 Jodi had the table set for three when Brandy entered. "I’m afraid he isn't likely to answer the bell." "Still napping?" "Out for the count." "Ah, well, he won’t be missing much, just vegetable stew—although there’s plenty." Jodi tasted the broth. "This needs a bit more simmering. Can you wait?" "Sure. I'd like to ask you something." "Anything." Jodi joined her guest at the humble table. Brandy, torn between allegiances, felt obliged to set things the record straight. She had encouraged Jodi’s ardor; why? Her interests lay with Simon. Yet confronted now by Jodi’s hopes (and galvanized libido) Brandy once more faltered (victim to the tug of an unseen tide). "If you’re so terribly lonely, what’s keeping you? Why not leave?" "Where to? I can’t go back to LA." "Don't you have friends there?" "Zero." "Oh, come on. What about your lover?" Brandy's educated guess made Jodi flinch. "You know about her? But that was over way before we met. Or did everybody know, like they knew about Eric?" "I just put two and two together. I’m not your first." "You are my first. Honest, Brandy. You’re the first I ever enjoyed it with. Those others—every one of them—wanted nothing more than kinky sex. I was always 'the freak,' even to Carla." "Tell me about Carla." "No; she’s history, just one more sordid little episode in an ugly past." "Tell me anyway." "No. You’ll think I’m sick. You’ll think I’m playing on your sympathies; I don’t want pity." "Suit yourself. I only asked to help me understand." "Why?" "Because I’m very fond of you; I said so." Jodi reconsidered. "You promise to interrupt, if you get… I don't know, bored?" "I doubt that I'll get bored, but sure; agreed." Jodi took a measured, resolute breath. "Carla was the only one who mattered in the least. We were best friends back in high school. She was the very first person—since childhood—I trusted with my secret. We decided the day after graduation we’d move to LA and try to find jobs. We could only afford an efficiency apartment, so it wasn’t long before we knew pretty much everything about each other. I suppose our being away from home helped tighten our relations. Anyway, sex just sort of happened. I felt guilty about it, but not enough to stop. We did it at night, always, in the dark. I wasn’t really sure I was gay. I’m still not, for that matter—unlike Carla; she likes girls period. Always had, she told me—even back at grade school. She said she’d had a crush on me for ‘ages.’ Still, she wasn’t happy about herself; didn’t want people knowing. I guess the fact that we both had secrets made us feel kind of special." Jodi got up to stir the stew, avoiding Brandy’s eyes. "How long were you together?" "In LA?" "Uh huh." "If you don't count the last four weeks, six months." She tasted the broth. "I don’t, because we were as un-together as two people could be at that stage." She stirred in some salt before sitting back down. "Carla had met The Friends, this clique of gay girls whose primary goal in life is helping their sisters ‘come out’—‘to express themselves,’ was the phrase they liked to use. They persuaded her, slowly but surely, that sexual identity was something to be proud of, not to be hidden in the closet. So Carla started pressuring me, in public, to be more affectionate. I could see it was probably a healthy thing for her—you know, make her feel more positive about herself? But it wasn’t for me. My sex life was and is nobody else’s business; I wasn’t about to flaunt it, parade it, just to win approval—especially from a band of militant dikes. Fights broke out. And there was another woman; I knew that for sure. Carla would come home with these ‘little presents.’ She got some letters, too. Then, all of a sudden, it was my fault that she disliked herself, because I insisted we always make love in the dark. Brandy, that was her doing as much as it was mine. Anyway, it was too late to change. They had turned my best friend—my only friend—against me. I was depressed for weeks. Finally Clara didn’t come home for one entire night. The next day we had it out. We said nasty, hurtful things to one another. I don’t know if she did it on purpose, but, in the heat of our arguing, she let slip she’d told The Friends about me. Well I went nuts. I think if she hadn’t run out the door I might have killed her. One, and one thought only, kept exploding inside my brain; it would start all over again, the persecution, people whispering, smirking, making fun behind my back. LA is a big place but word gets around. "It did, too. At first I thought I was being paranoid—seeing every odd look as proof that others knew. But women began approaching me, making passes. By that point I was so miserable I accepted one or two dates—which proved to be a terrible, terrible mistake. I soon found out it was ‘in’ to have ‘fucked the freak.’ That was the slogan, Brandy. I heard it twice… Why are people so cruel to those born different?" Hers was not a rhetorical question; Jodi wanted an answer. Brandy, in reply, did the best she could. "Whatever is truly different tends to scare most people, I guess. And people, when they’re afraid, don't behave well. It’s painful being the one singled out; I know the feeling. But I think it’s better than just being one of the crowd." "Do you know the only thing that would have made me really hate them? If I’d gone ahead and gotten my operation. I almost did. I had the money all saved up. But at the very last minute I realized it would make me just like them. Deep down in my heart, I know I'm special. And deep down in my heart, I knew I’d find you." "Jodi, we need to talk about that." "I know what you’re going to say; you’re involved with Simon. I accept that. But, if Simon went away or something? If it were just the two of us? Would you maybe stay with me then? Just for a while?" The truth was, Brandy had already considered it. When first she saw Esperanto something had instantly clicked. It was rural, remote, yet not too far from a major city. No films, or theater, and zero night life might be drawbacks, but would she really miss them? The lack of crime, smog, and traffic jams might prove worth the deprivation? Esperanto could, in fact, suit Brandy uncommonly well. Except her private plan for a simpler life included someone sharing it. Simon was the best choice, instinct told her; Jodi, for all her sweetness, made for an awkward third. Unless… Could a threesome be workable? She shuddered at the inescapable complications. And yet… Again (subliminally) she felt herself persuaded. "I do like what I’ve seen. But, Jodi, I have to earn a living. How could I do that here." "Tucson’s only an hour away. You could work there, live here; no problem. Or work with me; I could teach you. It wouldn’t take you long to be a first-rate potter." "I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, don’t you?" "It’s Simon!" Jodi’s animosity suddenly seethed. Brandy, somewhat shocked, went back on the defensive. "I am ‘involved’ with him, as you put it. Why he’s entered my life, I can't quite say… except that he's… " "An accident." "Well, in a way that’s true; we didn’t exactly meet each other on purpose." "That’s not the way I meant it." "Oh?" "You were supposed to come alone." "‘Supposed’ to? ‘Supposed’ to? What are you talking about?" "Why do you think you're here in Esperanto?" "I thought it might be nice to look you up." "You came to visit a friend you never had?" Unsure what Jodi was suggesting, Brandy shrugged. "Okay, why did I come then?" "You haven’t wondered what possessed you to quit your job, pack up your belongings, and drive to Arizona?" "I don't know what you’re getting at, but my exit from L A had nothing to do with you." "You’re sure of that?" Brandy recompiled her reasons for leaving: she needed a change; it just felt right… In retrospect her motives did seem vague. "Okay, why have I come to Esperanto, Arizona?" "I arranged it." "That’s ridiculous." "You’re not angry, are you?" "Angry? I’m nonplussed. How, pray tell?" Jodi’s eyes assumed a mysterious glint. "I willed it." The notion was ridiculous. Brandy's decision to forsake an entire lifestyle hardly could have been founded on the will of a distant friend (a casual acquaintance, at that). "Hungry?" "Huh?" "The stew." "Oh. Yes, please." Jodi ladled two bowls full. "I’m sorry to disillusion you, Jodi, but my coming to the desert had little to do with you." "The thing that puzzled me most was why so late; what could have happened? By all accounts you were due the day before yesterday." "You’re serious, aren’t you?" "Your mishap, and meeting ‘him,’ explains the delay." "That’s enough, Jodi." "He spoiled everything." "I mean it. I don’t know why you’re making all this up but I want you to stop. If you don’t, I’ll go wake Simon and we’ll leave tonight." "But you promised! I’m sorry. Honestly. I won’t say another word. Mia lipoj estas sigelis." "What?" "‘My lips are sealed.’" They sat silently for a while, eating. "Was that—what you were speaking—the language Oscar knows?" "He told you about it?" "Some. He said there were only three people left who spoke it anymore." "Four. But I’m not one of them; I only know a few phrases." "I’m sure he said ‘three.’" "He wasn’t counting Maniqua, no doubt." "Who’s she?" "The woman I mentioned; the one who gathers herbs. Oscar disapproves of her." "I what way?" Jodi got the same weird glint in her eyes (as if privy to some secret she was eager to confide). "She knows things Oscar doesn’t want to know." Brandy, troubled by Jodi's surreptitiousness, decided to avoid such knowledge as well. Jodi pressed her. "Aren’t you going to ask me what kind of things?" "No." "You probably wouldn’t believe me anyway." "Probably not." Jodi waited patiently; Brandy caved in. "Okay, what things?" "Supernatural ones." "I was afraid of that." "Maniqua has powers. I’ve seen her use them. She can heal people. She can also make a person sick, even die." "Have you seen her do that?" "No. But I’ve heard about it. And she can change her appearance; I have seen her do that. When I go to visit her she’s old and ugly sometimes. Other times she’s as young as me and you! And very beautiful." Brandy twitched with a memory, as if Jodi had plucked a nerve. "She can hypnotize people, too. One time I was sitting across from her, just talking, when all of a sudden I was back in a whole different century, reliving a scene, apparently, from my distant past. It was all so real I could have sworn it actually was happening. Except, when it was over, there I was still sitting in that exact same chair… staring into Maniqua’s penetrating eyes—they’re incredible—huge and deep and black as the dead of night." Brandy’s discomfort increased, so familiar, yet elusive, were Jodi’s images. "I don’t know how she does most of what she does but she’s teaching me. Not all at once; just a little at a time. She says I already possess ‘rare powers’ because of the way I was born. When I learn to use them fully, I’ll do things Maniqua doesn't dare try." "You've told her? About your… ?" "No, I didn’t have to; she told me. She knew somehow. Even before we met. That's the reason she appeared to me in the first place—or so I suspect." "'Appeared'?" "In my sleep." "I don't follow." "Before I met Maniqua in person she came to me in a dream. Oh, it was strange! She told my fortune using Tarot cards. The pictures on them—right in front of my eyeballs—came to life! She foresaw both Eric’s arrival and his running away. I refused to accept that part but it happened just as she predicted. She also forecast my falling in with you. She didn’t know your name, but the girl I saw when she slowly turned that card was you to a T—except her hair was darker; black, I believe." Brandy went numb; her own forgotten dream came back with a vengeance. She felt suspended between two bizarre protagonists—Simon on one side, with his uncanny insights; Jodi on the other, with her auguries and spells—each force tugging at her concept of Reality, threatening to unravel it. For form’s sake she maintained a superficial doubt. "You don’t really expect me to believe any of this, do you?" "Not without proof. But if you could meet Maniqua, I’m sure you'd be convinced. We could go see her right now, in fact; it isn't all that late." "What about Simon?" "He’s asleep, isn’t he?" "Yes, but he might wake up. We really shouldn't leave him all by himself." "Okay. I’ll invite Maniqua here instead. She can have a look at Simon's wounds. Honestly, she’s a well-respected healer—though many are afraid to take her prescriptions. Still, her diagnoses often are trusted. Even by Oscar. He once told me how Maniqua had warned him about a gall stone attack. He refused to eat the herbs that she prepared. Three weeks later he had to be rushed to Good Samaritan Hospital where a surgeon cut three stones from his traumatized bladder. If Simon's case is serious, Maniqua can tell." It was the right tact. An experienced opinion (occult or otherwise) might, in Brandy's estimation, be well advised. Besides, her fear was irrational; what connection could Maniqua and the Gypsy woman possibly have? "You think she’ll come?" "If we ask properly." "There’s no telephone; how do you get in touch?" Jodi grinned another arcane grin, then rose and put a kettle on the potbelly stove. Brandy cringed. "You’re not going to boil toads or some such, are you?" "I thought you’d like some more tea." "Oh. Yes, I would." "No; no witches cauldrons or animal sacrifices, I’m afraid. Calling her is actually rather straightforward—though I’ve never done it with somebody with me before. It only takes a few minutes. I’ll need a couple of things from the other room. You’ll excuse me?" When Jodi left, Brandy got up to clear the dirty dishes, wondering to herself what lay ahead. This was unlike playing with Lynn’s Ouija board (a game, something odd but not to be taken too seriously—except for once or twice). The atmosphere Jodi created was altogether dark. Authentic were the forces she threatened to muster. Hers was a genuine power; hence one to feared? Jodi, carrying the tea tray, quietly reentered. Alongside two cups (with mismatched saucers) and the pot itself were: a blood-red candle, an incense burner, and a hand-carved wooden doll. This latter, dressed in a tunic of homespun hemp, reminded Brandy of something seen before… in a dream, perhaps? She watched as Jodi arranged each item on the table. "Thanks for clearing up." "Is there anything else I can do?" "No, I don’t think so." From a tin canister Jodi scooped enough leaves to refill the tea ball, hooked it inside the pot, then re-boiled some water. Returning to the table, she sat down ceremoniously. "Simon still asleep?" "As far as I could tell." Jodi propped the doll into a seated posture, legs apart, setting the candle between them, then placed the incense burner a few inches to the left—all three objects in line with the table's empty chair. "Shall I pour?" "Not yet; it should steep a bit. You could put out the lamp, if you don't mind." There was only a blink of darkness between Brandy’s extinguishing the lamp and Jodi’s striking a match. The blood-red candle burned beside the incense, slender smoke and flame casting an aura over the doll's blank features. "Did you make him?" "Him?" "Her, then; the doll." "No. ‘IT’ was a special present. Maniqua gave to me so I could call her." "You don’t meet in person?" "Not anymore; it isn’t necessary. Well, sometimes. But… you don’t understand. She will be here." "You mean, I’ll see her?" "That depends." "On what?" "Just sit there quietly. Relax. Let's have some tea; it should be ready." Jodi let Brandy pour but declined to drink first. "Ooo, it’s bitter! This isn’t the same kind we had earlier, is it?" "No." "What’s in it?" "I don’t really know. Herbs and things." "Do I have to drink it?" "Of course not… Oh, you thought it was part of… " "Isn’t it?" "Here; I’ll go and make us a different kind." She moved to retrieve Brandy’s cup. "No, no, this is fine. It’s only bitter at first. Now that I've had another sip my mouth tastes sweet inside." "Your mouth is sweet inside." This was the first allusion either had made to the goings-on earlier, those that Simon had shattered with his 'tap' on the glass. Brandy lowered her eyes, and took another sip of the pungent concoction… which tasted much like the stick of incense smelled (its essence of juniper similar to smoldering leaves). "Aren’t you having any?" "I prefer mine stronger; I’ll let it steep." "It’s making my tongue feel funny. Why did you only pour me half a cup?" "Sometimes people get an allergic reaction. It’s unusual, but once in a while it’ll make your limbs feel numb. Or you’ll get a little drowsy. Neither effect persists—even after a full cup—but half a cup is safer until we’re sure." "You shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’m going to ‘imagine’ I have those symptoms." "You don’t really feel any different, do you?" "I can’t tell." "Well, in any case, it’s harmless. Let’s begin. If you like, you can concentrate on the candle. That’s right. Relax. It’s always better when the environment is very relaxed. The only thing I ask is that you try to stay calm. And please don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Now, watch the flame. Breathe slowly: inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale… " ‘I definitely feel a numbness creeping into my toes and fingers! Maybe I should tell her… except she said that I’m not supposed to talk.’ "… inhale… exhale… relax… observe the flame… it’s warm… you’re safe… relax… breathe in… breathe out… relax… you’re safe… it’s warm… you're safe… observe the flame." ‘She must be whispering; I can hardly hear her. If I squint a little, the flame streaks way up toward the ceiling… lovely, the way it wiggles… candlelight is peaceful… I could stare at it for hours… relaxing, too… all warm and safe and pale… the flame almost white… a skinny tongue with a silvery tip of smoke stretching into the darkness.’
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