The Scroll of Seduction Read Online Free PDF Page B

Your observations are very wise.”
    We had reached the bakery. Old women in mourning, wearing thick black stockings and clunky black shoes, were clustered around the counter. The owner greeted me as I walked in. The smell of honey and cookies was wafting in from the oven. I chose my standard treats. Manuel was looking up at a stack of guava paste boxes and asked the baker to get one down. (Those are very expensive, Manuel, I said, getting close to him.) He made the owner open a box so he could see the block of cellophane-wrapped guava paste inside. He raised it to his face and sniffed, and then held it to my nose. I breathed in and then sighed. The smell of the fruit reached my lungs despite all the packaging. I couldn’t persuade him not to buy it, even after I told him that in my country it was never prepared in a thick, densely flavored bar. “That’s how they eat it in Cuba, with pieces of cheese,” the owner said. “It’s exquisite. Comeon, sweetheart, you’ll love it. Let him treat you if he wants to. You deserve it.” Manuel wouldn’t let me pay for anything. After all, didn’t I realize that fate, by placing him on my street that day, demanded that he celebrate our fortuitous, unexpected encounter?
    Besides the surprise of meeting him by chance, the memory of that day brought back to me the way he took my arm as we left the bakery. He leaned so close to me that I got chills down my neck. He seemed not to be particularly aware of personal space, and I didn’t feel like he was doing it to provoke a reaction but more like a clumsy child, unaware of the effect of his earnest gestures.
    When we got to the entrance of my school he made me promise to write to him again and then kissed me good-bye on the cheek. I stood there for a little while after he’d left, waving as I watched him walk down the street.
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    â€œHE MUST HAVE BEEN HANGING AROUND ALL DAY WAITING TO SEE you,” said Margarita, smiling maliciously. We were the only ones at dinner on Sundays. “It’s hard to believe in ‘coincidences’ like that. You’re so lucky: you hardly ever leave this place and yet you’ve managed to find yourself a boyfriend.”
    â€œBoyfriend? You’ve got quite an imagination, Margarita.”
    â€œHey, let me try that guava paste. In Guatemala we eat it with cheese or cream, like in Cuba.”
    We didn’t have any cheese or cream, but we spread it on our bread. And we savored it, as if little pieces of our childhoods, our distant countries, were dissolving on our tongues.
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    â€œNOW THAT WE KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER, MANUEL, TELL ME. That day we met on the street by the school, was that merely chance or were you lurking around, waiting for me to appear?”
    â€œWell, I did go there thinking of you. But I never thought I’d see you. I have to admit, though, that when I bumped into you I felt like there was more than just a coincidence behind it.”
    â€œDo you believe in telepathy?”
    â€œTelepathy? Everything in the world is related, it all interacts. Telepathy is just a manifestation of that interaction, of the interconnectedness of the world. Reality is both more complex and more malleable than it seems. And so is time. Which is why I think you’ll be able to intuit Juana’s innermost thoughts and feelings as soon as I immerse you in her atmosphere, her era, her personal circumstances. Believe me. It’s not just some crazy plan so I can cast a spell on you. It will work. You’ll see.”
    â€œAlright, Manuel. It’s true that Poe, Borges, and Lovecraft are my favorite writers–I just never thought I’d end up in one of their stories.” I smiled, slightly embarrassed at my own mistrust. “I’ll do it, but where’s that dress you were talking about?”
    â€œFollow me,” he said, standing up, holding out his hand. “We’ll go to my room.”
    â€œIf