The Witch's Market (13 page)

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

L
uis, 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.

“But I want to see the lake too,” Luis protested.

“No, it's not for you. It will suck out a young person's energy. Stay here till we come back.”

I actually wanted Luis to come along since I wasn't sure I could trust the old man. But he took my arm and pulled me along. Despite his frail looks, his arms were powerful, as was his determination.

As if approaching a sacred place, neither of us spoke as we walked down a murky path, the sky hidden by overhanging trees. The flashlights cast narrow, flickering beams. The shadows were filled with ghosts by my overactive imagination. They seemed to keep pace with us as we made our way along the path.

Finally, we entered a clearing and the lake appeared, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. There was nothing else to see except the dark boundaries of the trees, as if I had left the normal world completely behind.

Approaching the water, I felt a chill, though in a pleasant way. In the moonlight, the ripples on the lake conjured up tiny, sparkling reflections, like stars scattered on a dark sky. Grandpa signaled me to kneel down with him and put my hands together in a prayer gesture. Eyes closed, he mumbled something I couldn't understand, all the while remaining motionless. It was as if the sculptor had turned into a sculpture himself.

As he mumbled on I became impatient. “Grandpa, why are you closing your eyes—are you going to be like this the whole time?”

“At ninety I've seen enough. And right now I don't want to see anything I'm not supposed to. I will die soon and then I'll see nothing but ghosts, so there's no reason to look for them now. I'll just close my eyes and wait while you contemplate the lake. You can look into the water as long as you want.”

Suddenly I wondered why I had come to this surreal place rather than staying home in San Francisco. My heart beating like a metronome in presto, I turned my gaze back to the lake. Staring at its gleaming, silky surface, to my surprise, instead of fear I felt a wave of tenderness surge inside me. The vast expanse of water looked clear, but the bottom was obscured, like a beautiful woman's face covered with a veil. As I stared into the water, I felt myself slipping into a trance.

Minutes later, I sensed a presence surrounding me. Now I was scared, and froze in place, not daring to move even my lashes and quieting my breathing. Gradually from the surface of the water I began to hear intense whispers seeming to reveal ancient secrets, if only I could make out what they were saying. My eyes and ears seemed to open up to things I had never before seen and sounds I had never before heard. It was in a language I could almost, but not quite, understand.

I turned to Grandpa, wondering if he also heard the voices, but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have stealthily escaped through the brush back to the path. Or, quite possibly, he knew another way back. It seemed impossible that he would have abandoned me here. Yet, he was gone. The chill that had felt good before now raised goose bumps and I could feel my adrenaline surge. Suddenly my legs felt like jellyfish, yet as if rooted to the ground by some hidden force.

I told myself not to panic but instead to concentrate on my breathing. Perhaps because of my intense emotion, I began to feel as if my soul were escaping from my body and sinking into the depths of the lake. I was diffused in the water, joining the spirits that had dwelled there from time immemorial up to the present. I saw—or thought I saw—a small group of people, like that in a small village, chatting, eating, working, strolling . . .

A face seemed to float by me, starting to come into focus but still blurred by the water. I saw—or imagined—that it was Sabrina's long-dead daughter, Isabelle. Her mouth was moving and soon our eyes met. I strained to hear her words, but they were lost in the vast expanse of water.

Seeing that I couldn't hear her, Isabelle began to gesture desperately. Then, an older woman, less distinct but resembling Sabrina, approached as if to comfort her....

All at once I found myself back in my body, looking at the lake that seemed as calm and bright as before. But now it was just an empty lake once more.

This brief experience had exhausted me and I decided to return to the village. After an anxious search I found the flashlight that the old man had had the decency to leave for me. I followed our footprints back along the mushy ground until I was back on the path. Despite my fear I was able to reach the house to find Luis waiting. He'd thoughtfully fixed his room for me and announced he would sleep on the long chair in the living room.

“Are you all right, Eileen?” His voice was filled with concern.

“I'm okay,” I said, my voice trembling. “When did Grandpa come back?”

“Not long after you two went to the lake. He said he was exhausted by all the dead energy and had to go to sleep early.”

“So he just left me there to take in all the dead energy by myself?”

“I'm so sorry about this. But Grandpa's an old man and he does as he pleases. I was very worried, but he said you're a very strong and brave woman. I would have come for you, but I don't know the way and he wouldn't tell me.”

“I didn't feel very brave on the way back. It's pretty scary. What makes him think I'm so brave?”

“Because most people want to leave this village, but you came here, all by yourself.”

I felt my lids drooping, so I thanked Luis, went inside his room, and collapsed on the narrow bed. Though my body instantly fell asleep, my unconscious mind kept whirling like a merry-go-round. How could my consciousness leave my body and enter the lake? And my visions—I could make no sense of seeing Isabelle and Sabrina underwater, one long dead, the other still alive.

When I woke up for a moment I realized what had happened—my third eye had opened, allowing me to see beings in the other realm. I was beginning to believe that I really had inherited Laolao's powers. First by making the guitar string break, then this out-of-body experience. Maybe it really was my destiny to be a witch or shamaness.

When I thought about Isabelle I felt distressed by her obvious desperation to communicate with me. Was she trying to tell me the truth about her death? I felt unable to move, even a bit sick.

Laolao always told me that when a person is ill, evil forces can take this as an opportunity to enter your body and wander around sucking up your
qi,
playing with your mind, or even break things. Now I could tell that my
qi
was weak, so I felt completely helpless against beings whose nature was beyond my comprehension.

In my confusion I wished for Laolao's calm explanation of the ghosts and other terrifying phenomena. Now in my peculiar mental state I wished that she were here to explain what was happening. And just as I wished for her help, she seemed to be in my room, not in the flesh but as a warm presence. Her voice was weaker than it had been in life, but her gentle concern was unmistakable.

Laolao smiled, and said to me reassuringly, “Eileen, just as our body breathes, the mountains and lakes breathe too. It is for you to align your
qi
to the divine pulse. This will bring you into harmony with the universe and extend your powers. In San Francisco you wasted too much time with that fool Ivan. Now you are back in nature. So you should practice until you can follow your breath into the core of the Dao.”

I asked, “Laolao, why did you come to me now, after all these years?”

“So you can be prepared.”

“For what?”

“There is a mystery that must be solved. I cannot do it because I no longer have a body. So you must.”

“What's the mystery?”

“Heaven's secrets are not revealed until the time is right. Everything in life is about situation and timing. Whatever you do, choose the right time.

“You're my granddaughter. Your powers will continue to increase. But you must promise Heaven to only use them for good, and not for petty things like making a buck or scrying into people's bedrooms. Will you promise me this?”

“Yes.” But Laolao had definitely used her powers to make a buck. That was what had supported our little family.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “good people can be blinded by situations and make wrong choices. But sometimes a bad choice is the only one.

“You will go on living in this dusty world for many more years. One day you will come to the other realm, so there is no point in my telling you about it now. In the meantime watch out for greed and lust. There is no end to desire. It isn't easy to stay rooted, but you must, no matter what happens.

“Promise me,” she implored in a fading voice.

I whispered, “I promise,” but I wasn't sure if she could hear me, or whether she'd even actually been here.

I dozed off, then half woke up again, trying to make sense of what my grandmother had said. I had another vision—or was it a dream?—this time of a young woman by my bedside. Indistinct as she was, she seemed to resemble Isabelle.

“You came to the lake,” she said. “Now you're one of us. This is where you belong. Even if you go back, part of your consciousness will remain here. You must accept this.”

After that I slept dreamlessly until I was awakened by the sound of wood being sawed. Bright sunlight streamed through the window and I was back in the normal world. Yet in the daylight, I felt more perplexed than ever by my strange visions. They seemed more than dreams, perhaps hallucinations induced by some miasma at the lake.

I could not escape thinking that my
yin
eye had really opened, just as Laolao had told me would someday happen. What would it be like perceiving the invisible realm? It seemed like a good thing to have developed a new ability—but it was also frightening. Like Luis's grandpa had said, why see ghosts before you become one yourself?

It was a relief when my eyes landed on Luis in the distance. I leaned out the window and waved to him.

He smiled back, and announced, “Morning, Eileen! Wait for me in the kitchen. I'll be right there to fix breakfast.”

Soon we were sipping milk, chewing bread, and eating scrambled eggs with hot sauce. Grandpa did not join us.

“I hope my bed wasn't too uncomfortable for you,” said Luis.

The bed was fine, but the dreams weren't. But I was not going to tell him about my nocturnal encounters with two dead people.

“I hope you don't mind my simple cooking. Eileen, we like you, so you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like,” Luis said hopefully.

Since my arrival on the island, it seemed that nearly everyone I'd met wanted me to stay with them. Were they lonely? Bored? Or was there some other plan they had for a solitary woman traveler? Perhaps a collective conspiracy?

“Is Grandpa still sleeping?” I asked.

“No, he woke up very early and went out to get you something.”

“How come? I thought he didn't like me.”

“He's just a grumpy old man. In fact, he likes you a lot.”

“He doesn't act like it.”

“He said you're the only person who appreciates his rock carvings and paid him, even though he did not ask for money.”

“I would think his work would be very popular here.”

“Grandpa says that most people can't tell beauty from ugliness, refinement from vulgarity.”

Now I suspected that Grandpa was in fact a wise man pretending to be crazy. I was reminded of the legend of two famous Chinese monks, Han Shan, or “Cold Mountain,” and She De, or “Picked Up,” in Chinese legend.

Han Shan got his name because he'd lived a secluded life in a remote mountain where, even in the hottest summer, its snowcap never melted. His friend She De was an orphan abandoned on the street and picked up by an enlightened Zen monk. Both Han Shan and She De were carefree and detached. Day in and day out, they swept leaves, scrawled poems on rocks, played with the village children, and appreciated the moon. They are honored in Chinese legend because they lived simple lives in accord with the Dao—The Great Way. . . .