The First Witch of Boston

by Andrea Catalano

“It is best not to lie. For every lie you tell you shall have to tell three more to cover for it, and three for each of those, and soon enough you’ll be trapped in your own web of lies times three.”

Thomas, had no choice but to sit back and admire the great spark of life that was her chosen mate. He knew this sentiment well. When one has such a spouse, one can only study them in awe, then look round at everyone else to see if they were just as awed. And usually they were. And that was a wondrous feeling, a pride that warms and lifts.

And his quiet ways. You see, I had only known men who threw their weight and voices round as though they were kings, as though it were their divine right. Most think they know everything and speak like they do, when it is nothing but empty words.

“I wanted a man who had enough faith in his own worth, his strength, and his mind that he had no need to put on some absurd stage drama.

Memory clouds often in the most poignant moments. It is as though even Memory knows it must watch what momentous thing is transpiring and forgets to record the details.

He had seen men beat their wives and children, and if sparing them the rod spoilt the character, the using of it broke the spirit.

But when people cannot understand something, when they can’t make sense of a thing, they always become fearful. People fear what they do not understand, you see?”

And once the hens start making a ruckus, the cocks soon get involved in the frenzy.”

Thomas was no coward, he was not a fool who believed that life should be naught but sweetness. The wind blew both fragrant and warm as well as blustery and piercing cold.

“I caution you: Never underestimate 195how deeply power can corrupt even the most godly.

“My friend Maggie,” she declared in a low voice made raspy by anger and sadness, “dared to be a woman with a profession, a talent, and a sharp tongue. Heaven forbid such a thing, in a woman.” And she spat upon the ground.

You see, I had figured out by a very young age something about men. The lot of them are not to be trusted.

Never was there a man so grounded to the earth as my Thomas. He was a part of the earth, an extension of it, like a towering great white pine.

The absurdity of it all was causing my morality to disintegrate like a lump of sugar in hot tea.

“None of it matters, Maggie. I love you, I love you more today than I did yesterday, more than I did when I asked for your hand in marriage.” “Love makes us daft,” I said with a wry laugh. “Love makes us whole. Love makes us rise above.”

God damn this war, all wars. In the end, it were always the powerless and the innocent who suffered most.