Las Mujeres Misteriosas

By Carmen Baca

Three mysterious women inhabit the American southwest. La Llorona, a ghost, haunts the waterways searching for the children she drowned before killing herself. La Muerte, much more than just a ghost, is Santa Muerte, who takes every man to his eternal home. La Lunática, a recent ghost, spent much of her life fighting el Diablo's obsession with her. These three women battle for the soul of another, a human named Rosita, who fears nothing and innocently accepts a gift from la Llorona.
After years of learning how to use her skill, Rosita can only free herself from the ghost's spell by complying with her demands. However, her freedom depends on a Pyrrhic victory: she can only win by losing something precious.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359039081

Book preview

Las Mujeres Misteriosas

Las Mujeres Misteriosas

by

Carmen Baca

(Author of El Hermano)

©2018 Carmen Baca

Published in paperback by Lulu Press

www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-0-359-03908-1

Other books and short story publications by this author are available from

http://www.facebook.com/hermano1928/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events (unless cited) are purely coincidental. *In the chapter entitled Amigos y Enemigas, there is one incident based on a true story.

Author’s note—for those who don’t read Spanish, I tried to include a glossary in the back of this book but failed; however, many of the words/phrases are translated in context. Italics signal the first use of a new word and also indicate entire phrases in context. New Mexico Spanish, especially that of the northern part where I’m from and where my stories are set, differs from Spanish spoken by other cultures, hence, the need for in context translations. Many of you, my readers, asked for a glossary, and I'm sorry to disappoint you in this book. You can, however, message me at the link provided above, and I will message or email a copy of the glossary to you. I apologize in advance for any inconvenience and also for any errors in this book, which are solely my fault.

Dedication

I dedicate this story to you, my readers, who made this book a reality. Without your support of my first book, El Hermano and my short stories, I may not have gone on to publish more. I hope you enjoy this tale of the three women who have not left me alone since I wrote my first.

Acknowledgements

Thank you for being my personal proofreaders, Mercedes Romero and David Baca; thank you for designing my cover and for your mentoring and superior guidance in the process of self-publishing, author John Franklin Green.

Once more, my appreciation first is to mi Tata Dios and my familia for supporting my writing. Thank you to the administrator, Dr. John Vigil, and the members of the Facebook page—Everything New Mexico: Photos, memories, canciones, recipes, art, y más—who support my efforts by commenting on my excerpts and responding to my questions regarding nuestra cultura or historical elements I incorporate into my works ¡Les agradezco mucho a todos! I appreciate you all!

El Primer Incidente

I warned you! she screamed. You didn’t listen to me! No one ever believes me! The two orderlies grasped her upper arms tightly and held on to her wrists to prevent her from scratching. One already bore an angry red slash across one cheek and clenched his teeth as he held her in his firm grip. The other struggled with the bindings on the straight jacket they would slap around her if she didn’t calm down and stop her fighting. Witnesses later reported she had jumped from the bench where her family had been seated at a picnic table at the park. She suddenly began shouting with no provocation. No one saw anyone approach her or observed her talking to anybody before her sudden outburst. Her repeated cries of I warned you! and You didn’t believe me! were inexplicable.

Usually a calm, quiet young woman of seventeen, Rosita stood out from others around her age simply because nothing ever seemed to rile her. Hers was the voice of reason when the rest of the girls practically swooned over the latest crush or celebrity. She was the one who reminded the others just how hopeless it was to dream of being the next Mrs. So and So when they were nowhere near Hollywood or Memphis or wherever. She was the one who thought things through before acting and never let herself do anything spontaneously—that’s just how careful she was with life in general.

It was 1953, and she lived with her parents on the outskirts of Las Nubes, meaning The Clouds, in New Mexico. Her neighborhood began along the southern border of the small town and ended at the edge of the Rio Conejo, Rabbit River, named for the rabbit population which thrived on its banks. Everyone knew everybody and everything about everyone there. Rosita was an above-average student and was what people call an all-American girl: she went to the local schools and joined the usual clubs. She was about five feet, four, with a slender build and brown hair she wore usually tied back where it almost reached her waist. Her hazel eyes took on the hue of green when she wore shades of the same color and appeared almost blue when she wore variations of that color as well. She looked directly at those with whom she interacted and was quick-witted enough to come back with a playful retort or a rational response whenever either was called for. So the residents were stunned when one day in middle of June, the men arrived all the way from el asilo, the city mental hospital, and took her away.

There’d never been any hint of her having any mental illness; however, recently friends and family noticed that she appeared nervous. This manifested in her keen gaze shifting to look intently over people’s shoulders for moments before turning her attention back to them during normal conversation. When asked if anything was wrong, she either shrugged and said there wasn’t, or she laughed and called them silly. But after only a week of that behavior, the nervousness developed into a kind of anxiety that made her keep looking all around her almost continually as though she were being followed or searching for something or someone no one else could see.

When the incident at the park occurred, her parents called for an ambulance after their attempts to calm her themselves failed. Of course, the police showed up as well. One senior officer, Sergeant Santiago from the state police, knew Rosita well as they often worked closely together in community service activities. He stood back after his appeals to Rosita to calm down didn’t affect her at all. She kept repeating, Lourdes, he’s going to kill Lourdes! And Lourdes, the subject of her rant, just stood by, her hands covering her mouth and her head shaking no with every repetition. The rest of the family looked from Rosita to Lourdes throughout the whole episode with quizzical faces. Of course, everyone, family and friends, knew her boyfriend, Freddie, was abusive, but no one had been able to convince the besotted woman to leave him. And so far, he hadn’t physically abused Lourdes that anyone knew of although plenty had witnessed his verbal and mental attacks upon her throughout their relationship.

The emergency personnel were unable to pin Rosita down alone either, and her father and mother had to assist while one of the workers plunged a needle-filled sedative into her arm. Once they got her to the hospital and tests were conducted, no source for her sudden delirious behavior was found. Since she didn’t present a danger to others or to herself, she was sent home with the diagnosis of having what they called female hysteria, although she was not promiscuous by any means, nor did she express any interest in having boyfriends yet. She had graduated from high school the week before, and she was intent upon finding a job since the summer had barely begun. There would be time for boys and boyfriend-hunting later, she told her girlfriends. They only shook their heads and had to abide by her wishes, especially when their first attempt at arranging a blind date for her made her so obviously upset. Having heard this from her mother, the doctors determined she was stunted in that area of feminine development and since they had no other explanation, they went with what they knew. It was either hysteria or she’d gone mad. Of course, the family was livid. Their daughter wasn’t hysterical, nor was she loca.

At a suggestion from Sergeant Santiago, her mother called upon their parish priest despite Rosita’s objections, but he refused to consider performing an exorcism. There was not enough evidence she was possessed. However, he came to her bedside and blessed her with holy water anyway. She calmly looked on and obediently complied when he asked her to close her eyes and pray for whatever evil had befallen her. Oh, she knew what had happened to her. She wasn’t sure whether it was evil either, but she knew she couldn’t tell the padre. So she said nothing, and then he left. Her parents’ last alternative was to bring in a curandero.

Curanderismo, with origins in Latin America, is a holistic healing method passed down from one generation to the next, which blends faith, prayer, herbal medicines, and massage. The Spanish word for cure is curar, so a curandero is a healer. His or her goal is to create a balance between the patient, his or her faith, the environment—nature—and religion, much like those who practice meditation and the balancing of chakras. And like those, the curandero is misunderstood and often accused by the ignorant of being a witch. Señor Guzman, who was aware of this prejudice, was content to treat only those in his immediate vicinity where he was welcome and trusted.

Having heard what Rosita did and how nervousness was a characteristic of whatever malady had overcome her, he concluded that she suffered from susto, meaning fright. Sometimes a person experiences an event so catastrophic—a tragedy like the sudden death of a loved one or the loss of a home to fire—that the person suffers physically. The imbalance of the spirit within the body requires a consultation, no different than that of a therapist or a psychologist who can get to the root of the event from the patient.

So Señor Guzman requested he be allowed to see Rosita alone, thinking if she could confide in him, perhaps she would feel free with a relative stranger rather than a family member. The treatment for susto required that she tell him exactly what she had undergone which had scared her so badly that her spirit had been disrupted, perhaps had even left her body. However, as he began placing a large crucifix on the floor, she stopped him.

"Señor, there is no way I will tell you what happened to cause me to be so acongojada. The reason for my anxiety comes not from susto, but from something else, something I cannot reveal to anyone."

When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised a hand to quiet him. Don’t worry. Nothing bad happened to me, just something I agreed to and must learn to live with. I had a moment of panic in the park is all. When she saw the crestfallen look on his face because his services wouldn’t be needed, she added, But if you will perform the ritual, I’m sure it can’t hurt.

She smiled then, and the old man was lost in the sad acceptance he saw in her eyes. Rosita reminded him of an old woman whom he’d tried and failed to save from a grave and fast-moving illness. The look in this young girl’s eyes was the same. That realization that la Muerte, Saint Death, was close and would be taking her to the afterlife had made the elderly lady introspective as she lay in the bed from which she would not rise. There was a dimness where the former twinkle had been in her gaze as if she had already had a glimpse of the peaceful sleep that was forthcoming. Rosita’s eyes had the same resigned look, like there was nothing neither she nor he could do to prevent whatever lay ahead for her. He blinked back the sympathetic tears which had gathered in his eyes and turned away to gather his herbs. He had her lie on the floor with the crucifix beneath and waved a smoking stalk of interwoven rosemary and purple sage over her body as he prayed over her.

Indeed, Rosita felt a sort of calm come over her with the pleasant aroma and the rhythmic movement of his hands above her body. She sighed deeply when he said, Amen.

"You realize, my child, that if you keep behaving irrationally in the presence of others, you will jeopardize your future, me entiendes, you understand? You will be institutionalized against your will."

She nodded. Then he explained that if she had any control over herself, her body, her impulses, she had better begin exercising them immediately. "If not, m’hija, he pleaded, you will be committed to the asilo and will spend much time there, perhaps even the rest of your life. Do you know what the so-called doctors do to those whom they think are crazy? When she shook her head, he described two types of therapy he knew of in which the patient was given certain types of drugs to induce comas or seizures, the doctors mistakenly thinking they would disrupt the brain function sufficiently to cure the madness. Lastly, he frightened her into petrified silence when he described how lobotomies were performed, supposedly to disturb elements in the brain doctors believed were malfunctioning. By the time he finished, she was more than ready and able to conduct herself as normally as she could from that day forward.

I understand, Señor, Rosita said when he finished. Tell my parents I am cured, and I shall do as you say.

I will do as you ask, and we will both save face. Knowing his presence had most likely done nothing but enable the girl to try her best at a pretense of normalcy in future, he agreed. After all, his reputation was at stake; her sanity was also. He only hoped she could keep her end of their bargain and vowed to pray for her and to check up on her from time to time.

She’s not loca, he proclaimed when he left her room and joined her parents. Neither is she possessed. Her behavior was not brought on by susto either. But I think we may have begun to make her better. You won’t mind if I come back to check on her?

With her parents’ blessing, the healer left, refusing to take the tattered five-dollar bill as payment since all he did was console and advise the young girl. Rosita kept to her room for the rest of the evening and night after the kind curandero had lectured her on how her actions would be the death of her and emerged the following morning as though nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, her mother had some concerning news. During the night Freddie had taken to his fists in what had started as a verbal argument with Lourdes. If a neighbor hadn’t heard her screams, he might have indeed ended up killing her as Rosita had envisioned. As it was, the police had thrown the drunk in jail for the night and were working with Sergeant Santiago’s assistance to try to get him to stay for at least several more days. The problem they encountered, however, was with Lourdes who refused to press any charges, despite that she could barely speak from the choking. No matter who begged her to see the man for what he was: a bully and