“Speaking of the modern world, he’s like some Jonah in it—he runs off and tries to pursue a destiny different from the one that heaven’s picked for him—and so this enchantment happens. He laughs at me when he hears my talk. I’m no ignorant old country girl like he likes to believe. I lived in Rio before he was born; I’ve mingled with folks from the top to the bottom, and from the bottom zigzagged back to the top again. I know this country like my palm, and I’m not afraid of hot or cold in it.”

She swallowed the wad of cactus, popped another one in.

“I tell him it’s heaven’s punishment, but I don’t know whether any of that’s true. I just know what I see. And what I see is that he’s black all at the top and white all at the bottom. But what you see and only what you see can’t help you heal yourself. What do you see when you look at ipecacuanha—inconspicuous, growing there like any of God’s plants, but get her inside of you and what wonders.”

I still hadn’t buttoned my blouse. I was leaning back with my elbows on the kitchen table, listening. She came and buttoned it, then went to the counter and started chopping meat and vegetables for the stew. The smell of garlic and red pepper filled the room.

“And if it is true, it’s best you don’t collide with destiny. It’s best you flee.”

“I’m a stubborn colored girl,” I said. “If you make it seem like I’m running from him, perhaps I’ll stay.”

She shook her head vigorously, chopped fresh beef.

“No, you won’t be running from him,” she said.

She turned to me suddenly, the cleaver raised.

Like any fictioneer, I tried to resolve the scene. “I’ll be running from you?” I asked.

She looked down at herself, the cleaver, beef blood on her apron. She laughed. I laughed.

“No,” she said. “All of us run after our own selves. I may seem like I stay in one place, but I’m running after Encobierta too.”

“And when we see you we’d better look out!”

“You darn right,” she said, the cleaver raised again, her shoulders jiggling.

She stopped laughing and stared at me a moment. I felt as transparent as air. I thought she was going to talk about me, but she didn’t.