After the Hurricane(84)
“But the women, we got more. My older sister, well . . .” Here Irena falters, her finger tracing Esperanza’s form in the photograph, then Elena’s father’s. “It was too much for her, I believe. The power made her mad.” Elena wants to deny this, to say that Esperanza’s madness was mental illness, not magic. But she does not. Irena already knows the truth, and has remade it into this narrative. She does not need Elena’s correction.
“Carmen used it superficially. To gain a little power over a man she liked, to draw the eye. Useless. But that was her, impulsive, and burning for love. She thought that would bring her power, real power. Doesn’t last, especially not when it comes from a spell. No man Carmen turned the gaze on ever looked at her for long, ever wanted to look at her more than he wanted to look at his gun, his money, his gang. But me, I started young, I knew what called me. The orishas beckoned me before I heard their names. I did it on my own, I hung out at Santeria stores; there were more and more immigrants from Cuba, more padrinos, to bless, to teach. When it was time to come back here, I performed a healing ritual on Hermando, and we left New York, so he could leave those dark forces behind him, and I could bring my skills here. I travel the island, people in need call me, sometimes I can help.”
“How do they reach you?” Elena asks, fascinated despite herself.
“Facebook,” Irena says. Of course. “Family doesn’t need that, though, really. We can feel each other. Did you find me on Facebook?”
“No,” Elena says, truthfully. Irena looks triumphant, and Elena doesn’t mention Instagram. It doesn’t seem worth it. She does not know if her aunt is detached from reality or truly magical or . . . what third thing could she be? Everything she says is bizarre to Elena, but she says it with conviction, with total confidence. Her gaze is clear, her eyes certain. It is obvious that Irena, at least, believes in herself. All the best and most convincing con artists and maniacs do.
Elena doesn’t know the real contents of Irena’s head, doesn’t know if she has a mental health issue like her father and his mother, and probably more relatives Elena will never know about stretching back through time. So far, Elena herself has escaped those bequests, as far as she knows. But will the gifts of her father’s mind, her grandmother’s mind, emerge later in her life? Will whatever balanced brain chemistry Rosalind has given her be enough to contradict her father’s contribution? Elena knows it doesn’t work this way, genes are not a cocktail, but she cannot help but fear for her future, for her mind. Is everyone in her family a little mad, more than a little? Is Irena away with the fairies or completely right about everything? Is she, Elena, going to be okay? She has no idea.
“Your cousin Jessenia, you know her? She’s not really related but she belongs with us, that girl is one the spirits love. She found me, too, the last time she was visiting. She lives in Florida part of the year, but she comes down here. Sweet girl. I told her about Santeria for that blog of hers.”
“I’ve seen it,” Elena says, her smile bittersweet. She wishes she could be like Jessenia, coming back and forth, being a part of this family like this. She wonders if the spirits love her, Elena, but she knows they don’t, they can’t, can they? Wouldn’t they have given her a better life if they did? And now here she is, wishing spirits she doesn’t believe in had thrown her a better bone. She shakes her head internally.
“And my father? Did he find you, too, with magic?” Elena asks. Hermando has returned with fresh drinks, more water for Elena and a bottle of Barrilito. Elena takes a glass and observes Irena and Hermando, who are looking anywhere but at her.
“He was here,” Elena states. Of course he was. She feels a stab of victory; it is never a bad feeling to be right, even if combined with panic—but where is he now?—and anger, the anger that has begun to boil in her, what is he doing, where is he going, why has he gone, why didn’t they make him stay? No one can make him do anything. The thought rolls through her brain with such deadly precision she feels it jabbing at her eyelids.
“He comes and goes,” Hermando says, pouring Elena more rum, although she hasn’t finished her first drink yet, doesn’t know if she wants it at all. Her mind is already so dizzy, she doesn’t really need anything making her more confused. A pinch of despair courses through her: of course he wasn’t here recently. “But, Elena, I don’t know that he wants to be found.”
“What does that mean?” Elena asks, her voice rising. Happy families and magic and rum are all well and good but she needs something from these people, why are they hiding it from her? Dangling memories in front of her, family stories like lures, distracting her from the real prize?
“I know he is well,” Irena says, firmly. “I can feel him.”
“Have you seen him?” Elena asks. She doesn’t want to challenge Irena’s gift, mostly because she doesn’t want to be cursed, even if she doesn’t believe in any of this, but she has to know if they know something real or are relying on the spirit world.
“I would feel it if he was gone,” Irena says, simply. Elena sips her drink to cover her expression. “You don’t believe me.”
“I just . . . I need a little more evidence, I think. I have to be able to tell my mom something a little more concrete,” Elena says, diplomatically, making it her mother’s fault, as Rosalind isn’t there to mind. “She asked me to come down, to look for him. To make sure he was okay. Look, I understand if maybe he doesn’t want to see me or whatever, but I have to know if he’s been here recently. I have to know if he’s . . .” Alive.