP feeling... odd. Not bad, as she had been feeling all day, but odd. The pain was gone but its absence was strange. She touched her lips, pressed a hand against her forehead. The skin felt cool. No trace of a fever.

  This had never happened before. Curious, she tiptoed into the bathroom, careful to not wake up the girl sharing the hospital room with her. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was normal. No telltale marks, no ‘butterfly’ rash across her cheeks. Daniela looked whole and healthy, as though she had not had a bad flare up.

  Impossible. And yet theirs was now a world full of impossibilities.

  Daniela smiled.

  “IT’S AWESOME!” DANIELA said. “It looks great!”

  “Duh. Did you doubt it would?” Meche said.

  Meche and Sebastian had strung streamers around the room. Balloons dotted the floor and were taped to the walls. There was a big sign that said ‘Welcome back Dani.’ They had even baked a cake and frosted it pink.

  “That’s not all. Sebos, are you ready?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, sit down,” Meche said.

  Daniela sat on the couch and smiled, her hands in her lap.

  Sebastian started the music. It was an old song. Volare. Meche and Sebastian hummed together and when the singer said, “Volare, wohoo hohohho,” they moved their arms and two of the balloons bounced in their direction.

  Daniela gasped. Meche pointed at a balloon and it flew through the air, towards her. Sebastian made a wide sweeping motion and a whole cluster of balloons ripped themselves from the walls and bounced around him, like a wave of colours.

  Meche and Sebastian lowered their hands and the balloons gently settled to the floor.

  Daniela stood up and clapped, feeling giddy.

  “How did you ever learn to do that?” she asked.

  “Oh, we figured it out by accident when we were putting up the decorations,” Meche said.

  “Can you teach me?”

  “Sure. It’ll be better with you,” Meche said. “Sebastian and I get a bit tired if it’s just the two of us.”

  “It’s like running for several blocks and getting a charley horse,” Sebastian explained.

  “I so want to do it!” Daniela said, rushing to their side.

  “Okay,” Meche said. “First you focus on what you’re going to move.”

  MECHE WAITED WITH Daniela at the coffee shop for her sister to pick her up. They had foamy coffees and shared a large cookie. Daniela seemed very perky and she chatted noisily, her hands fluttering up and down.

  Meche smiled and checked the notes in her grimoire.

  “Hey, that’s Constantino across the street,” Daniela said.

  Meche turned her head. It was. He was walking with Isadora. Meche sighed, leaning back and brushing the hair off her face.

  “She’s got every boy in school running after her. Man, can’t I get just a little bit of that?” Meche muttered.

  “Not every boy,” Daniela said, probably trying to perk her up.

  “Sebastian thinks she’s hot.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He practically drools over her.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “I want someone to drool over me.”

  “Well... maybe someone will. At the party.”

  Meche nodded, but with little enthusiasm. Wasn’t there magic that could make you irresistible? Something to spellbind another person? There had to be. The trick was in finding it.

  THEY WALKED INTO the party around nine, glancing around the house with curiosity. The floors had been waxed and Meche walked slowly because she was wearing heels and was afraid of falling down. She glanced at a large mirror by the entrance, making sure her lipstick looked fine. She’d borrowed the makeup from her cousin and painted her nails with a bright pink nail polish J
imena insisted was all the rage. Meche looked different, odd—but wasn’t that the point of it? To transform into someone else entirely.

  Meche followed the sound of the music, her heels carefully clicking against the floor.

  “Man, Isadora’s dad must be loaded,” Daniela said.

  That was something coming from Daniela. Meche had to agree. The house was not only huge, but there were uniformed waiters walking around with trays in their hands. One of them offered them tiny little sausages and Meche took one, nodding. Sebastian grabbed three, tossing them in his mouth in quick succession.

  Meche looked at the heavy furniture, the large windows, the air of opulence drifting from every corner of the room. Ugliness had no place there. Real taste, however, seemed to have escaped Isadora. The sweet, candy pop sound of Timbiriche—the mark of a limited, mundane imagination—threatened to give Meche a headache, but she decided to stand firm, smile, and try to have a good time.

  “Let’s get a drink,” she said to her friends.

  They drifted around. Meche had the distinct feeling that everyone was staring at them. She had not, in the end, picked the mini-skirt, instead donning tight stirrup pants in a light yellow and a long-sleeve shirt with a very wide black belt.

  Sebastian had opted for the Miami Vice look, but with a more subdued baby blue t-shirt under his jacket. Daniela, having no qualms about her wardrobe, went for a metallic pink dress and a black, studded bolero jacket.

  When Meche finally found something to drink it turned out to be beer. She handed one to Sebastian and another to Daniela. Daniela took a sip and made a face.

  “Can’t we have a soda?” Daniela asked.

  “Do you see anyone else drinking soda?” Meche asked.

  Daniela looked around and shook her head.

  “Drink your beer,” Meche ordered.

  “Shouldn’t we find Isadora?” Sebastian asked.

  “What for?” Meche said.

  “It’s her birthday party.”

  “We’re not here because of her.”

  “It’s rude not to say hi.”

  Meche shrugged. Constantino was across the room, next to a window, hanging out with a circle of classmates. Damn it. Meche had copious makeup and hair gel, and was hoping she’d be able to get a chance to talk to him in all her finery. She positioned herself strategically, next to the hallway which led to the washrooms.