The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation

by Belinda Vasquez Garcia

  She shook her head, too choked up with emotion to speak. She merely gripped him tightly.

  “I take it that’s a yes to my invitation?”

  She shook her head, yes, and hiccupped.

  “Perhaps, one day, I can talk you into leaving Madrid,” he added.

  In answer, she cried even harder.

  He kissed the tip of her nose, staring deep into her eyes. “I’ll stay with you, Salia. I’ll stay tomorrow. I’ll stay forever. I’ll stay, until you kick me out.”

  “Kick you out of your own town, Patrón?” she said, sniffling.

  “Out of your bed,” he said.

  “Never,” she fiercely denied. “I’ll stay with you, Samuel. Even unto death. I give you my oath that I’ll never leave you. You’ll never be alone, Samuel, as long as I am in this world.”

  He smiled. “That’s quite an oath.” He played with her hair and said nonchalantly, “I wonder if there’s something to your fortune telling. You said I would live in Madrid. Never in a million years would I have thought that would ever come true.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said in a flat voice. “All that I have seen in the chili seeds will come true. So, it is written. So, it shall be.” A lone tear slid down her cheek, splashing her collarbone.

  Part Four

  An Abomination

  For every soul born, another dies.

  37

  Salia lived together openly with Samuel for three rocky years. They both had tempestuous natures. Theirs was a stormy, passionate relationship. They were prideful and stubborn. Salia, especially, was hard to live with. She was at times secretive and not completely open with him. Samuel left her many times but always returned.

  “When are you going to make an honest man of me, Salia, and marry me?” he asked her again and again.

  “Bah. No man will ever own me, Patrón. Not even you,” was her usual response.

  Samuel sighed with frustration. After all these years he wasn’t quite sure of her feelings towards him. While he declared his love for her many times and in many ways, she remained a mystery. He knew she cared for him, but wasn’t quite sure how deeply he touched her heart. Her independent spirit was something he both loved and loathed.

  Last February she performed in the opera Madame Butterfly, which was nearly the undoing of Salia and Samuel. While the opera did not have sexually explicit scenes, there were some passionate kisses between Salia and the actor playing the Naval Officer Pinkerton, who marries Madame Butterfly.

  Samuel left Salia and moved back to Albuquerque. He stayed away four months. He only returned, when rumors of her pregnancy reached him in Albuquerque. He was furious with her for not writing him or telephoning about the baby. He did not hear one word from her but when he set eyes on her again, she was gaunt and pale, and he swore she might have pined away for him had he not returned.

  “You’ve come back to me,” she said, as if in wonder.

  “Yes. I’ve come back to marry you.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Patrón. What took you so long?”

  He had thrown back his head and laughed. Salia always took him by surprise. That’s one of the things he loved about her. She was so damned unpredictable.

  And so damned unreadable. She was a contradiction with an independent spirit yet, she reminded him of a humming bird in a gilded cage. She was restless, like a caged tiger.

  It wasn’t until she became pregnant that she finally agreed to marriage. She had more than herself to consider. The child would be half-Esperanza, and she could see possibilities for both the baby and herself.

  Then, there was, also, Samuel. Her greatest fear was that one day he would not return to her.

  Ever since she met him and every time he left her, she was petrified that this time, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from chasing after him, but she would die as soon as she left Madrid.

  A child meant security of sorts. Samuel would always return to his child and like all men, he wanted an heir, a son, a Stuwart who could nurture his inheritance and build upon the Stuwart fortunes.

  So, they had a quiet wedding, with just the two of them and a minister from Albuquerque.

  Where to honeymoon caused a fight between them. Salia, of course, refused to leave Madrid, promising to go away with him after the birth. She insisted that when they go on their honeymoon, the baby couldn’t come but had to stay behind in Madrid. Samuel, of course, refused to leave the child. They had both burst into laughter when they realized how premature the argument was, since the child wasn’t even born yet. They decided to defer the fight until after the baby was born.

  Throughout her pregnancy, Salia observed the traditions of the Indian people. When she first realized she was pregnant, she traveled to the Santo Domingo Reservation, seeking advice from Spider-Woman, the wrinkled wife of the old shaman, Storm-Chaser. She was a midwife and named Spider-Woman because her face had always looked like a spider web, with lines criss-crossing. She had only borne one child herself, but had been mid-wife to many deliveries. Her daughter, Weeping-Woman, was married to Jefe.

  “And how is my half-brother?” she asked the old woman. Salia sat on the floor in Spider-Woman’s pueblo apartment, dipping a piece of fried bread into a bowl of lamb stew. Samuel kept a French cook, but she still preferred the simple fare of her father’s people.

  “There is bad blood between my husband and Jefe. He wishes to milk my husband’s powers. Storm-Chaser does not trust him.”

  Salia lowered her eyes. She, of all people, knew Jefe was ambitious in his lust for power. He had come to Witch Hill and threatened her after their grandmother died. He desired the piedra imán above all else.

  “Your brother is a dangerous man,” she added and spit on the floor.

  “How is my niece, Two-Face?”

  “Oh. That one. She is worthless. Let us speak of more pleasant things,” she said, placing her wrinkled hand in Salia’s. “You are to bear an Esperanza of the blood. You must beware of your niece and brother. Two-Face is as ambitious to please her father, as Jefe is to become more powerful. You must hope your child is not a boy, else, he will be a target of Jefe’s jealousy.”

  “My husband wants a son.”

  “Men must sometimes make do with what God gives them. Now, do as I tell you, and you will have a healthy child, be it a girl or boy.”

  Salia bent her head closer and listened to the old woman’s raspy voice as she warned her, “Do not stare at any abnormal animal, human, or object, else your child will be marked at birth with the abnormality. I am living proof. My own mother came upon a large spider web, a thing of great, complex beauty. Thus, was I born with the mark of a spider upon my face. I may have always appeared ugly, but inside this body is a thing of great, complex beauty. My own veins are spun of fine silk.”

  “It was not so bad then?”

  “It was horrid growing up with the teasing of other children. My husband felt pity for me.” She cackled, “Of course, Storm-Chaser never knew I wove a spell around him, wise shaman that he is. Like a spider, I trapped him in my web. Then your mother was captured and brought to the pueblo as a bride for Long-Hair. Storm-Chaser ripped through my web because your mother filled him with lust.”

  She had never heard the entire story before and sat there, expectantly.

  “I no longer wish to speak of it. My husband came to his senses after your mother took his eye from him. Instead of blinding him, Felicita allowed him to see.”

  “And what of my father? No one has ever spoken of Long-Hair to me.”

  She simply stared back at her with a cunning look in her eye.

  She felt like screaming. Just when she felt she could stand the silence no more, Spider-Woman began to speak of the child in her womb. Salia forgot about Long-Hair, and nodded her head, listening intently to what this wise woman had to say.

  For eight months Salia woke each morning, before the sun rose to the east of the mountains, and she walked. The Indian people believe that babies grow in the
early dawn.

  She had never been good at sewing, but many evenings she struggled with turquoise beads, silver bells, leather, a needle, and thread. Many times she ripped out the thread and started over. Her eyes filled with frustrated tears as she took the scissors and cut more leather.

  “What are you making?” Samuel asked one evening, his eyes sparkling in amusement at her struggles with needle and the thread.

  “It’s for the baby.”

  “Surely whatever it is, we can buy it. Sweetheart, it pains me to see you work so hard and accomplish so little.”

  She sucked her finger where she pricked herself with the needle. “I must make it myself, but it’s so difficult.”

  “And why is that, Sugar?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “No matter how much I try to make the shape of a lizard, the needle keeps insisting on adding wings.”

  “Then perhaps, my Dear, you should let the needle sew whatever it wants.”

  “Perhaps, you are right,” she said.

  From then on, she had no more problems. She merely followed Samuel’s advice, and the bag seemed to sew itself, as her fingers flew across the leather.

  38

  November 16, 1933

  Samuel and Salia stood at the Madrid Train Station. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and her face appeared gaunt as she looked at Samuel. She rubbed her lower back. Her long coat could not disguise her pregnancy. She was due any day.

  “Sit down, Darling. The train should be here any minute,” he said.

  She sat on the bench, playing with the ring on her left finger. She still could not get used to the heavy weight of the gold, diamond-encrusted wedding band. “I don’t understand why you dragged me over here. It’s cold.”

  “I told you, it’s a surprise. Patience,” he said, grinning.

  “The ten o’clock is late.”

  “Yes, it is.” He snapped the newspaper, hinting that he was reading.

  She stared at her swollen body with disgust. She never wanted to have a child. The idea of motherhood horrified her. It was not childbirth, per se, that scared her. Mother taught her how to deal with physical pain, but Felicita was, also, her example of motherhood. As she got closer to term, nightmares of her childhood become more vivid, and she feared being as bad a mother as Felicita had been. When she first realized she was pregnant, she could have ended it easily, but the child would free her from the Esperanza curse, and she could pursue her career outside of Madrid. Samuel would never understand why the child must never leave Madrid with them, why the baby must be left behind while they went on a honeymoon. Her own mother must have been anxious to have a child because a baby freed Felicita from the curse so she could leave Madrid, leaving Salia stuck. Salia’s baby was her miracle that her world could grow outside Madrid’s borders. So it is written, so it shall be. She resisted the urge to caress her bulging womb, as so many other expectant mothers. She did not wish to get close to her baby, else she would feel loathe to leave it, just as she could never leave Samuel.

  He sat, relaxed, scanning the newspaper. She said in an agitated voice, “What’s the latest news? Are even more people going to move from Madrid?”

  “Over a train that’s late, Sugar?” he said, laughing. The population had dwindled to about 1500, and a third of the homes were empty. Samuel’s fortunes suffered due to the Great Depression. Two years ago, Albuquerque got hit hard with failing businesses and bank failures. He still owned part of the railroad, his saloons, and brewery and of course, Madrid. However, he was forced to sell his lumber company and ranch. Even the eight-story First National Bank, of which he was part-owner, closed this year. They were hoping to reopen with a loan from the government. Roosevelt had been in office for eight months and passed the Glass-Steagall Act. So long as the bank agreed not to dabble in investment banking and underwrite securities, the bank would qualify for the loan.

  She punched him playfully on the leg. “You know what I mean,” she said.

  “Well, the men work in the mines just once or twice a week, and are lucky when they work more days, but at least they have jobs. So many small businesses on Route 66 have closed. We’re losing a lot of our Hispanics and Indians, who are going north to Colorado or south to the cotton fields of Las Cruces, but Madrid’s population should stabilize. The mine shouldn’t have to cut any more jobs,” he said, frowning at the refinery in the distance and the Hard Coal Breaker buildings. Today, smoke was not coming from the huge exhaust pipes and the air was a bit clearer than normal.

  “Good,” she mumbled, looking down the tracks at the approaching train. Trains petrified her ever since Mother and Grandma dragged her to the station one night, after months of trying to teach her how to fly. She remembered the sound of the approaching train. They each took her by a hand and swung her above the tracks. They threw her in front of the train. It was fly or die, and she burst into a fireball and soared above the train. Her flying was rather rusty since she took up with Samuel. She wasn’t even sure if she could any more.

  He dumped the newspaper in a trash can. “Let’s don’t talk about the Depression, but speak of more pleasant things. Your surprise is waiting, my Lady.”

  He helped Salia rise to her feet and escorted her down the walkway to the last car of the train. He nodded his head to the workman, who laid down a platform and slid open the back. Two other men pushed a shiny, apple-red Ford 3-Window Coupe.

  Samuel turned to her and smiled. “It’s for you, Darling. I’ll teach you how to drive the contraption after the baby’s born. Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

  She stared at the car with sparkling eyes. “Oh, Samuel, it’s wonderful.”

  “Come on,” he said in a gruff voice. “I’ll drive you home. Then I have to go to a meeting, which I’m going to be late for because the 10:00 came in at 10:10.”

  “Go on to your meeting. I can make my own way home.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he insisted.

  “You just want to be the first to drive the new car.”

  “You betcha,” he said and honked the horn.

  39

  Samuel pounded the coal dust from his boots before opening the door of the offices of the Albuquerque and Cerrillos Coal Mining Company. “Woodson,” he said, nodding his head at his secretary.

  Three men stood in a corner drinking cups of coffee, their heads bowed in amiable conversation. Samuel walked up to them and a hush fell over the room.

  Pacheco puffed up his chest with his own self-importance. “I won’t beat around the bush. I am here to discuss organizing a union for the miners.” He stood between the mine manager Oscar Hughes and the foreman, Tom Dyer, as if he already had their support.

  Samuel led them into his office, snapping off his gloves. “You may be seated, Gentlemen,” he said in a dry tone, “Although it seems you have already begun the meeting without me.”

  Oscar coughed into his hand. “We didn’t start without you, Samuel. We were just chit-chatting.”

  Pacheco pounded the table with his fist. “The men break their backs for you since the mines are rat holes.”

  “Hang onto your tamales, Sandoval, and quit pissing chili. Madrid isn’t Gallup with six foot veins where the miners can work standing up. It’s not my fault the veins here are just three or four feet tall and dip sixteen degrees. And what interest is my mine to you? You don’t even work there. My concerns are none of your business,” Samuel snapped.

  “You should at least listen to Pacheco, Boss,” Tom said. “The men have his ear. It would be in our best interest to hear what he has to say.”

  “It would surely hurt us, Samuel, if the men strike,” Oscar pointed out.

  Samuel leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his stomach. He clunked down his boots on the desktop in a disrespectful, relaxed manner. “Very well, humor me,” he said, lifting his lips in a sardonic smile at Pacheco. “If my men listen to you when you open your mouth, Sandoval, then I shall do no less. Only sit down. I don’t look up
to any man.”

  Pacheco sat back down. He spread his hands across the table. “The men want better wages, Patrón,” he said.

  “I pay my men very well, considering there’s a Depression,” he countered.

  “That is true, but you deduct too much from their wages. It is as if each of the miners has dug his own tunnel from which he cannot escape. The debt each of them owes you can never be repaid.”

  “Debt is good for my miners. My men are paid by the tons of coal each one produces. It makes a man produce more in his working hours, if he owes money.”

  “That may be, but each year the men tunnel their way even deeper into debt.”

  “That’s because they don’t know how to live on the money they earn but have to draw scrip against their future wages.”

  “It’s because they already owe you so much money, the men cannot live on what you pay them.”

  “If a man owes me money, then he’ll stick around to work off his debt, won’t he?” Samuel said, blowing smoke from his cigar in Pacheco’s face.

  “That’s not much better than slavery,” he said, coughing.

  “Tut. Tut. Slavery was abolished in this country, Sandoval,” he said, waving a finger at him. “I pay my men an honest wage for an honest day’s work, and I am always generous with credit. I let no man or his family go hungry, no matter how much their hours are cut because of the Depression.”

  “You should increase their wages,” Pacheco said in a voice shaking with anger. “Instead, you increase the amount they have to pay for goods in the company store.”

  “Now, come, Sandoval, I have not increased the price of goods in three years.”

  “You have a monopoly in this town, Patrón. The men know that if one of them goes into Golden or Cerrillos and buys goods there, then he will be fired from his job.”

  “You forget that I own this town, lock, stock and barrel. The men make their living in Madrid. I provide them jobs. I pay their salary, and I demand their loyalty. I believe the good people of Madrid should spend their wages in Madrid and give back to the community.”