Play & Book Excerpts
The Broken Hummingbird
(She Writes Press)
© Ann Marie Jackson
At first, Jane doesn’t see the bruja herself amid the unsettling contents of her sanctuary. Dozens of dusty statues crowd every available surface in the room, covering bookshelves, narrow tables, and the top of a minifridge. Catholic saints Jane recognizes and many more she doesn’t share space with indigenous religious offerings. Expensive works of art encased in glass mingle with more humble contributions. Here and there, saints have toppled over, landing on their neighbors in undignified positions.
Jane wonders whether their plaster hearts ever swell for truly deserving petitioners. Are some among them more intrigued by the naughty ambitions they hear, the petty, selfish desires? Does a half hour in this room ever make a dent in the plans laid out by the fates long ago?
“Buenas tardes, Doña Ximena, how wonderful to see you.” Lindsay’s hand brushes Jane’s arm to ensure her attention. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Jane.”
Jane pulls her gaze from the visual feast around her to the petite, elderly woman seated at a small table in the center of the room. The eyes peering back exude good humor.
After offering a respectful greeting, Jane finds herself again distracted, for on the floor behind the bruja lies an enormous pile of junk. The mound could almost have grown organically, an incarnate mass of clothing, trinkets, and lumpy plastic bags stuffed with puzzling contents. Household items overtaken by the pile poke out here and there, clawing for air. Perched near the top, a solitary can of Raid stands ready for battle, acknowledging the necessities of the uncleanable space. Jane wonders whether the bruja is a hoarder or takes in donations for the poor but then concludes that the collection must be related to the woman’s work. The items in the pile must have been brought in by clients as physical connections to their emotional burdens, now safely contained by the witch. Seeing the incredible number of offerings must help put each person’s grievance into perspective.
A small oasis of floorspace remains, just large enough to hold the two plastic chairs in which Jane and Lindsay now sit, the chair occupied by Ximena, and the table between them. Jane imagines that at any moment this space, too, could disappear, inundated by the looming masses of items holy and pedestrian.
Ximena asks for Jane’s right hand and holds it over a pile of cards. She recites the first line of a prayer to San Pedro de la Misión and directs Jane to repeat it. Jane obediently beseeches the saint for insight, compassion, and assistance, and agrees to accept the negative and positive aspects of the truth revealed to her.
Jane watches for a sign, for the woman before her to know an unknowable fact. The bruja begins to lay out the cards. She pauses to ask whether Jane has headaches. No? Swollen feet? Back pain? Pain anywhere, no? The next card indicates that Jane enjoys great health and will be blessed with long life. And so it continues until the bruja assures her that her life will hold many more triumphs despite the fact that money flows too quickly through her fingers. Jane almost laughs. Her husband would agree on the last point at least.
Ximena presses her for a goal, a pending decision, a path to further, but Jane can’t bring herself to tell the truth of why she’s come. She imagines explaining that she’s here because her marriage has gone all wrong and there’s no pat answer as to why. I didn’t even really cheat. He just assumed I did, and I’ve tried to fix it. The problem started long before that anyway. Now I’m pathetically jealous of other people’s healthy relationships, often wondering what’s wrong with me that I can’t have that. And why, if I’m being honest, just between you and me, witch, aren’t I trying very hard anymore to fix it?
Sometimes a marriage just withers. Many people her age can relate, can’t they? Do they ever come in here talking about how when their partner gets angry, they get angry, and then things can go so dark so fast their head spins? How it’s such a shock that they don’t admit it for a long time, even to themselves? Even when down deep they know there’s no going back? When they maybe never should have married him in the first place?
So far, she could tell this woman, there’s been no real violence, just fear. She could explain how frightened she is of the latent capacity for violence lurking perhaps in both of them, as well as the varieties of non-violent damage already inflicted. She fears the reach of his anger into her future. She fears his influence over her boys. She fears losing the life she’s built for them and having to start over again. Above all, she feels cold sweaty terror at the prospect of having to fight for her children against the man she once loved.
God no, she won’t offer a heartsick lament for her dying marriage here in this strange room. She won’t explain that she hates her own bitterness but understands also that she uses it, sculpted into a form of armor. She refuses, as though saying any of it out loud could force her hand. Ximena asks again why she has come. The awkward moment stretches on until Jane thinks to say that she shares the usual concerns of a mother for her children’s health and happiness. The bruja shrugs and offers a platitude in return.
Jane enjoys, however, the closing ritual in which Ximena prays over a candle, alternating fluidly between Spanish and Otomí, the local indigenous language. She accepts the candle with both hands, feeling empowered with the feminine energy of a tradition spanning generations.
Then it’s over. They’re leaving. “Wait, Lindsay, aren’t you having a reading, too?”
“No, I’d only booked the one appointment, and I thought you’d like to try it.”
“I didn’t know I was stealing your slot. Thank you, but why?”
Jane wonders whether their plaster hearts ever swell for truly deserving petitioners. Are some among them more intrigued by the naughty ambitions they hear, the petty, selfish desires? Does a half hour in this room ever make a dent in the plans laid out by the fates long ago?
“Buenas tardes, Doña Ximena, how wonderful to see you.” Lindsay’s hand brushes Jane’s arm to ensure her attention. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Jane.”
Jane pulls her gaze from the visual feast around her to the petite, elderly woman seated at a small table in the center of the room. The eyes peering back exude good humor.
After offering a respectful greeting, Jane finds herself again distracted, for on the floor behind the bruja lies an enormous pile of junk. The mound could almost have grown organically, an incarnate mass of clothing, trinkets, and lumpy plastic bags stuffed with puzzling contents. Household items overtaken by the pile poke out here and there, clawing for air. Perched near the top, a solitary can of Raid stands ready for battle, acknowledging the necessities of the uncleanable space. Jane wonders whether the bruja is a hoarder or takes in donations for the poor but then concludes that the collection must be related to the woman’s work. The items in the pile must have been brought in by clients as physical connections to their emotional burdens, now safely contained by the witch. Seeing the incredible number of offerings must help put each person’s grievance into perspective.
A small oasis of floorspace remains, just large enough to hold the two plastic chairs in which Jane and Lindsay now sit, the chair occupied by Ximena, and the table between them. Jane imagines that at any moment this space, too, could disappear, inundated by the looming masses of items holy and pedestrian.
Ximena asks for Jane’s right hand and holds it over a pile of cards. She recites the first line of a prayer to San Pedro de la Misión and directs Jane to repeat it. Jane obediently beseeches the saint for insight, compassion, and assistance, and agrees to accept the negative and positive aspects of the truth revealed to her.
Jane watches for a sign, for the woman before her to know an unknowable fact. The bruja begins to lay out the cards. She pauses to ask whether Jane has headaches. No? Swollen feet? Back pain? Pain anywhere, no? The next card indicates that Jane enjoys great health and will be blessed with long life. And so it continues until the bruja assures her that her life will hold many more triumphs despite the fact that money flows too quickly through her fingers. Jane almost laughs. Her husband would agree on the last point at least.
Ximena presses her for a goal, a pending decision, a path to further, but Jane can’t bring herself to tell the truth of why she’s come. She imagines explaining that she’s here because her marriage has gone all wrong and there’s no pat answer as to why. I didn’t even really cheat. He just assumed I did, and I’ve tried to fix it. The problem started long before that anyway. Now I’m pathetically jealous of other people’s healthy relationships, often wondering what’s wrong with me that I can’t have that. And why, if I’m being honest, just between you and me, witch, aren’t I trying very hard anymore to fix it?
Sometimes a marriage just withers. Many people her age can relate, can’t they? Do they ever come in here talking about how when their partner gets angry, they get angry, and then things can go so dark so fast their head spins? How it’s such a shock that they don’t admit it for a long time, even to themselves? Even when down deep they know there’s no going back? When they maybe never should have married him in the first place?
So far, she could tell this woman, there’s been no real violence, just fear. She could explain how frightened she is of the latent capacity for violence lurking perhaps in both of them, as well as the varieties of non-violent damage already inflicted. She fears the reach of his anger into her future. She fears his influence over her boys. She fears losing the life she’s built for them and having to start over again. Above all, she feels cold sweaty terror at the prospect of having to fight for her children against the man she once loved.
God no, she won’t offer a heartsick lament for her dying marriage here in this strange room. She won’t explain that she hates her own bitterness but understands also that she uses it, sculpted into a form of armor. She refuses, as though saying any of it out loud could force her hand. Ximena asks again why she has come. The awkward moment stretches on until Jane thinks to say that she shares the usual concerns of a mother for her children’s health and happiness. The bruja shrugs and offers a platitude in return.
Jane enjoys, however, the closing ritual in which Ximena prays over a candle, alternating fluidly between Spanish and Otomí, the local indigenous language. She accepts the candle with both hands, feeling empowered with the feminine energy of a tradition spanning generations.
Then it’s over. They’re leaving. “Wait, Lindsay, aren’t you having a reading, too?”
“No, I’d only booked the one appointment, and I thought you’d like to try it.”
“I didn’t know I was stealing your slot. Thank you, but why?”
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Ann Marie Jackson is co-founder of microlending organization Mano Amiga and former vice president of Casita Linda, which builds homes for families living in extreme poverty in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
Early in her career, after earning degrees from Stanford and Harvard, Jackson joined the U.S. Department of State to promote human rights in China and other East Asian and Pacific Island nations. She has worked with Human Rights Watch, A Better Chance, and Internews to further social justice causes and advance respect for human rights. Her columns, short stories, and essays appear in Mexico News Daily, Sanctuary Magazine, San Miguel Life, THIS Top Destinos, GirlTalkHQ, Solamente en San Miguel, and more. A portion of the proceeds from book sales benefit nonprofit organizations serving women and families in central Mexico. A native of Seattle, Washington, Jackson resides in San Miguel de Allende. |
Photo Courtesy: Ann Marie Jackson
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