Incantation Read Online Free

remembering my father when she did this. I thought she could see his face somehow, in the shapes of the clouds.
    That blue is the color of tears,
she said.
    Tears are clear,
I told her.
    My mother shook her head. She was my age doubled with three extra years. She knew more than I would even if I lived until the age of one hundred.
    You haven’t looked closely enough. Tears are exactly that color. Blue.
    My mother told me things that were not part of what her father had taught her. This was a different path altogether. She said,
Women know things that men will never know. We keep the best secrets. We tell the best stories.
    Late at night, when my grandparents were asleep, I would sit with my mother on her bed and listen to more of what she knew. I learned the cures for headaches and the cure for dreams. Lavender, coriander, green onions, lime juice, and licorice. Rue, garlic, ginger. Simple things that were surprisingly strong when mixed together in the right combination.
    I learned that on Friday nights the candles must be lit exactly at sundown and that healing was best at Rosh Hodesh, when the month was new and fresh. I learned to recite the prayers.
We praise you, eternal God.
    My mother taught me so much as we walked through the hills and then as we talked late at night. But most important of all, she explained that it was all right to say
No. I disagree.
That was a gift. I understood it was power. The power to think my own thoughts. The power to believe in myself.

 

    Heart

    D uring that summer, whenever our chores were through, Catalina and I would often sit in her yard, in the shade of an olive tree. The season was hot and dreamy; it seemed it would last forever. We would talk and watch Catalina’s cousin Andres work in the fields beyond our houses. I couldn’t stop staring at him. It had always been that way, but now it was worse. I looked and looked as though I were some foolish, mindless girl. I knew he and Catalina would marry someday. That had always been what her family had planned since they first took him into their household.
    All the same, I kept looking.
    There were almond trees out farther in the fields, and their scent made me dizzy.
    I wish I lived with you,
I told Catalina.
    You should move in with us. Then we would be together all day every day.
    It was an idle day made for idle thoughts. We planned our future, down to the meals we would cook. Catalina’s favorite meal was spicy sausage; mine was rice with saffron and olive oil. We both liked pudding made of milk and almonds and sugar, and dark red wine whenever we could sneak a sip. We were making ourselves hungry and giddy. We had started to think of names for our children. Catalina would call her son Juan. I would call my daughter Angelina, little angel, a girl who does everything right and has none of my faults, someone who could please even my grandmother.
    What is that you have?
Catalina asked suddenly.
    I had worn my pearls again, underneath my scarf. I knew I should put them in my treasure box under my bed, saved for important days. I had planned to do so, but they were so cool against my skin.
    My grandmother gave these to me. They’re only for special occasions.
    Is today so special?
    I felt uncomfortable, as though I had something I had no right to have.
    I just wanted to show them to you,
I said.
    It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.
    When you and Andres have a daughter, you can buy her pearls,
I told Catalina.
    I want rubies.
Catalina laughed.
    While we were talking, Andres called for water. Catalina said he was lazy. She liked to tease her cousin and boss him around.
Let him come here and get it for himself,
Catalina said, but I’d been emboldened by all our silliness and plans for what was to come. My pearls made me feel like a woman and not just a girl. I forgot myself and my place. I ran out to the field with a flask.
    Soil rose up and dusted my face, and Andres leaned over and ran his hand over my