Gary Brandner - Walkers

The dark girl looked first at Glen, then Joana. Her gaze lingered for a moment, and a shadow crossed her face. Then she turned to Dr. Hovde.

"I thought you did not believe the stories of my grandmother."

"I'm not sure what I believe in anymore," Hovde said. "One thing is sure, I'm not as quick to deny that things are possible just because they're outside my experience."

" 'More things in heaven and earth,' eh, Doctor?" said Ynez with a soft smile.

"Something like that."

The nurse nodded, then looked quickly at Joana. "It is you who are in trouble, is it not?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"In my family, the Villaneuvas, each of us has a touch of the power, some greater, some less. My mother always knew one or two days before it happened when one of us children was going to get sick or hurt ourselves in some way. It tortured her that she could do nothing to prevent it. My brother, when he was younger and would concentrate very hard, could make a ball roll off a table just by willing it so."

"And you, Ynez?" Joana asked.

"I sometimes see things in people's faces. Secrets they do not know are there. But that is all I can do. None of us truly has the power. None but my grandmother."

"Would it be possible to meet her?"

"Are you sure this is what you want? My grandmother will see very few people anymore, and those she does see are often sorry afterwards. They ask her questions, beg for the answers, and when my grandmother tells them what they want to know, they may wish they had never asked. Bruja, some call her. Witch."

"Ynez, I'm desperate," Joana said. "Maybe your grandmother can help me, maybe she can't. I don't know. I have nowhere else to turn."

Ynez studied Joana's face. Her coffee-colored eyes showed deep compassion. "I will speak to her, Joana, but you must not have your hopes too high. My grandmother has been badly used by people, and she can be very bitter. Now she only sits alone in her room and waits to die. But I will speak to her of you. I will do what I can."

"Thank you," Joana said with feeling.

"Where can I reach you when I have talked to my grandmother?"

Joana borrowed a notebook from Glen and wrote down her home and office telephone numbers. Ynez took the slip of paper, folded it, and put it away.

Joana touched the other girl's hand. "Ynez, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your helping me."

The nurse's dark eyes were grave. "I have done nothing for you yet. My grandmother may refuse to see you. And even if she agrees, you may wish she hadn't."

"I'll take the chance," Joana said.

Ynez looked at her with a sad smile, then nodded as though she'd heard what she expected. "Be careful, Joana," she said. "Be very careful." Then she rose from the table and walked away without looking back.

The next day Joana had a difficult time keeping her mind on her work. She made careless mistakes in routine tasks, forgot appointments, and had to keep asking people to repeat what they had just said to her. Just before lunch John Waldo, the manager of her department, ambled over and sat on her desk. He was a tall man with narrow hips and a gunfighter moustache. In the office he wore Western shirts and faded denims. The personnel of the advertising department, being "creative" and therefore a little strange, were given more latitude in dress than others in the corporate family. A touch of eccentricity was expected here, even encouraged. John Waldo's personal idiosyncrasy was impersonating the Marlboro man.

"How you doin', little gal?" he drawled.

"Okay. Well, not so okay, really. I'm not completely with it today."

"Shucks, I guess I can understand that. When some crazy galoot busts into your house, and then you got to go through a lot of palaver with the police, why, no wonder you're shook up."

"That's no excuse for messing up the job the way I am today."

"Don't worry about it, the back-to-school campaign is roped and branded, and we've got a breather until we have to saddle up for the Thanksgiving sale. Why don't you take the rest of the day off if you want to. Heck, take the rest of the week. You've got sick leave coming."

"Thanks, John, but I really feel a lot better here than I would at home. I need people around me." Live people, she might have added, but did not.

"Whatever you say, gal. If you haven't any plans for chow, how about comin' along with me to Dominick's?"

'Thanks, but I'm going to be eating in today. I'm expecting an important phone call, and I wouldn't want to miss it."

The manager pushed himself off the desk and hitched up his denims. "If there's any little thing I can do for you, Joana, just give a shout and I'll come a-runnin'."

"Thanks, John, I appreciate that."

Joana watched the Wilshire Boulevard cowboy mosey back toward his own office. She knew it was not easy for him or any of the others to know what to say to her. There was an accepted way to treat people who had been ill, or in an accident, or suffered a death in the family. You could go by the book. But what did you say to somebody who had barely escaped an attack by a maniac, watched her boyfriend kill the man, and spent several hours being questioned by the police?

At lunchtime Joana went out to the catering wagon that served her floor and bought a tuna-salad sandwich, an apple, and a half-pint carton of milk. She took them back to her desk and ate while trying to concentrate on a sheaf of competitors' newspaper ads. She waited nervously for the phone to ring.

Joana knew she was probably staking too much on Ynez Villanueva's grandmother. She was, after all, just an old woman who was said to have undefined psychic powers that Joana would have scoffed at until very recently. But now there seemed to be no other help available to get her out of this nightmare. So she sat tense, waiting for the call from Ynez.

It was three o'clock when the phone on her desk finally rang. Joana jumped as though it had bitten her.

"Joana? This is Ynez Villanueva. Am I interrupting your work?"

"No. I've been waiting for your call."

"I talked to my grandmother a little while ago. She has no telephone, so I had to call the man downstairs to get her. He was not very happy about it."

"What happened?" Joana tried to keep the terrible eagerness out of her voice.

"As I thought, she did not want to see you. I told you she sees nobody anymore. But I talked to her and talked to her. I told her, forgive me, that you were an old and dear friend of mine. Finally she agreed to let you come and talk to her, but just the one time, and just for a few minutes."

"That's wonderful, Ynez, I can't thank you enough. Where does she live?"

Ynez gave her an address in Boyle Heights. Joana wrote it on her desk calendar pad and tore off the sheet.

"I'll go there tonight," she said, "right after I get off work."

"No," said Ynez abruptly. "My grandmother will not talk to you tonight."

"But why?"

"That I cannot tell you. She has strange ways, and I never question them."

The disappointment Joana felt was all out of proportion. She struggled for control. "When can I see her, then?"

'Tomorrow will suit my grandmother. After sundown. That is when she agreed to talk to you, and no other time."

"Tomorrow," Joana repeated. "Must I go alone, or is it all right to take somebody along?"

"She said nothing about that. I think it will be all right to take Glen."

"Did you tell her what it is I want to see her about?" Joana said.

"I told her nothing. My grandmother needs no one to tell her things like that."

"I see. Well, thank you again, Ynez. I'm really grateful."

"I hope you still feel that way after you have talked to my grandmother."

There was a click on the line and the telephone went dead in Joana's hand. Thoughtfully she cradled the instrument. For a moment she wanted to laugh out loud at the crazy scenario she was acting out. Here she was sitting at her everyday desk in her familiar office, talking on her own business phone, and making an appointment to visit a witch.