A Fierce and Subtle Poison - Samantha Mabry Page 0,34

whenever someone asked me the same question. “That’s abrupt.”

“They say he loved his plants more than he loved her.”

“Is that what they say?” The chair Isabel was sitting in squeaked as she leaned forward. “They being old señoras with too much time on their hands?”

I never thought I’d be recounting the stories I’d heard about the house at the end of Calle Sol to a person who lived in the house at the end of Calle Sol—it was like telling a ghost story to a ghost—but once the stories started pouring past my lips, they wouldn’t stop. I told Isabel about the señoras, how they said her father neglected her mother to the point that she grew so sad she would play her harpsichord while her husband’s great bird croaked along, and how Isabel’s mother eventually cursed the house, destroyed the bird, then disappeared.

“She wasn’t his prisoner,” Isabel said.

“The señoras said he loved his macaw and his plants more than he loved her.”

Isabel shook her head. “It was a gray. Not a macaw. An African gray. His name was Rios. Papá would teach him to mimic, say things like ‘hello’ and ‘jolly good.’ But forget about the bird. What did your friends think about my mother? Did they believe the old ladies?”

“We made up our own stories. Rico said she died in childbirth. Ruben said she jumped off the walls of El Morro.”

“And what was your story?”

“I didn’t want to believe she was dead. I thought maybe she’d stolen a boat and rowed over to St. Croix or Barbados.”

Several seconds went by, punctuated by howls from the storm.

Then Isabel said, “I’m sorry to say that none of your stories are true, but, if I had to choose, yours is definitely the best.”

“What’s the truth, then?”

“Do you really want to know? Do I even have to ask if you really want to know?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I replied.

Isabel was still for a moment. Eventually, she rose from her chair and came to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of the columbine.

“Come sit,” she commanded. “And promise you won’t run away again.”

“I promise. Of course.”

“Of course,” Isabel softly repeated.

She began to roll the dry purple petals of the columbine between her fingers. The edge of her sleeve slipped back, and in the dim light, I could see a dark bruise on the tender skin between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. It made me think of how, when I was a boy and had a nasty bruise, my mom would rub her thumb over it three times in a circle and then give it a kiss. She told me that made them fade more quickly, and I could have sworn it worked.

“Looks can be deceiving, you know,” Isabel mused. “In many ways, these plants seem harmless, but they’re good at hiding their true nature. Some have distinctive markings; others you can cut into and tell their toxicity by the color of the sap. With columbine, you’re looking for five petals in certain shades of blue or violet, all of which have this particular shape. It’s lovely, isn’t it?” My eyes were locked on Isabel’s fingers as they stroked those small poison petals, so delicately, with such care.

“I need you to know that after you fell, I had to move you.” There was a hitch in her voice. She released her hand from the plant, pulled her sleeves over both her fists, and folded her arms across her chest. “It would’ve been much worse if you’d just stayed where you landed. I covered up my hands the best I could, but sometimes that’s not enough.”

My eyes were still on the columbine. Its leaves were now green and glistening, its petals revived from their once near-dead state. Isabel did that. I touched my arm, recalling the burning itch, the blurred vision, the delirium and shooting pains. Isabel did that, too.

“It wasn’t the plants,” I said. “It was you. You made me sick.”

Isabel exhaled. “It happens when I touch someone. Or if I’m too close to them for too long. You might be starting to feel sick now—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted.

“You’ll probably get sick later then,” Isabel said. “But I swear, you falling into all those plants out there made it much worse.”

“Plants like these?” I reached out and snapped a leaf from the columbine.

“Lucas!” Isabel unfolded her arms and snatched the leaf from my fingers. “This isn’t a game.”

“That plant has no effect on you whatsoever?”

Isabel