The Witch's Market (4 page)

The marchers moved slowly, but with animation. Along came brightly made-up clowns, gun-toting soldiers, pirates wearing wide-brimmed hats and long swords, kings in ermine robes, half-naked, curvaceous women singing and swaying, drums banging out loud tattoos, maybe to scare away evil spirits. Following them was a seemingly endless cast of characters: cowboys, bare-chested Indians, the Statue of Liberty, and to my delight, Chinese kung-fu fighters striking intimidating poses, and yelling, “Ooh! Aaah! Aiiiya!”

I held up my camera, my fingers rapidly pressing the shutter button, its
click, click, click
pleasing to my ears.

In front of the street stalls, customers lined up to buy ready-made costumes, colorful wigs, and painted masks, both comical and scary. The drinks and snacks looked colorful and tempting: sugared apples, stir-fried wheat noodles with scallion, grilled fish with pepper, chunks of meat emanating enticing aromas, rows of yellowish corn, looking like babies swaddled in green blankets. I bought a sugared apple, savoring its sweetness as I let myself be carried along with the flow.

A big fellow dressed as King Kong lumbered in front of me, pretending to snatch at my apple.

I made a scared expression as I screamed in Spanish, “Please don't take away my forbidden apple!”

He laughed, struck a fist high in the air, and then disappeared into the crowd.

I was feeling relaxed and had all but forgotten my need to do fieldwork when I spotted a small group of women wearing black capes, tall conical hats, and carrying brooms—witches. I didn't know if they were ordinary people dressed up as witches for the festival or if they were the real thing—if one can even tell a real witch by how she dresses. I'd come in search of real witches. Could I have found them so quickly?

There were four of them, their ages ranging from twenties to fifties. Faces painted, they were chanting strange, eerie songs. It seemed that nobody paid them any special attention. The onlookers probably thought they were ordinary women in costumes. I suspected otherwise; I wasn't sure why.

The oldest one noticed me staring at her and to my utter surprise, squeezed through the crowd to approach, her small entourage following. I tried to back away, but before I could they were already right in front of me.

“Come join us,” the head witch said, quite abruptly.

“Join you?”

She flung her head back and laughed. “We're witches. And you're one of us.”

I felt my scalp tingle. “How can you tell?”

She smiled. “We know our kind. Even though you're yellow and we're white.”

“What do you want?” My voice turned angry.

“I've never met an Asian witch, so maybe we can teach each other—you know, juju, strong magic.”

With a swift movement of her crooked hand, she took out a piece of paper, scribbled on it, and then thrust it into my hand. I snatched it like a lost traveler grabbing a glass of water in the desert. A quick glance revealed the name “Cecily” and an address. Before I could ask another question, the entourage had already disappeared into the sea of tourists and performers.

Was this a joke, one of the festival's pranks? A real witch handing me her name and address? Feeling dizzy, I lost interest in watching the parade and went to sit at a nearby street café. I ordered black coffee to clear my head. Was the dark color of my drink an omen? Sipping the bitter liquid and watching the parade go by in a blur, I heard the sound of English next to me. I turned and saw the same two young men from the boat. This time they noticed me.

The older one smiled. “Tourist?”

I nodded, returning a smile. “And you?”

“Yes, we're from the U.S.” He hesitated, then continued. “If you need company, you're most welcome to join us. We'll be here for a while. By the way, I'm Kyle and this is my younger brother, Ed.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Kyle, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“We were on the same boat from Grand Canary. I overhead you talking to Ed about a tragedy coming—either in the sky or on the ground. Were you serious?”

Kyle looked a bit uneasy. “My mom always said I have a sixth sense.”

“Why did she think that?”

“Sometimes I seem to see things happen before they actually do.”

“Hmm . . . but do those things
really
happen?”

He smiled. “Fortunately never the way I envisioned them.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a sip of his drink. “Sometimes they did occur, but much later. Actually it's a burden. Because I always worry that a tragedy is about to happen. Wherever I go, I see signs. . . .”

“Are you frightened by these signs?”

“I'm used to them.” He shrugged.

I was wondering if I should tell them about my breaking of the guitar string but decided to keep it to myself. No reason to make them think that I was crazy.

So I changed the subject. “What are you two doing here?”

“Scuba diving. What about you?”

“I'm here to find witches.”

The two men laughed. “You mean like those costumed ones in the parade?”

When I didn't respond, they exchanged glances.

Ed took a small paper package from his knapsack and opened it. “They pushed us to buy this.”

He pulled out a vial of colorful liquid floating with herbs. Or animal parts?

“Pretend witches selling us pretend medicine!” He made a face. “But at least the stuff is interesting, isn't it?”

I was pretty sure this was real witches' medicine. I'd learned something about ancient Chinese medicine from Laolao—not only herbs like ginseng and goji berry, but also gecko tail, snake bladder, bear bile, deer antler, rhinoceros horn, tiger penis....

Now Kyle spoke. “Take this if you want. It's of no use to us.”

After a moment's hesitation I accepted the vial.

“Anyway, they said they sell this in the Witches' Market.”

“Witches' Market?” My ears perked up. “Do you know where that is?”

Kyle took out his map and pointed with his finger. “I believe it's somewhere here in the south of the island.”

“Did they tell you anything more about the Witches' Market?”

He thought for a while. “We heard that it's open on the first Saturday every month—and that it's not on any map.”

I was anxious to control my excitement so I stood up, and said, “Well, I have to go. Thank you for the information. Maybe I'll see you again.”

“Sure. See you around. We're at the Santa Catalina Hotel.”

“Okay. I'm staying at the Santa Teresa on Grand Canary.”

We waved good-bye to one another. I decided that I'd had enough carnival for the day and so took the next ferry back to my hotel.

5

Maiden Fortress and Heartbreak Castle

T
he next morning I went back to the hotel café. This time I ordered the traditional Spanish breakfast. The plate arrived piled high with cooked ham, chorizo sausage, cheese, and jamon Serrano. Although it was more than I could eat, I had wanted to try the
plátano
(“banana”)
flambé
served with orange segments and sprinkled with demerara sugar. After that, wishing I could eat more but feeling stuffed, I had another cup of the strong Spanish coffee.

One more week remained before the next Witches' Market, so I decided to visit Cecily. I was nervous about this—she might be an evil person—but I'd come to meet witches so I felt I had no choice.

After I signed the bill for breakfast, I went to the reception desk and handed Cecily's note to the same bearded young man who'd helped me before.

“Could you tell me how to go to this place?”

He looked at the paper, then took out a map and studied it. Then he said, his expression puzzled, “Señorita, I believe this is in the south of Tenerife Island, not the Grand Canary. Anyway, why this place?”

“Something wrong with the address?”

“It . . . looks like it's in some remote area. Tenerife's south is very barren, nothing like the pleasant north.” He cast me a worried look. “I don't think it is good for you to visit there.”

I was not going to tell him the real reason why I wanted to go there, so I said, “I have a friend there. I am sure it will be safe to visit her.”

“Sorry, señorita. Maybe she should meet you here. This place is in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it has a story. . . .”

“Can you tell me the story?”

“I don't really know it, only that it's something strange with a sad ending.” Now he looked at me curiously. “Your friend should come here.”

This man was getting rather annoying. Did he think he was my father? “Don't worry about me. But thanks for your concern,” I said.

 

The next day I was back on the ferry to Tenerife, this time bringing my hand luggage with me. The carnival had ended yesterday and so I'd had no trouble booking a hotel room. I'd taken a nap and overslept, so I had to hurry to dress and get started on my journey to meet the witches.

I had to ask several taxi drivers before finding one who was willing to take me to the address on the slip of paper. His taxi was a rickety old Ford, and I sensed that the driver, barely out of his teens, agreed to take me only because he was desperate for business.

When we were on our way, I asked, “Have you been doing this for long?”

“Not long. This car is my uncle's, but he was busy today. I substitute for him.”

My heart sank. “You think you can find the way?”

He lifted up a torn, stained map. “See? I have this. Señorita, relax. Take a nap. When you wake up, we'll be there.”

Maybe he knew witchcraft, too, because I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It seemed but a moment had passed when I felt a light touch on my shoulder.

The kid had already opened my door. “We're here, señorita. What time you want me to come back?”

I got out, stretched my limbs, and looked around. In front of me was a huge grassy expanse. At the end of a narrow footpath was a huge mansion. It was really a castle, with terra-cotta walls, dark green leaded glass windows, and a peaked slate roof. The crenulated towers, or turrets, stood like giants on guard. Though imposing, there was a pathetic air about the place. If an object could have feelings, then it definitely was not feeling well.

I turned back to the kid. “Can you come back before sunset?”

“No problem.”

“Where are you going now?”

“To get something to eat and take a nap. Don't worry, señorita, I'll be back.”

“All right.” I paid him for the first trip plus a generous tip, hoping he'd come back in pursuit of another fare and an even more generous tip.

“Good luck,” he said, and smiled, then went back inside the car and started the engine.

I watched the car until it disappeared down the road, then turned around to face the castle. A sudden fear gripped me. What was I doing here by myself? To see witches, really? Maybe at this very moment they were concocting soup mixed with menstrual blood. Or cooking the human flesh of their most recent visitor. Or perhaps the place was deserted and I was the victim of an elaborate practical joke. Or some sort of kidnapping. But it was too late to back out, so I braced myself and began to walk toward the castle to begin my witch-hunting.

In the far distance, patches of ocean showed between the thick tree trunks. To the right of the castle, behind a low fence, stood a white horse, its mane swaying in the breeze, the only sign of life in this strange place. I went up to the haughty creature to stroke his nose and long mane. He stared at me with what I interpreted as kind, though sad, eyes. I was sure he could tell a moving story—if only he could talk. Unfortunately I was not like the Confucius' student Gong Yechang, who could understand animals' thoughts.

Just then the horse raised his head and neighed, as if trying to tell me the secrets of the castle. If he was trying to tell me something, I couldn't tell what it was, so I just stroked his beautiful mane once more and resumed my walk toward the castle. When I stood in front of it, I felt its surrealistic aura even more strongly.

A signboard painted in red read:

A strange name. Did it mean that all those who dwelled within were young women? After my knocks on the door elicited no response, I decided to walk around the edifice to better sense its
qi,
to feel whether it was positive, negative, or even haunted. Peeking through the narrow windows, I could make out some forlorn-looking furniture, colored vases, dingy oil paintings, and knickknacks that looked more like burdens than decorations.

I circled the building completely without seeing any signs of a living human. I decided to explore the grounds a little. After wandering for nearly an hour I passed beyond a thicket of trees and spotted a pond sparkling under the afternoon sun. As I approached I saw four heads bobbing on the jade green water. Not sure how I would be received, I hid behind one of the nearby tree trunks. After intense scrutiny, I recognized the heads as belonging to the witches I'd encountered during the carnival.

The four women were singing, laughing, and splashing water on each other. After a few minutes, they stood up and started to the shore. All of them were stark naked. In front was Cecily. Though middle-aged, she was surprisingly attractive, with long red hair, full breasts with nipples like two large berries, curvy hips, and dense vegetation between her thighs. The woman behind her was somewhat less voluptuous, but still shapely. The other two were younger, probably a few years younger than me, and looked very much alike, possibly twins. Both had lithe, muscular figures and strong legs.

The four didn't pick up any clothes to cover themselves with—there apparently weren't any close by. I moved back around the tree trunk to watch them as they walked through the thicket and then sat down together where a large picnic cloth had been spread out. Cecily started to unpack a straw hamper, bringing out bells, purple candles, wineglasses, and jars of herbs. Together the women arranged the objects around the cloth. One of the twins took candles from a box and handed them to her sister, who lit each one, then placed it on the ground to form a circle. The light gave out a mysterious glow accompanied by a subtly intoxicating scent.

It was then that I realized that the sky had begun to turn dark. I guessed the driver had already left, if he'd even had any intention of coming back for me. Anyway, I could not pull myself away from the sight of these strange women.

Now the four women stood in a circle, closed their eyes, and seemed to meditate. They intoned a strange song. Next they dipped twigs into jars of water and sprinkled it in the air. Then, holding hands and raising them heavenward, they began to dance. As they circled the cloth, their breasts swayed, waists twisted, and legs kicked suggestively. After a few minutes they paused, swept the ground with small brooms, and lifted the bells to resume their rhythmic dance.

Ending their ritual, they hugged, kissed, and downed some dark liquid, either wine or some homemade concoction.

Then, suddenly, Cecily spit fire from her mouth!

“Oh my!” I blurted out.

The women all turned toward me. Instead of looking surprised at the intrusion, they smiled.

“Hey, señorita, welcome to the circle of witches!” Cecily said.

I stepped away from the tree I was partially hidden behind and approached them cautiously.

“You're the Asian witch we met at the carnival. What are you doing here?”

As if in a trance, I told them my name and that I was Chinese, though lived in America.

Cecily extended a long-nailed hand. “Come, Eileen, let's dance, chant, and drink to celebrate life!”

Before I knew what was happening, they had come up to me and swiftly pulled off my top, sneakers, and jeans. They then dragged me into their circle. Next they picked up their twigs to flick water onto me. I found myself drinking their strange concoction and joining them in dancing and chanting. Though I had no idea what the chant meant, it was pleasing to my ears. I felt myself gradually slipping into another universe....

 

When I woke up the next morning the sun was filtering through lace curtains. I shaded my forehead and looked around me. A plain, fortyish, and slightly plump woman sat by the bed, reading a newspaper. I lifted my head from the pillow.

Before I could saying anything, she yelled,
“Qué bueno!”
and dashed away.

Seconds later, she hurried back. Accompanying her was a robust, broad-shouldered, fiftyish man with a rugged face, a straight, high nose, and intense eyes. Before I could say anything he spoke to me in accented English.

“Señorita, I'm glad that you're awake. Welcome to Heartbreak Castle.”

Heartbreak Castle. Why would someone give his residence such an unlucky name? Anyway, wasn't it called the Maiden Fortress?

“Señor, who are you? I don't know where I am. Have we met?” I said in Spanish.

I realized I'd spoken abruptly, and that I was an uninvited guest, or intruder, in this man's place. But he looked delighted.

“Qué bueno, usted habla Spanish!”
Good, you speak Spanish.

I smiled and apologized for my rudeness.

He smiled back. His teeth were neat and white, contrasting nicely with his tanned skin.

“Señorita, my housekeeper, Maria, found you some distance from my castle, by the pond. You were so drunk that you could hardly walk, so she came back to get me and I carried you here. Are you feeling okay?”

I took stock of myself. I didn't feel great, but everything was intact, so I replied, “I have a headache, but otherwise I'm fine, Señor. . . .”

“Alfredo Alfrenso. And you are?”

“Eileen Chen, I'm from San Francisco.” He was being polite, but I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Señor Alfrenso, I've already troubled you and Maria for the whole night, so I think I should be on my way.” I tried to sit up but felt a wave of dizziness.

I remembered that the witches had taken off my clothes before I danced with them and I was suddenly mortified. Was I still naked? I lifted the bedsheet and was relieved to see my body in a loose gown. I hoped it was Maria who'd put the gown on for me and not her master. Fortunately I was far enough from San Francisco for anyone there to hear about my current state of affairs.

Maria handed me a glass of water, which I gulped down as if stranded in the desert.

“You better stay with us for a day or two until you're fit to go home,” Alfrenso said.

“No, I'm feeling better,” I said, but just then I had a coughing spell.

“Eileen, I'm afraid you can't. You caught pneumonia and I had my doctor come give you an injection of antibiotic. Here in Spain we believe in hospitality. You were nearly unconscious for a while. I must keep you here until you've completely recovered.”

I had pneumonia? I coughed again and realized he must be right.

He went on. “You need to eat. Maria will fix you something,”

He seemed to be a very kind man, so kind that I wondered if he hoped to take advantage of me. But this Spanish gentleman seemed quite refined, not at all that kind of man. I thought he must be rich to live in this castle and therefore could find plenty of women, so he had no need of me. I felt relief wash over me. And actually I wasn't helpless. As a shamaness, or at least someone from a shamanic lineage, I knew all sorts of supernatural arts, or at least thought I did, in case I needed to handle this older man.

 

Later, after I woke up from another nap, Maria helped me change out of my nightgown and into a dress. I couldn't help but wonder whose gown it was—Señor Alfrenso's wife's? A mistress's? But I was too hungry to speculate further and so allowed myself to be led into the kitchen. It was quite roomy, larger than the entire apartment in which I'd spent my Hong Kong childhood. There was a long, sturdy table, a metal-covered counter, an ancient-looking stove, and even a chandelier.

Maria leaned over her pots while Alfrenso sat across from me, sipping his coffee and looking pensive. I wondered if someone entering the kitchen and seeing us together would imagine that we were lovers, enjoying breakfast together after a night of passion.

“Señor Alfrenso—”