The Poison Eaters and Other Stories Read online

Page 9

 

  At least the moon was only half-full. On full-moon nights, Rosa said that witches and elves and other spirits met at a market in the graveyard where they traded things like people did during the day. Not that she thought it was true, but it was still frightening.

  "Tabi-tabi po,” she whispered to the darkness, just like Rosa had told her, warning him that she was there. “Please take these offerings and let my sister get better. "

  There was only silence and Tomasa felt even more foolish than before. She turned to go.

  Something rustled in the branches above her.

  Tomasa froze and the sound stopped. She wanted to believe it was the wind, but the night air was warm and stagnant.

  She looked up into eyes the green of unripe bananas.

  "Hello,” she stammered, heart thundering in her chest.

  The enkanto stepped out onto one of the large limbs of the tree. His skin was the same dark cinnamon as a tamarind pod and his feet were bare. His clothes surprised her—cutoff jeans and a t-shirt with a cracked and faded logo on it. He might have been a boy from the rice fields if it wasn't for his too-bright eyes and the fact that the branch hadn't so much as dipped under his weight.

  He smiled down at her and she could not help but notice that he was beautiful. “What if I don't make your sister well?” he asked.

  Tomasa didn't know what to say. She had lost track of the conversation. She was still trying to decide if she was willing to believe in elves. “What?"

  He jumped down from his perch and she took a quick step away from him.

  The elf boy picked up the lambanog and twisted the cap free. His hair rustled like leaves. “The food—is it freely given?"

  "I don't understand. "

  "Is it mine whether I make your sister better or not?"

  She forced herself to concentrate on his question. Both answers seemed wrong. If she said that the food was payment, it wasn't a gift, was it? And if it wasn't a gift, then she wasn't really following Rosa's directions. “I suppose so,” she said finally.

  "Ah, good,” the elf said and took a deep swallow of the liquor. His smile said that she'd given the wrong answer. She felt cold, despite the heat.

  "You're not going to make her better,” she said.

  That only made his smile widen. “Let me give you something else in return—something better. ” He reached up into the foliage and snapped off a brown tamarind pod. Bringing it to his lips, he whispered a few words and then kissed it. “Whoever eats this will love you. "

  Tomasa's face flushed. “I don't want anyone to love me. ” She didn't need an elf to tell her that she was ugly. “I want my sister not to be sick. "

  "Take it,” he said, putting the tamarind in her hand and closing her fingers over it. He tilted his head. “It is all you'll get from me tonight. "

  The elf was standing very close to her now, her hand clasped in both of his. His skin felt dry and slightly rough in a way that made her think of bark. Somehow, she had gotten tangled up in her thoughts and was no longer sure of what she ought to say.

  He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His too-bright eyes reflected the moonlight like an animal's. Tomasa was filled with a sudden, nameless fear.

  "I have to go,” she said, pulling her hand free.

  Over the bridge and down the familiar streets, past the closed shops, her feet finding their way by habit, Tomasa ran home. Her panic was amplified with each step, until she was racing the dark. Only when she got close to home did she slow, her shirt soaked with sweat and her muscles hurting, the pod still clasped in her hand.

  Rosa was waiting on the veranda of their house, smoking one of the clove cigarettes that her brother sent by the carton from Indonesia. She got up when Tomasa walked through the gate.

  "Did you see him?” Rosa asked. “Did he take the offering?"

  "Yes and yes,” Tomasa said, breathing hard. “But it doesn't matter. "

  Rosa frowned. “You really saw an enkanto? You're sure. "

  Tomasa had been a coward. Perspiration cooling on her neck, she thought of all the things she might have said. He'd caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to have a soft smile, or to laugh, or even to exist in the first place. She looked at the tamarind shell in her hand and watched as her fingers crushed it. Bits of the pod stuck in the sticky brown fruit beneath. For all that she'd thought Eva was stupid around boys, she'd been the stupid one. “I'm sure,” she said hollowly.

  On her way up the stairs to bed, it occurred to Tomasa to wonder for the first time why an elf who could make a love spell with a few words would burn with thwarted desire. But then, in all of Rosa's stories the elves were wicked and strange—beings that cursed and blessed according to their whims. Maybe there was just no making sense of it.

  The next day the priest came and said novenas. And after that, the albularyo sprinkled the white sheets of Eva's bed with herbs. Then the doctor came and gave her some pills. But by nightfall, Eva was no better. Her skin, which had been as brown as polished mahogany, was pale and dusty as that of a snake ready to shed.

  Tomasa called her father's cell phone and left a message, but she wasn't sure if he would get it. Out far enough in the provinces, getting a signal was chancy at best. Her mother's Hong Kong hotel was easier to reach. She left another message and went up to see her sister.

  Eva's hair was damp with sweat and her eyes were fever-bright when Tomasa came to sit at the end of her bed. Candles and crucifixes littered the side table, along with a pot of strong and smelly herb tea.

  Eva grabbed Tomasa's hand and clutched it hard enough to hurt.

  "I heard what you did. ” Eva said with a cough. “Stay away from his goddamned tree. "

  Tomasa grinned. “You should drink more of the tea. It's supposed to help. "

  Eva grimaced and made no move toward her cup. Maybe it tasted as bad as it smelled. “Look, I'm serious,” she said.

  "Tell me again how he cursed you,” Tomasa said. “I'm serious, too. "

  Eva gave a weird little laugh. “I should have listened to Rosa's stories. Maybe if I'd read a couple less magazines . . . I don't know. I just thought he was a boy from the fields. I told him to mind his place and leave me alone. "

  "You didn't eat any of his fruit, right?” Tomasa asked suddenly.

  "I had a little piece,” Eva said, looking at the wall. “Before I knew he was there. "

  That was bad. Tomasa took a deep breath and tried to think of how to phrase her next question. “Do you . . . um . . . do you think he might have made you fall in love with him?"

  "Are you crazy?” Eva blew her nose in a tissue. “Love him? Like him? He's not even human. "

  Tomasa forced herself to smile, but in her heart, she worried.

  Rosa was sitting at a plastic table in the kitchen chunking up cubes of ginger while garlicky chicken simmered on the stove. Tomasa liked the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it was small and dark. The floor was poured concrete instead of gleaming wood. A few herbs grew in rusted coffee cans along the windowsill and there was a strong odor of sugarcane vinegar. It was a kitchen to be useful in.

  Tomasa sat down on a stool. “Tell me about elves. "

  Rosa looked up from her chopping, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She breathed smoke from her nose. “What do you want me to tell you?"

  "Anything. Everything. Something that might help. "

  "They're fickle as cats and twice as cruel. You know the tales. They'll steal your heart if you let them and if you don't, they'll curse you for your good sense. They're night things—spirits—and don't care for the day. They don't like gold, either. It reminds them of the sun. "

  "I know all that,” Tomasa said. “Tell me something I don't know. "

  Rosa shook her head. “I'm no mananambal—I only know the stories. His love will fade; he will forget your sister and she will get well again. "

  Tomasa pressed
her lips into a thin line. “What if she doesn't?"

  "It has only been two days. Be patient. Not even a cold would go away in that time. "

  Two days turned into three and then four. Their mother had changed her flight and was due home that Tuesday, but there was still no word from their father. By Sunday, Tomasa found that she couldn't wait anymore. She went to the shed and got a machete. She put her gold Santa Maria pendant on a chain and fastened it around her neck. Steeling herself, she walked to the tamarind tree, although her legs felt like lead and her stomach churned.

  In the day, the tree looked frighteningly normal. Leafy green, sun-dappled, and buzzing with flies.

  She hefted the machete. “Make Eva well. "

  The leaves rustled with the wind, but no elf appeared.

  She swung the knife at the trunk of the tree. It stuck in the wood, knocking off a piece of bark, but her hand slid forward on the blade and the sharp steel slit open her palm. She let go of the machete and watched the shallow cut well with blood.

  "You'll have to do better than that,” she said, wiping her hand against her jeans. She worked the blade free from the trunk and hefted it to swing again.

  But somehow her grip must have been loose, because the machete tumbled from her hands before she could complete the arc. It flew off into the brush by the stream.

  Tomasa stomped off in the direction of where it had fallen, but she found no trace of it in the thick weeds. “Fine,” she shouted at the tree. “Fine!"

  "Aren't you afraid of me?” a voice said, and Eva whirled around. The elf was standing in the grass with the machete in his hand.

  She found herself speechless again. If anything the daylight rendered him more alien looking. His eyes glittered and his hair seemed to move with a subtle wind as though he was underwater.

  He took a step toward her, his feet keeping to the shadows. “I've heard it's very bad luck to cut down an enkanto's tree. "

  Tomasa thought of the gold pendant around her neck and stepped into a patch of sunlight. “Good thing for me that it's only a little chipped, then. "