By Kim Vazquez
LA BRUJA
It had been a month since Diego’s mami had died. He kept track of the days in the back of his notebook using groups of small vertical lines. He was counting them when the teacher appeared beside him. She gently closed his notebook, then placed her hand on his shoulder, reminding him to pay attention to the lesson she was teaching about the Spanish colonization of Puerto Rico. The other kids in the class looked at him, and a few of the boys smirked. Diego turned away, embarrassed. He thought about going home and telling his mami. She’d hug him and tell him not to pay any attention to the kids who smirked, and somehow, she’d make him feel better. She always did.
Then it hit him—his mami wouldn’t be there. She was gone. His heart twisted in his chest, and his eyes filled with tears.
Diego knew that people in his pueblo and the surrounding ones went to the lady they called La Bruja so they could talk to their loved ones who had crossed over, and even though the whole idea of talking to the dead was scary, he decided to try it. So, he wiped the tears in his eyes away with the back of his hand, then waited for the lunch bell to ring. When it did, he ran out of his fifth-grade classroom and past the front gate. He left his little brother and sister in school, promising himself he’d return in time to take them home.
From all the whispers and lowered voices over the years, Diego knew everyone believed La Bruja could do anything. She could mend a broken heart, cure the common cold, and protect from el mal de ojo. But, more importantly, she could speak to the spirit world. People feared her for this, but it didn’t stop most of them from visiting her when they needed something. Some even trusted her more than the new American doctor who had set himself up in the middle of town across from La Plaza.
Diego cut through a field, carefully avoiding the cows grazing to get to La Bruja’s house faster. As he climbed over a wooden fence, he remembered asking his mami about La Bruja, late one Noche Buena, while she tucked him in bed. It was after a party at their house. He had overheard some women whispering about La Bruja and saying terrible things, even though they had all admitted to going to see her for one thing or another.
“Why is everyone afraid of her?” He asked.
“People fear what they don’t understand.” His mamá smiled. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Besides,” his papi said as he walked into the room to say goodnight to Diego and his siblings, “You’re strong. If you’re strong you can handle anything, and there’s no need to be afraid.”
Diego repeated his papi’s words to himself as he reached the road in front of La Bruja’s small wooden house, which stood in the shadow of a huge mountain. He told himself he wasn’t afraid. He could handle anything. He was strong, stronger than most kids his age. He took care of the house and his little brother and sister since Mami died. He also helped Papi on the weekends. At eleven, he already knew how to plant Papi’s crops as well as harvest them. He could cook, clean, and feed the goat. He fed the chickens and collected their eggs. He also took care of the little garden his mami had left behind.
He was strong and not afraid, but when he reached the flamboyan tree in the front yard, he stopped and hid behind it. The front door and window of the house were open, but the inside was dark. The rocking chair on the balcón was motionless, but the potted plants hanging from the ceiling swayed softly in the breeze.
Diego pressed his back to the flamboyan so no one could sneak up behind him and inhaled the perfume of the flowers hanging above him. A soft clanging made him look up, and he saw dozens of bottles hanging from the tree’s branches. He recognized some dark brown beer bottles, like the ones his papá had in the refrigerator for special occasions. Others were green or clear. They were all different sizes, too. He saw a jarabe bottle like the one his mami got from the pharmacy for a cough Diego had once.
The wind stopped, and the bottles quit their clanging. Diego was about to sneak around the flamboyan for a closer look at the house when something stopped him. He didn’t know what it was, but the hair on his arms stood straight up, and a chill crawled up his spine. A woman’s voice softly called out to him, “Diego.” He recognized his mami’s voice and spun around to look for her, but no one was there.
Tears filled his eyes. He had almost forgotten what her voice sounded like. His heart beat fiercely, and his breath caught in his chest.
“Diego.” Her voice called out again, and his legs started to shake.
He twisted around, prepared to run away, when he saw La Bruja standing on the other side of the tree.
Her dark brown eyes were calm as they studied him. She looked elegant, her white hair twisted into a tight bun, and she reminded him of a lady de alta sociedad he had seen once riding around town in the back of a fancy car. La Bruja wore a long cotton skirt, and her arms were covered in silver bangles that sparkled in the sun. She took a step and raised her hand to him, her bangles making a racket as they banged against each other.
“What are you doing here?” She grumbled.
Even though he was strong and definitely not afraid, Diego’s mind went blank, and the shaking in his legs somehow traveled to his hands.
“What do you want?” La Bruja took another step, towering over him.
Diego couldn’t remember what he was doing there or even where he was.
La Bruja cleared her throat loudly. She was about to tell him to get off her land and leave her alone, but suddenly, all of Diego’s thoughts came rushing back. His words burst out like a torrential downpour.
“I have to talk to my mamá. She’s gone, but I have to talk to her. Everybody says you can communicate with spirits, and I need to talk to my mamá. I need to tell her that I’m sorry. It’s very important.” He caught his breath.
“Sorry for what?” She asked. “You’re a little boy. You couldn’t have done anything to really hurt her.” Her eyes narrowed as if they were piercing his thoughts.
Diego opened his mouth, but she waved him away before he could say anything. “Go home.”
He stood there shaking his head as tears threatened to pour down his cheeks.
“I need to tell her I’m sorry that I didn’t hold her hand as she—” He couldn’t say the last words out loud.
His mami had reached out to him in her last moments, calling him in a whisper because she didn’t have the strength to speak louder. She lifted her hand, asking him to hold it, but he couldn’t bring himself to step closer to the bed. He was angry that she was leaving, and he couldn’t stop it, so he stood in the corner of the room, wedged between her dresser with all her hairpins, her brush and the bottle of Agua Maravilla, and the wall. He didn’t move. Instead, Papi held her hand, and when her breathing stopped, he walked over to Diego, knelt down, and hugged him.
La Bruja stepped closer. “That doesn’t matter. Your mamá wouldn’t be upset about that,” she said as if she could read his mind.
The tears fell down Diego’s face, and he wiped them away angrily, embarrassed and frustrated. He had heard many times that boys don’t cry, and he was crying. He never saw his papá crying, not even when his mami’s coffin was lowered into the ground.
“¿Y tú Papi? Does he know that you are here?” La Bruja asked, her voice less gruff than before.
Diego looked down.
“Go home,” La Bruja said softly. She turned to go back inside her little house, where she was comfortable and could get away from the little boy, filled with pain and sadness.
Suddenly, a gust of wind slammed into her. The bottles hanging from her flamboyan started clanging around noisily, making her turn back.
“The bottles are supposed to scare away the spirits, but instead, they use them to let me know they’re here.”
Diego looked up at the bottles, a chill running up and down his spine and the hair on his arms standing straight up. He wanted to ask what she meant, but before he could open his mouth, La Bruja started coughing. The coughing came from deep inside her chest. It was intense, almost violent. La Bruja leaned forward, trying to calm the cough, holding a handkerchief over her mouth, but a dizzy spell hit her, and she found herself tipping over. Without thinking, Diego rushed to her and grabbed her arm, stopping her before she fell. He walked her back to the house and helped her up the steps to the balcón and into her rocking chair. Then, he disappeared into the darkness of the house for a few minutes. By the time he got back, she had stopped coughing and was breathing carefully, trying to get oxygen into her lungs.
He handed her a glass of tap water.
“My mamá used to cough like that too.”
La Bruja drank her water and then looked over at Diego. “You are a good son.”
“Did she tell you that just now? Is that why you coughed?”
“No. I coughed because I’m sick. Don’t worry. It’s nothing you can catch. And she didn’t tell me. I can just tell.” La Bruja looked away, across the yard, at the bottles hanging from the tree.
Disappointment filled Diego’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped forward.
“Go now. I can’t help you. I no longer have the energy to speak to the spirits. I haven’t been able to for a while. Besides, you don’t need me to talk to your mamá. She’s probably always sending you messages, and you’re not paying attention. Just pay attention. If you see a bird like a reinita at your window in the morning, it’s her.”
Diego stood there, looking at her, dissatisfied with what La Bruja had said, but he knew he wouldn’t get any more from her. She looked exhausted and worn out, just like his mami looked after one of her coughing fits, and she had a lot of coughing fits towards the end.
“Está bien. I have to get back to pick up my brother and sister anyway.” Disheartened, he left.
That Sunday, after church and some chores, Diego took his thermos, filled with té de jengibre that his mami had taught him how to make, and some sorrullos left over from breakfast and headed back to La Bruja’s house. He wasn’t sure why he was going but felt like he should.
When he got there, he stood outside her doorway and called, “Señora,” out of respect. He didn’t know her name and wasn’t about to call her La Bruja like everyone else. As he waited, he looked over at the flamboyan, hoping to hear his mamá’s voice again, but everything was quiet.
La Bruja appeared, and he held up the thermos and wrapped corn fritters covered in sugar for her to see so she couldn’t chase him away. She stared at him for a long time, her hair loose and her arms bare of bangles, before walking over to her rocking chair and sitting down while eating one of the sorrullos.
He poured her a cup of tea. “The ginger is good for your cough.”
“It is. I just don’t have the energy to get some and make it.” She looked over at him, her eyes gaunt. “Gracias.” She thought of telling him her name, Altagracia, but decided against it. It was better that he not get too familiar.
Diego smiled and handed her another sorrullo. “You might not want to eat. Mi mamá sometimes didn’t eat much, but Papá always said she needed to keep up her strength. The coughing always made her tired.”
La Bruja ate the second sorrullo and felt it travel down her throat and into her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything since the day before and realized how hungry she was. Diego handed her another sorrullo.
“I still don’t have the energy to speak to the spirits,” she warned.
“It’s okay.” He covered the thermos so the tea wouldn’t get cold, then sat there and stared out at the flamboyan tree and the bottles hanging from its branches, swaying back and forth. The wind picked up, and the bottles clanged together clumsily, making a lot of noise.
La Bruja watched as the flamboyan’s branches moved back and forth, and the sunlight bounced off the bottles. She sipped on her tea, then carefully took a breath, not too deep. She didn’t want to have another coughing fit. She had been coughing non-stop all day, and her throat was raw. The ginger would help with the pain from the coughing. She sipped it again. Diego refilled her cup again.
“I knew your mamá, a long, long time ago. Did she ever tell you that?” She asked him.
Diego turned to her, “No. She didn’t.” He sat down on the floor next to her. “Were you friends?”
“No. We went to school together. I was older and in a different grade but I remember her. She had such a beautiful, calming energy. Everyone loved her. And she was always very nice to me. Not everyone was. She even protected me one time when some kids were saying some nasty things about me. I’ve always been grateful for that.”
“Were they nasty because you could speak to spirits?” He remembered that Noche Buena when he asked his mami about La Bruja after he overheard some neighbors saying terrible things about her.
La Bruja nodded. “I was different, maybe they thought I was strange or weird. It’s silly but people fear what they don’t understand.”
The hair on Diego’s arms stood straight up. It felt like his mamá was there, saying those words. He could see her face so clearly as if she were right in front of him.
The bottles started clanging harder, and La Bruja started to cough. She tried to get up and spilled her tea down the front of her skirt. Diego jumped up and helped her inside the house. The coughing didn’t stop, and she still held onto his shoulder as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She needed to lie down. She was tired. But Diego fixed her pillows so she could sit up. He said it was better to sit up so she wouldn’t keep coughing. His papi had taught him that when his mami had one of her coughing fits. Then he ran outside and got the thermos.
The coughing stopped, and he poured her more tea.
“Papá and I are making asopao de pollo tonight. I’ll bring you some tomorrow,” he said firmly.
She wanted to tell him not to come anymore, but the thought of a warm chicken soup with rice sounded too good, so she nodded and closed her eyes. Diego smiled, grateful that she wasn’t going to fight him.
It was late in the day when Diego went back. He brought the asopao and more ginger tea. The following day, he brought habichuelas guisadas and rice. Every day, she ate whatever he brought and drank all the tea. By the end of the week, she looked stronger, and he was happy.
That Sunday, he brought sopa de viandas and was mashing up the root vegetables in the broth in La Bruja’s kitchen so she wouldn’t have to chew so much when the wind picked up. The bottles in the flamboyan slammed against each other so violently he thought they would smash into millions of pieces. He stood there for a few seconds, listening to the bottles, and suddenly felt like something was coming, but he ignored the feeling and turned away, carrying the soup and tea to the other room. He placed both on the small nightstand by the bed.
La Bruja was sitting up, her white hair loose, a look of peace on her face.
“Señora, if the bottles banging means that there are spirits here, then there must be a lot here now.”
“They’re here for me,” she said quietly, then pointed at her dresser. “Pass me my brush.”
Diego’s insides grew cold, but he gave her the brush and some pins lying near it. She brushed her hair, then pinned it up like she wore it the first day he came to see her. Next, she asked for the bangles in her drawer and placed them on her arms.
“These were given to me by my grandmother long ago. They’ve protected me all my life. I want you to have them when I go. Give them to your little sister when she grows up or to your wife. But wait until after I’ve gone to take them. I need them to keep away the bad spirits until I’ve safely made my change.”
Diego’s heart started beating faster, and he felt like his legs would give out. He stepped back and whispered, “No.”
“Diego, this is just the next step for me. I can’t stop it. You can’t stop it. No one can.”
But deep down, and without realizing it, Diego had started to believe that he could. Some part of him had felt that if he made her stronger, she would get better, and her cough would go away. Then he could save her even though he couldn’t save his mami.
“At least I won’t be alone when I make my change.” La Bruja’s chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. “Our death is part of our life, a small part. It’s not the end of who we are. We continue. The spirit never dies.”
Diego took another step back and found himself wedged between the dresser and the wall. He wished his papá were there like when his mami left.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have prepared you for this, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t expect you to keep coming. I figured that you’d get tired and stop coming around. But I don’t want you to be sad. This has been on its way for a while now. And I’ll always be around. You just have to pay attention.”
Diego shook his head and covered his face with his hands.
“Diego.” La Bruja called out, but it was his mami’s voice he heard. “Diego,” she whispered.
Diego looked up at her, and his heart beat so fast he thought it would rip through his chest. She held her hand up to him, and he stared at it for a while before looking at her face.
Then his breath caught in his throat. It was his mami on the bed instead of La Bruja.
“Mami,” he mumbled.
She smiled, her eyes filled with love and tenderness, and waved him forward, “Diego. Come and take my hand.”
Outside, the bottles in the flamboyan banged against each other fiercely.
“They’re here for me. Diego, mijo, come say goodbye.”
In his mind, Diego saw himself stepping forward and holding her hand, but his legs wouldn’t move.
“Don’t be scared. You just don’t understand what is happening but there’s nothing to be afraid of.” This time, it was La Bruja’s voice whispering in his ear. “It’s just a change. Not an end. We will always be around.”
“Mami,” he whispered louder. There was nothing to be afraid of. His mami loved him, and he missed her so much.
She waved him forward again, and he forced his legs to move.
“Diego.”
He grabbed her hand, and tears poured down his cheeks. It felt like she had never left.
“I love you so much, and I miss you every day,” he said, feeling her fingers around his hand.
“I’m always near.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m the reinita singing by your window in the morning and the wind making the branches of the flamboyan dance. I watch over you when you help your papá work and when you make the té de jengibre. I whisper in your ear as you take care of your sister and brother, and when you sleep at night. I’m always with you.”
Diego closed his eyes, and his tears poured down his cheeks. He took a deep breath and felt his insides quiet down. He held onto the quiet inside him for a few seconds until he heard murmuring and felt an overwhelming sense of love in the room. He knew others were there, all around him, and they loved him. They guided him, helped him through the hard times, and rejoiced with him when he was happy. He felt such peace.
When he opened his eyes, he wiped the tears with his hand. Outside, the bottles were smashing around wildly in the wind. La Bruja’s head leaned over to one side, and her breathing had stopped. He felt alone but knew he wasn’t.
He held her hand for a long time, wondering what he should do next, but just as he decided to run home to get his papá, he heard someone behind him. He turned and saw his papá enter the room.
“Diego, are you okay?” His papá asked.
Diego nodded and placed La Bruja’s hand down on the bed.
Papi hugged him. “I had a strange feeling and felt like I should come and find you.”
Diego hugged his Papi tightly, thankful that he was there.
“You did good here. You helped her. Now, run to la plaza and get the doctor. He’ll need to sign the death certificate.” Papi told him.
Diego turned to leave, then turned back and took La Bruja’s bangles. “She told me to take them and I know she’ll be watching so I have to.”
His papá nodded, “They’re always around.”
Diego ran out of the room and out onto the balcón. La Bruja’s rocking chair was rocking back and forth, and the bottles in the flamboyan were banging together loudly.
“Gracias,” he said, then ran past the flamboyan tree on his way to the doctor.
Kim grew up in Puerto Rico learning about myths and legends before moving to New York to study at Tisch School of the Arts, NYU. She’s had short stories featured in The Acentos Review, Somos En Escrito, LatinXlitmag, Latine Lit Magazine, and a children’s story published in The Caterpillar Magazine. She was a 2024 Las Musas mentee and is currently working on a middle-grade novel based on an old Puerto Rican mystery.