Tomasa walked down the road, balancing the basket of offerings on her head. Her mother would have been angry to see her carrying things like one of the maids. Even though it was night and there had been a heavy rain that day, the road was hot under Tomasa's sandaled feet. She tried to focus on the heat and not on the bottle of strong lambanog clinking against the dish of paksiw na pata or the smell of the rice cakes steamed in coconut. It would be very bad luck to eat the parangal that was supposed to bribe an elf into lifting his curse.
Not that she'd ever seen an elf. She wasn't even sure if she believed the story that her sister, Eva, had told when she'd rushed in, clutching broken pieces of tamarind pod, hair streaming with water. Usually, the sisters walked home from school together. But today, when it started to rain, Eva had ducked under a tree and declared that she would wait out the storm. Tomasa had thought nothing of it—Eva hated to be dirty or wet or windblown.
She kicked a shard of coconut shell out into the road, scattering red ants. She shouldn't have left Eva. It all came down to that. Even though Eva was older, she had no sense. Especially around boys.
A car slowed as it passed. Tomasa kept her eyes on the road and after a moment it sped away. Girls didn't usually go walking the streets of Alaminos alone at night. The Philippines just wasn't safe—people got kidnapped or killed, even this far outside Manila. But with her father and the driver out in the provinces and her mother in Hong Kong for the week, there was only Tomasa and their maid, Rosa, left to decide who would bring the gift. Eva was too sick to do much of anything. Rosa said that was what happened when an enkanto fell in love—his beloved would sicken just as his heart sickened with desire.
Looking at Eva's pale face, Tomasa had said she would go. After all, no elf would fall in love with her. She touched her right cheek. She could trace the shape of her birthmark without even looking in a mirror—an irregular splash of red that covered one of her eyes and stopped just above her lips.
Tomasa kept walking, past the whitewashed church, the narrow line of shops at the edge of town, and the city's single McDonald's. Then the buildings began to thin. Spanish-style houses flanked the road, while rice fields spread out beyond them into the distance. Mosquitoes buzzed close, drawn by her sweat.
By the time Tomasa crossed the short bridge near her school, only the light of the moon let her see where to put her feet. She stepped carefully through thick plants and hopped over a ditch. The tamarind tree was unremarkable—a wide trunk clouded by thick, feathery leaves. She set her basket down among the roots.
At least the moon was only half-full. On full-moon nights, Rosa said that witches and elves and other spirits met at a market in the graveyard where they traded things like people did during the day. Not that she thought it was true, but it was still frightening.
"Tabi-tabi po,” she whispered to the darkness, just like Rosa had told her, warning him that she was there. “Please take these offerings and let my sister get better."
There was only silence and Tomasa felt even more foolish than before. She turned to go.
Something rustled in the branches above her.
Tomasa froze and the sound stopped. She wanted to believe it was the wind, but the night air was warm and stagnant.
She looked up into eyes the green of unripe bananas.
"Hello,” she stammered, heart thundering in her chest.
The enkanto stepped out onto one of the large limbs of the tree. His skin was the same dark cinnamon as a tamarind pod and his feet were bare. His clothes surprised her—cutoff jeans and a t-shirt with a cracked and faded logo on it. He might have been a boy from the rice fields if it wasn't for his too-bright eyes and the fact that the branch hadn't so much as dipped under his weight.
He smiled down at her and she could not help but notice that he was beautiful. “What if I don't make your sister well?” he asked.
Tomasa didn't know what to say. She had lost track of the conversation. She was still trying to decide if she was willing to believe in elves. “What?"
He jumped down from his perch and she took a quick step away from him.
The elf boy picked up the lambanog and twisted the cap free. His hair rustled like leaves. “The food—is it freely given?"
"I don't understand."
"Is it mine whether I make your sister better or not?"
She forced herself to concentrate on his question. Both answers seemed wrong. If she said that the food was payment, it wasn't a gift, was it? And if it wasn't a gift, then she wasn't really following Rosa's directions. “I suppose so,” she said finally.
"Ah, good,” the elf said and took a deep swallow of the liquor. His smile said that she'd given the wrong answer. She felt cold, despite the heat.
"You're not going to make her better,” she said.
That only made his smile widen. “Let me give you something else in return—something better.” He reached up into the foliage and snapped off a brown tamarind pod. Bringing it to his lips, he whispered a few words and then kissed it. “Whoever eats this will love you."
Tomasa's face flushed. “I don't want anyone to love me.” She didn't need an elf to tell her that she was ugly. “I want my sister not to be sick."
"Take it,” he said, putting the tamarind in her hand and closing her fingers over it. He tilted his head. “It is all you'll get from me tonight."
The elf was standing very close to her now, her hand clasped in both of his. His skin felt dry and slightly rough in a way that made her think of bark. Somehow, she had gotten tangled up in her thoughts and was no longer sure of what she ought to say.
He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His too-bright eyes reflected the moonlight like an animal's. Tomasa was filled with a sudden, nameless fear.
"I have to go,” she said, pulling her hand free.
Over the bridge and down the familiar streets, past the closed shops, her feet finding their way by habit, Tomasa ran home. Her panic was amplified with each step, until she was racing the dark. Only when she got close to home did she slow, her shirt soaked with sweat and her muscles hurting, the pod still clasped in her hand.
Rosa was waiting on the veranda of their house, smoking one of the clove cigarettes that her brother sent by the carton from Indonesia. She got up when Tomasa walked through the gate.
"Did you see him?” Rosa asked. “Did he take the offering?"
"Yes and yes,” Tomasa said, breathing hard. “But it doesn't matter."
Rosa frowned. “You really saw an enkanto? You're sure."
Tomasa had been a coward. Perspiration cooling on her neck, she thought of all the things she might have said. He'd caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to have a soft smile, or to laugh, or even to exist in the first place. She looked at the tamarind shell in her hand and watched as her fingers crushed it. Bits of the pod stuck in the sticky brown fruit beneath. For all that she'd thought Eva was stupid around boys, she'd been the stupid one. “I'm sure,” she said hollowly.
On her way up the stairs to bed, it occurred to Tomasa to wonder for the first time why an elf who could make a love spell with a few words would burn with thwarted desire. But then, in all of Rosa's stories the elves were wicked and strange—beings that cursed and blessed according to their whims. Maybe there was just no making sense of it.
The next day the priest came and said novenas. And after that, the albularyo sprinkled the white sheets of Eva's bed with herbs. Then the doctor came and gave her some pills. But by nightfall, Eva was no better. Her skin, which had been as brown as polished mahogany, was pale and dusty as that of a snake ready to shed.
Tomasa called her father's cell phone and left a message, but she wasn't sure if he would get it. Out far enough in the provinces, getting a signal was chancy at best. Her mother's Hong Kong hotel was easier to reach. She left another message and went up to see her sister.
Eva's hair was damp with sweat and her eyes were fever-bright when Tomasa came to sit at the end of her bed. Candles and crucifixes littered the side table, along with a pot of strong and smelly herb tea.
Eva grabbed Tomasa's hand and clutched it hard enough to hurt.
"I heard what you did.” Eva said with a cough. “Stay away from his goddamned tree."
Tomasa grinned. “You should drink more of the tea. It's supposed to help."
Eva grimaced and made no move toward her cup. Maybe it tasted as bad as it smelled. “Look, I'm serious,” she said.
"Tell me again how he cursed you,” Tomasa said. “I'm serious, too."
Eva gave a weird little laugh. “I should have listened to Rosa's stories. Maybe if I'd read a couple less magazines . . . I don't know. I just thought he was a boy from the fields. I told him to mind his place and leave me alone."
"You didn't eat any of his fruit, right?” Tomasa asked suddenly.
"I had a little piece,” Eva said, looking at the wall. “Before I knew he was there."
That was bad. Tomasa took a deep breath and tried to think of how to phrase her next question. “Do you . . . um . . . do you think he might have made you fall in love with him?"
"Are you crazy?” Eva blew her nose in a tissue. “Love him? Like him? He's not even human."
Tomasa forced herself to smile, but in her heart, she worried.
Rosa was sitting at a plastic table in the kitchen chunking up cubes of ginger while garlicky chicken simmered on the stove. Tomasa liked the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it was small and dark. The floor was poured concrete instead of gleaming wood. A few herbs grew in rusted coffee cans along the windowsill and there was a strong odor of sugarcane vinegar. It was a kitchen to be useful in.
Tomasa sat down on a stool. “Tell me about elves."
Rosa looked up from her chopping, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She breathed smoke from her nose. “What do you want me to tell you?"
"Anything. Everything. Something that might help."
"They're fickle as cats and twice as cruel. You know the tales. They'll steal your heart if you let them and if you don't, they'll curse you for your good sense. They're night things—spirits—and don't care for the day. They don't like gold, either. It reminds them of the sun."
"I know all that,” Tomasa said. “Tell me something I don't know."
Rosa shook her head. “I'm no mananambal—I only know the stories. His love will fade; he will forget your sister and she will get well again."
Tomasa pressed her lips into a thin line. “What if she doesn't?"
"It has only been two days. Be patient. Not even a cold would go away in that time."
Two days turned into three and then four. Their mother had changed her flight and was due home that Tuesday, but there was still no word from their father. By Sunday, Tomasa found that she couldn't wait anymore. She went to the shed and got a machete. She put her gold Santa Maria pendant on a chain and fastened it around her neck. Steeling herself, she walked to the tamarind tree, although her legs felt like lead and her stomach churned.
In the day, the tree looked frighteningly normal. Leafy green, sun-dappled, and buzzing with flies.
She hefted the machete. “Make Eva well."
The leaves rustled with the wind, but no elf appeared.
She swung the knife at the trunk of the tree. It stuck in the wood, knocking off a piece of bark, but her hand slid forward on the blade and the sharp steel slit open her palm. She let go of the machete and watched the shallow cut well with blood.
"You'll have to do better than that,” she said, wiping her hand against her jeans. She worked the blade free from the trunk and hefted it to swing again.
But somehow her grip must have been loose, because the machete tumbled from her hands before she could complete the arc. It flew off into the brush by the stream.
Tomasa stomped off in the direction of where it had fallen, but she found no trace of it in the thick weeds. “Fine,” she shouted at the tree. “Fine!"
"Aren't you afraid of me?” a voice said, and Eva whirled around. The elf was standing in the grass with the machete in his hand.
She found herself speechless again. If anything the daylight rendered him more alien looking. His eyes glittered and his hair seemed to move with a subtle wind as though he was underwater.
He took a step toward her, his feet keeping to the shadows. “I've heard it's very bad luck to cut down an enkanto's tree."
Tomasa thought of the gold pendant around her neck and stepped into a patch of sunlight. “Good thing for me that it's only a little chipped, then."
He snorted and for a moment he looked like he was going to smile. “What if I told you that whatever you do to the tree, you do to the spirit?"
"You look fine,” she said, edging back to the bridge. He did. She was the one who was bleeding.
"You're either brave or stupid.” He turned the blade in his hand and held it out to her, hilt first. She would have to step closer to him, into the shadows, to take it.
"Well, I'd pick stupid,” she said. “But not that stupid.” She walked quickly over the bridge, leaving him still holding the machete.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she made her way home.
That night, lying in bed, Tomasa heard distant music. When she turned toward the window, a full moon looked down on her. Quickly, she dressed in the dark, careful to clasp her gold chain around her neck. Holding her shoes in one hand, she crept down the stairs, bare feet making only a soft slap on the wood.
She would find a mananambal to remove the enkanto's curse. She would go to the night market herself.
The graveyard was at the edge of town, where the electrical lines stopped running. The moonlight illuminated the distant rice fields where kerosene lamps flickered in Nipa huts. Cicadas called from the trees and beneath her feet, thorny touch-me-nots curled up with each step.
Close to the cemetery, the Japanese synth-pop was loud enough to recognize and she saw lights. Two men with machine guns slung over their shoulders stood near marble steps. A generator chugged away near the trees, long black cords connecting it to floodlights mounted on tombs. All across the graves a market had been set up, collapsible tables covered with cloth and wares, and people squatting among the stones.
From this distance, they didn't look like elves or witches or anything supernatural at all. Still, she didn't want to be rude. Unclasping the Santa Maria pendant from her neck, she put it in her mouth. She tasted the salt of her sweat and tried to find a place for it between her cheek and her tongue.
She wondered if the men with guns would stop her, but they let her pass without so much as a glance. A man on the edge of the tables played a little tune on a nose flute. He smiled at her and she tried to grin back, even though his teeth were unusually long and his smile seemed a touch too wide.
A few vendors squatting in front of baskets called to Tomasa as she passed. Piles of golden mangos and papaya paled in the moonlight. Foul-smelling durians hung from a line. The eggplant and purple yams looked black and strange, while a heap of ginger root resembled misshapen dolls.
At another table, split carcasses of goats were spread out like blankets. Inside a loose cage of bamboo, frogs hopped frantically. Nearby was a collection of eggs, some of which seemed too slender and leathery for chickens.
"What is that?” Tomasa asked.
” Snake balut,” said the old woman behind the table. She spit red into the dirt and Tomasa told herself that the woman was only chewing betel nut. Lots of people chewed betel nut. There was nothing strange about it.
"Snake's tasty,” the vendor went on. “Better than crow, but I have that, too."
Tomasa took two steps back from the table and then braced herself. She needed help and this woman was already speaking with her.
” I'm looking for a mananambal that can take an enkanto's spell off my sister,” she said.
The old woman grinned, showing crimson-stained teeth and pointed past the largest building. “Look for the man selling potions."
Tomasa set off in that direction. Outside an open tomb, men argued over prices in front of tables spread with guns. A woman with teeth as white as coconut meat smiled at Tomasa, one arm draped around a man, and her upper body hovering in the air. She had no lower body. Wet innards flashed from beneath a beaded shirt as she moved.
Tomasa rolled the golden pendant on her tongue, her hands shaking. No one else seemed to notice.
A line of women dressed in tight clothing leaned against the outside wall of the tomb. One had skin that was far too pale, while another had feet that were turned backwards. Some of them looked like girls Tomasa knew from town, but they stared blankly at her as she passed. Tomasa shuddered and kept moving.
She passed vendors selling horns and powders, narcotics and charms. There were candles rubbed with thick salves and small clay figurines wound with bits of hair. One man sat behind a table with several iron pots smoking over a small grill.
Steam rose from them, making the hot night hotter. Bunches of herbs and flowers littered the table, along with several empty Johnny Walker and Jim Beam bottles and a chipped, ceramic funnel.
The man looked up from ladling a solution into one of the empties. His longish hair was streaked with gray and when he smiled at her, she saw that one of his teeth had been replaced with gold.
” This one has a hundred herbs boiled in coconut oil,” he said, pointing to one of the pots. “Haplas, will cure anything.” He pointed to another. “And here, gayuma, for luck or love."
"Lolo,” she said with a slight bob of her head. “I need something for my sister. An enkanto has fallen in love with her and she's sick."
” To break curses. Sumpa, an antidote.” He indicated a third pot.
"How much?” Tomasa asked, reaching for her pockets.
His grin widened. “Wouldn't you like to assure yourself that I'm the real thing?"
Tomasa stopped, unsure of herself. What was the right answer?
"What's that in your mouth?” he asked.
"Just a pit. I bought a plum,” she lied.
"You shouldn't eat the fruit here,” he said, extending his hand. “Here. Spit it out. Let me see."
Tomasa shook her head.
"Come on.” He smiled. “If you don't trust me a little, how can you trust me to cure your sister?"
Tomasa hesitated, but she thought of Eva, flushed and pale. She spat the golden pendant into his palm.
He cackled, the sound dry in his throat. “You're more clever than I thought."
She didn't know if she should be pleased or not.
One of the mananambal's fingers darted out to dot her forehead with oil. She felt wobbly.
"What did you do?” she managed to ask. Her voice sounded thick and slow as smoke.
"You're a fine piece of flesh, even with that face. I'll get more than I could use in a thousand brews."
It sounded like nonsense to Tomasa. Her head had started to spin and all she wanted to do was sit down in the dirt and rest. But the gold-toothed man had her by the arm and was dragging her away from his table.
She stumbled along, knocking into a man in a wide straw hat who was running down the aisle of vendors. When he caught hold of her, she saw that his eyes were green as grass.
"You,” she said, her voice syrup-slow. She stumbled and fell on her hands and knees. People were shouting at each other, but that wasn't so bad because at least no one was making her get up. Her necklace had fallen in the dirt beside her. She forced herself to close her hand over it.
The elf pushed the mananambal, saying something that she couldn't quite understand because all the words seemed to slur together. The old man shoved back and then, grabbing the enkanto's arm at the wrist, bit down with his golden tooth.
The elf gasped in pain and brought down his fist on the old man's head, knocking him backwards. The bitten arm hung limply from the elf's side.
Tomasa struggled to her feet, fighting off the thickness that threatened to overwhelm her. Something was wrong. The potion vender had done this to her. She narrowed her eyes at him.
The mananambal grinned, his tooth glinting in the floodlights.
"Come on,” he said, reaching for her.
” Leave me alone,” she managed to say, stumbling back. The enkanto caught her before she fell, supporting her with his good arm.
” Let her alone,” said the enkanto, “or I will curse you blind, lame, and worse."
The old man laughed. “I'm a curse breaker, fool."
The elf grabbed one of the Jim Beam bottles from the table and slammed it down, so that he was holding a jagged glass neck. The elf smiled a very thin smile. “Then I won't bother with magic."
The old man went silent. Together, Tomasa and the elf stumbled out of the night market. Once the music had faded into the distance, they sank down beneath a balete tree.
"Why?” she asked, still a little light-headed.
He looked down and hesitated before he answered. “You're brave to go to the night market alone.” He made a little laugh. “If something had happened to you, it would have been my fault."
"I thought I was just stupid,” she said. She felt stupid. “Please, end this, let my sister get better."
"No,” he said suddenly, standing up.
"If you really loved her, you would let her get better,” said Tomasa.
” But I don't love her,” the enkanto said.
Tomasa didn't know what to make of his words. “Then why do you torment her?"
"At first I wanted to punish her, but I don't care about that now. You visit me because she's sick,” he said with a shy smile. “I want you to keep visiting me."
Tomasa felt those words like a blow. Shock mingled with anger and a horrible, dangerous pleasure that rendered her almost incapable of speech. “I won't come again,” she shouted.
” You will,” said the enkanto. He pulled himself up onto a branch of the tree, then hooked his foot in the back and climbed higher, to where the thick green leaves hid him from view.
"I will never forgive you.” Tomasa meant to shout it, but it came out of her mouth in a whisper. There was no reply but the gentle night breeze and distant radio.
Her hands were shaking. She looked down at them and saw the loop of gold chain still dangling from her fingers.
And suddenly—just like that—she had a plan. An impossible, absurd plan. She made a fist around the gold pendant, feeling its edges dig into her palm. Her feet found their way over brush and vine as she darted through the town to the tamarind tree.
The elf was sitting on one of the boughs when she got there. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he smiled. She smiled back.
"I've been rude,” she said, hoping that when he looked at her he would think the guilt in her eyes was for what she'd done, not for what she was about to do. “I'm sorry."
He jumped down, one arm touching the trunk to steady him. “I'm glad you came."
Tomasa walked closer. She put one hand where the old man had bitten him, hoping that he wouldn't notice her other hand was fisted. “How's your arm?"
"Fine,” he said. “Weak. I can move it a little now."
Steeling herself, she looked up into his face and slid her hand higher on his arm, over his shoulder and to his neck. His green eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing?” he asked. “You're acting strange."
"Am I?” She searched for some passable explanation. “Maybe the potion hasn't really worn off."
He shook his head. His black hair rustled against her arm, making her shiver.
She slid her other hand to his throat, twining both around his back of his neck.
He didn't push her away, although his body went rigid.
Then, as quick as she could, she wrapped the chain around his neck like a golden garrote.
He choked once as she clasped the necklace. Then she stepped back, stumbling on the roots of the tamarind. His hands flew to his throat but stopped short of touching the gold.
"What have you done?” he demanded.
She crouched down in the dirt, scuttling back from him. “Release my sister from your curse.” Her voice sounded cold, even to her. In truth, she didn't know what she'd done.
"It is my right! She insulted me.” The elf swallowed hard around the collar.
Insulted him? Tomasa almost laughed. Only an elf would let one girl stab his tree but curse another for being insulting. “I won't take the chain off your neck unless you make her well."
The enkanto's eyes flashed with anger.
"Please,” Tomasa asked.
He looked down. She could no longer read his expression. “She'll be better when you get home,” he muttered.
She crept a little closer. “How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"Take it off me!” he demanded.
Tomasa wanted to say something else, but the words caught in her throat as she reached behind his neck and unhooked the chain. She knew she should run. She'd beaten him and if she stayed any longer, he would surely put a curse on her. But she didn't move.
He watched her for a moment, both of them silent. “That was—” he said finally.
"Definitely bad luck,” she offered.
He laughed at that, a short soft laugh that made her cheeks grow warm. “You really wanted me to come and visit?"
” I did,” he said with a snort.
She grinned shyly. Balling up the necklace in her hand, she tossed it in the direction of the stream.
"You know,” he said, taking one of her wrists and placing it on his shoulder. “Before, when you had your hand right here, I thought that you were going to kiss me."
Her face felt hot. “Maybe I wish I had."
"It's not too late,” he said.
His lips were sour, but his mouth was warm.
By the time that Tomasa got home, the sky was pink and birds were screeching from their trees. Eva was already awake, sitting at the breakfast table, eating a plate of eggs. She looked entirely recovered.
"Where were you?” Rosa asked, refilling Eva's teacup. “Where's your pendant?"
Tomasa shrugged. “I must have lost it."
"I can't believe you stayed out all night.” Eva gave her a conspiratorial smile.
"Mananambal,” Rosa whispered as she returned to the kitchen. Tomasa almost stopped her to ask what she meant, but the truth made even less sense than anyone's guesses.
Upstairs, Tomasa picked up the crushed tamarind pod from her dresser. His words were still clear in her mind from that first meeting. Whoever eats this will love you. She looked into the mirror, at her birthmark, bright as blood, at her kiss-stung lips, at the absurd smile stretching across her face.
Carefully separating out the crushed pieces of shell, she pulled the dried pulp free from its cage of veins. Piece by piece, she put the sweet brown fruit in her own mouth and swallowed it down.