![](daniel_novel_photo_small.jpg")
Chapter 43
I didn't go to sleep right away. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could discern the silhouette of my bird perched on the backrest of the chair beside my cot. From across the room the sound of MacClayne's snoring was already starting in; he always seemed to doze off as soon as the lights were out. I could hear Wendy stirring on her mattress on the floor next to me. Having napped much of the afternoon, I wasn't sleepy and I lay there thinking of Moll Flanders. I had the feeling that, were I to meet her, I'd probably like her, but I'd do best to be on my guard around her. Rogues in a novel could be charming, especially when the story was read by Wendy.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"You asleep?"
"No."
"Me neither," she said.
I held my breath and lay very still, wondering uneasily what she might be up to this time. After a brief silence, she spoke again.
"The schooner's sailing the day after tomorrow."
"Oh?" I said, not wishing to reveal that I already knew that.
"I was going to take you out there for a visit."
"It would've been fun," I said, trying to put a tone of indifference into my voice, but I did feel I'd missed something by not getting aboard.
"You know what?" she said; I could hear her moving, apparently rising up to lean on her elbow.
"What?"
"We could go there now."
"Now? It's close to twelve."
"They might still be up. They're night owls."
I took a deep breath.
"Wanna go?"
The truth is, I did want to go, but something told me it wasn't a good idea for me to be going out into the night with Wendy. I tried to think of some reason to say no. Then I thought of something. "Is there any chance that Jeff might be on that boat?"
"No, why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling, a hunch," I said.
"Oh?" There was a note of irony in her voice. "Tell me about your hunch."
"Where else could he be staying? This is the only hotel in town."
"He's got a room three doors down from here."
"Really?"
"Yes really," she said. "So, what made you think he'd be on the schooner?"
"Well, he's a sailing enthusiast."
"How did you find that out?"
"Well--"
"Yes?" The tone of her voice was sweet, yet demanding. Patiently impatient.
"Jeff told me," I said at last. "I ran into him in a restaurant this evening."
"Did he say anything about me?"
"I'd rather not repeat things Jeff told me," I said.
"Olaf, you're such a gentleman! But let me tell you something: I know exactly what he told you because he's said it so many times before to so many people and it gets back to me. He even goes and tells my friends bad things about me. The guy has no sense of discretion. No finesse. Well, you're my friend and so you heard it for yourself. Right?"
"Please, Wendy."
She laughed. "I'm not trying to pump you. I don't have to, because I already know everything. For example, I know for a fact that the bastard told you I've had a roll in the hay with every guy around." She paused, her voice had gotten slightly shrill during that last line.
I tried to think of some defusing reply, but my mind was blank.
"He said that about me, didn't he?" she added.
"Wendy, I'd rather not--"
"No, it's okay, you don't have to answer. You have your principles and I wouldn't want you to violate them. I just want you to know that I know all about what goes on behind my back. But can you imagine a guy who'd talk like that about his own wife?"
"No, I can't," I said, wondering at the same time if I wasn't being a little too supportive. Then, in an attempt to be a little more honest, I added, "What I mean is, I can't condone his saying that, no matter what the situation." I wondered if I'd gotten it right this time.
"I understand what you meant to say. You don't approve of people speaking badly about others, and that's one of the things I admire about you."
Though I could hardly make out more than the silhouette of her face, I sensed that she was smiling. A moment later she continued, "And it's not just the gossip that comes back to me--Jeff also comes back! Sometimes he'll be gone for a day and sometimes for a week. Once it was for a whole month. The bastard always leaves me forever but he always returns before long. He'll be back this time too, only this time it's too late. I've had it. This time, it really is over."
I tried to think of some words of commiseration. Nothing came to mind.
"I just want you to know this. I no longer consider myself to be a married woman. I'm not Jeff's wife. That's over. For good. For ever!"
She paused. "Olaf, can I ask you to go to the ice chest and get me a beer? I don't have my clothes on."
I hadn't realized that Wendy was shy about walking around without her clothes on, but I assented.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"Bring a couple of them. One for yourself too."
I brought only one back and passed it to her.
"Thank you, Olaf." She popped it open and stopped. "Where's yours? You didn't get one for yourself, did you."
"No, I didn't."
"Well get one!" she demanded. It was a sweet demand, but nevertheless a demand.
I didn't move.
"Olaf. I don't want to drink alone. Not tonight. You understand? Normally it doesn't matter, but right now I want you to have a beer with me."
"I--"
"What do I have to do to get you to drink a beer with me? Here, I'll get one for you!" She stood up, and even in the near-darkness of the room I could see she was completely naked, not even wearing panties. I was too astonished to close my eyes as I had the previous night, or maybe it was the murkiness that made it seem okay to look at her, or whatever. Anyway, for a full five seconds I was unable to take my eyes off her. Then she walked over to the ice chest, reached in and brought one back, popped open the top and handed it to me, just as Jeff had done earlier that same evening.
Instinctively, I took a swallow. The beer was bitter, but it was appropriate to the situation. Wendy sat down cross-legged on her mattress, pulled a sheet over her shoulders and modestly wrapped it about her. "Olaf, this is one of those times that I just don't want to drink alone. I want you to be here for me and just listen to what I have to say and tell me the truth on everything. The truth, okay?"
"I'll try," I said weakly. This whole thing had me off balance.
"Do you think I drink a lot?" she said.
I tried to think of some noncommittal reply.
"The truth now. Do I drink too much?"
"Well, yes."
"That's an honest answer, and you're right, I do. But you know something else? I didn't used to."
"No?"
"No. Not till I met that damn--Well I'm not even going to say his name again. But you know who I mean. Just being around him drove me to drinking. It's what he does to people, something in him!"
Her voice had risen, and her words echoed in the darkness. MacClayne was still snoring, but it worried me that he might wake up and hear what we were saying. I heard a soft plop; Cuauhtémoc had hopped onto my cot and was now perched beside me.
"We gotta keep it down," I said as softly as I could.
"I'm sorry. You're right, I am getting loud. Here, sit down beside me so I don't have to yell ."
I hesitated. What's this leading to? I felt a frightened, empty feeling in my stomach as I pictured Chayo looking on. Was this something Chayo would understand? Actually, Wendy and I were practically point-blank face-to-face; how much closer could I get?
"Olaf. Please. Do as I say. I need you to be here for me, to listen to what I have to say."
I did as requested and moved down onto her mattress, leaning my back against the wall. Cuauhtémoc hopped down and sat on my lap. My bird. My chaperon. If I was going to be there for Wendy, my bird was determined to be there for me.
"Thank you," Wendy said. "You're my knight in shining armor. Ready for another beer?"
"Not quite."
"Well, I am. But you just sit there, I'll get this round." She got up, modestly wrapped in the sheet this time as she went to the ice chest and returned with two more cans. "I know, I do drink too much. But this is my last night of boozing and I might as well drink up. No more Jeff, and, starting tomorrow, no more booze either. It's all over, I'm beginning a new life."
I nodded. Of course this was the sort of thing I'd heard before. But I wanted to believe it--and it just might be real. Maybe there really is a time when a person reaches a place in his life where he rounds a bend in the road and becomes a new person. Maybe both Jeff and Wendy had finally come to such a turning point; together they'd certainly been a bad combination, but separately perhaps, each might go his own way and become a new person. Who could say?
Neither of us spoke for some time. Wendy broke the silence. "Olaf," she said.
"Yes."
"Let's go visit the schooner."
Though I couldn't read my watch in the dim light, I knew it was after twelve. The crew would certainly be asleep by now. But if that's what Wendy wanted to do, then we'd go. We'd find out when we got there. Anyway, I did feel like getting out and walking a bit, wearing off some of this tension, and also getting away from this uncomfortably seductive nearness to Wendy.
"Sure," I said. "Let's go."
Wendy went in the bathroom to get dressed, and I groped around till I found my jacket. I was wearing my shorts, but, figuring that it was likely to be chilly at this hour, I changed to my trousers.
"Cuauhtémoc," I said, as Wendy and I were finally ready and about to go out the door. "I think I'd better ask you to just stay here. We're going aboard a ship, and you're not a seabird."
We stepped from the murky room to the dim shadows of the courtyard and quietly closed the door behind us. No light was on, and the moon was hidden by clouds. Everything was still, not even the crickets were chirping.
"Noche oscura del alma," I said aloud, but mostly to myself.
"What?"
"Dark night of the soul. It's a poem," I said and recited a couple lines:
Salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
"I love the way you say that in Spanish, what does it mean?"
"It means, 'I slipped out unnoticed, my house being quiet,'" I said. "It's by Juan de la Cruz, a 16th century Spanish mystic; he's describing how a soul goes to find union with God."
"You kidding?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's got nothing to do with mysticism--it's about a woman slipping out to have sex with her boyfriend."
"I never thought of it that way."
"Olaf, you are so innocent!" she laughed. "But that's what I like about you."
Something nudged my leg and I looked down to see a small shadowy figure beside me. He hopped onto my arm. I hadn't intended to bring him along, but now I was glad to have him with me. Somehow I didn't feel right without him.
"You also slipped out unnoticed," Wendy said. "You're such a clever rooster."
"He is," I said proudly. I was always flattered when people said nice things about my bird.
The street lamps were off, but our eyes were accustomed to the darkness as we made our way around mud puddles and other obstacles. Wendy led us to the cliff face. There the street ended in a staircase which we descended to the beach.
The ship was riding at anchor not far from shore. Wendy called it a schooner and Jeff had called it a yawl; apparently both terms were correct. Several lights glowed in the darkness, but I couldn't make out any human figures on deck. A small rowboat was tied to the bowsprit; I guessed it was used for ship-to-shore trips.
"Ahoy!" Wendy called out. "Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!"
Her voice echoed out over the water and as we waited, I studied the rigging. All I could see was a tall foremast and a much shorter mizzen.
"Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!" she called out again, but there was no reply. "They're not responding," she said to me exasperatedly.
"Well, it must be well past midnight," I said.
"So?"
"They're probably sleeping."
"But they must've heard me." She shook her head unbelievingly, and took me by the arm. "Hold my hand. I just need you to hold my hand."
I envisioned Chayo watching me from afar. Would she understand? But maybe it was important for Wendy to have some friend there with her and hold her hand at this moment. Was it wrong? I somehow felt it would be wrong to refuse, even if it did displease Chayo.
Holding her hand didn't make me her lover, just her friend. Maybe a brother. As to whether I was a big brother or a little brother I wasn't quite sure; it seemed to go back and forth. This morning she'd been Wendy the big sister, and now this evening I was Olaf the big brother; but there was also that bit of Moll Flanders lurking around somewhere. I had to be careful. Cuauhtémoc perched on my shoulder, as though to watch over me.
We sat on the seawall for a while and gazed out over the harbor. While the surf crashed in the distance, the waves lapping against the base of the seawall were quiet and gentle.
After a long silence, Wendy spoke. "Olaf, do you ever have the feeling that the world just isn't there for you?"
"The world?" I repeated.
"That nobody gives a damn what happens to you," she said, "that you're just completely alone and with nobody to care about you."
What she was saying sounded a bit extreme, but I guessed that she must be going through some trauma over her breakup with Jeff. I tried to think of something supportive. "Yeah, there're times when I feel lonely."
"Just lonely?"
"Yeah, lonely. Isn't that what you mean?"
"I don't think you get it." She shook her head and looked out over the water but at the same time gripped my hand tightly.
"Then what do you mean?"
"You saw what happened. I kept calling to the people on the schooner, and nobody answered."
"They were asleep," I said.
"They didn't care," said Wendy.
I didn't see how she could associate sleeping with not caring, at least not in this case, but I sensed that it would do no good to argue with her. I thought of the times I'd tried to argue with MacClayne and gotten nowhere. And it does no good to ever tell a person who's in an irrational mood that he's being irrational--that was something I'd learned from my association with MacClayne.
We sat there for some time in silence, Wendy gripping my hand, and Cuauhtémoc gripping my shoulder. The bird's presence was reassuring, and I was glad he'd slipped out the door to come with me.
"I suppose you're still thinking of going to Apatzingán," she said, abruptly breaking the silence.
"Yes, that's the plan."
"You don't have any misgivings?"
"Misgivings? About what? About going to Apatzingán?"
"Yes, that place," she said ominously, so softly I could barely hear her voice above the sound of the waves splashing on the rocks below us in the quiet of the night. That place. That place. That place. The words reverberated in my head. Why did she say that? Where had she gotten it? She couldn't possibly know anything of the fears and reservations that Chayo, her little cousin, and even doña Josefina had expressed about Apatzingán.
"What about that place?" I asked, trying to conceal my apprehension.
Wendy clearly sensed my uneasiness. Her eyes lit up, sparkling in the semi-darkness. I waited for her to go on.
"I do have a presentiment," she said at last.
"Of what?"
"Of something that could happen."
"Like what?"
"Something. Just something. I'm not sure exactly."
We sat in silence for a long moment. The waves seemed to be splashing more loudly than ever against the rocks below.
"Where is this all coming from?" I finally said.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said.
"Well I am asking. What's the answer?"
"I have my paranormal connections."
"You do?"
"I think I told you. I come from a long line of witches."
"So you're a witch," I said. "A certified sorceress?"
"Not certified yet. Still in training. I don't include witchcraft on my resume."
"So it runs in the family," I said. "I remember your telling me your ancestor was a witch at Salem. How did she escape execution?"
"Being a competent witch, she could easily handle a bunch of bumbling inquisitors."
"That makes sense. I always used to wonder why those witches didn't use their supernatural powers to protect themselves."
"They didn't have any. You don't think the witches they hanged at Salem were real witches, do you?"
"So your ancestor avoided prosecution. Maybe she was just a good bullshit artist. Like you."
"Okay," Wendy conceded. "I don't really know that much about my ancestor. Except that her name was Lucille Marshmont, and that she lived in Massachusetts during the time of the Salem witch trials. Recently discovered letters and diaries reveal that she was suspected of sorcery, but there's no record of her being formally accused. That's all I really know for fact. I'm speculating on the rest."
"But you were saying you had a presentiment about my going to Apatzingán? Is that speculation as well?"
Wendy laughed. "Olaf, you're so much fun to tease. I really had you going there for a minute. The look on your face!" She laughed again. "You're not angry are you?" She suddenly kissed me on the cheek. "I do get to kiss a knight in search of the Holy Grail, don't I? Or is that forbidden?" She was still laughing. "Did I inflict a Grail wound upon your cheek?"
"I'm sure I'll survive the wound," I said. I wasn't exactly pleased that she'd kissed me on the cheek, it left me with mixed reactions that I wanted to dismiss or laugh off.
"Good, a Grail wound could be a very serious matter. I'm sure you know that."
"That's what I've heard," I replied, and started to say something else when Wendy spoke again, asking me how I came to know the Grail was now in Apatzingán.
"Oh, that was part of the whimsy that MacClayne and I came up with.
"A whimsy?" she sucked in her breath, feigning shock. "No! You must never call it a whimsy. That's an offense to the grail."
"It is?" I was grinning now, enjoying her banter.
"Oh, yes. It's a very, very serious matter," she assured me. "The Grail was the most sought after treasure of the Medieval world. It's holiness is beyond holy. I'm sure you know that, but do you also know what might happen to you or anyone who speaks lightly of it? Calling it a whimsy?"
"Tell me," I said.
"You'll enter the grail city unopposed, like walking through an open gate. Finally, when you think you see the grail, shining like gold, sparkling in the sunlight, you reach out for it, and evil monsters will dash in to grab you!"
"Wendy, the things you come up with!" I said, laughing. We were both laughing.
"I can't help myself!" she said.
Still laughing, we got up and headed back to the hotel. It was really, really late.
As we came in the door I could hear MacClayne snoring softly. I took my shirt off and sat down on my cot wondering for a moment if I should also take off my jeans. I didn't want to sleep with them on, but what was the proper thing to do with Wendy there?
I was still wondering when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wendy, already out of her blouse, now struggling out of her jeans. Okay, no big thing. I did the same and crawled under my sheet. For a while I stared into the darkness of the ceiling above me, then at the window which allowed in some dim light, thinking about the sailboats in the cove. I could hear Wendy sigh, her mattress was on the floor right next to my cot.
"Olaf?"
"Yes?"
"Could we talk a little before we go to sleep?"
"Sure, I guess. Anything particular in mind?"
"No, not really. I just like to hear your voice. Tell me about when you were a little kid in Minnesota. You are from Minnesota, right?"
"Yes, I am."
"Well, tell me about it."
I started to reminisce about a place where I used to go camping with my uncle Rolf when Wendy interrupted. "Here, slide in beside me," she said. I heard the sound of her patting the mattress with her hand. I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of what to do.
"I can hear you better that way," she explained.
"But we're right next to each other," I argued.
"I'm down here on the floor, and you're way up there on that cot, a million miles away," she said, then continued, "I'm lonely. I need you to be here for me, to be my friend. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? This is one of those times I just don't want to be alone. I've been through a lot today. Please don't abandon me."
I didn't know how to deal with the situation. I knew she'd been through a lot during the last two days, having come to a turning point in her life. Maybe this was what I should do to comfort her. "Okay," I said, feeling terribly uneasy, "but just for a few minutes." I reached for my trousers.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting on my pants."
"Why for god's sake?"
"Just for the sake of decency."
"Why bother? Is there something indecent about talking? Do you have to be such a prude?"
I left my pants were they were on the chair and stepped around to the other side of my cot where Wendy's mattress lay. She lifted up the sheet as I got in next to her. I could feel her bare leg against mine. It was terribly disconcerting, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
"Thank you Olaf, I'm so glad you're here with me." She reached across and discreetly touched my hand. "You were telling me about your childhood in Minnesota," she said. "It's such a charming story, please go on with it."
I told her about the time my uncle Rolf had taken me sailing in a tiny boat on a small lake and we'd been hit by a sudden and unexpected rainstorm. Truly a miserable experience at the time, but looking back on it, it always seemed funny. Wendy laughed, and for a moment I was afraid MacClayne might wake up, but the steady low rumble of his snoring continued without interruption.
"What's the worst thing you ever did?" she asked me suddenly, a slight giggle in her voice. "Your very worst. Your absolute worst." She laughed.
I thought for a bit. "Well the only think I can think of off-hand might seem something pretty awful," I said hesitatingly.
"Your secret will be safe with me," she said. "But if you don't feel comfortable with revealing it, that's okay. I don't really want to pry. It's just that friends sometimes share secrets."
"I'll tell you," I said resolutely. "When I was a little kid, there was an old man who lived down the road from us. Old Mr. Jensen. He must've been 60 or 70 or more. For no particular reason I took an intense dislike to him and did all sorts of nasty things to make his life miserable. One day he was driving by in his old model T Ford and I threw a rotten apple at him and hit him right in the side of his face."
Wendy didn't laugh. "That was pretty bad. I hope you apologized to him for it."
I was somehow glad to hear her expression of gentle disapproval at my misdeed. "No, he died not too long after that. It wasn't till years later that I began to realize what an awful thing I'd done to the poor guy. Last time I was back there I went to the cemetery and laid some flowers on his grave. That didn't make up for what I did, but it's all I could ever think of."
"Olaf, you are such a sweet person, I'm sure Mr. Jensen understands and that he's forgiven you."
"I hope he has. But then I don't know." I said. "I've never told anybody about this before, since I was a kid that is. When I was a kid I actually bragged about it, and that's part of what makes it so much worse."
"It is the kind of thing kids do and it doesn’t make you an eternally bad person." She raised herself up on one elbow, leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek, then lay back down again.
We lay like that for some time, side by side. My leg touched the bare skin of hers, and my arm touched her arm. Then she moved closer to me, pressing against me, and I realized she wasn't wearing anything, not even her undies. Apparently sensing my aprehension, she said in a low, conspiratorial tone, "I like to sleep naked."
"You do?" I said blankly, trying sound nonchalant and cover my feeling of embarrassment.
"Yes. And you?"
"I, I guess I haven't thought about it," I replied awkwardly.
"You haven't?" There was a giggle in her voice. "Tell me again that you really, really haven't?"
She enjoyed my discomfort for a few moments, then touched my arm softly, and in a more serious tone of voce she said, "Have you ever thought about what clothes do to people?"
"In what way do you mean?"
She was still touching my arm with her hand. "Society dresses people to separate us from each other," she said. "Suits and ties, expensive dress clothes support hierarchy. Even among equals, clothes are an attempt at social pretense, a façade. Everybody should wear blue jeans, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I certainly do," I said. "It's kind of nice the way we're all wearing blue jeans on this trip. I wish that could be the standard, official dress item at all times and places."
"There'd be a greater sense of equality, the barriers would be lowered," she said sweetly, almost dreamily and paused. "Lowered, yes, but not totally eliminated. Clothes conceal the animal in us. Blue jeans, even underwear can become like walls and fences, ten-foot concrete barriers to trust and understanding. Sometimes I like to take everything off, and experience a sense of closeness, of just being good people with nothing to hide."
The wistful, yearning way in which Wendy spoke was just very charming. This was Wendy at her poetic best. Wendy the actress. Wendy the incarnation of Moll Flanders. Wendy, the sweet, lovable rogue. I started laughing, and Wendy also laughed. We laughed together.
"Here, let me help you take your T-shirt off."
"I really don't think I should," I objected.
"Maybe the air is cold tonight?" she offered helpfully.
"Yes, a little," I said, not entirely relieved.
Wendy giggled softly. "I'll keep you warm," she said, snuggling up to me, putting her arm over my chest and her leg over mine. I could feel her bare breast brushing my arm. "Wendy, I really, really can't be doing this."
"Olaf, don't be such a prude!" she laughed and reached her hand inside my T-shirt, gently caressing my chest, her leg still across the lower part of my body. "Would you like to hear my worst deed? I haven't told you yet, have I? You told me your secret, it's only fair that I tell you mine."
Her secret was certain to be a good story, and I was curious to hear it. At the same time I was terribly uncomfortable at the thought of what Chayo might think if she were to see me in this situation. I lay there, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Wendy whispered something in my ear.
"I didn't hear you," I said.
Wendy giggled, pressing more closely. "When I was 17, I seduced my mother's boyfriend."
"Your mother's boyfriend?" I repeated incredulously.
"Yeah, and my father went ballistic. Twice. First when he found out that I'd had sex with the guy. Then he blew up all over again when he found out the guy was Mom's boyfriend. And when Mom heard about it of course, she also went ballistic."
"So what came of it?" I asked.
"Life went on. Mom was like that. It was just that she didn't want me to follow in her footsteps, at least not on that part of her path. But she got over it. We're friends now, Mom and I."
Suddenly I heard a creaking sound from across the room, the direction of MacClayne's cot, and Wendy put her finger across my lips and silently pulled she sheet over our heads. I heard footsteps, then the sound of the bathroom door closing. "I better get back into my cot," I whispered, starting to get up.
"No! Don’t move!"
"He's in the bathroom now," I whispered, "The coast is clear."
"I said don't move!" she said, holding me down.
"But why?"
"Quiet!"
Moments later MacClayne emerged from the bathroom and returned to his cot while Wendy and I remained frozen in the positions we were in, waiting for him to go back to sleep. Only when we heard his soft snoring resume did Wendy relax her hold and let her hand slide over my T-shirt and downwards into my under shorts.
"Wow!" she whispered. It was a loud whisper, followed by a giggle. "So you're not gay after all."
I was doing my best to be polite about this, and said in the calmest, most conciliatory tone I could manage, "Wendy, I really must ask you to . . . " my voice almost sinking into a whisper, "please get out of my pants."
Wendy burst out in barely audible laughter. I could feel her body shaking uncontrollably, and I held my breath, desperately hoping MacClayne wouldn't wake up.
"Keep it down!" I implored in a low voice. "We don't want to rouse MacClayne."
But she didn't withdraw her hand. "Don't worry. He's still snoring," she whispered back, having finally recovered.
"Well then," I said. "What if my chicken wakes up?"
She giggled in my ear. "What if he does?"
"The bird is my chaperon," I said.
"Olaf you are funny!"
"No, I'm serious."
"You really aren't gay, are you?"
"No, and I never said I was. It's just that my girlfriend --"
"Your Mexican girlfriend? That shaman woman?"
"Yes. Her."
"Is her magic better than mine?"
"She is a shamaness," I said, "a very powerful one."
"Really? Well I'm a witch too, and maybe even more powerful than her. Didn't I release you from the curse of that fraudulent degree? From the spell cast on you by that evil magician of a professor? Could your shamaness have done that?"
"Yes, Wendy, you do work wonders and you are truly enchanting. But would you really have me do something that would be hurtful to a fellow sorceress? I must really ask you to release me from your spell."
"What if I don't want to release you? Do you really want to be released?"
"Yes," I said. I didn't know else to say.
"What about me? Don't you care about me?"
"I do care about you. I do. But I care for Chayo too, and she wouldn't understand."
"Why does she have to know?"
"Wendy, I'm just no good at secrets. I never was."
"Okay. Then be that way!" she snapped in a huff, drawing away from me.
I got up to return to my cot. There stood Cuauhtémoc, where he'd probably been for some time. It bothered me that I'd hurt Wendy's feelings, but by now I was too tired to think any more. I must have fallen asleep immediately.
continued in Chapter 44
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"You asleep?"
"No."
"Me neither," she said.
I held my breath and lay very still, wondering uneasily what she might be up to this time. After a brief silence, she spoke again.
"The schooner's sailing the day after tomorrow."
"Oh?" I said, not wishing to reveal that I already knew that.
"I was going to take you out there for a visit."
"It would've been fun," I said, trying to put a tone of indifference into my voice, but I did feel I'd missed something by not getting aboard.
"You know what?" she said; I could hear her moving, apparently rising up to lean on her elbow.
"What?"
"We could go there now."
"Now? It's close to twelve."
"They might still be up. They're night owls."
I took a deep breath.
"Wanna go?"
The truth is, I did want to go, but something told me it wasn't a good idea for me to be going out into the night with Wendy. I tried to think of some reason to say no. Then I thought of something. "Is there any chance that Jeff might be on that boat?"
"No, why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling, a hunch," I said.
"Oh?" There was a note of irony in her voice. "Tell me about your hunch."
"Where else could he be staying? This is the only hotel in town."
"He's got a room three doors down from here."
"Really?"
"Yes really," she said. "So, what made you think he'd be on the schooner?"
"Well, he's a sailing enthusiast."
"How did you find that out?"
"Well--"
"Yes?" The tone of her voice was sweet, yet demanding. Patiently impatient.
"Jeff told me," I said at last. "I ran into him in a restaurant this evening."
"Did he say anything about me?"
"I'd rather not repeat things Jeff told me," I said.
"Olaf, you're such a gentleman! But let me tell you something: I know exactly what he told you because he's said it so many times before to so many people and it gets back to me. He even goes and tells my friends bad things about me. The guy has no sense of discretion. No finesse. Well, you're my friend and so you heard it for yourself. Right?"
"Please, Wendy."
She laughed. "I'm not trying to pump you. I don't have to, because I already know everything. For example, I know for a fact that the bastard told you I've had a roll in the hay with every guy around." She paused, her voice had gotten slightly shrill during that last line.
I tried to think of some defusing reply, but my mind was blank.
"He said that about me, didn't he?" she added.
"Wendy, I'd rather not--"
"No, it's okay, you don't have to answer. You have your principles and I wouldn't want you to violate them. I just want you to know that I know all about what goes on behind my back. But can you imagine a guy who'd talk like that about his own wife?"
"No, I can't," I said, wondering at the same time if I wasn't being a little too supportive. Then, in an attempt to be a little more honest, I added, "What I mean is, I can't condone his saying that, no matter what the situation." I wondered if I'd gotten it right this time.
"I understand what you meant to say. You don't approve of people speaking badly about others, and that's one of the things I admire about you."
Though I could hardly make out more than the silhouette of her face, I sensed that she was smiling. A moment later she continued, "And it's not just the gossip that comes back to me--Jeff also comes back! Sometimes he'll be gone for a day and sometimes for a week. Once it was for a whole month. The bastard always leaves me forever but he always returns before long. He'll be back this time too, only this time it's too late. I've had it. This time, it really is over."
I tried to think of some words of commiseration. Nothing came to mind.
"I just want you to know this. I no longer consider myself to be a married woman. I'm not Jeff's wife. That's over. For good. For ever!"
She paused. "Olaf, can I ask you to go to the ice chest and get me a beer? I don't have my clothes on."
I hadn't realized that Wendy was shy about walking around without her clothes on, but I assented.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"Bring a couple of them. One for yourself too."
I brought only one back and passed it to her.
"Thank you, Olaf." She popped it open and stopped. "Where's yours? You didn't get one for yourself, did you."
"No, I didn't."
"Well get one!" she demanded. It was a sweet demand, but nevertheless a demand.
I didn't move.
"Olaf. I don't want to drink alone. Not tonight. You understand? Normally it doesn't matter, but right now I want you to have a beer with me."
"I--"
"What do I have to do to get you to drink a beer with me? Here, I'll get one for you!" She stood up, and even in the near-darkness of the room I could see she was completely naked, not even wearing panties. I was too astonished to close my eyes as I had the previous night, or maybe it was the murkiness that made it seem okay to look at her, or whatever. Anyway, for a full five seconds I was unable to take my eyes off her. Then she walked over to the ice chest, reached in and brought one back, popped open the top and handed it to me, just as Jeff had done earlier that same evening.
Instinctively, I took a swallow. The beer was bitter, but it was appropriate to the situation. Wendy sat down cross-legged on her mattress, pulled a sheet over her shoulders and modestly wrapped it about her. "Olaf, this is one of those times that I just don't want to drink alone. I want you to be here for me and just listen to what I have to say and tell me the truth on everything. The truth, okay?"
"I'll try," I said weakly. This whole thing had me off balance.
"Do you think I drink a lot?" she said.
I tried to think of some noncommittal reply.
"The truth now. Do I drink too much?"
"Well, yes."
"That's an honest answer, and you're right, I do. But you know something else? I didn't used to."
"No?"
"No. Not till I met that damn--Well I'm not even going to say his name again. But you know who I mean. Just being around him drove me to drinking. It's what he does to people, something in him!"
Her voice had risen, and her words echoed in the darkness. MacClayne was still snoring, but it worried me that he might wake up and hear what we were saying. I heard a soft plop; Cuauhtémoc had hopped onto my cot and was now perched beside me.
"We gotta keep it down," I said as softly as I could.
"I'm sorry. You're right, I am getting loud. Here, sit down beside me so I don't have to yell ."
I hesitated. What's this leading to? I felt a frightened, empty feeling in my stomach as I pictured Chayo looking on. Was this something Chayo would understand? Actually, Wendy and I were practically point-blank face-to-face; how much closer could I get?
"Olaf. Please. Do as I say. I need you to be here for me, to listen to what I have to say."
I did as requested and moved down onto her mattress, leaning my back against the wall. Cuauhtémoc hopped down and sat on my lap. My bird. My chaperon. If I was going to be there for Wendy, my bird was determined to be there for me.
"Thank you," Wendy said. "You're my knight in shining armor. Ready for another beer?"
"Not quite."
"Well, I am. But you just sit there, I'll get this round." She got up, modestly wrapped in the sheet this time as she went to the ice chest and returned with two more cans. "I know, I do drink too much. But this is my last night of boozing and I might as well drink up. No more Jeff, and, starting tomorrow, no more booze either. It's all over, I'm beginning a new life."
I nodded. Of course this was the sort of thing I'd heard before. But I wanted to believe it--and it just might be real. Maybe there really is a time when a person reaches a place in his life where he rounds a bend in the road and becomes a new person. Maybe both Jeff and Wendy had finally come to such a turning point; together they'd certainly been a bad combination, but separately perhaps, each might go his own way and become a new person. Who could say?
Neither of us spoke for some time. Wendy broke the silence. "Olaf," she said.
"Yes."
"Let's go visit the schooner."
Though I couldn't read my watch in the dim light, I knew it was after twelve. The crew would certainly be asleep by now. But if that's what Wendy wanted to do, then we'd go. We'd find out when we got there. Anyway, I did feel like getting out and walking a bit, wearing off some of this tension, and also getting away from this uncomfortably seductive nearness to Wendy.
"Sure," I said. "Let's go."
Wendy went in the bathroom to get dressed, and I groped around till I found my jacket. I was wearing my shorts, but, figuring that it was likely to be chilly at this hour, I changed to my trousers.
"Cuauhtémoc," I said, as Wendy and I were finally ready and about to go out the door. "I think I'd better ask you to just stay here. We're going aboard a ship, and you're not a seabird."
We stepped from the murky room to the dim shadows of the courtyard and quietly closed the door behind us. No light was on, and the moon was hidden by clouds. Everything was still, not even the crickets were chirping.
"Noche oscura del alma," I said aloud, but mostly to myself.
"What?"
"Dark night of the soul. It's a poem," I said and recited a couple lines:
Salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
"I love the way you say that in Spanish, what does it mean?"
"It means, 'I slipped out unnoticed, my house being quiet,'" I said. "It's by Juan de la Cruz, a 16th century Spanish mystic; he's describing how a soul goes to find union with God."
"You kidding?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's got nothing to do with mysticism--it's about a woman slipping out to have sex with her boyfriend."
"I never thought of it that way."
"Olaf, you are so innocent!" she laughed. "But that's what I like about you."
Something nudged my leg and I looked down to see a small shadowy figure beside me. He hopped onto my arm. I hadn't intended to bring him along, but now I was glad to have him with me. Somehow I didn't feel right without him.
"You also slipped out unnoticed," Wendy said. "You're such a clever rooster."
"He is," I said proudly. I was always flattered when people said nice things about my bird.
The street lamps were off, but our eyes were accustomed to the darkness as we made our way around mud puddles and other obstacles. Wendy led us to the cliff face. There the street ended in a staircase which we descended to the beach.
The ship was riding at anchor not far from shore. Wendy called it a schooner and Jeff had called it a yawl; apparently both terms were correct. Several lights glowed in the darkness, but I couldn't make out any human figures on deck. A small rowboat was tied to the bowsprit; I guessed it was used for ship-to-shore trips.
"Ahoy!" Wendy called out. "Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!"
Her voice echoed out over the water and as we waited, I studied the rigging. All I could see was a tall foremast and a much shorter mizzen.
"Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!" she called out again, but there was no reply. "They're not responding," she said to me exasperatedly.
"Well, it must be well past midnight," I said.
"So?"
"They're probably sleeping."
"But they must've heard me." She shook her head unbelievingly, and took me by the arm. "Hold my hand. I just need you to hold my hand."
I envisioned Chayo watching me from afar. Would she understand? But maybe it was important for Wendy to have some friend there with her and hold her hand at this moment. Was it wrong? I somehow felt it would be wrong to refuse, even if it did displease Chayo.
Holding her hand didn't make me her lover, just her friend. Maybe a brother. As to whether I was a big brother or a little brother I wasn't quite sure; it seemed to go back and forth. This morning she'd been Wendy the big sister, and now this evening I was Olaf the big brother; but there was also that bit of Moll Flanders lurking around somewhere. I had to be careful. Cuauhtémoc perched on my shoulder, as though to watch over me.
We sat on the seawall for a while and gazed out over the harbor. While the surf crashed in the distance, the waves lapping against the base of the seawall were quiet and gentle.
After a long silence, Wendy spoke. "Olaf, do you ever have the feeling that the world just isn't there for you?"
"The world?" I repeated.
"That nobody gives a damn what happens to you," she said, "that you're just completely alone and with nobody to care about you."
What she was saying sounded a bit extreme, but I guessed that she must be going through some trauma over her breakup with Jeff. I tried to think of something supportive. "Yeah, there're times when I feel lonely."
"Just lonely?"
"Yeah, lonely. Isn't that what you mean?"
"I don't think you get it." She shook her head and looked out over the water but at the same time gripped my hand tightly.
"Then what do you mean?"
"You saw what happened. I kept calling to the people on the schooner, and nobody answered."
"They were asleep," I said.
"They didn't care," said Wendy.
I didn't see how she could associate sleeping with not caring, at least not in this case, but I sensed that it would do no good to argue with her. I thought of the times I'd tried to argue with MacClayne and gotten nowhere. And it does no good to ever tell a person who's in an irrational mood that he's being irrational--that was something I'd learned from my association with MacClayne.
We sat there for some time in silence, Wendy gripping my hand, and Cuauhtémoc gripping my shoulder. The bird's presence was reassuring, and I was glad he'd slipped out the door to come with me.
"I suppose you're still thinking of going to Apatzingán," she said, abruptly breaking the silence.
"Yes, that's the plan."
"You don't have any misgivings?"
"Misgivings? About what? About going to Apatzingán?"
"Yes, that place," she said ominously, so softly I could barely hear her voice above the sound of the waves splashing on the rocks below us in the quiet of the night. That place. That place. That place. The words reverberated in my head. Why did she say that? Where had she gotten it? She couldn't possibly know anything of the fears and reservations that Chayo, her little cousin, and even doña Josefina had expressed about Apatzingán.
"What about that place?" I asked, trying to conceal my apprehension.
Wendy clearly sensed my uneasiness. Her eyes lit up, sparkling in the semi-darkness. I waited for her to go on.
"I do have a presentiment," she said at last.
"Of what?"
"Of something that could happen."
"Like what?"
"Something. Just something. I'm not sure exactly."
We sat in silence for a long moment. The waves seemed to be splashing more loudly than ever against the rocks below.
"Where is this all coming from?" I finally said.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said.
"Well I am asking. What's the answer?"
"I have my paranormal connections."
"You do?"
"I think I told you. I come from a long line of witches."
"So you're a witch," I said. "A certified sorceress?"
"Not certified yet. Still in training. I don't include witchcraft on my resume."
"So it runs in the family," I said. "I remember your telling me your ancestor was a witch at Salem. How did she escape execution?"
"Being a competent witch, she could easily handle a bunch of bumbling inquisitors."
"That makes sense. I always used to wonder why those witches didn't use their supernatural powers to protect themselves."
"They didn't have any. You don't think the witches they hanged at Salem were real witches, do you?"
"So your ancestor avoided prosecution. Maybe she was just a good bullshit artist. Like you."
"Okay," Wendy conceded. "I don't really know that much about my ancestor. Except that her name was Lucille Marshmont, and that she lived in Massachusetts during the time of the Salem witch trials. Recently discovered letters and diaries reveal that she was suspected of sorcery, but there's no record of her being formally accused. That's all I really know for fact. I'm speculating on the rest."
"But you were saying you had a presentiment about my going to Apatzingán? Is that speculation as well?"
Wendy laughed. "Olaf, you're so much fun to tease. I really had you going there for a minute. The look on your face!" She laughed again. "You're not angry are you?" She suddenly kissed me on the cheek. "I do get to kiss a knight in search of the Holy Grail, don't I? Or is that forbidden?" She was still laughing. "Did I inflict a Grail wound upon your cheek?"
"I'm sure I'll survive the wound," I said. I wasn't exactly pleased that she'd kissed me on the cheek, it left me with mixed reactions that I wanted to dismiss or laugh off.
"Good, a Grail wound could be a very serious matter. I'm sure you know that."
"That's what I've heard," I replied, and started to say something else when Wendy spoke again, asking me how I came to know the Grail was now in Apatzingán.
"Oh, that was part of the whimsy that MacClayne and I came up with.
"A whimsy?" she sucked in her breath, feigning shock. "No! You must never call it a whimsy. That's an offense to the grail."
"It is?" I was grinning now, enjoying her banter.
"Oh, yes. It's a very, very serious matter," she assured me. "The Grail was the most sought after treasure of the Medieval world. It's holiness is beyond holy. I'm sure you know that, but do you also know what might happen to you or anyone who speaks lightly of it? Calling it a whimsy?"
"Tell me," I said.
"You'll enter the grail city unopposed, like walking through an open gate. Finally, when you think you see the grail, shining like gold, sparkling in the sunlight, you reach out for it, and evil monsters will dash in to grab you!"
"Wendy, the things you come up with!" I said, laughing. We were both laughing.
"I can't help myself!" she said.
Still laughing, we got up and headed back to the hotel. It was really, really late.
As we came in the door I could hear MacClayne snoring softly. I took my shirt off and sat down on my cot wondering for a moment if I should also take off my jeans. I didn't want to sleep with them on, but what was the proper thing to do with Wendy there?
I was still wondering when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wendy, already out of her blouse, now struggling out of her jeans. Okay, no big thing. I did the same and crawled under my sheet. For a while I stared into the darkness of the ceiling above me, then at the window which allowed in some dim light, thinking about the sailboats in the cove. I could hear Wendy sigh, her mattress was on the floor right next to my cot.
"Olaf?"
"Yes?"
"Could we talk a little before we go to sleep?"
"Sure, I guess. Anything particular in mind?"
"No, not really. I just like to hear your voice. Tell me about when you were a little kid in Minnesota. You are from Minnesota, right?"
"Yes, I am."
"Well, tell me about it."
I started to reminisce about a place where I used to go camping with my uncle Rolf when Wendy interrupted. "Here, slide in beside me," she said. I heard the sound of her patting the mattress with her hand. I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of what to do.
"I can hear you better that way," she explained.
"But we're right next to each other," I argued.
"I'm down here on the floor, and you're way up there on that cot, a million miles away," she said, then continued, "I'm lonely. I need you to be here for me, to be my friend. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? This is one of those times I just don't want to be alone. I've been through a lot today. Please don't abandon me."
I didn't know how to deal with the situation. I knew she'd been through a lot during the last two days, having come to a turning point in her life. Maybe this was what I should do to comfort her. "Okay," I said, feeling terribly uneasy, "but just for a few minutes." I reached for my trousers.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting on my pants."
"Why for god's sake?"
"Just for the sake of decency."
"Why bother? Is there something indecent about talking? Do you have to be such a prude?"
I left my pants were they were on the chair and stepped around to the other side of my cot where Wendy's mattress lay. She lifted up the sheet as I got in next to her. I could feel her bare leg against mine. It was terribly disconcerting, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
"Thank you Olaf, I'm so glad you're here with me." She reached across and discreetly touched my hand. "You were telling me about your childhood in Minnesota," she said. "It's such a charming story, please go on with it."
I told her about the time my uncle Rolf had taken me sailing in a tiny boat on a small lake and we'd been hit by a sudden and unexpected rainstorm. Truly a miserable experience at the time, but looking back on it, it always seemed funny. Wendy laughed, and for a moment I was afraid MacClayne might wake up, but the steady low rumble of his snoring continued without interruption.
"What's the worst thing you ever did?" she asked me suddenly, a slight giggle in her voice. "Your very worst. Your absolute worst." She laughed.
I thought for a bit. "Well the only think I can think of off-hand might seem something pretty awful," I said hesitatingly.
"Your secret will be safe with me," she said. "But if you don't feel comfortable with revealing it, that's okay. I don't really want to pry. It's just that friends sometimes share secrets."
"I'll tell you," I said resolutely. "When I was a little kid, there was an old man who lived down the road from us. Old Mr. Jensen. He must've been 60 or 70 or more. For no particular reason I took an intense dislike to him and did all sorts of nasty things to make his life miserable. One day he was driving by in his old model T Ford and I threw a rotten apple at him and hit him right in the side of his face."
Wendy didn't laugh. "That was pretty bad. I hope you apologized to him for it."
I was somehow glad to hear her expression of gentle disapproval at my misdeed. "No, he died not too long after that. It wasn't till years later that I began to realize what an awful thing I'd done to the poor guy. Last time I was back there I went to the cemetery and laid some flowers on his grave. That didn't make up for what I did, but it's all I could ever think of."
"Olaf, you are such a sweet person, I'm sure Mr. Jensen understands and that he's forgiven you."
"I hope he has. But then I don't know." I said. "I've never told anybody about this before, since I was a kid that is. When I was a kid I actually bragged about it, and that's part of what makes it so much worse."
"It is the kind of thing kids do and it doesn’t make you an eternally bad person." She raised herself up on one elbow, leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek, then lay back down again.
We lay like that for some time, side by side. My leg touched the bare skin of hers, and my arm touched her arm. Then she moved closer to me, pressing against me, and I realized she wasn't wearing anything, not even her undies. Apparently sensing my aprehension, she said in a low, conspiratorial tone, "I like to sleep naked."
"You do?" I said blankly, trying sound nonchalant and cover my feeling of embarrassment.
"Yes. And you?"
"I, I guess I haven't thought about it," I replied awkwardly.
"You haven't?" There was a giggle in her voice. "Tell me again that you really, really haven't?"
She enjoyed my discomfort for a few moments, then touched my arm softly, and in a more serious tone of voce she said, "Have you ever thought about what clothes do to people?"
"In what way do you mean?"
She was still touching my arm with her hand. "Society dresses people to separate us from each other," she said. "Suits and ties, expensive dress clothes support hierarchy. Even among equals, clothes are an attempt at social pretense, a façade. Everybody should wear blue jeans, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I certainly do," I said. "It's kind of nice the way we're all wearing blue jeans on this trip. I wish that could be the standard, official dress item at all times and places."
"There'd be a greater sense of equality, the barriers would be lowered," she said sweetly, almost dreamily and paused. "Lowered, yes, but not totally eliminated. Clothes conceal the animal in us. Blue jeans, even underwear can become like walls and fences, ten-foot concrete barriers to trust and understanding. Sometimes I like to take everything off, and experience a sense of closeness, of just being good people with nothing to hide."
The wistful, yearning way in which Wendy spoke was just very charming. This was Wendy at her poetic best. Wendy the actress. Wendy the incarnation of Moll Flanders. Wendy, the sweet, lovable rogue. I started laughing, and Wendy also laughed. We laughed together.
"Here, let me help you take your T-shirt off."
"I really don't think I should," I objected.
"Maybe the air is cold tonight?" she offered helpfully.
"Yes, a little," I said, not entirely relieved.
Wendy giggled softly. "I'll keep you warm," she said, snuggling up to me, putting her arm over my chest and her leg over mine. I could feel her bare breast brushing my arm. "Wendy, I really, really can't be doing this."
"Olaf, don't be such a prude!" she laughed and reached her hand inside my T-shirt, gently caressing my chest, her leg still across the lower part of my body. "Would you like to hear my worst deed? I haven't told you yet, have I? You told me your secret, it's only fair that I tell you mine."
Her secret was certain to be a good story, and I was curious to hear it. At the same time I was terribly uncomfortable at the thought of what Chayo might think if she were to see me in this situation. I lay there, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Wendy whispered something in my ear.
"I didn't hear you," I said.
Wendy giggled, pressing more closely. "When I was 17, I seduced my mother's boyfriend."
"Your mother's boyfriend?" I repeated incredulously.
"Yeah, and my father went ballistic. Twice. First when he found out that I'd had sex with the guy. Then he blew up all over again when he found out the guy was Mom's boyfriend. And when Mom heard about it of course, she also went ballistic."
"So what came of it?" I asked.
"Life went on. Mom was like that. It was just that she didn't want me to follow in her footsteps, at least not on that part of her path. But she got over it. We're friends now, Mom and I."
Suddenly I heard a creaking sound from across the room, the direction of MacClayne's cot, and Wendy put her finger across my lips and silently pulled she sheet over our heads. I heard footsteps, then the sound of the bathroom door closing. "I better get back into my cot," I whispered, starting to get up.
"No! Don’t move!"
"He's in the bathroom now," I whispered, "The coast is clear."
"I said don't move!" she said, holding me down.
"But why?"
"Quiet!"
Moments later MacClayne emerged from the bathroom and returned to his cot while Wendy and I remained frozen in the positions we were in, waiting for him to go back to sleep. Only when we heard his soft snoring resume did Wendy relax her hold and let her hand slide over my T-shirt and downwards into my under shorts.
"Wow!" she whispered. It was a loud whisper, followed by a giggle. "So you're not gay after all."
I was doing my best to be polite about this, and said in the calmest, most conciliatory tone I could manage, "Wendy, I really must ask you to . . . " my voice almost sinking into a whisper, "please get out of my pants."
Wendy burst out in barely audible laughter. I could feel her body shaking uncontrollably, and I held my breath, desperately hoping MacClayne wouldn't wake up.
"Keep it down!" I implored in a low voice. "We don't want to rouse MacClayne."
But she didn't withdraw her hand. "Don't worry. He's still snoring," she whispered back, having finally recovered.
"Well then," I said. "What if my chicken wakes up?"
She giggled in my ear. "What if he does?"
"The bird is my chaperon," I said.
"Olaf you are funny!"
"No, I'm serious."
"You really aren't gay, are you?"
"No, and I never said I was. It's just that my girlfriend --"
"Your Mexican girlfriend? That shaman woman?"
"Yes. Her."
"Is her magic better than mine?"
"She is a shamaness," I said, "a very powerful one."
"Really? Well I'm a witch too, and maybe even more powerful than her. Didn't I release you from the curse of that fraudulent degree? From the spell cast on you by that evil magician of a professor? Could your shamaness have done that?"
"Yes, Wendy, you do work wonders and you are truly enchanting. But would you really have me do something that would be hurtful to a fellow sorceress? I must really ask you to release me from your spell."
"What if I don't want to release you? Do you really want to be released?"
"Yes," I said. I didn't know else to say.
"What about me? Don't you care about me?"
"I do care about you. I do. But I care for Chayo too, and she wouldn't understand."
"Why does she have to know?"
"Wendy, I'm just no good at secrets. I never was."
"Okay. Then be that way!" she snapped in a huff, drawing away from me.
I got up to return to my cot. There stood Cuauhtémoc, where he'd probably been for some time. It bothered me that I'd hurt Wendy's feelings, but by now I was too tired to think any more. I must have fallen asleep immediately.
continued in Chapter 44
<< Home