hanginggardenstories:

Items For Sale In The Enkanto’s Market

by Roshani Chokshi

I.                

Ah, the sea glass pendant.

It belonged to the daughter of a Mindanao sultan. It’s true, anak. I would not lie. She fell in love with a Spaniard. He left her in the family way. Put it around your neck, and it will pull you to the sea. You want to wear it? Then give me the tears of twelve lifetimes.

But don’t say I did not warn you.

You saw the sirenas first.

Remember?

Their tails knifed the seawater. Their bodies were the color of roots. Pale and flat. Not beautiful the way you wanted them to be. The way you thought they would be. Not at all like the illustrations in the books that your Lola read you.

You hear them next.

Their voice throws a lure around your heart, propping magic beneath your ribcage so that you can still breathe even when you step too far into the waves. You remembered when you couldn’t go back. You remember cold water pressing against your spine, fish bones scratching your neck, seawater kissing your teeth.

II.

Don’t touch that! Those arrhae coins are cursed, little one. One was held in the pocket of José Rizal. Yes! It’s true! Another belonged to Ferdinand Marcos. He kept it beneath his pillow. You want one? Ah, anak, that will cost you all your eloquence for seven years.

But you are not an orator, so why do you care?

Part with it.

One song later, and you cannot remember the house you shared in Ambrosia Village. Or the jeepney where you met him. The first time you met, you told me that he had spilled soda on your skirt. He told you it was an accident and offered to buy you halo-halo in apology.

Later, after you kissed, he whispered:

“I did it on purpose.”

The sirena song ended. You no longer remember that bite of halo-halo. But you remember the crushed ice in the tall glass. How it looked bloodstained from the red bean paste.

III.

Mangosteens grown in the garden of a mannangal. You will never find a fruit like this. The rind so fat and lush that it sweats crystals. The flesh so sweet and yielding — white as snow and just as pure. It is where the mannangal puts the stolen souls, you know. And the taste! Ah! It tastes like the beginning of a dream and the edge of a star.

But that will cost you.

How about the length of your hair to start?

And sweeten it with your first kiss?

I’ll throw in roasted jackfruit from the garden of a duwende.

A tikbilang flashed a grin and flourished a bow. He held back a curtain of pearls and you sighed. Here was the beauty you wanted. Your childhood memories draped over every sight:

A grove of palm trees tangled with stars. Sky maidens diving into obsidian pools. Their cobweb dresses hang from trees and you want to warn them not to be too carefree, or someone will steal their gowns and force them into marriage. A great eagle scores the earth, a glowing bulge at his throat hums and wheedles. And you know that he has swallowed the moon.

IV.

These are unhatched nightmares, anak. Stick them beneath the pillow of the one who left you. They will grow upon him, onyx vines and burnt flowers. He will smell you everywhere. Hear you constantly.

Don’t blush. You don’t think I can tell you have been left behind?

I can smell his absence on you.

No, anak, you could not have changed his mind.

The chicken adobo you made was not too dry. The beer was not too warm. The halo-halo icecream was not too watery. She could have burnt the roast, forgotten the beer and let the dessert go to rot.

He still would have wanted her.

You stopped by the first table.

My table.

I used your Lola’s voice, pulled my wings into my spine. I took your best friend’s hands and stroked your palms with borrowed callouses.

“What are you selling, ma’am?” you asked.

V.

I could sell you the feathers of an angel, and the bezoar found in the stomach of a giant who fed only upon sweet milk from a moon cow. I could sell you the desires of every heart, a harp that would string together shadows. I could sell you ghostly attendants and a dress of thorns.

I knew the moment I saw you that you would buy whatever I placed in your palms. There were so many other tables. Didn’t you see them? A ghost stalked the grounds, carrying tamarind paste that would numb any hurt. A sirena with sewn up lips had bottled her enchanting voice and auctioned it off to a tik-tik who hated the sound he made when he crawled into his lover’s bed. A mourning dove would have laid eggs of rice for every day you smiled.

But you were so impulsive.

You did not get very far. You were always so eager to take the first thing you saw, as if you were poor and starved and couldn’t imagine more options. That impulsiveness brought you here, didn’t it? He was the first one you loved. And so you assumed that it was for forever.

VI.

I could sell you.

I wanted to spare you.

You who could not be trusted with your purchase.

I wanted to spare you of buyers’ remorse.

And am I not kind? Am I not a thoughtful being?

I don’t place much stock in the making of wishes. But it is up to you. You have a pendant, a fruit, a snarl of nightmares, and even a cursed coin. You could drown him, bewitch him, kill him and haunt him.

But I am mad that you want him.

****

Step into the Enkanto’s Market…

Ah you! You there, with the glazed look in your eye and the hole in your heart! Oh, I have a thing for you. Yes. Yes.

VII.

A cautionary tale.

Here she is, a doll of bone and seaweed and roots.

She is magic and sea and earth. She will keep away false promises and impulsive dealings. Be gentle with her, for she is still a broken thing.

Kiss her on the lips.

She still tastes like jackfruit and cursed coins, of dry adobo and a reluctant kiss.

The cost?

Oh, I am glad you asked, shrewd buyer.

I will give her to you for a fair price.

Give me your last breath and your middle name.

Give me the memory of your favorite flavor and you can have her — bones and all.