A Secret So Sirius

Fustidia wondered when a child was ready for the family secrets. Her mother, her servants... All tiptoed round the wispy gossip that hung gossamer in the corners of the Foya Family Estate. Family secrets are, after all, less a secret than a willful ignorance.

Would I, Fustidia thought, tiptoe these whispers round my younger siblings, or cousins, or my mother when she grows into a senile child?

While she gave this a great deal of thought, it wasn’t Fustidia’s main consideration. Her main consideration was one secret in particular - that, 15 years prior, Fustidia’s Grandmother killed the family dog, Capitán.

The Estate was a sprawling, gaudy maze. Thus, multiple accounts existed of Capitán's final moments. Through interviews with staff and family alike, Fustidia learned it happened the 9th of January, 1976. The murder-weapon was a slice of chocolate cake the grandmother had baked that morning. Guests of the estate witnessed Capitán frump around the foyer, panting. Others, on their hunt, caught glimpses of the dog retching bile on the grounds outside. It was the pregnant Young Lady of the House, Fustidia’s mother, who found the poor pup on the lawn.

His heart had detonated.

At the same moment, the Young Lady of The House's water broke. And out came Fustidia.

A pair of cousins, Gabby and Tabby, witnessed the grandmother drop the cake in Capitán’s bowl, and witnessed the grandmother cackling after he was pronounced dead. Those cousins were told to shut their mouths, or else. But, the rumors persisted. They traveled for 15 years to Fustidia’s ears.

On its own, this crime was enough for Fustidia to stomp around and slam doors and give her grandmother the evil eye. It became personal, however, when Fustidia discovered she was, in fact, a reincarnation of Capitán.

*

Fustidia's reincarnation theory began with an undeveloped canister of Kodachrome found in a crate of family photos. It was sent off with Stella, a servant, who was due to visit the pharmacy. Through the modern miracle of one-hour photo, Fustidia had the stills in hand later that day.

The photos were blindingly beautiful, partly because they were overexposed, but mostly because they contained the only record of Capitán’s beauty, his blue eyes and his long blonde hair. 36 stills captured the bliss of Fustidia’s mother playing with Capitán on the Estate grounds.

“Dios mío, my god,” Fustidia’s mother said. “You would’ve loved him… In fact, you remind me so much of Capitán.”

I do? Fustidia thought.

*

Discovering her similarities with Capitán became Fustidia’s obsession. She kept them in a list in a journal:

• Capitán death-day = birthday, for one.
• Blonde-hair blue-eye. Parents both brown-eye brunettes.
• Restless. Makes me great track star.
• Due to running, always thirsty. Drink gallon water daily.
• Hungry like wolf.
• Like animals > people.
• Don’t mind outdoor tinkle while camping outside.

*

Soon after, the curandera, the healer that read cards for Fustidia’s mother, found Fustidia fiddling with a telescope in the Estate's observation spire.

“Pick out the star,” the curandera said, “which calls to you.”

Fustidia shrugged and pointed in the sky to Sirius.

“Perro de la noche, Sirius,” the curandera said.

“What,” Fustidia said.

“That star is Sirius, dog of the night. The spirit of the dog presides over you.”

"So I am Capitán reincarnated...," Fustidia said.

The curandera wrinkled her forehead.

"Nooo, reincarnation is a myth...," the curandera said.

"But reading cards is the real-deal?" Fustidia said.

*

Thus was born in Fustidia a crusade to avenge Capitán’s ill fate - by offing her grandmother. Fustidia spent a year concocting ways in which to do so. Which is also to say that Fustidia spent a year failing to do so.

One morning, for example, Fustidia’s grandmother entered Fustidia's room and sat on her bed and stroked her head.

“Ay, Fustidia,” her grandmother said. “Look how your hair shines, like liquid gold. So much prettier than your cousins.”

Fustidia smiled. How you must have hated my liquid gold hair when I was Capitán. Probably, you tried shaving me clean and cut me with the clippers when no one was looking.

“Thank you, grandmother,” Fustidia said. “Grandmother, could you bring me breakfast in bed today?”

“Of course!” her grandmother said.

Perfect, Fustidia thought. Fustidia had awoken early that morning to grease the first three steps of the stairway. Grandmother’d rush off downstairs, and foom!

Her grandmother took tiptoe steps to the doorframe, turned, and got a final, loving look at Fustidia, and made her way to the stairwell. She stopped halfway, however.

“Stella!” she screeched. “Breakfast in bed for Fustidia! Now!”

Stella flopped out of an adjacent room, in full pajamas and a faceful of fear.

“Yes-ma’am-of-course-ma’am,” Stella said. Stella ran for the stairs and slipped on the greased steps and tumbled down the flight.

Fustidia’s grandmother demanded Stella bring the breakfast anyway, despite the broken femur.

“It’s nothing, you baby,” Fustidia’s grandmother said. “And clean up that oil on the steps, or I’ll dock your pay. You've been slacking off.”

*

Another evening, Fustidia needed an excuse to barge in on her bathing Grandmother, so she removed the towels from her ensuite. Before her grandmother could yell for Stella, Fustidia zipped in with a fresh stack of towels.

“How fast you run around this house, Fustidia!” her grandmother said, turning down her radio. “Faster than your cousins, who move at the speed of progress in America.”

Fustidia giggled. How you must have hated my paws clattering about the house when I was Capitán. Probably you attempted to trim my nails and declaw me when no one was looking.

Fustidia used a hand slick as a magician’s to knock the radio into the bathtub.

The power flicked off as the radio fell in.

Later that night, as Stella unplugged the tub of dirty water in the dark, the power returned.

Fustidia’s grandmother passed Stella in the hall, Stella’s hair smoking like a mad scientist.

“Mind your hair, woman!” Fustidia’s grandmother said.

*

Yet another morning, Fustidia had a plan that was particularly convoluted. She was to tell her grandmother about a new rite the pope created. It involved wearing deerskins and kneeling a mile through the forest. With any luck, the hunting party that left earlier had good aim…

Fustidia munched on a piece of toast as she walked into her grandmother’s room. Stella did up the grandmother's hair, and peeked at her soap opera, Justice Demands Poetry, over her head.

“Ay, Fustidia! How you eat!” her grandmother said. “But so much more petite than your cousins. They're so big, they could sink the titanic.”

Fustidia chewed. How you must have hated my mouth when I was Capitán, yearning for the meat and menu. Probably, when no one was looking, you…

And it hit her, why her assassination attempts had gone so wrong.

Justice demands poetry, she thought.

She’d kill her with cake.

She cancelled her convoluted plan that day.

Stella couldn't figure out why, but she sighed with relief upon Fustidia's exit.

*

From then on, all Fustidia asked her Grandmother about was cake. Her grandmother was delighted. She showed Fustidia how to mark her measurements, to mix with a measured hand, to prep and to pour and to place the tin. How much time it took and how to tell if the time was up. In 3 weeks, Fustidia could bake a chocolate cake just like her grandmother’s.

Fustidia awoke early after those 3 weeks and marked out the cake's proportions in order to include a rich round of rat-poison. She double-checked the box to make sure it said arsenic. It did.

Her grandmother’s eyes opened to the smell of the cake. Something smelled off about it, but she was proud of her Fustidia, off on her own already.

She made her way to the kitchen, where Fustidia finished frosting the cake.

“Care for a slice, grandmother?” Fustidia said.

“I would love that,” she lied.

Fustidia cut a slice and set it on a glossy white plate. She stuck a fork in it.

The open cake intensified the off-putting smell. Her grandmother retched, but played it off with a smile.

“Go ahead,” Fustidia said, scratching the plate toward her.

Her grandmother forked a tiny piece.

“A bigger piece, grandmother, or you won’t taste it!”

Not wanting to disappoint, she forked a rather large piece of the arsenic special. Fustidia watched eagerly.

Just then, the pair of cousins, Gabby and Tabby, entered the kitchen.

They announced their presence with their slappy sandals.

“We smelled cake,” one of the cousins said.

“Yeah, cake!” the other cousin said, lurching at the grandmother, who sighed in relief and shoved her slice at him. The grandmother swiftly cut the other cousin an even bigger slice and shoved it at him, too

Fustidia began trembling. Murder and jail suddenly became very real. She didn’t want to seem too suspicious and snatch the cake, but she couldn’t let them eat it, either.

“It’s poisonous!” Fustidia said, barely stopping the forks from going in the cousins’ mouths.

“What,” Tabby said.

"Huh," Gabby said.

Fustidia chuckled nervously.

“It’s poisonous…to eat a cake meant for somebody else. C’mon, this is a thank-you for grandmother,” Fustidia said.

Her eyes darted back and forth from her two cousins to her grandmother.

“Oh… we didn’t mean to ruin it. Sorry, grandma,” Gabby said, the cousins lowering their forks.

Their grandmother shook her head so hard, she looked like she was having an aneurysm.

“No-no, I insist! Sharing is caring! G'ahead, finish it!” their grandmother said.

The cousins shrugged and lifted their forks again.

“AH!” Fustidia said, slapping the cake from their hands, splatting chocolate everywhere. She dumped the cake in the trash.

“Try to do something nice in this house and you two come and ruin it, like you always do! With your greasy hair and your slow, fat bodies!” Fustidia said, panting.

The cousins coughed out cries of self-consciousness and humiliation.

“Well,” her grandmother said. “You don’t have to be so harsh about it, Fustidia.”

“Wha…wha…wha,” Gabby hiccupped. “Wha-bout her?” He pointed at Stella, who munched away at a slice of cake behind them, dancing to the music from her giant headset-radio.

They whipped around at Stella suddenly, and the movement caught her attention. She removed the headphones.

“Whas’goin’on,” Stella said.

Stella smiled a chocolate-teeth smile.

*

Stella, plump with poison, died that night.

When Fustidia explained about her crusade and how Capitán was her Sirius, and grandmother killed me… it was nonsensical. It was the babble of a madwoman.

After her rant, Gabby and Tabby came to her and they put a grave hand on her shoulder.

“When we said grandmother,” Gabby said.

“We meant your dad’s side,” Tabby said.

*

The Foyas paid off the right people and Stella’s death was swept under the rug.

Fustidia’s cousins promised to keep shut about Stella, though rumors persisted.

Fustidia’s grandmother, on the other hand, took the secret to her grave. She and Fustidia spent her final years bonding over bakery.

In that time, the grandmother taught Fustidia the art of running the Estate. Fustidia taught her grandmother the art of treating the servants well.

One time, they even visited her grandmother's grave (from her father's side) and threw a pie at it.

And on the grandmother's deathbed, they shared a normal slice of chocolate cake…

Numb from her grandmother's death, Fustidia walked to her car alone in the hospital parking lot. The salty aftermath of her tears crusted her cheeks. A dog approached her there. It was a mutt with a worn collar.

She bent over and read the tag on its collar, front and back, and laughed. The dog licked the salt on her cheeks. Then, the dog bared its teeth, and jumped at her jugular.

Fustidia was found dead the next morning. She was still smiling.

This was what the tag said:

This was what the back said: