Isabel

Isabel’s world stood still on a Tuesday night. It was one of those nights when something went wrong somewhere in the power lines. In the countryside it was almost natural that the villagers suffer a black out, especially when there was a storm. And the storm did rage that night, it was cold, and it was bitter.

She had been in school all day when the rain began. It did not let up, instead it grew stronger and the winds threatened to uproot the trees. At least, that was what it looked like to her, who had such a skinny frame that a wind might blow her across the street. She managed to get home, wet and shivering, her fingers numb from the cold and from grabbing at anything she could on the way, fearing the strong wind. That was when she received the news.

Her father had rushed back home from the market, swept the rice they’d laid out to dry in the field and gathered them in a sack. He had come from town when the storm clouds gathered overhead and the wind was picking up. So much rice, so little time. He was also at the wrong spot at the wrong time. Lightning hit the tree close to him and it exploded. Many grains of rice had popped around him.

They laid him on the floor in their small hut, already cold underneath the faded pink and rose-printed blanket they put over him. Isabel could not bear to look at him after the first time, and she wept beside her mother. Most of her siblings were too young to understand what happened, but Isabel and their mother’s grief were contagious and they cried too. The neighbours who brought them the news and the dead body home were also there for the afternoon, and they left before nightfall. Twice, the wind blew the window open and candle’s flame out, twice Isabel lit it back on, and on the third time they were out of matches. The spare box was wet from the water dripping from the roof. They spent the rest of the night in the dark, in the company of the dead.

They would have to sell the farm. It was expensive to give Nikolas a proper burial, but it was expected of the family. The neighbours could help, but farmers these days could barely earn anything that the Gracia family, Isabel’s family, thought it would be too much to ask. The next day was a Wednesday, and Isabel did not go to school that day. While they cooked an early dinner that afternoon, a man dressed in crisp white clothes came and talked to her mother until it was dark. He seemed amiable the whole time. His smile could light the world and shame the sun itself.

They later ate in sad silence, until her mother’s speech shattered it and stuffed a cloud of uncertainty into her head. She had asked Isabel to work for the Monteblancos in order to pay their debt to the man earlier. He had offered to pay for the funeral costs; how they’d pay him back was reasonable, and his offer was generous enough. Isabel’s mother had agreed to it, offering her eldest daughter to work for them as she herself stayed behind to take care of the children. She would still get paid; half of it would go to paying their debt and her family would receive benefits, just like the families of their employees in the hacienda. Thoughts of protests bounced in Isabel’s mind and jumbled together, but she looked at her younger siblings, too young to understand anything let alone help the family. The burden of course would fall on her.

Tales of the Monteblancos came and ebbed like tides in the village. They were often the subject of gossip and, Isabel suspected, wild tales. There was this story about the missus Monteblanco who bathed in milk and roses every morning, and another about her son who was a bit batty but charming. They said he liked designer clothes and trinkets like Gutsy or Give Menchy or something like that. The villagers never quite understood what the point was in wearing sunglasses at night and sweaters in the middle of the summer. This is not America, they’d say (they knew a bit about America from watching bootleg American movies. Even though they did not completely understand English without subtitles, they liked the pictures, and they could pretty much tell the overall plot from just watching. Sometimes though, it’d get annoying, because the room was crowded already, what with the neighbours coming in even from the other side of the village, and someone would keep saying wheeek…urng urng urng or Boingggg! during the action scenes and lacked the sense to shut up). The Monteblancos were a strange bunch, they always said, living high in their marble walls and enjoying the shade under manicured palm trees. They never understood what it was like to stay under the sun all day, bending down to the earth and feeling the mud between their toes.

Isabel came to their house after her father was buried, and Mr. Monteblanco was there to welcome her. He introduced her to the staff, and then to the maid who would later show her to her room. He was the man who went to see her mother the other day, and she noticed that he wore a white suit today as well, which was hardly appropriate to wear in the countryside and in a hot weather such as this; she wondered if his son had taken after him in the batty department.

Isabel had never met the Monteblancos before, never seen any of them until her father died. If they were like celebrities to the villagers, they were more like myths to her. And the most mythical of them appeared before her like a snake uncurling under the sun—the fourth Monteblanco, coming her way as the maid showed Isabel around the backyard. The girl had a tattoo that slithered around her shoulders and down her arm, and she moved like a queen of the summer. And then Isabel remembered the stories.

The people said that Mrs. Monteblanco had visitors at night after she gave birth to her son. They crawled up her legs, the black things with yellow bellies, but their fangs never struck her. The farmers always had to watch out for snakes when they were out in the field, sometimes even looked around the toilet before they used it, but the missus never had to worry about snakebites. No one knew why the snakes favoured her, but great was the lore when Scia Monteblanco was born clutching a snake in her little hand and with a strange mark on her back.

The young miss looked her up and down and inquired if this was Aling Inda’s daughter. When the maid said yes, she said that Isabel would be better off at home instead. “Poor girl,” she said. “You will lose a lot of things here..”

Isabel worked in the kitchen, and she learned how to make caramel custard and mango pie. Mrs. Kabuaya, the head maid who ruled the kitchen, was pleased how Isabel figured out how to make a perfect fondue coating on the cake, which they served in a party that Christmas. The guests liked it, Mrs. Monteblanco loved it, and Mrs. Kabuaya enjoyed teaching Isabel more.

When she was not in the kitchen, Isabel liked walking in the mango farm. There were papaya trees on the east side of the field, and then some avocado and guava trees on the other side. Mrs. Monteblanco liked planting trees that bore fruits, and she planted them where she could. Her son, Andy, was always there to show Isabel around, and when she’d go home in her days off, she was always looking forward to seeing him again.

“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” her mother asked one night. “You come home less often now because of him.”

There were eating in the candlelight. There had been more blackouts lately. The beans they used in the soup had been compliments from Mrs. Monteblanco’s garden.

“It is dangerous to dream about him, Isabel,” she said. “You and that boy are too different, like—”

“Like the sky and earth,” Isabel said, not meeting her gaze. “Have you seen the horizon, ma? They do meet.”

“Foolish girl!” Aling Inda reached across the table and slapped her round the ear. “Horizon. That’s like a dream! You see it in the distance, but when you chase it, you never touch it.”

Andy didn’t whistle behind her back like the other boys did. When she talked to him, he seemed really polite and really shy most of the time. But he was sweet, always took her out, taught her how the mangoes were sprayed with insecticide, and what the secret was to make them bear many fruits. He also showed her the poultry farm, and they played with the dogs. Those weren’t exactly romantic, but he was sweet.

Sometimes he gave her things, expensive little things that none of the girls in the village ever dreamed of. She thought they were too much, but after she settled on the idea that she should honour his kindness, she wore them, and she liked to show them off when she was in the market. She liked being with Andy, but many times in their secret moments in the house, she’d find Scia Monteblanco watching them on the other side of the room or on top of the stairs, and she seemed lit up from inside with amusement. She was laughing at her, Isabel knew, but then she also knew that nearly everything in this world always seemed to amuse Scia.

“Tell me, poor girl, have you kissed someone?” Scia asked her one day.

“No, miss,” she replied after blushing. She was taking the floating leaves and twigs out of the pool with a net attached to a bamboo pole, for there was nothing else to do.

“Too bad, you still don’t know what it’s like,” she said. “They said that if it’s from the right person it would take the world around you and water it down like a dream.” A pause. “I kissed Rotten Pedro when we were eight, and his mouth frothed like someone possessed.” She plucked a bunch of santan flowers and sprinkled them on the pool.

Isabel picked them up, she didn’t mind; she was only cleaning the pool to kill some time, not that it really mattered. And she knew that Scia was only trying to see how she would react, see if she’d do something interesting worth telling her parents about. They were about the same age, Scia was older by a month, and it seemed that the young miss quite enjoyed the age gap.

“And speaking of possessions,” Scia continued. “Have you seen anyone who’s been possessed?”

“No, miss.”

“I haven’t. But they told me that my mother was, while she was giving birth to me.” For a moment it seemed that she was going to laugh, but Scia was not one who would heartily show mirth.

She dropped more flowers and threw in some extra twigs and leaves in the water. When Isabel said nothing, she surreptitiously made her way beside her and expertly stomped on the back of Isabel’s knee and sent her splashing into the pool.

Isabel fought her way to the shallow end. Scia was on her way back inside when Andy came out. “Too bad, if you had drowned he would have given you the kiss of life,” she said, “you know, the resuscitation thing.” Then she laughed.

Aling Inda was not pleased with the things that Andy gave her daughter, and she vindictively held in her mind the fact that Isabel had dared to show them silly trinkets out to the damn public; what must everyone think of her? For goodness sake, the Gracia family had never been subjects of gossip and criticism until now, thanks to this foolish girl who liked to show off.

“God forbid that anything should happen,” she said, looming over the bruised Isabel. Aling Inda held the broom tight at her side, clutching it at the bushy end. She soon realized that any amount of slapping would not get the message through, but she still did it. It was like shouting at a wall. However, she fervently hoped that her words had not gone to waste. There had been rumours about a senator’s daughter. She was an honour student in the big city, very promising. People said she was going to America to study, because apparently Philippines wasn’t big enough for her. She wasn’t much older than Andy, which wasn’t much of a big deal, but Andy was much older than Isabel, and in other aspects besides age they were like sky and mud.

“I do not want you to shame us,” her mother said. “Do not do this, Isabel. The Monteblancos have been kind to us, do not bring grief to them.”

I certainly wasn’t bringing any grief to Andy, Isabel thought. He was happy with me, and I was happy with him.

Scia was always watching her. And it was embarrassing enough that Scia knew that she mixed up the spoons and the peelers and cut up the vegetables wrong because she was thinking about Andy all the time, and of how much her mother disapproved. There was one occasion when Scia had to stop her from putting a teaspoon of salt into her coffee.

“Go home if you can’t work properly,” she told Isabel. For once, she wasn’t amused. They were interrupted when Mrs. Monteblanco came and called the maid outside.

The missus was never one to beat around the bush. “Are you in a relationship with my son?” she asked. “Hmm?”

Isabel felt like she was plunged into hot water. “Uhm, I uh…”

“Yes or no, hmm?”

“No, ma’am, no.”

Isabel would rather be anywhere else than be under her gaze, even if that anywhere else was in the mouth of a boiling volcano. The silence between them crawled under her skin and turned uneasiness into something unrecognizable.

“I want you to stop, whatever you’re doing, hmm?” Mrs. Monteblanco said. “This is a warning to you, Isabel. I know you’re working here to pay your debts to my family so I won’t dismiss you. But next time I hear about you and my son, and if I don’t like what I hear, you’re fired, hmm? I won’t care how many mouths you have to feed.”

She was fire and ice at the same time. Her face was burning, she felt hot outside, cold in some parts, and ice gripped her chest.

“I have talked to Andy,” Mrs. Monteblanco continued. “I hope he does not come near you again.” She looked at her, her face was a mix of pity, a bit rueful, and the sort of look that you get when someone thinks you’re a nuisance. “It’s not because you’re poor, dear. Andy is about to be engaged to Jenny, and I don’t want unwanted rumours about you going around.”

“You mean—”

“It does not matter what he feels about you. This has been decided a long time ago, hmm?”

“Isn’t she the senator’s daughter?” she croaked.

“As you see, she is important. For Andy and for us, hmm?” she said, and then added, “You won’t understand.”

Her heart was not broken… yet. It happened slowly, like how the sun unhurriedly left the world and took away all its light with it. The pressure was ever present in her chest, growing heavier in every thought of him, in every sigh. The first cracks in her heart appeared when they met and he avoided her gaze. He did not even smile. What they had had been beautiful and potent; with him the world was right and everything was in its proper place. His every whisper and every touch had been her right, it wasn’t for the girl who painted watercolours and collected those useless glass figures in her room. It shouldn’t be for her who wouldn’t even step in the fields and squealed at the sight of worms and beetles. But Andy was there for her. When the spider crept under the skirt or when the snake slithered up her ankle, he was there to fight them away and take her in his arms and comfort her, while Isabel watched under the mango tree and quietly wept.

The engagement was bound to be announced in Andy’s birthday celebration, and that meant in front of politicians and the giant names in the realm of business who were Mr. Monteblanco’s friends. It was no place for those of labouring hands and humble backs, who fit more behind the scenes and confined into service in the kitchen and being generally unnoticed. No one noticed Isabel standing in the kitchen door that night, watching the people, looking like something had been ripped out of her. That was only pain, but not yet Pain.

Pain, in its pure form, came when the voices ebbed and silence alighted in the hall; Mr. Monteblanco stood halfway up the curved stairs, his speech spoken as if each word was special. Pain came when Andy’s and his bride’s name were spoken in one phrase, when the word Love was crowned to each name and the engagement was enunciated like it was destiny. The rich applause sounded like the clanging of sharp knives and the tinkle of fishhooks in Isabel’s ear. She fled, chest heaving, to her room and resigned herself to despair.

Despair had done things to people, brought out things that were already there but had been largely unnoticed, and it had, most of all, brought out the dark thoughts and got them to march around in an ever increasing pace, until they crowded, collided and burst and ended up in one immense heap of stinking wretchedness. And Insanity stepped in…

There was a stool in the room. And there was a fan attached in the ceiling. Isabel searched for the third element; she had seen it somewhere in the bottom of a box under the bed, very old, almost forgotten, but it was there. When she held it in her hands, she trembled and wept. This she decided to do.

She thought of him as she tied it around the hanging fan, gave it a little tug and made sure it would hold. She made the noose that would soon abuse her neck, and she placed the stool beneath it. She knew prayers would do her no good; she had stopped believing in them long ago. This she decided to do.

Watch Isabel. She was standing on the stool, and her mind was full of memories of him, and she was thinking of the things he never said, the promises and kisses that he never gave. Her hand held the loop firm and slowly brought it closer to her neck…

The door opened and Scia was there. She froze in a moment of surprise, and then she quickly kicked the stool from under Isabel’s feet, and Isabel fell before she could properly hang herself.

“If you want to kill yourself, do it outside,” Scia snapped. “Preferably somewhere in the field. I don’t want you to make a mess here.”

Shame and anger washed over her in mighty waves. She hid her face and wept. “I would have given my life for him.”

“You were just about to waste it,” she said, looking at her with deep disgust.

She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, “I love him.”

For a moment it seemed like something was wrenched inside Scia by a merciless hand; a flash of agony crossed her countenance, and then rage took over. She would have taken joy in ripping Isabel’s throat out with her bare hands if she had not thought of all the blood and the trouble of cleaning up afterwards. She walked away, cursing the girl under her breath, every word had the faint echo of a snake’s hiss.

Somewhere in the night, sleeping spirits raised their ugly heads and sniffed the air. They heard the whisper of curses, and they turned their eyes on the house of Monteblanco…

Isabel was to stay at home for the next few days, as ordered by the missus. She did not know about the girl’s attempted suicide, but it had been Scia’s idea. Aling Inda could not look at her daughter without remembering Scia, about how she came in the night dragging the hysterical girl by the hair. For a moment Aling Inda thought she was looking at a really old, really powerful, and really angry enkanto. She could not shake the feeling that whoever that was standing before her, she was seething in anger, like she was boiling fluid rocks inside. She also had the feeling that if Scia blew up, and she could have any second, crops in the village would rot and pestilence would come upon them all. That was how horrible the aura Scia was giving off, despite her efforts to stay calm.

Aling Inda was looking at her daughter now, who was gazing absentmindedly outside as her mother dabbed betadine on the abrasion on Isabel’s heels and the back of her legs. They had been wounded when Scia dragged her all the way from her house. Aling Inda had more sympathy for Scia than for her daughter, whom she knew had done something incredibly stupid. Recently, she had been staring at her late husband’s photograph, and wondered out loud how they had raised a headache. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent her daughter to work there, she thought, she had trusted this girl, and now she was threatening to tear her world apart. And about that boy…

Andy had come a few times, asking for Isabel. Aling Inda always had to whack him away with a broom; she didn’t care if his father had clout, the brat had caused her enough grief. And her daughter was growing worse everyday. Sometimes Isabel stared hopefully at the sky for hours, as if waiting for something interesting to happen up there. Sometimes she knelt on the ground and whispered things in the dust, giggling to herself. Aling Inda thought those were okay, sort of, compared to what happened every night: she’d find snakes crawling over her sleeping daughter, all over her and even under the blanket and underneath her clothes. And they were not just any kind of snakes, they were black and had yellow bellies. Aling Inda knew what they were–cobras. They were not uncommon in these parts, but this was the first time she saw so many at once. She screamed the first time she saw them, and even in the nights that followed whenever they appeared, but her daughter never once did wake. The neighbours woke up though, even though they were at least a couple of paddies away, and they came over. The snakes quickly disappeared through every hole and crack throughout the hut as soon as they arrived. They saw the serpents coming out. It was reminiscent of Mrs. Monteblanco’s tale.

Everyone was unsure of what it meant, and Aling Inda kept screaming every time she saw them until Scia showed up. She told the woman that she could hear her screams from her house, and that it was hardly acceptable. Aling Inda tried to explain, almost hysterical.

“They won’t hurt her,” Scia said, “And they won’t touch you unless you hurt them.”

“What’s going on?” she asked helplessly. “What’s happening to my daughter? She’s even talking to the trees!”

“I hope the trees are good to her.”

“And she sleeps in the hills in the middle of the day.”

“She’s just basking in the sun.”

“And she won’t go near any water!”

“It’s part of the transition.”

“What?”

“What?”

Aling Inda glanced at her daughter who was clucking like a hen in the yard, and flapping her elbows and doing some awkward leg movement. “Is she nuts?”

“Not quite, just going bananas,” she whispered back.

She shook her head. “So she’s losing it, then?”

“Oh, no. She’s acquiring something,” Scia said, a little note of pride in her tone. “It’s her destiny.”

Aling Inda was speechless.

“She’ll be fine after she gives birth.”

She went red. “Birth? Birth?! Is she pregnant?” she demanded.

“Not yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scia looked at her like an adult would to a curious child. “Tell me, do you see a mark in my skin?”

“What mark?”

“Something like a tattoo,” she said, lifting her sleeve.

“No, your skin’s as clear as a pearl.”

“It was a birthmark that was on my back. It grew as I grew older,” she said. “Isabel can see it. My mother too. No one else can.”

“What are you saying?”

“Only snake brides can see it,” Scia said. “My mother was a snake bride, and Isabel is now too. They were chosen to give birth to people like me.”

Aling Inda’s eyes narrowed. Then she flipped her hands as if waving off flies and turned away and yelled, “Isabel! Stop that this instant and get inside!”

The girl looked stricken and slowly made her way up the stairs. Aling Inda turned back to Scia, gave an incredulous smile and said, “Say that again?”

When Isabel went back to work in the Monteblanco house, Scia was watching her again. The girl was worse than before: She walked into doors and left an oven mitt on the burning stove; when she was walking she would sometimes stop dead and stare at nothing in particular; she’d forget to cook rice, walked on shards of a broken plate she’d just dropped, and above all, she talked to the walls and laughed at doors.

“She’s growing more insane by the minute,” Scia told her mother. “You should fire her.”

“Hmm?” Mrs. Monteblanco asked, and Scia understood it as you think? They were watching Isabel as she skipped circles around a tree in the backyard. “Well, it’s true that I wasn’t that bad in my transition.”

“It’s because of Andy,” she spat the name like it was poison.

“I suppose we could have her mother work for us instead, hmm? Or maybe one of her siblings?”

“Things will get worse if she stays here any longer.”

Mrs. Monteblanco looked at her. “Because of Andy, hmm? Is that what you see?”

“Clear as day,” she said. “If he wasn’t my brother, I’d gladly rip him apart.”

“You are very cruel. Don’t say that about my son.”

Scia ignored her. “We should dismiss her now.”

They could not properly dismiss a servant if they couldn’t tell her that she had been fired. Isabel was nowhere to be found. This would have been alright as long as she was no longer there, but Aling Inda came and was looking for her. This was what they did not know: earlier, Isabel had wandered to the farm and admired the amount of mangoes the trees bore. The whole place was tied with so many memories, some filled her with longing, and some with solemn happiness. She thought of nothing else but the man who spurned her, and she sat under a tree and dreamed of him. In her dreams, she could see rays of light crisscrossing the farm, like rods that spilled from a box and scattered all over the place. And there were voices calling her.

There was one voice she strained to hear, but it was silent. Another felt comforting, but it was so far away, as if the sound was carried over to her through a sea of cotton. A third one was closer, lovelier; her name sounded like singing birds in this voice, and she surfaced from the dream, woke up, and her thin hands found where the voice came from. Then she found herself touching Andy’s face. He had come for her.

He told her that he loved only her, and he sought nothing but her. Isabel wept in his arms until the voices came back, they were closer now, and they were looking for her. Andy asked her to come with him. He said he would take her over the sea and he would like them to be gone before the dawn. He told her they would live where they could smell the sea in the backyard, and they would gaze at the moon over the waves every night and hold hands; they would grow old and golden, and they’d be perfect as they age. He said—and there was nothing more to be said, because Isabel kissed him.

There was a small hut in the far side of the farm where the workers would rest during the day. Now it was deserted for they had gone home and it was already night. Andy took her there. Isabel still wept, because she was so happy and at the same time she remembered the pain he caused her. There was nothing left to say but “sorry”. He meant it, and he kissed her tears away and loved her all night.

“You won’t find her, hmm,” Mrs. Monteblanco said, watching her daughter sit beside the golden duranta bush.

Scia’s eyes did interesting things. In the naked eye it was unchanged, but in Mrs. Monteblanco’s mind she saw the golden eyes of a snake hunting in the summer haze. Then her vision changed and she saw a thousand things in the dark, black as ink against the night, weaving through grass and leaves, under roots and beside streams; all were one in their search. They were not snakes, but they were worse. They were looking for Isabel.

Andy and Isabel ran away before the sun was up. They had sneaked past the borders of the farm and hitched a ride to the city where they would take the ferry to Mindanao. Isabel’s eyes were stuck on Andy’s face all the time. It did not matter where he would take her. Isabel was glowing from the inside, Andy’s hand was in hers, and she was content. Andy found a family friend in Mindanao, an old man with arthritic hands who owned and worked in a small farm. When he was not working, he’d sit in the porch and see one guest after another; they would tell him about the shadows in the night, the afflictions that would come when the clock strikes at midnight, and the unseen children that ran and laughed in their home. He would offer them advice, sometimes some coconut oil mixed with leaves and roots in what had been a bottle of brandy, or he would tell them a story in return.

The old man met Isabel on a cool day in the field, and he placed a hand on her forehead. “Have you seen a white snake before?” he asked.

She said no.

“You think not, but you have,” he said. “It’s a symbol of rebirth and eternity.” He smiled. “You are safe in these parts.”

That night, cobras slithered across Isabel’s sleeping figure. Their black scales were sharp contrasts against her light skin, and Isabel dreamed…

In her dreams she held a child, and at her feet were colourful things that coiled and tangled and hissed. Andy stood before her and Scia was there too. Scia was holding a beating heart, which she squeezed and pressed unto her brother’s mouth. It was then that Isabel knew who the heart belonged to, and she found a big hole in her chest and felt empty inside.

Somewhere up north, in the house of Monteblanco another snake crept beside Scia as she slept. It was as pale as moonlight. Gingerly it made its way across her chest and sniffed her jaw. It licked the air, then, fixing its gaze on her it bared its fangs and bit deep into her neck.

No one knew what the snake was thinking at that point. What Scia knew was that it was very, very angry. In the days that followed the maids would hear her mutter about a nasty ingrate, and Mrs. Monteblanco would have to put up with her complaining about something not being her fault, or something about the white mice and a pesky roommate. Half the time, the missus would ignore what Scia was saying and watch the workers below, so most of the time she had no idea what her daughter was talking about by the time she decided to listen. She got the main point though: that something—the snake—was angry at her because she failed to do something. And it was not about the matter of feeding.

The snakes would have preferred that the snake bride, once chosen, would only bear their child and not someone else’s.

“She dreamed of a child,” Scia told Mrs. Monteblanco.

“How do you know that?”

“I was there,” she promptly replied.

“In her dream, hmm?”

She nodded, absentmindedly stroking the bandage on her neck. “That was her child.” She looked outside. “Andy’s son.”

Mrs. Monteblanco realized that that had been why the snake bit Scia.

It was only a matter of time before Isabel would learn that she was with child. There was also an important matter between Andy and Jenny; Isabel’s pregnancy and her running away with him complicated things, hmm. A dozen different calculations and solutions swarmed in Mrs. Monteblanco’s head, most of them involved spilling some amount of blood. Scia would not allow it, she thought, she would not let any harm come upon Isabel, hmmp! Mrs. Monteblanco wondered what the snakes would do about her baby, however.“They would try to kill it,” Scia said, watching her.

“Would you let them?” she asked.

“It would break her.”

“If the child lives, hmm,” Mrs. Monteblanco said, “it would break us.” A pause. She looked at her daughter. “Let them kill the baby, Scia, hmm? If they don’t, I will.”

“But Isabel—”

“Admit it,” she snapped. “If it dies, it would be good for you as well. You told me that you’ve seen the future. You know what’s going to happen to you if she bears a child that is not of your people, you know what’s going to happen to my son, and to us all.”

Scia looked sullen.

Mrs. Monteblanco held her hands. “Please, do not let me mourn my children long before I die, hmm?”

Isabel worked in Mang Julio’s farm by day and cooked and cleaned at night. The old man’s arthritis was getting worse, and she would help him wrap his hands with sugarapple leaves before he slept. The rainy season was coming closer, and Mang Julio thought it would be a perfect time to gather some herbs in the mountain before the rain. He said that there was an eclipse coming in a few nights, and he asked Isabel to help him pick some herbs. She did not understand why they had to go at night, but he told her that the enkanto valued those plants, and they’d be most potent when they were harvested during times of power.

She said that she’d like to go, but she would have to make sure that Andy was home and asleep before then. He had been coming home late these days, and if he hadn’t been as drunk as shit then Isabel would not have to worry about him, and maybe he would have helped Mang Julio in the farm too. The old man had recently sold his harvest and most of the money disappeared after they put it in the box and stuffed it in the bookshelf. He and Isabel suspected where the money went, but they were good at pretending that they were completely clueless, because nobody wanted to piss off a drunk man. And Andy was always drunk.

Isabel told Mang Julio that it wasn’t right for him to steal the money, but the old man only said that they should leave him be for now. Money wasn’t that important after all, and he could always ask Mr. Monteblanco to pay for it. Indeed, the money wasn’t important at the moment. Isabel remembered the night when Andy called home a few weeks before. He had hung up after yelling at the phone, and by the look in his face it seemed like his whole world had fallen down to the last brick. Andy needed some time alone, Mang Julio said, but Isabel thought his time alone had been mostly spent in the company of spirits in bottles.

There was nothing she could do about Andy, not if she didn’t want to have a fight with him, and he had some remarkably heavy hands. Isabel realized this the first time they argued. He had hit her and she later found swollen blue spots in her face and arms. She had learned very quickly to shield her face and her belly whenever he raised a hand.

“If Scia was here, he would not dare raise a hand on anybody,” Mang Julio said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The boy naturally had a wicked streak in him since he was a child,” he said, “but Scia was worse. Oh she was terrible, but only to those who abuse others.” He gave her a knowing glance. “You’ll see.”

Isabel saw soon enough. Andy bolted through the back door the day Scia came. She showed up at the door and first greeted good morning to Isabel’s swollen stomach, then to Mang Julio, then Isabel last. A slap in the face introduced Isabel to the presence of Aling Inda, who had been standing behind her.

It would have been better if she had cursed her like the way she cursed the neighbours when they fought over the cow, or if she had put all her anger into one withering glare. Instead, Aling Inda only wept and shook her head. The pain in her expression struck a cord in Isabel’s heart that she didn’t know was there until now.

Isabel could not say anything. At least, she could not say anything that wasn’t stupid, and she made it worse when she tried, and Scia only laughed.

She was ordered to go back to the village with Andy. There was no need to tell her how much a scandal it was, eloping like that. The blame had fallen on Aling Inda, as if the rod of discipline had not smacked her daughter enough. She could not tell Isabel how the people gave her cold stares, and the fish peddler had stopped giving her discounts, and some boys stepped on her eggplants and tore the garden root-side up. There was no point in telling her that the neighbour had stolen the cow and no one helped her when she tried to get it back, though the neighbours knew the truth; and Isabel’s siblings were bullied in school, her youngest sister came home without her skirt, and one of the boys got into a fight after someone called his mother and his sisters “whores”. It was too long a story if she’d tell her how the snakes came frantic one night, and it was most unnatural, because they were all eating each other.

The bottomline was that everyone was mad at her. Even the snakes were going mad.

The only “acceptable” way they could dampen this scandal was more scandal. An outrageous proposition: marriage. Scia was all ironic smiles when she told Isabel this, but she managed to put a lot of axes and knives in her tone, and the more she spoke, the axes and daggers grew in collection, and there were garrotes and machetes behind it.

Isabel tried to protest, and Scia invited her to talk outside. Her voice was packed full with the hidden message that soon there will be blood.

“I know how much you’re mad at me,” she told Scia at the edge of the farm, “but…”

“No, I’m not mad at you,” she said. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Then she added, “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“But you seem really angry.”

“I’m mad at Andy, not you.”

Isabel absentmindedly stroke her stomach, and Scia pointedly ignored it. “He’ll be home late,” Isabel said.

“He’ll be fine as long as he keeps running,” she said with some glee in her tone. There were strange lights in her eyes.

“Please don’t hurt him.”

“He’ll live. Dry bites.”

They were silent, and the chirping of crickets filled the emptiness between them.

“Why did you do this?” Scia asked.

“…” Isabel said.

“Pardon?”

Murmur murmur, she said.

Scia sighed. “You know why the cobras have never harmed you, why your siblings never starved and still could afford to go to school despite your meager earnings, and why they’re safe out in the fields even though carabaos have fallen from the venom of the snakes. The Taong Ahas have been good to you,” she said. “But you’ve injured them in so many ways.”

“My family didn’t starve because your parents made sure they didn’t, and my mother found other ways to find income.”

She paused. “Whatever. But I’m reminding you. You were chosen, Isabel, a bride to our people, and you’ve accepted what my people asked of you. You know our expectations.”

She said nothing.

“It is unwise to cross them, girl.”

“What are you going to do?”

She paused. “I know what’s expected of me to do, but I don’t know if I could do it.”

“So you’re putting it off, then?” she asked. “What is it?”

She’s thought for a moment, trying to think of how to explain it to the simple Isabel. “Put it this way,” she said, “you would hate me for it.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“I hope not.” She looked at her, then at her swelling belly. When she spoke there was sadness in her voice, “You’ll be the death of me.”

The marriage ceremony was simple, and it was done as early as they could manage. Mrs. Monteblanco wanted it done before the swelling in Isabel’s stomach became too noticeable under the dress. The last thing they wanted was to get more people gossiping. But it was only half of what Andy’s parents had planned for them.

The other half was that Andy would be formally disowned.

He would only know about it after they’d signed the marriage contract. It was Mr. Monteblanco’s idea. Such a wayward son in their family would spoil their name, and to rid of it they would rid of him, and they would forget that they ever had a son.
Scia had no problems with it, and she couldn’t care less that she’d get the full inheritance as a result.

Andy smashed the windows on the night that their parents announced it, and when he went outside everybody heard the dogs yelp, and then he cried in surprise and pain.

Everybody knew one of the dogs had recently given birth to a litter— maybe except him.

They had to drive him to the hospital and get his arm treated. The bite marks in them were angry, even desperate.

Isabel noticed that Scia had been absentminded lately; stroking the scar on her neck, she looked like she was always pondering something. When she asked, Scia replied with a question:

“Have you met my twin?”

“I didn’t know you had a twin.”

The conversation led them into Scia’s bedroom: Isabel was sitting on the bed, while Scia showed her a white snake curled up on the sheets. Its name was Lily.

“This has been with me since I was born,” she said. “The Taong Ahas revere the white snake, not only because it was rare. It was a symbol of power, rebirth and eternity.” She explained how she took care of it, and that it was important that no harm would come to it. Because its health was her health; its wounds would also be hers.

Isabel remembered the myth about Scia’s birth. “Were you really born with a cobra hatchling in your hand?”

“That’s what they say. Does this look like a cobra to you?”

She looked closer but refused to touch the snake. She didn’t like touching them. “Yes, I suppose. It’s albino, isn’t it?”

Scia nodded. “The Taong Ahas call both of us the Ophiophagus.” It was the lore of the snakes that white cobras were born to be worshipped by other snakes, and snake-sacrifices were made so that the white cobra would eat them.

“Does that mean that they respect you?”

“They just order me around,” Scia replied. “But I am responsible for their protection. And yours too.” She stroke the snake wistfully. “Look, if anything happens to me, I want you to care for Lily. My survival depends on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just in case I fell down the stairs or something.”

Shortly after Isabel and Andy moved into a small hut in the other side of the farm, the farmhands found Scia unconscious beside the stream beyond the mango trees. Isabel hurried to the house of Monteblanco when she heard about it, and she found Scia pale and weak in bed.

“What have they done to you?” Isabel asked. She saw the fang marks all over her body when they changed the bandages. She wasn’t surprised the snakes would turn on their own, but she didn’t think it would happen to Scia.

“She would not let them kill your child,” Mrs. Monteblanco said bitterly. She looked like she wished it was Isabel they attacked instead. “You did this, you wretched girl, hmmp!”

She was promptly chased out of the house with a feather duster, and then she was not allowed to see Scia again. “You’ve ruined my son,” Mrs. Monteblanco hissed. “I won’t allow you to destroy my daughter as well.”

Isabel was quietly folding the laundry while waiting for Andy. He was out drinking again, and she only hoped that he’d only be too drunk to even properly raise a fist tonight. And it would be great if by the time he got home he’d just flop down unconscious and Isabel wouldn’t have to be scared of what he would do. It had taken her twice the time to finish folding because she was also thinking of Scia. Earlier in the afternoon, Lily had slithered through the back door and settled on her pillow.

Lily was a snake and not a cat. The big difference was that Isabel knew what to do with cats: you just take what was leftover from dinner and then feed it, and then in between meals you could find a stick and play with it. If you left cats alone they could come up to you and rub their heads or do interesting things by themselves. But she didn’t know what to do with snakes, with Lily to be more precise. It was like having a housemate move in and you both had an agreement to ignore each other.

She watched it as it explored the room, sniffed the corners, wind through the bamboo furnitures, and stare at nothing in particular. It had caught a mouse twice and then it seemed generally uninterested in the world after. Somewhere in the night, Isabel knew that the snakes would go hunting, and they all had a common prey. Becoming a snake bride had improved her senses a bit, and she could feel that they were coming for her. And somewhere out there Scia would be fighting them.

Isabel wrapped herself with a shawl, put Lily, lying on her pillow, under the bed, and stepped out, absentmindedly stroking her belly. She found Scia under an acacia tree.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She did not think Scia was well enough to be outside.

“What are you doing here?” Scia asked.

“I was looking for you.”

“Go home.”

“Home is not safe either,” she said. “You know it as well as I do.”

Scia took the lamp Isabel was carrying and put it out. “The first attack was only against me. Let’s just say I lost in our argument.”

“Is there something I can do?” She sat beside her.

“Lose the child?” she proposed.

Thoughts of an unborn fetus, prematurely taken out, flooded her mind. If she chose to make it happen the blood would be in her hands, her responsibility, and then she would have to answer to God after. “I… can’t.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

“Why are you doing this?” It would have been easier for Scia if she’d just leave things be, if she didn’t care. She didn’t have to do this, protecting her and her unborn child.

“Because you don’t want to lose the child.”

“What does it have to do with you?”

Scia didn’t answer. She didn’t know it either. All she knew was that she cared.

“Why do they want to kill it?” Isabel asked.

“For my best interest,” she said.

“Why?”

“Oh, you never stop asking questions, do you?” she said. “Why don’t you go and take care of Andy? He should be home by now.”

She looked down.

“What, honeymoon phase is already over? That quick?”

“Stop laughing,” she said. “It’s just that… he’s been always drunk lately, and I didn’t think he’d beat me. What? Don’t laugh at me.”

They talked a bit more and then were quiet. Some things moved in the dark, but it could have been Isabel’s imagination leaping and playing tricks on her. Sometimes she thought she could hear a faint rustling of the leaves amid the song of the crickets. Scia asked her if she really loved Andy, and she said she supposed so, yes. But then he probably didn’t love her as much, Scia said, because he hit her often. And Isabel conceded, and that perhaps if she’d been wiser she would have done things differently, and things would have been different. They wouldn’t be sitting there now and the serpent population wouldn’t be so pissed off.

During the whole conversation, Isabel sometimes heard sudden movements around them, as if something pounced on another, and there were sounds of small-scale struggles and a few hisses. Every time she turned to look in the dark, Scia would hold her chin and turn her head back to face her, ask her a mundane question and wait for an answer. Isabel would always answer, she had to, otherwise she’d just be listening for what was out there. Scia walked her home later that night, and Andy was asleep on the bench. They stood in front of the hut for a while and Isabel wasn’t keen on being left alone so soon. “Lily will be with you,” Scia said.

Lily had lain eggs on the pillow. There was also another snake with her. It was darker and longer. It raised its head when it saw Isabel, and then slithered outside. Isabel had tried to build a nest around the eggs, but she couldn’t make it properly because Lily didn’t like it when she got too close, and she had made a mess instead.

Scia sometimes snuck out of the main house to Isabel’s hut whenever Mrs. Monteblanco was away and couldn’t watch over her, and Andy would run out the back door whenever he saw her coming. She would peer under the bed and check up on Lily, then make little comments on the nights it slithered out and she thought it was just going hunting. She would cluck her tongue and then she would talk to Isabel, who tended to stroke her swelling belly whenever she was asked about Andy.

“Does he still beat you?”

“Sometimes.”

“But you’re with child.”

“I try not to get hit here. I make sure I’m turned away from him.”

Scia noted the burn marks on Isabel’s arm. “So, he smokes now, eh?”

She stayed quiet, then excused herself to stir the stew.

“Why don’t you leave him?” she suggested.

“Where would I go?”

“You can come with me. I’ve always wanted to leave this place.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

She shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

Four nights passed and Andy had not come back. Isabel lay in bed after blowing out the lamp, facing the wall, and behind her Scia sat on the rocking chair a neighbour had discarded. It was hard to leave Isabel alone. She did wonder why she cared for this stupid girl, she asked herself that a lot of times but the answer remained the same. Isabel had a good heart, and when she loved, she loved with all her heart. Scia would need her someday. And right now, Isabel needed her too.

“Do you know what you’re doing, hmm?” Mrs. Monteblanco demanded one day. “You’re asking for death! Your death, and you’re giving grief to me!”

“I don’t want to let it die,” Scia said, leaning back on her chair.

“So you’d rather die?” she shrieked, “Because your conscience won’t let them kill the baby?”

“It’s—”

“It is unborn. It is a thing, hmm? It does not think, and it does not feel. Why is it so hard for you to let it go?”

Scia paused, and then attempted to speak.

“It’s because of Isabel, isn’t it?” Mrs. Monteblanco said. “What is she to you, hmm? Why do you care how she would feel? She is nothing to you, she ruined your brother and now she’s going to destroy our family.” She knelt beside Scia. “You know the prophecy, it was your own, about the child that would bring your death and Andy’s.”

Her mother began to weep, and she held Scia’s hands. “I’m begging you, my child. I don’t want to lose you and Andy.”

“I can’t sacrifice one life just so I’d live and keep you happy,” Scia replied.

She shook her head. “Damn you. Damn you!” She stood up and grabbed the nearby vase, hurled it across the room. “I am your mother, and yet you care not if you break my heart?”

“I do care,” Scia said as she stood to leave. “That’s why I regret telling you about that stupid prophecy, mother.”
Mrs. Monteblanco’s knees grew weak and she fell on her feet. When she thought her heart could not be any heavier, a farmhand came speaking in frantic tones, and behind him more workers came—they were carrying Andy by the limbs, his head hung back.

“What happened?” Scia asked.

According to his wife, they said, the white snake had bitten him. He was beating Isabel when it happened, and the workers had heard her screams. What had been her pleas to still his hand had turned to cries for help. They brought Andy here, but others stayed to help Isabel. Andy had jabbed her in the belly.

Mrs. Monteblanco in a near panic had shouted orders to get the car.

In the hospital, Mrs. Monteblanco spent all night in the chapel. Rosary in hand, she wept and cried to God that if he saved her son she would devote the rest of her nights to praying the chaplet, and she would donate ten grand to St. Ruiz orphanage. Scia stayed outside; she never believed in bartering with God. People always made promises in return for answered prayers, promises they never intended to fulfill.

She glanced at Isabel’s mother from a distance but did not offer any comfort. At the moment, she was seeing things in her head, as if remembering a vivid dream. A dream of the future. Like a fool in the wheel of Fate she could only watch things unfold because the wheel was not hers to spin. It was something bigger than what her hands could grasp, and if she tried to touch it she would burn.

The future began to burn in her eyes like fire, it was changing. For a moment she was blinded, and she closed her eyes, tried to block every revelation. She didn’t want to drown in it, but a small part of her wanted more and that was what madness could hold onto. She had seen it before in some women of the Taong Ahas. When it was over, it left her feverish, and, trembling, she lied down and slept.

A few days later, they had a dreary day, fitting for a funeral. The Monteblanco and the Gracia family gathered around the grave, mostly with a blank countenance as they stared at the ivory coffin. Isabel stood alone in front, her mother and Scia
stood behind her. It was the first time they buried someone they barely knew, probably the last as well.

Isabel’s hands wandered to her abdomen as she offered a prayer. She felt hollow.

The nights were very cold since then, and Isabel could not sleep without leaving the lights on. She could not help but think of the little hands and feet that she could never touch, and she realized how she longed for the baby that she lost. In her dreams she would see cobras crawling all over her sisters’ sleeping figures, and she’d wake up with deep dread in her gut. She had been staying at her mother’s house and had not talked to the Monteblancos, until a boy gave her a message that she was wanted in the hacienda.

“Come sit.” Mrs. Monteblanco welcomed her in the living room.

Scia was there, sitting quietly and reading an old book. The house was unusually quiet and empty. Mr. Monteblanco was somewhere in the fields overseeing the work, and the servants had been sent to spend the holidays with their families.

Mrs. Monteblanco poured a cup of tea for Isabel and said, “Drink up. Rainy weather today, a bit too cold to my liking.”

The emptiness of the house amplified the hollowness inside Isabel. She became aware of Scia watching her.

“I guess you don’t want to live here anymore, hmm?” Mrs. Monteblanco said. “If I guessed right, you must be wanting a divorce. You know I won’t allow that. The law makes it available to people and they think it’s the right option. It breaks families.”

“Your son beats me,” Isabel said. She had wondered why the missus brought it up, but then forgot about it after seeing how condescending she seemed.

“You made the choice to be with him,” she said. “He is your husband now.”

“You forced me to marry him.”

“The right thing to do after what you did. We didn’t want a scandal, did we? You think it was a punishment, hmm? I only wanted you to do what’s right. You disgraced both our families the moment you seduced my son.”

Isabel flushed. “Seduced? You make it sound like I started all this. Your son beat me and killed my baby and you’re saying that it was all my fault?”

Mrs. Monteblanco stared at her. Isabel already knew what she was trying to say by her silence.

“I can’t believe this.” Isabel’s hands shook. She stood up and started to leave.

Scia finally spoke. “Sit down, Isabel.”

She looked at her, then at Mrs. Monteblanco. “What did you want anyway? Did you call me here just for this? To pick up a fight with me? Have you forgotten that I’ve just recently buried my child?”

“It’s about the Taong Ahas,” Scia said.

A moment of silence. The hollowness inside Isabel began to fill with that familiar and terrible fear. “Are they not done with me?”

“Yes, they are,” Scia replied, “But they want a tribute from you. Someone from your family.”

She thought of her sisters. “No… no, no. Why would they…” she paused. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? It’s because I failed.”
Scia’s eyes were still on her. They glowed a faint gold.

“What is it?” she asked. She was beginning to feel unnerved by those eyes. She actually did not have to ask, she already knew the answer.

Isabel ran home. Suspicion bloomed like a big flower in her mind, and dread took root. When she reached the hut she found her younger sister standing in the backyard. There was a quiver of cobras at her feet, some of them slithered up her legs.

“Lisa!” Isabel said.

The girl smiled. “They chose me, big sister.”

“Lisa, get away from them.”

Scia came up behind Isabel and stopped.

“Don’t be scared,” Lisa said, “they won’t hurt me.”

Isabel began to cry.

“I won’t fail like you did, big sister.”

“Oh, Lisa.” She turned to Scia and said, “Do something!”

Scia shook her head.

“Talk to your people,” she pleaded. “Spare her this fate. They can’t take my sister!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Scia said.

When they turned back to Lisa, she was gone. “Where did she go?” Isabel was nearly hysterical.

“They took her. They’re rushing things now because they didn’t want another one like you.”

If Isabel was upset, Aling Inda was a bigger mess of screaming and hysterics. Not even her youngest children could comfort her. It was night, and Scia stood outside. If she was a smoker, she would have smoked at this point. But she had other things in her mind: mainly, wondering what to do. It did not help when Isabel kept begging her to go and talk to the Taong Ahas about it.

Finally, she said, “Fine, I’ll try.” She patted Isabel’s cheek. “But do take care of Lily.”

There was something about asking her to take care of Lily. Isabel felt that such request foreshadowed something bad. “Would they hurt you?”

“They’ll just get mad,” she said. “But I’ll try, okay? Since you kept pressing me about it.”

Scia was gone for days, and every day, Isabel was growing increasingly worried.

One day, Andy came reeking of alcohol with a half-empty bottle in his hand. He was looking for Isabel. Aling Inda knew better than to hit a drunk man, but she kept her broom handy just in case. She kept telling him to leave until Isabel came, and Andy grabbed her arm and demanded her to come back to him. She refused, because even if he promised he would never hit her again and no matter how much she loved him, she was not a complete fool and looking at him reminded her of the child that she lost. Then he smacked her in the face, Aling Inda yelled in outrage and the children cried as they watched by the stairs. He slapped her a second time, and she ran, he chased her, and she grabbed a machete stuck by the flower bed and pointed it at him.

“You hit me one more time and I’ll make sure you lose that hand,” she hissed, trembling.

Andy knew what to do with Isabel when she cried and flinched whenever he raised a hand, but he didn’t know how to treat her when her eyes burned with determination and anger like this. He hesitated. But he was drunk and threatening him didn’t mean anything. “It’s Scia, isn’t it?” he asked, slurring a bit. “That why you don’t want to come back to me? She turned you against me.”

“What?”

“You and my sister,” he said, disgusted.

Isabel kept the machete up, noticed herself step back when he moved closer.

“I always knew Scia was kinda… weird, but I didn’t think you’d go for her ha-ha.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabel asked.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know!” he said angrily. “You think I don’t know what’s going on behind my back? I’m not stupid, you bitch.”

“Andy,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re–”

“You’ve been having sex with her!”

Her jaw fell.

Aling Inda stepped in and glared at Andy. “That’s enough!”

He pushed her away and tried to grab Isabel by the hair, but she whacked his hand away with the blunt side of the machete. Aling Inda screamed like a wild boar and attacked him with the broom. The children joined in; they picked up the biggest stones they could find and threw it at him. They also did not miss the chance to get creative in the name calling department until he went away.

“I’m not afraid of you now, Andy,” Isabel said. “And don’t come back!”

Scia and Lisa were just coming down the hill when they saw Andy running away. When they reached the hut, Aling Inda and Isabel were overjoyed to have Lisa back and they rushed to embrace her and plant her kisses.
“Well, that was brave,” Scia told Isabel, referring to how she drove Andy away. “How’s Lily?”

Isabel shook her head. “She’s safe in the garden. What about Lisa?”

“I did get her back, but she already made a choice, Isabel.”

She stared at her.

“She has conceived.”

Her eyes watered. “Will she be alright?”

“They’ll take good care of her.”

She embraced Scia and wept.

She did not have the chance to tell her about what Andy said until that night. She pulled her aside in the garden and told her what happened. When she finished, she asked her why she was smiling the whole time.

Scia shrugged. “Did you know that I saw a future where Andy killed me? And another future where I was reborn as your daughter?”

Isabel thought about it. “I didn’t. What are you saying?”

“I’ve always wanted to leave this place. It holds nothing but death for me.”

“But you stayed.”

“Because you needed me. I stayed for years, knowing that. But now it’s all over, you don’t need me anymore.”

Isabel shook her head. “Scia, I don’t understand.”

“If I stay here, I’m going to die tomorrow,” she said. “I have to leave tonight.”

“But where will you go?” She looked like she was about to cry.

Scia wiped away the tears that welled up in Isabel’s eyes. “Anywhere but here,” she said.

“Will you come back?”

“Let’s see,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a no, then.” She pulled Isabel close and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll come back soon,” she said casually.

Isabel flushed, then she remembered herself. “When is soon?” she asked when Scia headed to the garden to get Lily.

“When my brother dies,” she happily answered over her shoulder.

A few weeks went by.

Lisa was content to be in the company of snakes one in a while. Aling Inda told her not to let them in and there was no seeing snakes on any of her sleeping daughters since then. Andy burned the hut he’d lived in with Isabel and Mr. Monteblanco would not let him move back in despite his wife’s protests. So she paid for his lodgings in the nearby town where he spent his nights drinking and most of the days sleeping off hangovers. That was his life until he picked a fight with the local rednecks in a bar. He stabbed two of their friends before they dropped him on his head and broke his neck.

Mrs. Monteblanco found no comfort for her heart since then. She slipped in her bath as she had a heart attack a few days later and cracked her head. No one found her until night came and she was already cold.

Scia came back in time for both funerals. Isabel hugged her after the service.

“Are you alright?” she asked Scia. They were in the garden behind the Monteblanco house.

She nodded. Then she saw how Isabel avoided her gaze. “You’re curious about something,” she quietly said.

Isabel hesitated. “I thought it wasn’t the right time to ask.”

“Go for it.”

“You knew this would happen,” she carefully said.

“Yes, I did.”

“You could’ve stopped it.”

“Maybe.”

“You let your brother die.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And your mother.”

“Nothing I could do about that.”

“Was it because of me?”

Scia looked at her, then she looked away. “I wanted to leave again but I think I’ll stay,” she said. “My father needs help around here, get things done and organized.”

Isabel nodded.

“What about you? What are your plans?”

“I’m going back to school next year,” she said. “I’ll get out of here, bring my family to the city and live there.”

“And get a job?”

She laughed. “Yeah, and then…” she shrugged.

“Then, will you travel with me someday?” Scia asked. “You and me.”

Isabel smiled. “I’d love to.”