Episode Nine: Mi Encanto
50 years ago...
The first few days were the worst. The last moment of her husband's life played over and over in Alma's mind. The dreadful sound he made as the blade struck his skull rang perpetually in her ears. Even with her eyes open, she would see that final look of horror on his face. It followed her like a shadowy figure just behind her shoulder, haunting her every step while she tried to take care of her newborn babies. They cried so seldom, to begin with. As though holding their breath and bracing themselves for danger. All they had known in their short lives was fear, panic, and death. It was all Alma could do to keep them in her lap or in her arms. To nurse them, to keep them clean. She clung on tight, terrified to take her eyes off them, to let go of them for even a brief moment.
Then came the numbness, perhaps brought on by the lack of sleep. Or maybe her heart had felt so much pain that it wrapped itself up as snuggly as the blankets around her babies. Cocooned so tightly that nothing could get in or out. First, she forgot about her grief, then she forgot about her need for sleep or food, and finally, she forgot that terrible scene at the river. She forgot the ghastly sound as the sword made contact with Pedro's head. She forgot that last look of horror on his face, and soon she couldn't recall his face at all.
Finally, not two weeks later, came the empty indifference she felt towards her three babies. Her fellow survivors had all completed make-shift shelters of their own, so they stopped coming to the Casita at night to rest. Alma was alone. She would hold her babies and stare into their faces, Sometimes for hours, desperately trying to get that feeling back. But there was nothing. Nothing except the compelling drive to keep feeding them and cleaning them, and to stay awake while they slept. She could at least place them in their cribs to sleep now, split somewhere between the terror that she would lose them too, and a dreadful whisper she dared not entertain, that told her it might be better if she did.
Alma would walk while her babies slept. With the door open so she could hear if they made a sound, she would wind around and around the upper balcony, clutching the magical candle in her hands for light. All she did was walk, stopping only to feed and clean her babies when they cried. She walked until her toes bled, and blisters burst within blisters, and still, she didn't stop walking.
Then her milk dried up, and that was when the crying really started. Her babies cried and cried in hunger. They cried for their mother. They cried as their stomachs ached from the emptiness. Their cries almost became screams. They would have if only their tiny lungs had been strong enough. That was when Alma realised she had been neglecting herself. Although weak from exhaustion, she picked up all three babies and struggled down to the kitchen. She tried to eat, but when she did, her mouth was so dry that she couldn't chew, and when she tried to swallow, it felt like she might choke. Soft fruit, cut up as small as possible, seemed to be the only thing she could manage, but most of her fruit was overripe or rotten.
Eventually, she had no choice but to give up. Her babies had been crying so hard that they now struggled to make a sound at all. She picked them up again, awake yet silent, and made to take them back to their cribs. She left the kitchen and began walking towards the stairs, but her knees buckled under the weight of her babies. She started to fall, crumpling like a puppet that had its strings cut, when her Casita, her extraordinary new home, quickly raised the floor to meet her and brought her gently to the ground, babies safe in her arms.
And then she blacked out.
.
Alma woke, and as her eyes opened, she could see her wedding candle, her miracle, a few feet from her face. She had a blanket draped across her shoulders and a pillow beneath her head, but she could feel the hard tiles of the courtyard below her. She blinked in the light of the flame and for a second, thought she saw the face of her beloved Pedro. She sat up quickly, but not quickly enough to process the image and seal it back in her memory.
"Pedro!" she called out weakly, reaching her hand towards the light, but the apparition had vanished.
Then the terror hit her. Her last moments came flooding back, and she looked around frantically for her babies. She clambered to her feet and raced up the stairs with a force she thought she had lost. She had never, not once, been this far from them. Not since she had carried them safely in her belly. She couldn't hear crying. They were always crying. Had they finally succumbed to hunger?
She flung open her bedroom door and immediately halted. Her precious babies were sleeping soundly as her Casita gently rocked their cribs with the floorboards. She reached into Pepa's bed and picked her up. She spluttered but didn't fully wake. Alma had at least expected her baby to be heavily soiled, but she was perfectly clean. She hurriedly checked on her two other babies; they were also fine, safely dreaming in their beds. Alma realised she could finally feel again. The love she thought she had lost came flooding back, stronger than ever.
"I am so sorry," she breathed, collapsing to her knees as weeks of backed-up tears finally poured from her eyes. "I won't ever stop loving you again. Not for a single second. I promise."
A smell then caught Alma's attention. She had missed it in her panic, but now it was unmistakable; the smell of cooked chicken. Perhaps she had not been unconscious after all, but had been taking care of her babies, even preparing a proper meal to bring her back to health. Enough to be the mother they needed. Maybe she had been sleepwalking this whole time. Had everything that went before been some terrible dream?
Knowing that her Casita was keeping her babies safe, Alma left the upper floor while they slept and followed the smell of chicken to the kitchen.
.
"Oh, you're awake!"
It was one of the women who had fled with Pedro and Alma on that dreadful night. Alma couldn't recall her name, but she spoke with a Castillian accent and had an air of wealth and status.
"I hope you don't mind," she continued, stirring a pot on the stove. "We had been trying the door all week, but there was never any answer. We were really worried, what with you having newborns and all. Then this morning, the Casita opened its doors and let us in. We found you passed out on the floor, with your babies crying beside you. We tried to get you up, but you just kept telling us to leave you alone. Of course, we couldn't.."
"I... I don't remember," Alma stuttered. "But really, you didn't need to go to so much trouble."
"We did, though. We couldn't leave your babies like that. They were near-starved."
Alma then remembered something. "I can't feed them," she explained desperately.
"Don't worry. They're fine for now. You know the Montoyas? The farming family? Well, they've just had a baby boy. They were more than happy to help. Your babies will be fine for now, but we need to get you back to health. You're skin and bone."
"Thank you," Alma said, slightly overwhelmed by the kindness. She looked around the kitchen curiously.
"What are you making?" she asked, nodding towards the pot.
"Ajiaco. You need something easy to digest after going so long without eating, and this should be perfect for getting you back on your feet. It's a bit light on the chicken, though. We only have a few birds, so we can't afford to lose many."
"I don't know what to say. Thank you so much."
"It's the least we can do after what you've done for us. Besides, it's been fun having a magical house helping me around the kitchen. I had no idea it could move things around with the tiles."
Alma looked at the cheerful orange and green tiles that decorated the surface of the benches. She knew the house could make them move but had not seen it move things around with them. "Neither did I..."
"Maybe it learnt to so it could help you take care of those babies. Now eat, and then get some proper sleep... In your bed," the lady said, placing a bowl of warm soup on the table and inviting Alma to sit.
Alma walked feebly to the table. She could finally feel her hunger again. She could feel her exhaustion too. The sleep part worried her, though.
"Oh, I can't sleep," she explained. "What if my babies cry and I don't wake up?"
"I can stay for now, and then after that, I am sure the Casita will wake you if necessary."
That made sense, and she did need sleep if she was to be any use at all to her babies. Alma ate what she could and then headed towards the front stairs, clutching her magical candle. When she reached the first step, she remembered one last thing from before she blacked out.
"Ay, Pedro!" she cried sorrowfully, "I'm afraid I have already forgotten your beautiful face."
The candle then shone brighter, and Alma watched with amazement as a framed portrait of her beloved Pedro glittered into existence on the wall above the landing. It was so realistic that she would have sworn it was a photograph had it not been in colour. She then felt something cold in the palm of her clenched hand. She unfurled her fingers and was elated to see a locket she thought she had lost. She popped it open, and there inside was a photo of her late husband.
.
5 years later...
"Okay, now let's practice using our new words in sentences. Can you all write, 'The genie was glad to be free'?"
Alma was at the table doing writing practice with her children. She would pick ten words at the start of the week, sometimes letting the children choose their own from their storybooks. She then instructed them to write simple sentences to get used to the new words while practising the ones they already knew. They were already far ahead of what was expected of children their age, which made Alma exceedingly proud.
"Almost right, Pepa, but you've missed a letter," Alma said, looking over at her daughter's paper, "Julieta, Bruno, can you see what she's missed?"
Bruno placed a finger on the paper and pulled it towards himself before Julieta even had a chance to look. He examined it for a second and then said, "You need a 't' after the 'n'," then slid the paper back to her with a push that almost sent it off the table.
"There is a 't' after the 'n'," Pepa argued, holding it up and pointing at it.
"No... the other 'n'. You have to say the word in your head, or you won't hear the letters properly." He explained with a patronising tone.
Before Pepa could reply, the doorbell sounded.
"Okay, well, you just keep practising while I see who this is," Alma said, leaving the table.
When she opened the door, she was greeted by three men from town. They each had solemn expressions.
"Good afternoon Alma. Your presence has been requested at the Town Hall. We need to have a discussion about the Encanto... About the miracle," one of them announced formally.
Alma was offended by the sudden request.
"Right now?" she asked.
"If you would, please."
"Well, no... I wouldn't. I have my children to take care of."
"But, your Casita. Can't the house watch them while you're gone?"
"No, it cannot!" Alma insisted. "We're in the middle of something, and I haven't even started their dinner. So if you want to speak with me, you will have to wait."
"But this is urgent."
"If it's so urgent, then you can all come here. I am not leaving my children alone, and I am certainly not bringing them with me to the Town Hall," she said with confidence and authority far beyond her years. "And I don't want my children to be around when you come. They go to bed at nine, so be here no sooner than ten."
Alma didn't wait for them to respond. She just closed the door and returned to the table where her children were sitting.
"Mami, will you tell Pepa to give Bruno his pencil back?" Julieta complained when she approached the table.
"But he's being a know-it-all again!" whined Pepa, wriggling the pencil out of reach while Bruno scrabbled to grab it.
"You kids play nicely now," Alma answered vaguely, having not paid attention to what they were saying. She had a lot on her mind and could already feel a migraine coming on.
.
Later that evening...
The doorbell rang just as the church bells began to sound. It was exactly ten o'clock. Alma sighed, placed down her book and headed down the stairs. The doorbell rang again.
"Alright, I'm coming. Give me a chance," she grumbled under her breath.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to see almost everyone who had been there the night the Encanto had formed.
"Come in, come in," she said, gesturing for them to enter. "Casita, we're going to need some more seats."
The Casita made several benches in neat rows, and the townspeople started filing in.
Alma sat herself facing them on a high-backed armchair next to a round table upon which she rested her candle. Lucas, the man she had spoken to earlier, began to address her.
"I suppose you're wondering why we have come tonight?" Alma nodded, and he continued, "You know we are all very grateful for the miracle that saved our lives, and this wondrous Encanto that has become our home... But some of the inhabitants are becoming anxious."
"Anxious? Why? Anxious of what exactly?" Alma asked.
"The last two years saw unusually low rainfall. The river is starting to dry up. We are already two weeks into October, and there's barely a cloud in the sky. We'll struggle to grow enough food if the rainy season doesn't start soon. Our livestock will die, and there won't be enough water to drink."
"I had no idea it was getting so bad," Alma confessed, feeling somewhat guilty for not paying close enough attention.
"Then there's the problem of not having a single experienced medic amongst us. And those that do have a little knowledge lack the supplies they need. Sooner or later, we might all die from treatable conditions... So we were wondering," he continued, "if there is anything else your miracle can do?"
Alma glanced at the candle, "I can pray, yes, but I'm afraid I don't know how it works. I don't think it can grant wishes."
"Then that's not much of a miracle then, is it?" came a male voice from the congregation.
Alma was enraged by the comment. "I beg your pardon? Not much of a miracle? Might I remind you that it saved your life?"
"Sure, it saved us from a quick death out there. And yet does nothing to prevent our slow deaths in this glorified prison," the man argued.
There were murmurs of agreement from all around, and then another voice called out, "Who says it's a miracle anyway? There are more kinds of magic in this world, and not all are so benevolent."
"How dare you!" Alma shouted, standing up to appear more authoritative. "Our miracle has kept us safe for five peaceful years.."
"Yes, and a farmer keeps his cows safe from the bears and jaguars, but only because he wishes them the same ill fate for himself!"
Alma couldn't believe what she was hearing, and it rendered her speechless.
Lucas must have noticed how upset she was becoming and hurriedly tried to calm the situation.
"Please, don't misunderstand us, Alma. People are just scared. Please, if there is anything your miracle can do, then now is the time. If nothing changes soon... Well, I am afraid some folk are already planning on leaving the Encanto."
"They can't do that," Alma said, panicked. "They'll die out there."
"We'll die if we stay!" came another voice.
"I think we are done here," Alma said, sitting back down. There was nothing else she could say.
Lucas was the first to stand up, and he signalled to the others to start making their way out. He then turned to Alma and said, "I'm sorry if this has upset you. Please know it was not our intention." He then asked, "It's your children's birthday on Tuesday, right?"
"It is," Alma confirmed. "Five years to the day since our Encanto was formed."
"I look forward to seeing you then. You always throw such spectacular parties at the Casita. I hope we'll have rain by then and can put this situation behind us.
"Me too," Alma agreed.
.
Alma sat on a bench by the front door, alone with her thoughts as the candle glowed gently beside her. The calm chirping of the crickets was interrupted only by the church bells ringing for midnight. She felt truly hopeless. She knew the candle couldn't grant wishes and make all their problems disappear, but the pressure to do so was immense.
"Oh, Pedro," she cried to the sky, "I don't know what to do. Our paradise is failing. People are losing faith in our miracle. I fear they could be right too. If the rain doesn't come soon, we may very well die here in the Encanto."
A scream from inside the Casita snapped her attention with a start. It sounded like Bruno. Alma sprung to her feet, grabbed the candle and rushed inside.
"Whatever is the matter?" she called out, quickly ascending the stairs.
When she reached the upper floor, she saw that her children were not in the nursery but had somehow ended up on the opposite balcony. She hurried over and discovered they were looking at three mysterious doors that had not previously been there. Her spirits lifted at once. It seemed that her prayers had been answered. Maybe her miracle had more surprises for the family after all.
xxx
Present day...
It felt like a terrible nightmare—the worst kind. The clouds overhead hinted that the sun would soon arrive, but everything felt muted. The colour had been drained from the world.
Not three hours ago, she had been proudly entertaining her old acquaintance, Siñora Guzmán, excited at the prospect of her handsome son marrying beautiful Isabela. Her perfect family would have been stronger than ever with the Guzmáns on their side.
On the surface, the Madrigals appeared to be the most powerful and respectable family in the Encanto, and Alma had worked tirelessly to help maintain that facade. However, she knew there had always been families that were suspicious of their gifts, and distrusting of the Madrigals' true intentions. With every mishap, after every storm, with disastrous vision after disastrous vision, the rumours gained more traction, more credibility and more believers. Gossip was like currency in the community, and the Guzmáns controlled the mint, which made them a very powerful, and potentially dangerous family indeed.
When Alma learnt that Mariano had feelings for Isabela, she had jumped at the chance of uniting their families. There was little that mattered more to Siñora Guzmán than reputation, and so she would do all in her power to ensure that her son's new family's image was squeaky clean. It seemed to Alma to be the perfect way to ensure her family would be safe long after she had gone.
Alma looked around at the rubble in disbelief. How did they get from that perfect dinner to this? If she hadn't yelled at Mirabel, would the Casita still be standing? She had always feared that one day the magical candle would go out, the Casita would crumble, and her precious miracle would be lost. Alma knew her children feared it too because although she did her best to shrug it off as nothing at the time, they had, in fact, been warned this day would come.
xxx
37 years ago...
Alma was suddenly shaken by a door slamming on the balcony above. She jumped to her feet and stepped into the courtyard to see someone storming down the back stairs.
"Victor... is everything alright?" she asked.
His face was contorted with rage.
"No, it's not alright. I came to see your boy, to ask about my own son—the little newborn I held in my arms not two hours ago," he spat. "And he tells me, like he's talking about the damned weather, that I don't have a son!" He paused as if to let his words sink in. "But he says my brother's newborn is going to have a wonderful life!"
"Oh my... I'm so sorry. He's only twelve. He probably didn't understand what he saw."
"I don't care how old the little rat is... Now if you don't mind, I need to pay someone a little visit!"
Victor left before Alma had a chance to defend her son any further. She hurried up the stairs to Bruno's room and entered without knocking. He was sat halfway up the spiral staircase, resting his arms on his knees. He turned to Alma as she entered.
"Well, that could've gone better," he remarked.
Alma walked to the steps and stopped just below him.
"Bruno, can't you at least try to be more careful what you tell people?"
He leaned over the side of the step so he could see her better, looked her in the eye and asked calmly, "You want me to deliberately get things wrong?"
"No... just, maybe be a bit more delicate."
"And how exactly do I delicately tell someone his wife has given birth to his brother's baby?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm.
Alma clasped her forehead and rubbed her eyes.
"Can't you control what you see? Ask the question differently or something. I mean, for crying out loud, Bruno, last week you told three different people that someone close to them was about to die!"
"Yeah... I did... though to be fair, it was the same woman," he remarked with a chuckle. "And she'd been unwell for a while..."
Alma could feel herself getting frustrated by Bruno's nonchalant attitude. He clearly didn't understand how serious of a problem his behaviour was becoming.
"Do you think someone dying is funny?" she growled.
"Of course I don't. I think grown adults being surprised that a very sick old lady might die is kinda laughable though."
"THAT WILL DO!" Alma finally snapped. "I think it's time you grow up and start taking responsibility for your actions. I don't care how you do it, but your visions... They will improve. No more deaths, no more affairs and no more accidents. Do you understand me? You will be the ruin of this family!"
Alma noticed Bruno's eyes go wide as he sat up straight again and moved out of view. It seemed that she had finally got through to him, though she felt a pang of guilt. To soften what she had said, she added, "Look, it's your birthday on Friday. That means three days without any visions. Monday will probably be a busy day, so enjoy your break and then let's see it as a fresh start."
She walked towards the door and, turning back, saw that he had folded his arms on his knees again. Alma hoped he was thinking about what she said. She had a lot of work ahead of her to clean up the mess of his latest vision.
.
5 weeks later...
Darkness had fallen on the Encanto, and it was time to start steering her children towards their beds. Alma felt it important to involve them in more chores around the Casita as they got older, so she set them off on various jobs. She had Julieta water the house plants inside, Pepa water the hanging baskets outside, which she did effortlessly with her gift, and she had asked that Bruno snuff out the candles that illuminated the living areas. Just the ones he could safely reach. Alma herself was sitting near the large window on the upper balcony, enjoying the calm evening.
There was suddenly a piercing scream from below. Alma looked over the railing and saw her son cowering in the very centre of the courtyard, directly below the window where the magical candle was seated. Julieta was already by his side, talking to him and gently guiding his arms from his head, and Pepa ran in from the front door.
"What happened?" Alma asked breathlessly as she reached her son.
"I don't know, he just suddenly screamed and ducked. Like something was falling on him," explained Julieta quickly, still holding her brother's hands.
Alma bent down and put her hand on Bruno's shoulder, encouraging him to look up. "It was another spill, wasn't it?" she suggested.
Bruno nodded.
"What did you see?"
"I don't know... I..." he stammered, looking up towards the tower, "I... saw the candle fall... And then the tower... my tower... it started cracking... Then it crumbled and... And then it collapsed completely, bringing everything else down with it. I thought it was going to fall right on top of me. It looked like it was..." he said, his voice trembling. He wavered while considering his next words. "I... I think I saw the candle go out."
Alma looked to her daughters and they both looked terrified.
"I'm sure this is nothing to worry about. It wasn't a proper vision after all. It was just a little spill. They don't mean anything... Just a meaningless little spill," she reassured them, looking up at the candle and hoping she was right. She turned back to Bruno. "You're not hurt, and that's the most important thing. Now come along. Let's get you something warm to drink and then off to bed."
She helped him to his feet and then guided him towards the kitchen, glancing back at the candle once more.
.
7 weeks later...
"Pepa darling, could you fill up the salt shaker, please?" Alma asked as she sat with her children at the dinner table. "It's empty."
Pepa did as she was asked and took the shaker to the kitchen.
"Mamá," she called back moments later. "There isn't any left."
"That can't be right. I only bought it last weekend. Are you sure you're looking in the right place?"
Pepa stormed out of the kitchen with a small rain cloud trailing behind her.
"I'm looking in the container we keep the salt in," she huffed, waving the empty jar. "Where else should I be looking?"
"Alright, alright," Alma replied hastily, wanting the keep the dining room dry. "We'll just have to make do without for tonight, and I'll go out first thing tomorrow."
.
The following morning...
Alma picked up her shawl and draped it across her shoulders, then kissing each of her children on the head, she set off for town.
"Casita," she called out as she went. "Don't let anyone in while I am gone. You keep my babies safe!"
"We're not babies!" Pepa called after her. "We're thirteen now, Mamá."
Alma just smiled and waved. When you have children of your own, you'll understand, she thought to herself as the front door closed, sealing them safely inside.
Being the bearer of the miracle made Alma somewhat of a celebrity in town. Everyone was always keen to greet her with a smile and a nod as she passed, or else they would engage her with short pleasantries. Which made it particularly unnerving when she reached the main plaza, and a small gathering of townspeople that had been talking together in hushed voices, suddenly fell silent as she approached. She thought she caught a suspicious glance from one of them that quickly turned into a smile. "Good morning, Alma," they called out brightly, although the damage had been done.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, unsure what else to say.
The atmosphere was palpable.
"Yes, of course," came the initial reply.
There was some shuffling and whispering, and then another piped up.
"Actually, we were just wondering... Your boy... is he... okay?"
"My boy? Why, of course he's okay. He's a very bright young man. He can already read as well as any adult," she said proudly.
"You see... it's just..." one of them started. "The strange thing he does with his eyes sometimes... you know... It has people on edge."
Alma knew all too well that people had been gossiping about her son, but she did her best to appear ignorant as to what they were hinting.
"Ah, well, you see..." she began nervously. "My children's gifts can be..." She realised that would be too revealing. "A miracle is a mysterious thing," she tried again. "My Bruno is just... well... It's just a little phase he's going through. That's all."
"Just you know, one day he says someone will die and then... well, they do..."
"Then let's not forget about Victor... He almost killed his brother, thanks to your son."
"And apparently, the other day," another chimed in. "He was screaming at the priest, telling him all his hair would fall out."
This took Alma by surprise. She had given Bruno strict instructions not to leave the Casita until they could work out what was going on with the little spills, so it frustrated her to learn he had managed to sneak into town without her noticing.
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that, but I will speak to him. I assure you though, everything's under control," she insisted, feigning confidence.
Alma bought the salt and a few other supplies, then politely said goodbye to the townspeople. As she was leaving, she overheard a whisper from somewhere in the crowd.
"Miracle or no miracle, even angels have been known to fall from Heaven..."
"Mm, hmm," agreed another voice.
"Where's your brother?" Alma asked hurriedly when she returned to the Casita.
"He's upstairs, reading," replied Julieta.
Alma quickly made her way to the upper balcony without removing her shawl. Bruno was sitting in an armchair near the stairs with a book open on his lap. He had pulled over a small side table and was writing something in a thick notebook that rested on it.
"Hi, Mamá. Was everything okay in town? Did you get the salt?" he asked brightly, laying down his pencil.
"Bruno," she began, ignoring his question, "what's this I'm hearing about you sneaking out? And screaming at the priest, no less?"
"Oh..." his eyes widened. "That... Well... it was the little spills..." he answered timidly.
"I thought I told you to stay home until we could work out what was going on with them."
"And how long might that take?" he asked, clearly upset. "You said the same to Pepa. But it's already been three years, and she still can't control her gift properly. I can't wait three years, Mamá... It needs to stop right now."
He glanced around the balcony, and then in a much quieter voice, as though not wanting his sisters to overhear, he explained, "I started seeing how people were going to die. What if I saw that for you? Or my sisters? What if it's really bad, and I have to live with that knowledge every day until it happens? I don't think I could."
Alma had to admit that sounded like a lot for anyone to handle, let alone someone so sensitive, but she couldn't let herself believe the spills meant anything. Not with some of the things he had reportedly seen.
"I've told you," she said gently. "You have nothing to worry about. They're not real visions. They're more like dreams. They don't mean anything." She did her best to sound confident.
"How do you know? They seem pretty real to me."
Bruno closed the book on his lap, and Alma was horrified when she noticed the cover. It was completely black with the outline of a cat etched in silver, and the title read 'Supersticiones'.
"What are you reading?" she cried out, snatching it from him.
Bruno looked bewildered. "It's just a book about superstitions," he replied, blinking.
"Where did you get this? Who knows you have it?"
Bruno stared up at her, still confused. "Only the librarian. Can I please have that back?"
"Okay. I'll take it back to the library... I'll explain that you just got mixed up. You thought it was something else..." Alma said, starting to panic.
"But he said I could keep it!" Bruno protested. "Please Mami, you're scaring me. Can I have the book back now? I need it." He sounded desperate.
"What do you even want this for?" she asked, still gripping the book. If only he knew how bad this looked, she thought to herself. If only he knew what can happen to people who are accused of...
"The priest told me to create a ritual... To help with the spills," her son explained, getting animated. "So I spoke to the librarian, and he said the only thing he could think of was that book. He said if it helps, I can keep it." Bruno paused for a moment, and his expression intensified. He looked his mother deep in the eye and then said, almost whispering as though frightened his own subconscious might overhear, "And you know what? I think it's working. I haven't had a single spill since the priest's study. Not one."
Alma was not expecting that. Something was working? She glanced at the book with a sigh, then crouched down in front of her son. She brushed his hair from his face, though it instantly fell back to where it had been. "I'm so sorry, Bruno," she said softly, handing him the book. "I wish you had just spoken to me about this."
"But you would never have let me leave the Casita," he replied earnestly.
She thought for a moment, then said, "Keep the book if it's helping. But I must ask that it stays in your room, out of sight. I don't want to see you reading that anywhere else." She then closed the notebook, with the pencil inside to keep his page, and handed that to him too. "In fact, I think it's best that all of your reading and writing is done in your room from now on."
"In my room?" Bruno whined. "But... the stairs!"
Alma straightened up and prepared to head back to the floor below.
"It's either that or nothing at all. This is not up for debate."
xxx
Present Day...
The entire family was frantically searching for Mirabel, she had somehow snuck off in the chaos following the Casita falling. Alma couldn't explain it, but somehow she knew exactly where her granddaughter had gone. Perhaps she knew because she, too, wanted to disappear. The miracle dying had not only destroyed the Casita, the Encanto itself had failed. The mountains that protected it finally parted, opening it up once more to the world Alma had long since left behind.
The sun was beginning to rise by the time Alma reached the river. Although she never imagined she would find herself back there, it held a strange and steady peace as the surface of the water shimmered with a pinkish hue from the peculiar aquatic plants that carpeted the riverbed. The tiny cotton-like plants that waved and bobbed in the current, were like miniature blossom trees that only the insect larvae got to enjoy. The air felt cooler than it did in the Encanto, and although Alma couldn't explain it, she felt very safe, as though returning home, weary, from a many-years journey.
It didn't take her long to spot Mirabel. She was sat on a rock by the river's edge, crying into her arms.
"Mirabel?" Alma called out as she approached.
She didn't look at her but apologised through sobs, that she never intended to hurt the family.
Alma didn't know how to respond. She sat on the rock beside her granddaughter and looked towards the clear running water. She never thought she would ever return to that site. She had never wanted to.
"This is where we were given the miracle," she explained.
Mirabel looked up. "You mean, where Abuelo Pedro?"
Alma nodded and then began to recall the short time she had spent with Pedro. Finally revealing to Mirabel details that she had kept buried for years.
They had met after their eyes accidentally met while both watching the same yellow butterfly. Alma, in her early twenties, had been so full of hope for the life ahead of her. What began as a chance encounter at a candle festival quickly blossomed into romance. They became closer than two people could be. Their personalities blended so seamlessly together that it was sometimes difficult to know where she ended and he began. She remembered his laugh most of all. There was so much laughter when they were together.
She recalled how she had felt on their wedding day. There had not been a drop of doubt in her mind that she and Pedro would be together for the rest of their days. She fantasised about their future together. Seeing all the key moments lined up, one after another, like dominos. Each event falling into the next, one after another, until that final domino, when the years of laughter were carved in the lines on their faces and their hair white with time. They would go out smiling, surrounded by their family, right up until that last domino fell. Even then, their laughter would live on, echoed in the voices of their children's children. They were meant to have a different life. She was meant to be a different woman.
News of civil unrest had reached their town many months earlier. It had begun the previous year as a simple dispute between opposing political factions—the kind of problem best left for the politicians to sort out. It seemed like nothing serious. Then they heard stories of violent clashes, with hundreds of casualties and entire districts burnt to the ground. It was concerning, but it was surely an issue confined to the big cities. What business would anyone have with a small mountain town like theirs? So life had largely continued as usual for Alma and Pedro, and soon they would welcome their babies into the world.
The triplets had only just been born when the fires started. Alma could still recall her horror when she looked out the window and saw their neighbours running for their lives. It would only be a matter of time before their home was up in smoke and they were forced into the blades of the horsemen. They had to move fast. Pedro raced around their small house, grabbing whatever he thought they might need, and quickly packed their bags. Once outside, they made their way as swiftly as they could towards the cover of the trees. They soon discovered that they were not alone. Many of their fellow inhabitants were fleeing too. They banded together, and with heavy hearts, they followed the river towards the mountains, leaving their burning homes behind them.
They walked until they reached a point in the river that was shallow enough to cross. It was then that they heard the thundering of approaching hooves. Everyone panicked and started to run for the opposite bank. Alma ran too, but it was difficult with her babies in her arms. As the riders reached the river, they realised they were cornered. There was no escape. Alma knew the men would leave no one alive, and her babies would take their last breath on the same day as their first.
Pedro must have realised the same thing. He stopped running and looked over his shoulder at the assailants. Alma stopped too, and as he kissed her, she understood what he was thinking. He kissed each of their tiny babies and then took the candle from his lantern, their wedding candle, and handed it to her. She wanted to plead with him not to go, but she knew they were as good as dead either way. It was their only hope.
She watched as Pedro entered the river, arms raised and began to beg for their lives. One of the riders approached him but didn't appear to be listening. He raised a machete and, with all his strength, brought it down on Pedro's skull, splitting it open. Pedro's body rocked but didn't immediately fall. After a sickening beat, the rider gave him a shove with his foot, and he fell lifeless into the water, cast aside like trash.
Alma screamed and dropped to her knees, clutching her babies to her chest. She begged the earth to save them, begging for a miracle, begging for something, anything, to undo what was unfolding in front of her. She didn't see the candle on the ground in front of her through her anguished cries. She didn't witness the moment that the flame appeared to burst with energy that spread out across the ground. It was not until she heard the gasps of the townspeople that she looked up and saw the horsemen had been repelled. She looked towards the river, to the last place she would ever see Pedro alive, but it was soon obscured from view as mountains began rising up from the ground before her. The landscape around them changed, as mountains sprang up for miles, until a chilling stillness hung in the air. The Encanto was formed. Alma was safe, but she was broken.
The years that followed began to play out in Alma's mind, and she watched herself become harder and more rigid with time. She thought about her children and grandchildren, and the pressure she had put on them from such a young age.
"I never realised it until now, but I had been robbed of the perfect life I thought I would have. And so I tried to recreate it through my family. I saw so much of myself in Isabela that I couldn't let her be anything but a better version of me. I never considered what she might want. How she might feel. Then poor Luisa... She stepped out of line just once, and I could never forgive her. I resented her for threatening our reputation and dishonouring the miracle. She worked so hard to please the family and prove her worth. Harder than any of us. But I couldn't see it. It's little wonder she was the first to lose her gift, and her door was the first to..." Alma paused, having realised as she was speaking that Luisa's door was not the first to lose its magical light.
"So, what happened with Bruno?" Mirabel asked as though reading her mind.
Alma sighed and looked up towards the sky thoughtfully. She had been thinking about that a lot since the Casita collapsed, after years of refusing to think about her son at all.
"You know, we nearly didn't call him Bruno," she began. "We had chosen six names. Three for girls and three for boys. Do you know what's funny, Mirabel? 'Bruno' wasn't even one of the names we'd picked. We told the doctor, 'If we have any boys, the first boy will be called Oscar.' That's how he told us we'd had a boy. He said, 'I have little Oscar here'. But when your Abuelo held that boy in his arms, he looked at his little face and said, 'Hola Bruno'. I thought he was joking at first, but then he handed that precious baby to me, and I saw it too. When I saw his face for the first time... he was 'Bruno'. He just was.
"In the early years, I saw a lot of Pedro in Bruno. Or at least, I saw what I wanted to see. Then as he got older, I realised just how different he was. He was such an anxious boy. Not at all bold like his sisters. He would spook at the slightest loud noise. He would convince himself there were monsters hiding in the shadows. I thought that as he got older, he wouldn't be so afraid all the time... But the things he was scared of just changed. I blamed myself. I thought I'd been too soft on him. So I got tougher, and stopped letting him run from his fears.
"Then his visions started to change. He started upsetting people with the things he told them, and I was under constant pressure to minimise the damage. To keep the peace. Then one day, he told me he wished he'd never got his gift, and I started to suspect he was upsetting people deliberately. Had he been hoping to put people off coming to him for visions? I became convinced of it. And so I pushed him harder. I made him know that improving was the only option. It never occurred to me that his visions only became so negative because he was scared. Scared of offending the miracle. Scared of hurting the family. Scared of disappointing me. He feared the worst, and so he saw the worst.
"His gift started to spill around that time. He would have visions when he didn't mean to. I didn't understand what it was back then, but I think I do now. Bruno never, not once, had a vision for himself. He was too afraid of what he might see. But I think visions of his future came for him anyway. He saw the Casita breaking once... Exactly as it happened last night. And now I wonder, what else he had seen in those spills? He started acting strange... developing superstitious and ritualistic behaviour. Was he not desperately hoping to stave off some terrible fate that he'd seen? Then as each spill came true, one after another, he finally realised there was nothing he could do to prevent what was coming. He gave up trying. He stopped using his gift and retreated to his tower to await his fate.
"I finally understand that Bruno's behaviour was a cry for help. It was a cry for his mother to protect him from the monsters. But instead of protecting him, I just kept feeding him back to them."
The reality of how she had treated her family weighed heavily on Alma, and she felt sick. The death of Pedro had changed her forever. The laughter had died with him, and she was no longer the woman he had given his life to protect. She had become hardened, selfish and cruel. Mirabel was right. It was not her family members who had offended the miracle. Alma had betrayed Pedro's sacrifice, and she was not sure she would ever forgive herself.
There was a pause as though Mirabel was processing everything Alma had said. She then stood up.
"I think I finally see," she said, reaching out her hands for Alma to take. "You lost everything, and suffered all alone, so it would never happen again. We are safe because of you. We got our miracle because of you. We're a family because of you. And there's nothing that we can't fix, together..."
Alma felt the hardened cocoon that had wrapped around her heart all those years ago finally crack apart and fall away upon hearing Mirabel's words. She had been so preoccupied with honouring the miracle that she had failed to notice what an amazing young lady her granddaughter was. How amazing her whole family was.
They shared an embrace many years overdue, and when Alma opened her eyes, she was amazed to see hundreds of yellow butterflies. She didn't know where they had come from, but she and Mirabel watched in stunned silence as they fluttered around them, scattering the rays of sun like the glittering golden light that had blessed them for so long. Then they floated off, meandering towards the split in the mountain before disappearing into the Encanto.
Mirabel took Alma's hand to begin the long walk back to their family. She opened her mouth to speak, but they were both suddenly distracted by the sound of approaching hooves.
Alma panicked for a moment, remembering the last time she had heard hooves in that place. She held onto Mirabel tightly, ready to pull her out of harm's way, when a bay horse leapt into view.
"She didn't do this!"
It was a voice Alma had not expected to hear again but had never forgotten. She watched, stunned, as the son she thought she had lost forever got down clumsily from the horse and began walking purposefully towards her. She had no idea where he had been or why he had returned, but she felt a warmth wash through her body, overcome with joy. Everything moved in slow motion as though a dream, and while he was clearly talking, she was not paying any attention to what he was saying. When he was close enough, Alma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly and taking him by surprise.
He was hesitant to return the hug, although Alma couldn't blame him for being confused. Bruno had learnt long ago that his mother didn't care. One hug would not change that, though it was a start.
It was a strange phenomenon, but Alma's children never really grew up in her eyes. Sure, they looked older. The years showed on their faces, and grey peppered their hair. Yet when Alma looked at them, she could still see those sweet children that would play in the yard together, make the most incredible mess in the kitchen, tease one another, and who had loved one another completely. It was not until Mirabel spoke, urging them to follow her to the horse, that Alma finally stopped hugging her son and looked at him. Sure enough, she saw her sweet little boy looking back at her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then taking his hand, she led him to the horse, where Mirabel was waiting.
It was going to be a long road ahead. There was much rebuilding to do, but Alma had taken the first steps, and the relief was immeasurable.
A/N: I had to temporarily remove chapter ten as it requires much more of a rework than the other chapters did (see my profile for details), but I fully intend to rewrite it and return the status of this story to 'complete' at some point. The old version is still visible on the Ao3 upload of this story if anyone is really desperate to read it (same username) but please keep in mind that I'm not happy with it as it stands.
Thanks for reading.