Fables & Other Lies - Claire Contreras Page 0,12

of the Caliban Manor. The crowd rushed toward the gates, swarming around my Vespa as if this was the Pamplona Festival and not the Pan Island Carnival. I had one foot on the ground and the other on the footrest to maintain balance as the cobblestones beneath me shook. More and more people charged toward the gates as if they were on a witch hunt, but they were all smiling, laughing, dancing around in costume, and seemed to stop as soon as they reached it. I squeezed my eyes shut as the chaos continued.

“Penny.” I heard Esteban’s voice again.

I opened my eyes, half expecting to find him standing in front of me. He wasn’t. Still, my gaze remained fixed on the crowd in front of me, the ones in line waiting to take a picture on the Devil’s Chair. It was as if something was keeping me there, watching, waiting.

“Leave me alone!” It was my shout, I realized, and I said it again, “Leave me alone.”

And just like that, I was able to move again.

Chapter Four

“Wela, how did Carnival start?” I asked over a bowl of white rice and red beans.

“How did it start . . . God, it was so long ago I barely remember the story. It was the year we claimed our freedom from Spain. I guess that was it. A celebration.” Her eyebrows pulled in as she glanced outside. “You know, I used to hate all of this tourism, but I kind of like it now.”

I followed what she was looking at. There was a group of tourists following a guide. Some took pictures, while others simply admired the house we were in. I wondered how far the history lesson would go. Would they tell them how the Calibans tried to take over the island? And how my great-great-grandfather fought back? How they all did?

“I know the neighbors find it invasive,” Wela said after a silent moment, “but it’s nice to know that these houses will live on in more than just their memories.”

“Do you remember that night,” I started, “when Papi told me to pack my things and leave?”

“Of course.” Wela met my gaze. “It was awful. Do you remember that night?”

“Bits and pieces. You said something to me, about the Calibans being responsible for what happened.”

“Of course, they were.” Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “They’re devil worshippers.”

“How do you know they are?”

“Because I know the history of this island.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I just . . . I feel like the devil-worshipping stuff and the Devil’s Chair and the disappearing house . . . they’re just stories.”

“Of course, you’d suggest that.” She shook her head. “You think the Bible itself is a series of stories composed by men who wanted to ensure we would all be controlled.”

“I don’t want to discuss the Bible or argue over our religious beliefs, Wela.”

I regretted the day I even brought up the topic of religion in this household. It wasn’t like I didn’t know any better. She was a devout Catholic, who went to Mass on Sundays, prayed the rosary, and got on her knees whenever anyone she knew was ill. She’d even managed to get some holy water from Rome, blessed by the Pope himself, and sent me away with it when I left this house all those years ago. Wela was not the one to bring questions about faith to. Not unless you wanted her to call the priest she had on speed dial so he could perform an emergency prayer over your forehead just in case.

“Why are you bringing up the Calibans now?” She sucked her teeth and glanced over at me again.

“I was just wondering why you said what you said.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Those people. That house . . . ” Wela shook her head with a sigh. “It’s a darn shame that they live there at all. It’s the only place we can get what would cure your mother.” She looked in the direction of the bedrooms.

“What do you mean? What cure?”

“There’s a tree on the property that blooms every year during Carnival.” She shot me a pointed look. “You asked why we celebrate. This is why. That tree is said to have magic powers. Some call it magic. We call it faith. It is said to have been brought here from Jerusalem. Planted right there, when the ocean hadn’t yet become angry with its surroundings, with its inhabitants.”

“So, the tree only has leaves now?” I leaned forward.

“It only