“No. You’re lovely. No wonder your husband keeps you so tenderly beside him all day in his fishmarket. And how is Ike? His blood pressure behaving itself?”
“The heat is hard on him. I watch carefully to make sure he takes every drop of his medicine. He doesn’t like to take it, you know.” She made a wry face that only emphasized how delicate and pure her features actually were. “You know how men can get foolish about themselves, not doing what they’re supposed to. Like it’s an insult to their manhood to take care of themselves.” She made a wifely click with her tongue.
The witch reached down and stroked the head of her cat, who had suddenly thrust open the lid of the basket on her mistress’s arm. She was accustomed to ride within, swaying breezily along the boardwalk and peering through the holes in the wicker sides. She yowled in complaint at the long pause in the morning’s entertainment, then huffily withdrew.
“Jezebel adores your husband. They share lunch every day in your shop, lovely pieces of salmon and bluefish, sometimes shark.” The witch chuckled softly down at her pet. “She would be devastated if anything happened to your husband... if, say, he would carelessly forget his medicine or some such.” She glanced piercingly at the strange garden, then up at the watching wife. She lifted a bony shoulder in a shrug, then suddenly turned to resume her walk. The younger woman’s body sagged in relief, and she began to reenter her house. Suddenly the witch stopped and swerved around on her heel.
“Mrs. Elias.” Though she didn’t raise her voice, the element of command was so strong that Mrs. Elias heard her clearly and hastened to pay attention.
“Yes?”
“Does your husband like yogurt?”
“What... why—”
“I noticed you two seem to consume a great many dairy products for a childless couple,” the witch said dryly.
Mrs. Elias stiffened.
“I feel impelled to repay in a small way the generosity you and your husband display toward my pet. Jezebel has become quite pampered with his attentions, and I adore my Jezebel.” She touched the small basket hanging from her lean arm briefly, but the object of her affection remained hidden and silent. “A yogurt pie, perhaps. A sweet dessert, but still healthy. Good for Ike and good for his waistline, too. I’ve noticed it isn’t getting any smaller,” she said. “Yes, or—” She laid a finger to her lips. “I shall think on it.”
“No, please, don’t both—”
But it was too late. The witch had continued her poised stroll down the exact center of the boardwalk and was now gone. After a puzzled moment, Mrs. Elias turned away and faded back inside like the shadows before the morning’s sun.
A few days later the witch appeared again before Mrs. Elias, this time in the shop, late in the morning, when business was hectic. Mr. Elias sold not only fresh fish but also deli salads and cooked fish to the locals and the tourist trade. A huge cooler inside the door kept bottled and canned drinks icy. Ike’s Fishmarket was a popular place around noon.
The bustle in the small market was dampened somewhat by the witch’s appearance. After she slipped inside the door of the refreshingly cool room, she stood watching for a while, a pleasant smile on her face. After the first nervous moments, people resumed shouting their orders to Ike and reaching across each other to grab napkins and other items.
Mrs. Elias appeared wan and tired, but that was to be expected with the hours she kept. Often she would disappear into the back of the market, to reappear soon after with new salads to replenish the depleted bowls in the display case, or new buckets of ice. The customers soon learned to ignore the witch, merely nodding politely as they moved about or went out. Jezebel contentedly patrolled the floor in front of the fish cases, yowling with relish at the delicious odors, anticipating her treat at Ike’s hands when the crowds slackened.
As two o’clock approached, Ike gave a great sigh, wiped his ham-sized fists on a clean paper towel, and took a large covered plastic container from the cooler behind him. This he handed to his wife, who appeared not to want it, but he insisted, kissing her on the forehead. “Yes, you’re getting too thin. You waste away before my eyes, and I want you healthy and strong.” He patted her behind to hasten her away to the back room of the market. With a sigh she yielded, and as she went he added, “To please your Ike, okay, sweetheart? Just for me, eat it all.”
Wiping his hands again, he turned, beaming, to confront Jezebel. Lifting three small silvery fish from the ice, he laid them on a china plate with a flourish possibly inspired by the witch’s close scrutiny. “Sweet and fresh, just for you,” he remarked. Jezebel greedily pounced, then began nipping at the fish with finesse. Glancing at the witch, Ike grinned. “She loves me only for my fish. If I stopped giving them to her, she’d never visit again and would break my heart without a second thought.”
The witch began a leisurely approach to the counter. “That was very touching, just now.”
“What, feeding the cat?”
“Feeding your wife. What was it? Is she ill, and is it medicine?”
The fishmonger waved away such suggestions. “No, no. She’s just so pale these days, with the heat. I fix her lunch every day, just like she fixes my breakfast. It’s only fish and pasta, with chopped potatoes, peppers, and vegetables. Things that’re good for her. She’s not as strong as me, and it’s a lot of work, running this business every day, even with help. I take care of my wife.”
“She’s always seemed quite robust to me.”
“It’s just the heat, just the heat.” Ike pulled his apron from around his immense middle and with the clean side of it wiped his face, which was red from exertion and sweaty despite the extreme coolness of the air in the shop. “Affects me, too. I try to keep her from working so hard, but she won’t listen.”
“I noticed how she tries to wait on customers, but you won’t let her...”
Ike shrugged. “The men’re rude, half of ’em. I won’t have them talking to my wife that way.”
The witch’s eyebrows rose. “Asking for fish?”
“Yeah. They don’t have any manners, those guys. Grinning at her. And the women are worse, they don’t know what they want, most the time. Keep the rest waiting while they ‘think.’ She’s got better things to do.” He threw up his hands in disgust.
“And for the last month, instead of resting in the evening, she spends her time fiddling with those flowers in the yard. You’d think her whole future was invested in those things, instead of keeping herself for me and the work at the market here. The way she works over ’em, digging and poking and—” He reached behind him, brought out a pail of fish guts. “She even buries this stuff under them, can you beat that?”
The witch smiled. “I told her it was good for them. Makes this sandy barren soil better, Ike. Let her play with her flowers if it gives her pleasure.”
Ike shrugged, then smiled. “What can I have the pleasure of getting for you today?”
“Nothing, my dear man. I just wanted to repeat what I told your lovely wife the other morning, how grateful I am for the kindness you show my greedy pet. She’s pampered beyond belief by you every single day. And I want to show you my thanks by bringing you something—”
Ike held out a broad palm. “Not necessary.” He ducked his head and grinned brightly. “Don’t bother yourself, we enjoy Jezebel, just as we enjoy you comin’ into the shop now and then. In fact—” he reached into a glass case and pulled out a fish fillet as big as a dinner plate. “You take this and have some nice fish for dinner tonight, on us. Our pleasure.”
The witch waited while he wrapped the fillet in white paper and tied it with string, then took it from him and tucked it tidily into her basket. “You’re a generous soul, Ike Elias. Many thanks. Well, I must be going. I should rush this fish home as fast as possible, it must be a hundred and one outside.” She smiled archly at Ike. “I wouldn’t want it to spoil.”