Incantation Read Online Free Page B

year, and we all wished he had more than a few days to spend with us. His studies were important, and he wanted to get back and finish as quickly as possible. Luis was a dedicated student; he had a habit of closing his eyes when he said the rosary. He could read Greek, Latin, Spanish, Hebrew, Arabic. He could speak with my grandfather in a special language—called
Ladino
—a mix of two languages, Hebrew and Spanish.
    My mother put rouge on her cheeks and pulled her hair up with combs made of shells; she wore her finest dress and a silk shawl made in Istanbul. From the moment my brother arrived, Abra barely let him out of her sight. There was so little time for Luis to be with us that we all wanted his attention.
    The priest from our church, Friar deLeon, who had recommended Luis to the seminary, came to our house for dinner. On Sundays we always went to his church, even though it was on the other side of town, and Our Lady of Mercy was right down the street from our house. We preferred the Chapel of All Saints; most of our friends did, and my grandfather said it was best to worship with those you knew well. When Luis was finished with his studies, he would come back to our church. He would be one of the most important men in town, on every committee, even sitting on the mayor’s council.
    Friar deLeon watched as my grandmother lit the candles. It wasn’t yet completely dark, but it was our way to light the candles in our silver candlesticks before we began our Friday dinner.
    We give thanks to our Lord,
Friar deLeon said.
    It was an honor to have the priest in our home. Everyone murmured,
Amen.
Members of our church crossed ourselves in a special way. Head, lips, shoulder, shoulder. I whispered to Luis that when I ate dinner at Catalina’s house, they crossed themselves in a different way.
    We do it this way so God knows what’s in our hearts,
Luis explained to me when I asked about it now. He looked at me strangely, perhaps to see if I would say something back to him.
    Let’s go on with dinner,
my grandfather said to Luis, and immediately Luis stopped explaining things to me. Luis served the adafina I had made, our Friday night chicken stew. I had added some of the basil I had grown in my brother’s honor. That herb brought good luck and long life, or so I’d heard. For the first time, everyone declared the dish delicious. Even my grandmother didn’t tell me what I’d done wrong.
    For me, that was lucky indeed.

    I MOVED OUT of my chamber, where Luis used to sleep, so he could reclaim the room. I went back to a mat on the floor beside my mother’s bed. I didn’t mind. Luis made you want to give things up for him, he was so generous and so good. He had brought gifts for everyone, even the little Arrias girls next door. In his bag there was lavender water, candied figs, a special book for my grandfather. For me, my brother had brought a tin of rouge made out of a flower from a faraway land that was the same color as the red lily that grew in the Muslim doctor’s wife’s garden.
    My brother was tired, and he slept during most of his time with us. At the seminary, Luis had to study all day and all night. He copied manuscripts for the Bishop, and his fingers were stained with ink. Here at home, he went to the Friar’s chapel in the afternoons, and studied, but in the evenings, after dinner, he let my mother use his strong arms so she could wind her yarn into even lengths around them. He laughed and told jokes, although when he slept he spoke Latin and Greek, as if he were still studying in his dreams.
    Catalina knocked on our door the day after my brother arrived home, but my grandmother shooed her back home; she told Catalina we were too busy to have any visitors. Luis needed peace and quiet; he needed his rest. Later, when Catalina came back, Luis was reading in the yard, and he didn’t even look up from his book. He thought a hired girl had come to work in the fields, and he’d told her to come back another