It all began on the day the witch's daughter ran into her cousin, Garbancito. As they usually did when they had time, they stopped to chat, and he told her that Berrocán, a neighbor from the village, had died in an accident, driving his car off a cliff. The curious thing was that, just a few days earlier, Berrocán had visited her mother, the witch, to have his palm read, and she had predicted a very long life for him.
The next day, after dropping her son off at school, she went to visit her mother.
The witch's house, as usual, was messy and dirty.
As they prepared coffee in the earthenware pot, Cenizo, the witch's black cat, appeared, meowing softly in the kitchen and rubbing against their legs. He started circling around the two of them, tracing slow, attentive circles, his yellow eyes moving from one to the other as if following the thread of the conversation.
—Mother, you haven't asked Cenizo to read my mind, have you?
—No, daughter, he's just saying hello —replied the witch, while the cat paused for a moment by her heel, as if waiting for a stroke.
It had been a while since the witch had seen her grandson, so she asked her daughter when she would bring him over.
—I'm going to send someone to your house to help you with the cleaning —her daughter replied, avoiding the question.
—I don't want anyone cleaning here! If you send someone, I'll kick them out —said the witch, and instantly, Cenizo, who was by the stove, stopped purring. His ears flattened slightly backwards and, with a quick movement, he turned and ran out of the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway with his tail held high, as the witch's sharp tone and wave of rejection filled the room—it wasn't his thing, so he preferred to leave.
—Mother, did Berrocán come to see you in recent days?
—Yes, a couple of weeks ago he came to have his palm read. He wanted to buy a car without a license. Since he's getting on in years, they were going to take his driver's license away, and he wanted to know if it was a good idea.
—And what did you tell him?
—That the life line on his hand was very long, and that it was undoubtedly a good idea.
—Did you know Berrocán died driving a car without a license off the mill's cliff? Are you sure you saw his hand properly?
—How strange —replied the witch, surprised—. I thought I saw he had a very long life line.
—Mom, you have to go to the doctor to see an optometrist —blurted out her daughter, after tasting the salty coffee with a grimace.
The witch didn't want her daughter to realize she could barely see due to cataracts, but she couldn't hide it when she confused the salt for the sugar and poured a good handful into her daughter's coffee.
—In ninety years, no one has had to check on me, and I don't intend to start now —she said, straightening her bony frame to show her strength!
In truth, despite her age, the witch was stronger than a yew branch, and although she never stopped complaining about various ailments, these were just tricks to get her daughter to visit her often.
—We have to go to the health center for a check-up and ask for a referral to the optometrist.
—I've never had health problems, and if there's something, you know we solve it at home in this family —retorted the witch.
They talked a while longer, and after finishing their coffee, this time with sugar, they said goodbye with a kiss.
In front of the doctor's desk were two empty chairs. Their assigned doctor was waiting for them, a woman no more than thirty-five years old, with chestnut hair and a white coat from which a thermometer and several pencils peeked out of the upper pocket.
She observed them over her black plastic-framed glasses, from behind the computer monitor.
—Well, what seems to be the problem? —she asked when they sat down.
—It's about my mother.
—Are you Ursulina Expósito?
—Yes —nodded the witch.
—And so, what's wrong with your mother? —asked the doctor, looking at both of them.
—There's nothing wrong with me! —protested the witch.
—I brought her for a check-up, even though she didn't want to come. Also, she's losing her sight; that's why we're here, to get a referral to the specialist —explained the daughter.
The doctor, accustomed to elderly people who resisted seeing a doctor, smiled patiently.
—Well, let's check, then —she said.
—Let's see, Ursulina, lie down on the examination table and unbutton your blouse.
As the witch unbuttoned her blouse, she glanced sideways at the doctor's desk, at the glowing computer monitor.
She had learned to read as a child when she was taken to the forest to a great-great-aunt's house. There, they taught her to decipher the scribbled signs in an old parchment-like book that contained the family history, the properties of plants and living beings, and all kinds of remedies and spells.
The witch's daughter, however, was educated in a convent school… she remained a boarder there for the seven years of secondary school. That confinement was arranged by the wife of Don Sebastián, the local boss who didn't want to die. The so-called "rich aunt" took revenge on the sorceress in this way for a double resentment: while the witch prepared effective infusions so that the maids wouldn't bear the master's children, she was unable to concoct the right potion for *her* to get pregnant.
The doctor approached the examination table.
—Say thirty-three.
The old woman obeyed reluctantly as the doctor placed the cold stethoscope on her back.
—And what's that for? —asked the witch when the doctor took out an otoscope.
—To see how much wax you have in your ears.
As she let the doctor tug on her ears, the witch wondered if the doctor could be guessing what she was thinking about her at that moment.
—Can you hear well?
—Perfectly!
After cleaning the stethoscope, the doctor picked up a wooden tongue depressor.
—Open your mouth.
—Ah…!
—Good, you can get dressed now.
The doctor returned to her desk and typed something on the computer. A moment later, a printer next to her spat out some papers, which she collected and handed to the witch's daughter.
—On your way out, make an appointment at the nurse's station for a blood draw and take this container to collect your first-morning urine.
—What did you say? I have no intention of coming back here, nor am I going to let anyone take a single drop of my blood! —exclaimed the old woman, opening her eyes wide.
But the doctor continued impassively:
—After the blood draw, make an appointment for a week from now to see the results. And when you come, we can remove that wart on your face; it's rather unsightly.
Hearing this, the witch felt dizzy and had to hold onto her daughter's arm to avoid falling. In a low voice, she cursed the doctor:
—May the glass on your desk catch fire and you all burn in hell!
When they left the consultation room with the referral slips—the doctor had given her an appointment book to note down her medical visits, left by some medical sales rep—they went to the counter to make appointments for the nurse and the optometrist. The witch, still affected by her visit to the doctor's office, walked leaning on her daughter.
—What's the doctor's name? —she asked.
The man at the counter, who heard her, replied as he handed them the papers:
—The doctor's name is Grimelda Belladona.
—Mom, what a coincidence, the doctor's name is Grimelda, like Snow White's stepmother.
—Well, now that I think about it, I'm glad about your idea of coming to the health center —said the witch, recovering from her time in the consultation room, and her tone held a mix of admiration and morbid curiosity—. If we hadn't come, I wouldn't have met Dr. Lagrimeada. What a woman!
The young woman looked at her confused, but her mother continued, lowering her voice as if sharing a family secret:
—I want to come more often. I really liked that woman. I want to get to know her better —she stated, then added with a stentorian laugh—: She's nastier than cat hair on a blanket! I'm sure if we get to know each other, she and I are going to be good friends. I have to invite her to come to my house and try my salty coffee.
mvf.
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