The Witch's Market Read Free

me.”
    He made a face, whispering back, “Ah, can’t outsmart a woman, especially one with a Ph.D.—in witchcraft, no less.”
    Enjoying being the center of attention, dressed in my exotic costume, I floated around the apartment greeting people, all the while imagining myself as Xiwang Mu, Queen Mother of the West who reigns over all the immortals. And Ivan as if he were the King Father of the East, casting me protective, or controlling, glances as he chatted with his friends. A friend of mine strummed a guitar, providing soft background music for the partygoers.
    In a corner next to the altar, Brenda talked with one of the male guests, her delicate hands and fingers, never having practiced nonattachment, lingered on the man’s arms and shoulders. Brenda always told me that a little flirting never hurts, for all men like it, even gays and grandfathers.
    After all the greetings, Ivan came back to me. We took food from the table and sat down on a couch to eat. My department head, Timothy Lee, came to sit with us.
    Downing a big gulp of Ivan’s expensive wine, Timothy smiled. “Happy birthday, Eileen. How are you?”
    â€œBusy teaching and writing, as you know.”
    â€œHave you considered my suggestion?”
    â€œYes, but I’m not strong on Western witchcraft. . . .”
    â€œThen you should do some serious fieldwork.”
    â€œI thought of that, but—”
    â€œEileen is not going anywhere. I need her here,” Ivan said.
    I gave him a disapproving look.
    Timothy ignored Ivan’s remark and went on. “Fieldwork is the way to make your work credible.”
    Now my boyfriend, maybe soon to be ex, put his arm protectively around my shoulder. “No. What about if Eileen gets sick or even captured by natives?”
    Timothy smiled. “If Eileen is a witch, I’m sure she’ll find a way out. Or if she’s a shamaness, she’ll be in another time and space before anything happens, ha!” With that, he winked at me, stood up, and began to talk with one of the professors.
    Soon there was the sound of metal hitting glass. The room went quiet and Timothy spoke to the crowd. “Let’s ask our birthday girl, Eileen Chen, to entertain us all with some witchcraft!”
    Laughter and applause burst out.
    Red-faced and probably half-drunk on Ivan’s free-flowing, expensive wine, Timothy went on excitedly. “We all know that Eileen is a . . . let’s put it this way, Eileen is a professor of Chinese and Western witchcraft.” He turned to me. “So could you show us some tricks?”
    People cheered as Ivan cast me an encouraging look. Now that I was on the spot, I wished I really did possess supernatural powers, such as to break a glass—specifically the one in Timothy Lee’s hand. Or simply disappearing for a quick mystic journey to the other world. Unfortunately I didn’t have such abilities. But I had to admit to myself that if my colleagues thought I did, it was my fault because I had so often dropped hints of having special powers.
    The guests were not going to take no for an answer.
    â€œYes, let’s see some witchcraft on your birthday!”
    â€œOpen our eyes!”
    â€œEileen, bring some excitement to our tedious lives, please!”
    I decided that all right, I’d try. If I failed—and of course I would—my excuse was that I was too tired from work.
    My reluctant feet dragged me to the middle of the living room. I meditated, then circulated my internal energy the way my mother and grandmother had taught me. My eyes searched the room for an easy object upon which to exercise my supposed power. Seconds later, they landed on the guitar strings.
    I asked the guitar player, who was my colleague, “John, can you play the ‘Spider’s Dance’? You played it at last year’s Christmas party.”
    I gathered up my courage, and announced, “I’m going to break the