Babayaga

went back over to the mantel. As she poured the wine, the glass reappeared.
    Noelle looked confused. “So it was only a trick?”
    “Did it feel like a trick to you?” said Elga, returning to the couch.
    “No,” said Noelle, rubbing her sore stomach.
    “Then it wasn’t a trick.” Elga went over to the closet. “Tricks are for Gypsies. You know what one of the charlatan Gypsies’ favorites is? They sneak a worm under their tongue, then they find someone sick and tell them, ‘I can suck the illness out.’ When they suck at the sick person’s flesh—shoulder or arm, it doesn’t matter—they pull that worm out of their mouth, show it to the sick person, and tell them that was the illness. The charlatan gets paid and the sick person dies.”
    She pulled out the rest of their bags. Her luggage looked ancient: the carpetbag’s canvas was faded and restitched; her other bag’s leather was stained with mud and cracked wax streaks. Both were covered in a hundred scars and scuffs as though they had been kicked across the entire continent. Beside them, Noelle’s unsullied new suitcase gleamed as white as an egg.
    “I am so sleepy. I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” said Noelle, crawling up onto the bed and curling herself around a pillow.
    “I’m telling you, don’t trust the Gypsies, don’t trust anyone. That’s what I’m saying. Bah. It doesn’t matter, sleep if you want,” said the old woman. “But Max will be here soon and then we have to go.”
    “Go where?” asked Noelle, sitting up. “Are we leaving?”
    “No,” said Elga. “But we’ll pack the camp up in case we need to leave in a hurry.”
    “Where are we going?”
    Elga gave the girl an impatient glance, clearly tired of her questions. “Well, first we have to find you a damn chicken,” Elga said, emptying the bureau of clothes.
    “Are we eating chicken?”
    Elga stopped and gave her a frustrated look. “What are you, some comedian? No, we won’t be eating the chicken.”
    Noelle pointed to the gun on the bedside table. “Are we going to kill it?”
    “Oh no; well, yes, eh, we are going to do a little killing.” Elga looked at the pistol for a moment, thinking it over. “But I don’t think I need that stupid gun.”
    V

    She lay in Will’s bed for a long time, contemplating staying there all day, not ready to rise and go through the motions again. Her muscles and bones were tired and sore from their passionate exertions, and she was not sure if she was strong enough for all the spells. Also, she was tempted to see if she could do it without tricks, perhaps this time the simple bond of affection could work? The thought was hardly new, she had often been tempted, and even tried it from time to time before the doubts struck and she found herself once again lacing her lovers’ chicory coffee with nutmeg hallucinations and spitting spells into the pages of their Bibles.
    But there was some element of what she and Will had both shared, and the way they were together, that made her wonder if this was not different. She had liked the way his hands had held her, pushing and pulling her body. There was reassurance in such strong, demanding need. She had liked the rhythm they had found, steady and forceful without feeling in any way automatic. She liked too the way his eyes moved over her body as they made love, not staring or overly attentive—which some men were out of their pure wonder at the luck of being with her. Nor did he make love with his eyes shut tight—which she had always found insulting—but instead it felt as if they were two animals running wild through some thick, shadowy wilderness, repeatedly catching each other’s glances as they raced on, always reassured to find they were still so close together.
    Amid all this, she sensed the seeds of a pure bond with him that she knew her many tricks would only taint and dilute. But the heavy rhythms of history called to her as she lay on the bed, tugging at her the same way she imagined the past pulled at opium addicts and alcoholics. No matter what the scientists say, heartbeats and appetites show that we are made as much of habit as either blood or flesh, she thought to herself as she rose from the bed and began to retrace the practiced patterns of old.
    She began by pacing out the perimeter of the apartment, thoughtfully plotting all her careful geomancy. Then she sang knots of simple spells into the apartment’s corners. She hummed and chewed on