Chapter 9
Chapter 9
It had been several weeks since the night that everything changed. A single declaration from Meroveo and the life I once knew was over.
My mother woke up in a flurry before the sun rose the following day.
She roused me from a dreamless sleep, instructing me to pack a bag of only absolute necessities. We took off without any explanation under the cover of early morning.
The infamous chorus of the nocturnal coqui frogs was still vibrating and croaking loudly in the trees as we made it to the docks to catch the earliest ferry off the mainland.
I remember watching the orange streaks begin to fill the dark sky, wondering if we would ever be back. If life would ever be the same.
Tio Franco and the rest of the family only found out we left once we arrived safely at Lazuli's. My mother owned a little house on a hill overlooking the ocean.
Mami made it no secret where we were, but she made it clear that she was in charge and that we would not be going back anytime soon, if ever again.
Lazuli was a two-hour ferry ride from Salamanca, one of the smaller surrounding islands only reachable by boat or seaplane. It was famous for its numerous small villages and vibrant, dense green hills filled with colorful houses and narrow one-way roads. The deep blue, dark waters surrounding Lazuli were teeming with vast species of tropical fish and coral reefs.
We often visited the island on vacation during the summer and sometimes when my mother wanted to escape. I knew she was trying to protect me, and I was grateful. My once beloved tiny home of Lazuli became a place of confinement.
I spent the days sketching every flower, plant, and weed in the garden. My journals quickly filled with my thoughts and drawings, recipes, notes, and silly poems with nonsensical rhymes of descriptions and formulas.
I noticed how tense Mami became.
She was extra cautious about everything, hovering and monitoring my every move, barely leaving my side. She only left the house to go into town to pick up groceries and things we needed. She would leave me under the whimsical eye of Tia Carmen, my great aunt who lived on Lazuli alone in a home not too far from ours. But she was all but moved in now, sometimes taking the spare room as Mami and I shared one.
I didn't mind it. I loved Tia Carmen.
Much of the family wrote her off as crazy. Tia Carmen wasn't always fully mentally on this plane of existence, never the same after her ex-husband hit her with a hammer on the head. It made her even more "sensitive" to the gifts that were said to run in the women of our family.
She was a few years younger than Yaya and often spoke in riddles, but she was the most endearing and kind of all my aunts. She saw things in a particular light, catching what others could not and teaching me to do the same. Tia Carmen taught me to read the invisible signs in the trees and feel the air. Teaching me the songs from older generations. What sounded like silly childhood rhymes to the untrained ear often hid secret spells and locations for rare herbs. She spoiled me with her special banana fritters, drizzled with local sweet honey. She was a pure joy to be around and her beloved "Momo."
Tia Carmen always spoke of her"Momo."
The mischievous, playful spirits, also known as the "Zemi," inhabited the islands and liked playing harmless pranks, similar to fairies. The momo were like naughty children, sweet one day and sour the next, depending on their mood.
Tia accused them of switching the salt for the sugar or misplacing my sketchbook and pencils. Some nights, when they were in a particularly naughty mood, they liked to cause a commotion by banging on pots at night until my mother threatened them to behave. They loved to hide Tia Carmen's favorite sandals and glasses the most. But they had the sense to never touch anything that belonged to my mother.
After leaving a plate full of rum cake and guava berries with cinnamon milk on the window overnight, their pranks became less frequent and more helpful. They left gifts like random seashells and picked flowers for my supplies. I was grateful for Tia Carmen being here. At least there was someone else to keep Mami company.
The once open-door policy that my mother had always been known for was closed shut. She wanted to avoid meeting or inviting any neighbors for coffee. She had not sent me on the usual errand of handing out the extra fruit that fell from our trees.
Before, visitors were constantly coming and going, whether here in Lazuli or in Salamanca. My mother's reputation as a master herbalist followed her. I was used to finding random people in the kitchen searching for Mami's cures, advice, or company. Some called Mami a witch, and others a healer.
She was both.
But she had not been herself.
She didn't want me to leave the house.
The farthest I could venture was to the mailbox. My feet were only to touch the grass and never the gravel of the road. It brewed a quiet resentment in me.
The resentment was not directed toward my mother but at the man who had turned my world upside down, forcing me to leave the only place I've ever called home.
I didn't want to have to spend the summer away from Samara and Amias, but the foreseeable future on Lazuli seemed permanent.
I was angry that a stranger could dominate and invade my life like this with just three words.
"She's already mine."
The fight between Mami and Tio Franco could have put a volcanic eruption to shame. I was there when she told him over the phone that we wouldn't return to the mainland. I could hear my uncle's thunderous voice, making every threat known to man. My mother matched him with a fury of her own.
She openly accused him of betrayal and corruption. She threatened to go to the press and police if he or anyone else thought to "step a foot in her yard." Tio must have been foaming at the mouth. I was proud that my mother had stood up to my uncle while questions burned silently inside me.
Tia Carmen nodded solemnly in silent approval. A haunted look shadowed her eyes, and a sad smile adorned her wrinkled face.
The most frightening thing about that conversation wasn't the violent bickering or the multitude of curses between them. It was the way my mother looked at me so desperately. Her eyes bulged and clung, darting to me during the exchange, her fear so palpable it created a sour hole in my stomach.
"Yo sé lo que está pasando," she whispered, ending the conversation.
I wanted to know what those words meant, but it would be pointless for me to ask. What did Mami know, and what wasn't she telling me? She was saying just enough to quiet my curiosity but never enough to put it to rest.
"There are things about the world you don't understand. Y ese demonio is one of them," was the only explanation I got one night while she braided my hair before bed. She would hand me a bright blue satchel of herbs to put under my pillow. I could smell the sharp hints of bay, rosemary, and vervain mixed with purple basil. The soothing, calming combination, a soft smell that could lull anyone to peaceful sleep, the herbs were also used for spiritual protection.
"She's already mine." Those words echoed in my mind, over and over, like a chant throughout the days. I was forbidden to even mention his name. Mami staunchly refused to talk about him, claiming it would only give him power.
The more we prayed, the more she instructed us. The more we offered offerings to Our Lady under the clear nights of a full moon.
She promised I would be safe from him.
She didn't know that her promise was only valid during the day. My nightmares were of a different kind.
He waited for me every night.Vivid dreams plagued with visions of him, his hands blazing and dark. Violating me in a way that made tears fall from my eyes. His voice broke through the haze of my sleep, whispering silent, soft promises I could not make out but understood.
My body would slowly unravel, succumbing to his wicked will, leaving me open to his bruising hands that came with the dark. Exploring, feeling, and touching me.Invisibly invading the space between my thighs, the soft, wet place that burned and pulsed at his touch, leaking over his fingers.
The sensations were so new to me, a cataclysm of pure need that I was drowning in.
My body was under masterful hands, creating a delirious fever that I shamefully craved. Something I didn't understand clashing with my fear, melding, and seducing, a sweet punishment that I hid.
My mother's herbal sachet did nothing to keep him away.
I hated myself in the mornings as soon as my eyes opened. Mortified by the slick moistness between my thighs and the sweat that covered my body.
My mother would be asleep next to me, lightly snoring and oblivious to my struggles.
I would hide my discomfort, running to the bathroom, peeling my clothes off, and scrubbing the desire that still tingled on my skin raw until it was tender. My lips were swollen as if his kisses were real. I washed away the guilt with hot water anywhere I could feel the remains of his touch.
It happened every night until one random morning at breakfast.
While savoring Tia Carmen's sweet cinnamon porridge, I noticed the sudden light in Mami's eyes. They took on that look she got when she spotted a lie, narrowing and knowing.
"Look at me," she commanded.
I instantly blushed with mortification, guilt, and shame slamming into me as I tried not to fidget under her scrutiny.
No words needed to be said after that.
That very night under the crescent moon, she made me bathe in blessed ocean water, in a potent blend of vervain, rosemary, angelica, yarrow, and hyssop in an old bathtub that stood in the center of the yard, surrounded by white melting candles.
The smoke of white sage and myrrh burned heavily in the air as she and Tia Carmen recited the holy prayer of Our Lady. Mami anointed my head with a sacred oil blend as they walked around the tub three times, ringing a bell, shaking the rattle, chanting, and calling out to the benevolent spirits of protection.
I felt relieved after the ritual–feeling safe again.
Before bed that night, she handed me a sea-blue satchel sewn shut with pearl white string. The acrid, robust, and warm smell of Our Lady's flower permeated through my pillow with the salt of the seashells under my head.
My dreams became my own again.