La Curandera

This was written for Friday Night Write hosted by http://www.sweetbananaink.com working with a 500 word limit.

 

The black flies buzzed around his head, attracted to the sweat in his hair, as he sat and waited for an answer.

The woman on the other side of the rickety card table didn’t look like a witch but that’s what everyone said she was.

Bruja. Curandera. A reader of cards and someone capable of stirring the unseen powers to do her bidding.

Mick tried in vain to shoe the flies. Their buzzing was jackhammer loud in the otherwise silent room.

When the wind blew the door open a crack he could hear music– a tremulous voice accompanied by an accordion– from somewhere down the street.

Magrarita sat still with her eyes closed and and a beatific smile on her lips.

She was young, far younger than Mick expected. Nature had done well by her in the way of cheekbones and her long black hair hung unrestrained around her shoulders.

Her skin glowed golden in the candlelight.

Without opening her eyes she reached out her hand to Mick.

He gave up his fight against the flies and took her hand in his. He squirmed a little in the uncomfortable folding chair and stared at her, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing or feeling.

She released his hand after just a few seconds and opened her eyes.

Mick sat back in his chair and found that he’d broken out in a cold sweat.

“They have spoken,” said Margarita. “You will have no rival for your woman’s affections after today.”

Mick slammed his hand down on the table hard enough to make the papers and candle on it jump.

“That’s fantastic!”

Margarita regarded him with eyes that were neither kind nor unkind. “It may be,” she said. “I cannot tell you how, only what will be.”

He jumped out of his chair and dug out a money clip. He counted off five twenties and put them down on the table in front of her.

“Either way, I got no problems after today, like you said. Gracias, Margarita!”

She did not move as he turned and bounded out the door.

She also didn’t move as six gunshots rang out.

The music from down the street stopped and a commotion began to build outside her door.

Margarita blew out the candle and left Mick’s money on the table as she got up and looked out into the street.

Mick was lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

The unseen powers were right. He no longer had any rival for his woman’s affection.