“My husband is what we call a father of the mystery, a high priest of the religion, a babalawo, but he …” Rosaria looked right and left, as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “The saints pardon me for saying this to a stranger, to a yanqui. He uses his powers sometimes for evil purposes. He has cursed people. He has caused, with his powers, sickness and death to those he calls his enemies. So the young men around here, knowing of his passion to protect Elvira, have been afraid to ask him for her hand.”

Will had been clinging to the edge of an emotional cliff for four days. Now he let go.

“What if I were to ask him?” he said, amazed at himself for speaking so calmly, for feeling no nervousness or uncertainty. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life. “If it’s agreeable to Elvira, I will ask him. I’m not afraid of him. I do not believe in curses or in any kind of black magic.”

There was a prolonged silence, Rosaria and Elvira sitting as still as figures in a portrait, their backs to him.

“There are people who are not afraid of poisonous snakes, but that does not mean the snakes will not bite if they are stepped on,” the old woman said finally.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Will repeated, and his firmness and sincerity were not manufactured, not after all he had been through in the past two months. “I will ask him if Elvira wishes it. I am in love with her.”

“That requires no saying. It has been obvious that you were stricken the moment you saw her. And she feels the same. Que es verdad, no, Elvira?”

He saw the slight shy movement of her head under the pale blue kerchief, and now his heart tumbled joyfully.

“Get out of the tub and dress,” Rosaria commanded. “This is a time for you to have a cool head, even if the rest of you is not.”

After he had dressed, the two women turned to him. Elvira smiled—the first smile he’d seen on her lips. Rosaria went to her canastillero and took a bundle of herbs, which she dipped into a pan of water on the cold hearth; then she soaked a cloth in the preparation.

“Kneel down,” she said, beckoning Will to come forward.

He did, moving like a man under a spell, and the old santera began to wash his head with the cloth.