Roberto was tempted to make a run for it, but eventually he groaned and stood up. Feeling ridiculous, he jumped three times across the embers while Elvira observed him with a clinical gaze, watchful for anything the ritual might be missing. When he was done, she seemed satisfied.
“Nearly done.” She leaned toward Roberto, who wrinkled his nose at the acrid odor. “Keep this in your pocket for protection,” she said, pressing something into his hand.
It was a short length of fishing line tied around some dried leaves with a fragrant smell. Not wanting to argue, he did as he was told.
“So?” he said. “Is that it?”
“That depends on the strength of themeigallo,” she answered as she gathered up the embers in her hands and tossed them back into the hearth as if they were already cold. “But in principle, yes. You’re clean.”
“You don’t have any idea who might have done it, do you?” insisted Roberto.
“This is theTangaraño’s doing,” Elvira muttered, making a sign to ward off the evil eye. “It’s always him.”
“Who’s theTangaraño? It’s not the first time someone has mentioned him.”
“I’m not going to say anything else.” The woman shook her head.
“Is he a local?” Roberto asked. “I only arrived on the island yesterday, and I haven’t had time to make enemies.”
“Who have you met?”
“Let’s see,” he replied, counting on his fingers. “Antía and Diego Freire. One of the Docampos. Víctor Pampín, who told me to come and find you ... and yourself. It isn’t a very long list.”
“Don’t trust the Docampos or the Freires,” she muttered. “Both families have dark secrets. And don’t forget that, however friendly they may seem, they’ll always want something from you, even if you don’t realize it.”
The same warning as the poacher gave me,he thought to himself.They might be powerful on the island, but they aren’t exactly popular.
“Dark secrets? What do you mean?”
“That’s not for me to say.” She held out her hand. “And now, my payment.”
Roberto looked at the open palm for a moment, until he realized that the woman was demanding compensation for the ritual. Feeling like a tourist trapped by a sideshow huckster, he wondered as he took out his wallet how many innocents the old woman fleeced each summer.
“I don’t want money,” she hissed. “Don’t insult me.”
“So what do you want?”
“Something personal,” she replied bluntly. “It doesn’t have to be valuable. It just has to be something of yours. Something you really care about.”
He hadn’t expected that. It clearly wasn’t some ruse for tricking unwary tourists.
He patted his pockets, looking for something that might satisfy the strange woman’s demands. Finally, he found an old fountain pen. It wasn’t expensive, but it had accompanied him on his many journeys, starting with his very first trip as a reporter, in Aleppo. He hoped it would suffice as payment.
He offered it to the woman, who snatched it from his hands and inspected it, her eyes glinting. After a moment, she gave a satisfied grunt and tossed it nonchalantly into a nearby chest.
“We’re done.” She pointed at the door. “You can go now. And remember what I said: Don’t trust anybody on this island. Appearances can be deceptive.”
Roberto left the hovel, mystified. When the door slammed behind him and he heard the key turning in the lock once again, he stretchedand let out a loud sigh. The salty air provided a refreshing contrast with the strange atmosphere inside the house.
He took one final look around and shook his head.
What a waste of time.
He walked away, his head already back in his book. Perhaps he could even make use of this episode.
Before long, he was on the beach again, sitting on a rock, watching the waves break on the shore. A hungry seagull, perhaps the same one as before, approached hesitantly, on the lookout for a free morsel.
“This place is full of lunatics,” he muttered to the seagull as he took out a cigarette. “And I seem to have met all of them.”
