In light of recent events, I’ve decided to share a part of my novella about a woman faced with a decision. Needless to say, I was inspired by forewarned decision by the SCOTUS to federally ban the right to abortion. The years of debate leading up to this horrified me. So I had to write. Enjoy.
The best thing you can do to help a woman faced with such a decision is to give her what she needs.
Abort: Santa Faye (Part 3)
Rachael was muttering angrily as she balanced groceries in one hand and apartment keys in the other. One bag was cutting into her forearm, while others dangled precariously around two fingers and pinched the blood out of them.
Some parts of her job were to go grocery shopping on behalf of her clients. She didn’t mind it at all, because it wasn’t her money. Shopping was fun when it wasn’t her dime. Unfortunately today, she just wasn’t feeling it. She didn’t get that surge of accomplishment she usually got when she checked off items off her client’s grocery list. She didn’t even get that little needling urge to get a little something for herself with the cash she was given (She’d never use her clients’ cash for anything other than what it was intended for but the thought crossed her mind often).
After what Noah did, grocery stores were tainted, and like the leaning grocery bag on her arm, she was all out of balance from the terrible weight of everything else she was carrying.
Finally she worked the key in the door and kicked it open. The momentum of holding the bags and the motion of kicking resulted in the bag on her fingers toppling over the threshold and landing sideways on the floor with a sickening crunch.
“It’s me. I’m back,” she sighed as she pushed the fallen bag to the side with her foot and entered the apartment.
She hoisted the remaining bags onto the tiny kitchen counter. Her finger and biceps burned as she lifted them. Afterwards, she waited a moment to collect her nerves over the kitchen sink. She shook her hand until color and feeling returned to her fingers.
The well of the sink was polished and bright, and dishes were washed and placed on their rack to dry. Before Rachael left for the store, she told her client, Santa Faye Hernandez, to leave the chores to her, but Faye (what her client preferred everyone to call her) didn’t listen.
There were never chores in the house left for Rachael to do while she was there, and that was one of the reasons why Faye was her favorite client.
Faye wasn’t the kind of woman to let her degenerative medical disorder slow her down. She preferred to dress herself as much as possible. She would call you into the bathroom for assistance if she felt she needed it. You didn’t have to follow her around as if she were a toddler.
With winter around the corner, Faye recently put up mothballs to keep out ladybugs. She didn’t need all their luck just yet, she laughed. Rachael had to step in just before Faye climbed a chair to tuck a mothball in the ceiling light fixture. Faye had no business climbing chairs at her age, but Faye did what she damn well pleased.
And though Faye didn’t need to, she always cooked a little more than she needed to, because she never knew what family or guest would stop by. Her household cupboards were stacked and ready with assorted cookies and teas to be offered upon entrance into her home.
Rachael’s favorite dish of Faye’s was asopao de pollo, a hearty gumbo of rice, herbs, and chicken. Sometimes Faye went out of her way to make an extra helping for Rachael to take home with her, because Rachael told her how Noah loved it. He’d even fingered the sauce out the Tupperware bowl.
Doing things on her own and doing for others was who Faye was. Her tiny cluttered apartment was a shrine to that. Crosses hung above every doorway in the apartment. Religious candles, leaflets, and one prominent image of Mother Mary’s Assumption adorned her living room. And every other possible space was occupied with framed photographs. There was one sepia-colored photo of a young Faye in her native Puerto Rico holding a coconut in one hand and a machete in the other, looking deadpanned at the camera. Her biceps were thick then.
There were photos of her kids from throughout their life, and one panorama of a Faye sitting in her wide-backed wicker chair surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Her family treated her as reverently as Faye treated her home.
Faye’s life and home were so full, rich, and happy, Rachael tried to breathe it all in before she stepped away from the sink and back into work (or what was left of it to do).
Rachael found Faye just where she had left her that morning: sitting in her favorite armchair watching her telenovelas on the plasma screen her children got her last Christmas. You would think she was really into what she was watching the way she was hunched over and leaned towards the TV. Faye had a spinal disease colloquially called swayback. It left an inappropriate and pronounced curve to her back. Worsen by muscular dystrophy, Faye needed a walker to get around or risk falling over and seriously hurting herself. Three times a week, she needed help from Rachael with daily tasks that her children weren’t available for.
“I’m back,” Rachael whispered so as not to disturb her. “You didn’t have to do the dishes.”
“Did you hear something fall?” Faye said with a faint accent, and her voice often cracked and faded like that of an old phonograph, the ones with the golden horns and large disc records.
“Yes.” Rachael winced. “I think I broke the eggs.”
Faye muted the TV and looked at Rachael with green eyes that were nearly buried around fatty dark sockets. Despite her age (and the fat), Faye didn’t need glasses. Her vision was sharp and her gaze was electric. Rachael was shocked by it almost every time.
“That’s not like you,” Faye said slowly.
“I’m not feeling well. I might leave early today if you don’t mind.”
Faye squinted at her as if to study her closely.
“Of course, hija,” Faye said warmly. Her beautiful brown lips curled into a smile that shooed away storm clouds. “You’re as red as a beet. ¿La gripe?”
“No, not the flu. It’s too early for that and I wouldn’t put you at risk like that. It’s just been a very stressful week.”
“Stress? You sure?” With a smile, Faye continued to eye her suspiciously. Her head tilted to the side as if to hear Rachael better.
Rachael nodded quickly and turned back to the kitchen to break the tension. Faye held some kind of sway over her. Maybe it was Rachael’s disposition to respect her elders. She didn’t have a grandmother. Her mother was disconnected from her family long before Rachael was born. Maybe it was Faye’s electric green eyes. Whatever it was, if Rachael stayed there any longer she was likely to say things she didn’t want to say.
In the kitchen, Rachael started putting away the groceries saving the fallen bag still on the floor for last. There was a dark wet spot at one of the corners of the brown paper bag. She frowned as if she were looking at the soiled pants of one of her incontinent clients. She held the bag with both hands up and away from her clothes, and as she brought it over to the sink, a mucus strand trailed after it.
She pulled the items out of the bag until she reached a dented blue egg carton. Yolk was bleeding out the sides and coated Rachael’s hands. She opened the carton to see what was salvageable and screamed. The carton fell from her hand. Eggs tumbled out the carton, splattered and spread into the kitchen sink.
Rachael barely heard the walker clicking against the kitchen floor, but all of sudden Faye was standing behind her.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Rachael said tearfully. Her breath fluttered uncontrollably.
“What is it?” Faye’s voice faded at the end.
“It’s horrible.” Rachael tried to look back into the sink, but couldn’t. She didn’t need to. She could still see the yellow yolk sack covered in black and bloody feathers, a slimy barely formed black eye and a beak. She gagged at the thought of it.
Faye looked around her to see it for herself.
“This isn’t scary,” Faye shook her head. “This is an omen!”
Rachael couldn’t shake the image from her mind. Her stomach churned, and a memory tried to push itself up to the surface. It was a memory from a time long before she was pregnant with Noah. She had left it behind, forgotten all about it until now. Back then, it was disgusting to even think about it. Now, it was rotting and festering. She had to swallow it all down, and as she did, the waterworks came fast and hard. Fat teardrops dotted her shirt as she heaved with sobs.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another one.” Rachael cried and turned to the sink to clean up the mess. Her hand was shaking as she turned the faucet. She closed her eyes and went to pick up the egg carton. Her stomach turned, and her hand wouldn’t move to touch it.
Faye gently pulled her hand away from the sink and cupped them in her wrinkled fingers.
“Stop,” She said as quiet as a lullaby, but it only managed to wring more tears out of Rachael.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have screamed like that. I’m really not feeling well.”
“No, no, this is good. Things happen for a reason. This is an omen, a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
“If you’re trying to get pregnant, now is not the time. That is a bad egg.”
Racheal’s tears were plugged up by a burning rage behind her eyes. She pulled her hand out of Faye’s grasp, softly so not to be rude.
“I’m not trying to,” Rachael shook with anger.
“No, no hija, I wasn’t trying to offend you.”
“No Faye, I’m not trying to get pregnant. I am pregnant.” Rachael burst out saying, before more things got miscommunicated. She was relieved to finally tell someone else, but the tears pushed through her rage and resumed.
Faye nodded in understanding and wrapped an arm around Rachael’s waist.
“It’s okay. There are remedies I can make for you to help you keep this baby from all harm and evil.”
“No, no, Faye,” Rachael grew more frustrated. Her hands balled up. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it at all, but I’m stupid and scared. I can’t go to the hospital, because they’ll run more tests and tell me things I already know. Then they’ll send me to a clinic, and at the clinic, they’ll poke with more questions and stick me with a bill for something I can’t afford right now. And what am I paying for? I’ve heard the horror stories and I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it like that. I won’t be able to stand the blood.”
Rachael gagged, and that forgotten, rotten memory bubbled up again, but she was determined not to throw up like she had done then. She swallowed it back, but it was hard and jagged. She was left trembling from all the effort.
She continued when the nausea passed.
“And what would people think of me? I won’t be able to stand them staring at me. People will see me and know. The doctors, the nurses, the protesters outside, whatever girlfriends and family I do have, they will all know and judge. They make things so hard with the begging and the secrecy, but I know I can’t keep this thing. My home is too small. It’s not like yours. It’ll never be like yours, because I keep messing things up.”
Rachael cried until Faye grabbed a wet paper towel and started wiping away her tears. Faye wiped the corners of her eyes, swooped around her cheeks, and brushed around hair from her forehead. It was so soothing Rachael forgot that she was crying.
Faye worked her fingers under Rachael’s chin and lifted it up like an artist critiquing their work. Their eyes locked. Faye’s eyes shun as if there were lightning in them.
“And is the father around? Does he know?” She asked.
“He’s no good, Faye. God, I know he’s no good. I can’t tell him any of this. He won’t understand. He won’t ever understand what’s it takes to raise a child.”
“Have they ever understood?” Faye laughed. She laughed so hard her voice cracked and she grabbed her walker to keep from tilting over. Rachael jumped in quickly and held Faye up by her armpits. As she walked Faye back into her favorite living room armchair, Faye was still chuckling.
“You are not alone, hija. Men can be so cruel; no matter how many times we tell them so. Since the beginning, we’ve suffered at their hands. We suffer when they win or lose. We suffer when they stay or leave. We suffer most when they only think of themselves. They can hurt us so badly, how could we bear to bring life into this world? Slaves found clever ways to rid themselves of an unwanted seed to the point the wives of the masters caught on and begged for the potion to use for their own unwanted problems.”
“What are you talking about Faye?” Rachael felt like she was in a history lesson. There was something deeper going on. It was in the air around them. She kept looking around to see if anybody else was around her. Just photos, candles and crosses.
“I’m talking about the potion to your problem. The power of choice women found and passed on for generations.” Faye said giddily. “It’s natural and powerful. It won’t hurt. I’ve made it before with great results. We can ask Ochún for her blessing. She is young, passionate, and full of life, and loves love-making. You remind me a bit of her. She can give life and take it away like a snap. She might help you with your request.”
“What’s an Ochún ? What potion?”
“Ochún is a Goddess, and she will bless the potion to your problem.”
“What? I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Didn’t you?” Faye’s eyes were electric and wild. “Aren’t you?”
“Hold up. Are you talking about…,” She leaned in and whispered, “…an abortion?”
Even in a whisper, the word was tainted and was sour on her tongue. Her lips skewed and puckered from the taste.
“Call it what you want. I told you I know the way,” Faye answered cryptically. “I’ve made it for others. For myself. It’s natural, powerful, and painless, not like your clinics and doctors.”
Faye sat back in her chair as if it were a throne, back tall and straight like she was never disabled. Looking at her now, the veil was lifted from Rachael’s eyes. Underneath that seemingly frail woman was a fierce warrior. She didn’t just come overseas and birthed so many children without some extra help.
Faye had come from a country full of tradition and spiritualism. All the crosses, all the saints, and all the photos in the home weren’t just crosses, saints, and photos. They were totems of a shrine. They were anchors to the other side. They were beacons to all, living and deceased.
The candle, the leaflets, and that large poster of Mary Faye was a fanatic of, had eyes looking at her, awaiting her next move, the same way Faye was looking at her.
Rachael’s skin prickled with nervousness.
“How do you know how to make this?” Rachael asked.
“Do you know what Santería is?
Rachael heard the word tossed around in ear-shot of particular conversations with even more extremely particular groups of people. She might have seen something about it in a horror movie.
“Is it like voodoo?”
“Cousins of the same tribes.” She said with a smirk. “To my family and friends, I’m Santa Faye Hernandez. My parents thought themselves comedians. But to some others in my family and a few more outside of them, and to you right now, Rachael, I’m Santera Faye. I worship the Almighty and the Saints. I speak the language of the orisha so that they may answer our prayers.”
Rachael wiped sweat from her palms but still felt sticky. The yolk was still on her, and the home felt too much like a shrine. Even the conversation they were having felt sacrilegious in Faye’s home.
Her breathing quickened.
Faye pointed to a coat closet, blocked by a coffee table. Rachael noticed it, but never thought twice about opening it or what was behind it. She never needed to be anywhere near it, because the coffee table was always clean. Once she thought it was placed there because the apartment was overstuffed. The fact that was there a blocked closet door slipped from her mind up until now. Now that it was pointed out again, she saw a cross hanging above the door.
“We can use my home,” Faye continued. “It is a blessed space. My altar is in there. Ochún will love the offering. I know she will. Grab me a pen and paper.”
Rachael did as she was instructed. She moved like a robot, numb at first, until Faye had the pen and paper in her hand. Faye was writing down a list of things, even hemmed and hawed to herself as she recalled things she forgot.
Rachael was dizzy. Things were moving too fast.
“Pick up these ingredients. You can get most of them from the address on that, but get the fruit somewhere else. It’s cheaper. You’ll need to stop at the liquor store too. I’ll take care of the rest. I have some people I can call for a favor. The next time I see you, it will just be you and me, and then you will have your potion.”
Faye was going to hand her the list. Rachael tried to hand her trembling hands behind her back, but Faye saw and pulled the list back.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Rachael shook her head. She could never be afraid of Faye.
Faye held the list out again. “It will work, only if you want it.”
At this point, Rachael needed a bit of magic if she was trying to avoid anyone else finding out. She had nothing left to lose.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Let’s do it.”