I almost got into a fight with a total stranger, someone’s put a spell on me with a rabbit’s head, but thankfully an old crone who would really benefit from an urgent visit from social services removed the evil eye from me. And all in just twenty-four hours.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “I’ve never felt better. I’m looking forward to sharing my draft with you. I’m sure it’s going to be good.”
“If anything happens to you ...” Carmen suddenly sounded worried. “If you run into any problems ... you’ll call me, right? If you need help, I’ll make sure someone comes to get you.”
The sudden show of concern moved him more than he wanted to admit.
“Everything’s fine, Carmen, I promise,” he said. “Thanks for looking out for me. I’ve got to go now—I’m in the middle of a tricky paragraph, and I want to finish it before lunch.”
“Don’t forget to call me,” she insisted. “Take care, Roberto.”
“You too,” he replied before ending the call.
He put the phone back in his pocket and breathed out very slowly.One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi ...He inspected his hands: His fingers were stained with blood, no doubt from when he had touched the crucified rabbit.
He wiped them on his pants and checked the time. It was almost midday. He decided he’d had enough for one morning. He’d go back to the cottage and write for a few hours, to clear his head of everything that was buzzing around inside it. And, while he was at it, he’d take the rabbit’s head that was sitting on the top shelf of his fridge and bury it a long way away. Just in case.
God, he could use a drink.
6
Secrets and Quarrels
His second morning on the island wasn’t much different from his first, except that he had managed to sleep more than five hours straight, something of a record for him, after spending most of the evening working on a draft that he was quite pleased with. However, his sleep was not exactly restful because recurring nightmares featuring Elvira Couto woke him up more than once. After his shower and his morning coffee (and after checking the front step in case any new nocturnal gifts had appeared), he decided to explore the village.
Although it was downhill all the way, the state of the track left a lot to be desired. When, half an hour later, he finally reached the smooth cement surface of the road, his ankles were aching.
As he rounded the final corner, he came across an unexpected scene. Two women were sitting on a low wall in front of the church, a large rubber bucket between them. They were lost in conversation and didn’t notice his arrival. One of them was in her late fifties, with curly gray hair; she was short and stocky, and despite the temperature, her broad, muscular arms were bare. The other was younger; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. Thin and delicate, her head a mass of blond hair, she was the opposite of her companion. The girl’s eyes were the same stormy green as Antía’s and Diego’s. Robertowasn’t one for gambling, but he’d happily bet that she was a member of the Freire clan.
The older woman held a thin, sharp knife in her right hand. Roberto observed with a certain fascination as she thrust her hand into the bucket and brought out a huge purple octopus. In one fluid movement, she turned it upside down, and, the octopus still waving its tentacles, she inserted her knife where the animal’s mouth was, twisted the blade, and, with practiced deftness, removed the entrails in one go, accompanied by a viscous sound. Before he had time to fully absorb what he had just seen, the woman was already taking her next victim from the bucket.
Just then, the girl noticed the new arrival, leaned toward her older companion, and whispered something in her ear. The woman dropped the octopus into the bucket with a splash and turned to look at Roberto.
Her eyes were the same color as the girl’s, but her expression was harder, and the lines on her face spoke of a life exposed to the elements. She cleaned her hands on her apron and put away the knife before taking a step toward him.
“You must be the writer,” she said in the steely voice of someone unaccustomed to being contradicted. “Antía told me about what you did yesterday to protect Diego.”
“It was no big deal, really.”
“When somebody helps one of my family, it’s always a big deal for me,” she replied sternly, holding out her hand. “I’m Rosalía Freire, Antía’s mother. This is my daughter Helena, Diego’s other sister.”
Roberto shook her hand. It was hard and calloused.
“Apart from a few odd ones out,” said Helena, “everyone here’s either a Freire or a Docampo.” In contrast with her mother’s, the daughter’s voice was smooth, with a deep and slightly disconcerting vibrato.
“Yes,” said Roberto warily, “I thought so.”
He decided not to mention the previous day’s encounters with the poacher and the witch at the far end of the island. Something told himthat the less information he gave the two ruling clans about his movements, the better.
“Do you live on the island all year round?” Roberto asked, changing the subject.
“I go to the mainland a few times a year, but I like it here,” the girl replied quietly. “We all like it.”
“We’re in your debt,” Rosalía pitched in. “The Docampos are a bad lot, every last one of them. If you want some advice, steer clear of them. And if there’s anything you need, just come and ask me.”
However friendly they may seem, they’ll always want something from you.Elvira Couto’s warning echoed in his head.
What had begun as a casual encounter had turned into something very different, although he wasn’t sure what. There was a strange tension in the air, as if what he said next would be very important in some complex game whose rules he didn’t understand.
