Alternative Medicine

           My sister, my beautiful, smart sister… She was the first in everything, first to be born, first in her classes, first before my father’s eyes. Her short brown hair made her look incredibly modern while she was playing the cello with a nearly inhuman grace. It was the thing she liked doing the most in this world; she was obscenely good at it. Unlike me, who had the hands of a carpenter, her lithe fingers danced on the strings with ease. She was so close to being a perfect daughter, but my dear sister had a secret, a shameful one. So shameful that my mother had made me swear not to mention it to anyone. Everybody in our family knew, but nobody talked about it. It was easier to bask in her illusion of excellence.

           Things continued like this until that fateful spring evening when our mother, at the dinner table, announced that she had called a master for my sister’s unfortunate affliction. My sister, who had the complexion of a porcelain doll, somehow became paler upon hearing her words. She had been to doctors before, of course, but this man was not simply a doctor; no, he was one of those famous masters of health. An elite group of experts that found alternative solutions to shameful conditions such as my sister’s. They were incredibly picky with their clientele and demanded an absurd amount per session. Not that my mother was lacking in money to throw around.

“He promised to cure you in just one session!” My mother quipped happily as she popped another edamame into her mouth. “Isn’t that wonderful?” My father was simply looking at his plate, nodding in silent approval.

“Is that really necessary, Mom?” My sister croaked, her voice carrying none of her sweet tune. I personally didn’t understand my sister’s unwillingness towards the treatment. Why wouldn’t anyone want to live a better life?

“Yes.” My mother didn’t shout nor elaborate.

           The next evening, the master came to our house. He was younger than I expected, must have been in his early fifties or so. With a salt and pepper beard, a drapey white shirt, and a black wool jacket on top of it, he hardly looked like a person of great importance. My mother welcomed him inside with a tight smile and raised brows in acknowledgement. I was told to go upstairs and fetch my sister. In her room, my sister was sitting on her knees, head bowed down at an uncomfortable angle.

“They are calling for you.” She didn’t move. I called her name.

“I don’t want to.” A sob escaped her, one that she tried to put back in her mouth. At that moment, I felt something that I had never felt towards her before. Pity. A type of pity that was mixed with disgust. Her entire life was baked and put into her mouth by the gods and our family. How was she unable to sacrifice this much for their sake?

“Get up.” She shook her head weakly. I felt my jaw clenching unwillingly. Without realizing what I was doing, I raised my hand and slapped her. The blow made my hand hurt.

“You owe them this much.” My voice was trembling with something I couldn’t name. My sister’s head was still turned to the side, her cheek starting to redden furiously.

“Don’t make mother wait,” I said quietly and left her room without uttering another word, my hand still tingling.

           Downstairs, my mother was pouring tea for the master. Neither of them was speaking as if to accentuate the dire situation at hand. My mother looked at me expectantly, with a slight furrow in her well-carved brows.

“Where is your sister?” Her voice was light, too light. I opened my mouth to answer. To tell her that she was not coming, that her favourite child had failed her for the first time. I should have known better than to underestimate my sister.

“I’m here, Mom.” She walked down the stairs with the elegance of a fawn. “My apologies, Master Martirio, I took too long getting ready.” A warm smile was plastered on her face. She looked as flawless as always, other than the redness of her cheek that she couldn’t quite manage to cover up.

“No worries at all, miss.” Master Martirio returned her smile with his own, though it mostly resembled a crack on a log more than a smile. “Shall we begin right away?” He rose from his seat, my mother’s tea left untouched.

“Of course. Your time is valuable after all.” My sister replied.

           Four of us went to the spare room, which my mother deemed suitable for the treatment. It was a beige room with a single bed and two wardrobes. Not even a single tableau was hung to escape from reality momentarily. Master Martirio instructed my sister to lie on the bed on her back and relax. My sister laid on the bed with slightly stiff movements as my mother and I were watching from the doorway. Master Martirio took out a black vial from his handbag, opening it up with a murmur.

“Drink it, my child.” He said, guiding the bottle to my sister’s pursed lips. My sister glanced at my mother. Only after she nodded her head, my sister drank. It must have been a vile concoction, judging from my sister’s face.

“Good.” Master Martirio wiped the corner of her mouth and put the vial back into his handbag.

“I feel weird.” My sister said, her voice quivering.

“It’s completely normal.” Master Martirio pushed up his sleeves. “This might hurt a little.” Before my sister could open her mouth to perhaps oppose or question him, his fingers were on her face, tracing her outlines as he was whispering some unintelligible words to himself. My sister became motionless on the sheets, only her eyes moving, looking only at my mother. Master Martirio’s finger travelled up from my sister’s chin to her rosy mouth, to her upturned nose, and finally to her forehead. They stopped there. I shifted my gaze momentarily to my mother. She was as fixed to the scene before us as I was, her jaw clenched.

           The whispering of the Master Martirio became louder as his only index and middle fingers were left touching my sister’s forehead. Slowly, with a squelching sound, his fingers dipped into my sister’s skin. At first, I thought I had mistaken what I saw, but when I realized that the first two knuckles of the Master were completely in my sister’s head, I attempted to reach her.

“Don’t.” My mother’s silent command stopped me immediately. “It’s dangerous to interrupt the session.” She hissed behind her clenched teeth.

           Master Martirio’s thumb joined the other two in my sister’s head as he continued chanting. I wasn’t sure how long had passed like that. Fingers of a fifty-year-old man wriggling around my sister’s insides. When he finally stopped chanting, my sister’s blurry eyes were no longer locked onto my mother. Instead, they were on me, with a look I couldn’t quite place. Gently and slowly, Master Martirio took out his fingers. He was holding something with them.

           A small bead with pink fading into orange with a pale white streak was between the Master’s pruned fingers. “I found our culprit.” He said proudly as my sister was staring at the beige wall. Was she really cured? Did a bead that was no larger than a chickpea really cause that much agony for our family? My mother snatched the wet bead from Master Martirio’s hands with a quickness that I had never seen before and crushed it in her fist. A small pop sound filled the room, my sister’s chest heaved twice, and the rest was silence.

           That small bead actually turned out to be the cause of it all. Since my sister was cured now, she no longer had any issue with finding a respectable husband. One year after her procedure, she got married to a doctor in a wedding dress that she looked gorgeous in and became pregnant soon after. I was glad that she was cured, of course, but the only thing I couldn’t quite place was why she had never played the cello again after her treatment. Not that I had time to think much about such things; with my older sister married, I was next in line.