Homecoming, Or the Story About Saenz the Witch

There are some clear signs that tell me I am home. The giant size of the drinks. The lack of an internet connection. The huge spaces between buildings. The way the sky looks so big. The way everything is advertised using the word "Aztec" - Aztec Bakery, Aztec Ballroom, Aztec Barbers, and, next door, Aztec Auto Upholstery.

There are also signs that tell me that I've been away. These signs are more subtle. There aren't any new buildings, really, and the buses still squeak and they still haven't fixed the highway. But I can tell that I've been away because surrounding me is everyone else's sense of urgency. They all seem eager to tell me something, probably because they know that I'm only going to be here for a little while. My sister has made sure that I see that she's doing better at her new high school (and I'm glad). My dad wants to show off the yearbook he's been working on at school.

And then there's my grandma, who's perhaps most eager of all to communicate.

Today at lunch, she, my mom and I were eating barbecue. My mom was talking about some book she had just read, I can't even remember what it was, when my grandmother interrupted her.

"So you like mystery stories?" she said.

"Well, not really," my mom said. "It's more like a drama."

My grandma ignored her and told her own story.

Her father had two wives. This was a fact that I had always known, because I knew that my grandmother had her brothers and sisters, and also had some stepbrothers and stepsisters besides. I never knew much about the other woman before. But apparently, that other woman, the first wife, was a witch.

My grandmother has forgotten this witch's first name, but her last name was Saenz. My great-grandfather and this witch lived in the same town, and when the witch decided that she wanted a baby, she put one of her spells in my great-grandfather's drink. The day after she cast her spell, they were married.

Together they had several children. But despite the witch's original desire to be with my great-grandfather, she was not a faithful wife. While he was away, she would sit in front of the house and put spells on the passers by, and they would come into the house with her. My own grandma was rather vague about their activities, but she said that the witch's main interest was in playing these men for their money. She would enchant them, take their cash, and then let them go.

Eventually, word got back to my great-grandfather of what was going on. When he found out that his wife had been casting her spells on random men, he was devastated. At the same time, however, my great-grandmother had just arrived in town, and he immediately thought of her as the woman he would rather be with than the unfaithful witch.

He had legal issues, though. A divorce was not nearly as easy to come by those days as in these. So my great-grandfather sought the legal council of a lawyer. The lawyer recognized her brand of sorcery for what it was. "She's got you under a spell," he supposedly says, "but even worse, she's got you under the law."

But the lawyer had a recommendation. "Get out of here," he said, "to another state, and take that other girl with you. When you come back everything will be alright."

My great-grandfather didn't know where to go, but he figured he would take his advice. So he left his small town in northern Mexico and traveled with the woman that he wanted to be his new wife all the way up to Michigan. They didn't stay long; they just went to look. But when they came back to their hometown, the witch was dead.

"And thank goodness," my own grandmother said.

"Yeah, thank goodness," added my mom, who started on a magical narration of her own.

They went on like this for a while. Of course, both of them had probably heard each other's stories a number of times, but I think that they were telling them for my benefit. It's as if they want to make sure that I know these things before it's too late. After all, my grandma insisted that I keep thinking about the witch, telling me, "someone should really write this down." At least it's here; for now this is the best I can do.