The Witch's Market Read Free Page A

third string.”
    A round of applause exploded in the room.
    John looked a bit puzzled, but nevertheless obliged. In no time the room was filled with a frantic tune and every one nodded or jumped to the rhythm. I was just hoping that John would play so fast and exert so much strength that the string would break.
    Now I was on the path of “no return.” My mother had always insisted that I possessed supernatural power, if I would just let myself believe. Her proof was an incident that occurred when I was a child. She had just taken away my glass of Coke, which she deemed toxic. So I focused my anger on the glass in her hand, which fragmented, spilling the soda and staining her dress.
    Either my mother had made up this event, which I had no memory of, or she desperately hoped that her elder daughter was born unusual. My mother said a lot of strange things, most of which I did not take seriously. Like all children, I had known better than to believe what adults told us. In any case, I did not remember the incident, and so it did not tempt me to explore my supposed unusual talents. As a scholar, I needed to maintain objectivity about my subject.
    I could tell that a few of Ivan’s stuffy colleagues were expecting me to fail and become a laughingstock. I knew many of them, mostly self-satisfied jerks who enjoyed seeing others fail.
    I didn’t expect to succeed, but I was going to try my best. So I concentrated and stared fiercely at the third string. Three minutes into playing, when John was furiously strumming, there was a loud snap and he stopped, looking totally shocked.
    Ivan’s cat, who had been sitting lazily on the altar, watching the drama with arrogant, wicked eyes, now jumped, emitting a loud screech as if it had seen a ghost.
    Ivan was the first to speak. “What happened?”
    â€œYes, what’s happening?” someone asked.
    John looked at his guitar, then the guests. “A string broke, the third one.” He frowned as he looked at his instrument.
    Now everyone turned to look at me, some curious, some a little scared. It was as if I’d suddenly transformed into a witch, complete with black cape, broom, pointed hat, long bloodred nails, and was perhaps about to burst into delirious laughter.
    Adding to the collective shock, the doorbell suddenly rang loudly. Since all the invited guests were already here, who could be at the door? An angry neighbor? Brenda dashed to the door and came back with a big beribboned package, which she handed to me. Tucked under the red ribbon was a card with the words Happy Birthday to a Witch .
    My heart skipped a beat.
    A jealous expression flitted across Ivan’s face. “That’s a big birthday gift, Eileen. Let’s see who it’s from.”
    What he really wanted to know was if someone had sent me something more expensive than he had. I doubted that, since Ivan had earlier given me a very nice pearl necklace.
    Ignoring my birthday guests’ curious stares, I excused myself and walked toward the bathroom. Somehow opening gifts in front of an audience has always been embarrassing to me. Brenda and Ivan followed me, however.
    I gave Ivan a disapproving look. “Ivan, a gentleman does not follow a lady, let alone two, to the bathroom.”
    Reluctantly, he turned back toward the living room.
    Inside the washroom, with Brenda beside me, I quickly tore off the shiny silver gift paper, which seemed to make a despondent sound as it ripped. Next I peeled through layers and layers of tissue paper before my eyes landed on something strange. It was an animal skull, probably that of a monkey. It was stark white and I couldn’t tell if it was real or not.
    Both Brenda and I fell silent. Why would someone send me a gift like this on my birthday?
    â€œWho delivered this?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know—when I opened the door, it was lying on the floor.”
    â€œVery strange.” In fact, it was more than strange,