“A cleansing,” Arturo repeated, turning toward Valentín, his brow furrowed. “You mean we should head to the hills and ask one of those crude fools to rub an egg against our bodies?”
“The hueseros heal sprained legs and the yerberos cure coughs. And when it comes to matters of another sort, yes, there are those who’ll cleanse you of evil influences. At Los Pinos you will find many who can do the cleansing.”
“For a price,” Arturo said. His voice was a freshly sharpened knife.
“Well, yes, sir,” Valentín said. “But it wouldn’t be that much, I imagine.”
“You speak nonsense. I won’t have you talking to my niece if you’re going to place insane ideas about cleanses and the evil eye into her head. You’ll give her nightmares.”
“Mr. Pimentel, thank you for worrying about us,” Luisa said, her face severe, “but I agree with my brother. A cleansing won’t bring Tadeo back to us. We must consider the investigator, I suppose.”
Valentín nodded. They said their goodbyes. Arturo offered Luisa his arm and they walked at a quick pace.
“What a foolish boy that is,” Arturo said. “What silly stories was he sharing with you, Alba?”
“Nothing much. He fears that Tadeo might be bewitched,” she said.
“Ridiculous. Next he’ll claim he was eaten by el coco.”
“People around these parts have their superstitions,” her mother said. “He probably meant well.”
“He is an idiot.”
“He is my friend,” Alba said, and she rushed ahead of them.
During the journey back home Alba’s mother and her uncle discussed the matter of an investigator while Alba toyed with her shawl and remained silent. She remembered her father’s stories of monsters and witches and how they had amused her and Tadeo when they were little. These were nothing but folklore, and yet Alba herself believed in portents.
She recalled the tales of witches that sucked the blood of their victims, and how they flew through the air on stormy nights, bent on mischief. And other stories of those who stripped off their skins and became animals when the moon was high in the sky. Could Tadeo have been bewitched by one of those beings? For Alba, magic was the spells she’d learned from other children: spells to coax someone to visit you, like the one that required the knotting of a cord around a piece of cloth. These were games, innocently played, and carried no dire consequences.
She wasn’t quite sure she believed in other forms of magic, in darker things, in real power. Or that she should even consider thatthe terrors from her childhood tales could be true. Ghosts did not truly roam the mountains and the fields, but she was troubled.
When they arrived back at the house Arturo took her aside and they sat on the sofa of pink damask.
“I’m sorry I called Valentín an idiot. I know he is your friend.”
She removed the shawl and folded it carefully as she spoke. “He’s trying to help.”
Arturo was tense and his voice was hard. “No amount of bracelets against the evil eye are going to bring Tadeo back to us. If you put your faith in folk remedies, you’ll only be disappointed.”
She hesitated, knowing he was correct. She did not wish to sound like a fool. “Uncle Arturo, sometimes the remedies do work. My father himself believed in them, and he was a wise man. He chased ghosts and devils away so that they wouldn’t haunt the roads near our farm.”
“I’m aware that country folk have their superstitions, but do you really believe a cleansing will be more effective than an investigator?”
“No, not really, and yet—”
He sighed and shook his head, looking disappointed. “Alba, you start thinking of ghosts and devils and soon you won’t be able to go to sleep without imagining a thousand terrible monsters lurking in the bushes. You’re a clever girl, well educated, not a peasant who will fall in the claws of a charlatan. That is what the people of Los Pinos are: charlatans. Do you realize how they work?”
He held her hands tightly and looked into her eyes. “You visit those people once and they promise to rid you of your troubles, but then they say you’ll have to come a second time for their remedy to work. You pay them twice, then thrice, and soon you’re giving good money to toothless fortune tellers and frauds. Your mother doesn’t have money to spare on such silliness.”
“But an investigator will cost money, too.”
Arturo let go of her hands and scoffed. “You think an investigator and a fortune teller are the same?”
“I know they’re not.”
She began to tremble and broke into tears. Arturo’s face softened; he pulled her into a tight embrace.
“I want him back,” she said, trying to blink back the tears, but they flowed freely and her voice turned into a sob.
