The summer came and burned me brown with its energy, and the llano and the river filled me with their beauty. The story of the golden carp continued to haunt my dreams. I went to Samuel’s house but it was boarded up. A neighbor, an old lady, told me that Samuel and his father had taken a job sheepherding for the rest of the summer. My only other avenue to the golden carp would be Cico, so every day I fished along the river, and watched and waited.
Andrew worked all day so I did not see him much, but it was reassuring at least to have him home. León and Gene hardly ever wrote. Ultima and I worked in the garden every morning, struggling against the llano to rescue good earth in which to plant. We spoke little, but we shared a great deal. In the afternoons I was free to roam along the river or in the blazing hills of the llano.
My father was dejected about his sons leaving, and he drank more than before. And my mother also was unhappy. That was because one of her brothers, my uncle Lucas, was sick. I heard them whispering at night that my uncle had been bewitched, a bruja had put a curse on him. He had been sick all winter, and he had not recovered with the coming of spring. Now he was on his deathbed.
My other uncles had tried everything to cure their youngest brother. But the doctor in town and even the great doctor in Las Vegas had been powerless to cure him. Even the holy priest at El Puerto had been asked to exorcise el encanto, the curse, and he had failed. It was truly the work of a bruja that was slowly killing my uncle!
I heard them say late at night, when they thought I was asleep, that my uncle Lucas had seen a group of witches do their evil dance for el Diablo, and that is why he had been cursed. In the end it was decided to hire the help of a curandera, and they came to Ultima for help.
It was a beautiful morning when the yucca buds were opening and the mocking birds were singing on the hill that my uncle Pedro drove up. I ran to meet him.
“Antonio,” he shook my hand and hugged me, as was the custom. “Buenos días le de Dios, tío,” I answered. We walked into the house
where my mother and Ultima greeted him.
“How is my papá?” she asked and served him coffee. My uncle Pedro had come to seek the help of Ultima and we all knew it, but there was a prescribed ceremony they had to go through.
“He is well, he sends his love,” my uncle said and looked at Ultima. “And my brother Lucas?”
“Ay,” my uncle shrugged despairingly, “he is worse than when you saw him last. We are at the end of our rope, we do not know what to do—”
“My poor brother Lucas,” my mother cried, “that this should happen to the youngest! He has such skill in his hands, his gift with the care and grafting of trees is unsurpassed.” They both sighed. “Have you consulted a specialist?” she asked.
“Even to the great doctor in Las Vegas we took him, to no avail,” my uncle said.
“Did you go to the priest?” my mother asked.
“The priest came and blessed the house, but you know that priest at El Puerto, he does not want to pit his power against those brujas! He washes his hands of the whole matter.”
My uncle spoke as if he knew the witches who cursed Lucas. And I also wondered, why doesn’t the priest fight against the evil of the brujas. He has the power of God, the Virgin, and all the saints of the Holy Mother Church behind him.
“Is there no one we can turn to!” my mother exclaimed. She and my uncle glanced at Ultima who had remained quiet and listened to their talk. Now she stood up and faced my uncle.
“Ay, Pedro Luna, you are like an old lady who sits and talks and wastes valuable time—”
“You will go,” he smiled triumphantly.
“¡Gracias a Dios!” my mother cried. She ran to Ultima and hugged her. “I will go with one understanding,” Ultima cautioned. She raised her
finger and pointed at both of them. The gaze of her clear eyes held them
transfixed. “You must understand that when anybody, bruja or curandera, priest or sinner, tampers with the fate of a man that sometimes a chain of events is set into motion over which no one will have ultimate control. You must be willing to accept this responsibility.”
My uncle looked at my mother. Their immediate concern was to save Lucas from the jaws of death, for that they would accept any responsibility.
“I will accept that responsibility on behalf of all my brothers,” my uncle pedro intoned.
“And I accept your help on behalf of my family,” my mother added. “Very well,” Ultima nodded, “I will go and cure your brother.” She went
out of the kitchen to prepare the herbs and oils she would need to affect her cure. As she passed me she whispered, “Be ready Juan—”
I did not understand what she meant. Juan was my middle name, but it was never used.
“Ave María Purísima,” my mother said and slumped into a chair. “She will cure Lucas.”
“The curse is deep and strong,” my uncle brooded.
“Ultima is stronger,” my mother said, “I have seen her work miracles. She learned from the greatest healer of all time, the flying man from Las Pasturas—”
“Ay,” my uncle nodded. Even he acknowledged the great power of that ancient one from Las Pasturas.
“But tell me, who laid the evil curse?” my mother asked. “It was the daughters of Tenorio,” my uncle said.
“Ay! Those evil brujas!” My mother crossed her forehead and I followed suit. It was not wise to mention the names of witches without warding off their evil with the sign of the holy cross.
“Ay, Lucas told papá the story after he took sick, but it is not until now, that we have to resort to a curandera, that our father made the story known to us. It was in the bad month of February that Lucas crossed the river to look for a few stray milk cows that had wandered away. He met Manuelito, Alfredo’s boy, you know the one that married the lame girl. Anyway, Manuelito told him he had seen the cows moving towards the bend of the river, where the cottonwoods make a thick bosque, the evil place.”
Again my mother made the sign of the cross.
“Manuelito said he tried to turn the cows back, but they were already too near that evil place, and he was afraid. He tried to warn Lucas to stay away from that place. Dusk was falling and there were evil signs in the air, the owls were crying to the early horned moon—”
“¡Ay, Dios mío!” my mother exclaimed.
“But Lucas did not take Manuelito’s warning to wait until the next morning, and besides our papá, Manuelito was the last person Lucas spoke to. Ay, that Lucas is so thick-headed, and so full of courage, he spurred his horse into the brush of the evil place—” He paused for my mother to serve him fresh coffee.
“I still remember when we were children, watching the evil fires dance in that same place,” my mother said.
“Ay,” my uncle agreed. “And that is what Lucas saw that night, except he was not sitting across the river like we used to. He dismounted and crept up to a clearing from where the light of the fireballs shone. He drew near and saw that it was no natural fire he witnessed, but rather the dance of the witches. They bounded among the trees, but their fire did not burn the dry brush—”
“¡Ave María Purísima!” my mother cried.
I had heard many stories of people who had seen the bright balls of fire.
These fireballs were brujas on their way to their meeting places. There, it was said, they conducted the Black Mass in honor of the devil, and the devil appeared and danced with them.
Ay, and there were many other forms the witches took. Sometimes they traveled as coyotes or owls! Only last summer the story was told that at Cuervo a rancher had shot a coyote. He and his sons had followed the trail of blood to the house of an old woman of the village. There they found the old woman dead of a gunshot wound. The rancher swore that he had etched a cross on his bullet, and that proved that the old woman was a witch, and so he was let free. Under the old law there was no penalty for killing a witch.
“When he was up close,” my uncle continued, “Lucas saw that the fireballs began to acquire a form. Three women dressed in black appeared. They made a fire in the center of the clearing. One produced a pot and another an old rooster. They beheaded the rooster and poured its blood into the pot. Then they began to cook it, throwing in many other things while
they danced and chanted their incantations. Lucas did not say what it was they cooked, but he said it made the most awful stench he had ever smelled
—”
“The Black Mass!” my mother gasped.
“Sí,” my uncle nodded. He paused to light a cigarette and refill his cup of coffee. “Lucas said they poured sulfur on the coals of the fire and that the flames rose up in devilish fashion. It must have been a sight to turn the blood cold, the dreariness of the wind and the cold night, the spot of ground so evil and so far from Christian help—”
“Yes, yes,” my mother urged, “and then what happened?” The story had held us both spellbound.
“Well, you know Lucas. He could see the evil one himself and not be convinced. He thought the three witches were three old dirty women who deserved a Christian lashing, tongue or otherwise, so he stepped forth from behind the tree that hid him and he challenged them!”
“No!” my mother gasped.
“Sí,” my uncle nodded. “And if I know Lucas, he probably said something like: ¡Oye! You ugly brujas, prepare to meet a Christian soul!”
I was astounded at the courage of my uncle Lucas. No one in his right mind would confront the cohorts of the devil!
“It was then he recognized the Trementina sisters, Tenorio’s three girls
—”
“¡Ay Dios mío!” my mother cried.
“Ay, they have always been rumored to be brujas. They were very angry to be caught performing their devilish mass. He said they screamed like furies and were upon him, attacking him like wild animals—but he did the right thing. While he was behind the tree he had taken two dead branches and quickly tied them together with a shoelace. He made a rude cross with the two sticks. Now he held up the holy cross in the face of those evil women and cried out, “Jesús, María, y José!” At the sight of the cross and at the sound of those holy words the three sisters fell to the ground in a fit of agony and pain. They rolled on the ground like wounded animals until he lowered the cross. Then they picked themselves up and fled into the darkness, cursing him as they went.
“Everything was silent then. Only Lucas remained by the light of the dying fire at that cursed spot. He found his frightened horse by the river,
mounted it, and returned home. He told the story only to papá, who admonished him not to repeat it. But within the week Lucas was stricken. He speaks only to mutter of the revenge the Trementina sisters took on him for discovering their secret ceremony. The rest of the time his mouth is clamped so tight he cannot eat. He wastes away. He is dying—”
They were silent for a long time, each one thinking about the evil thing that befell their brother.
“But didn’t you go to Tenorio?” my mother asked.
“Papá was against it. He would not believe in this witchcraft thing. But Juan and Pablo and myself went to Tenorio and confronted him, but we could not charge him with anything because we had no proof. He only laughed at us and told us he was within his right to shoot us if we made an accusation against him without proof. And he had his ring of coyotes around him in the saloon. He said he had witnesses if we tried anything, and so we had to leave. He laughed at us.”
“Ay, he is an evil man,” my mother shuddered.
“Evil begets evil,” my uncle said. “His wife was known to make clay dolls and prick them with needles. She made many people of the valley sick, some died from her curses. She paid for her sins, but not before she delivered three brujas to carry on her work in our peaceful valley—”
“I am ready,” Ultima interrupted.
I turned to see her standing, watching us. She carried only her small black satchel. She was dressed in black and her head scarf crossed over her face so that only her bright eyes shone. She bore herself with dignity, and although she was very small she was ready to do battle with all the terrible evil about which I had just heard.
“Grande,” my mother went to her and hugged her, “it is such a difficult task we ask you to do, but you are our last hope.”
Ultima remained motionless. “Evil is not easy to destroy,” she said, “one needs all the help one can get.” She looked at me and her gaze made me step forward. “The boy will have to go with me,” she whispered.
“What?” My mother was startled.
“Antonio must go with me. I have need of him,” Ultima repeated softly. “I will go,” I said.
“But why?” my mother asked.
My uncle answered the question. “He is a Juan—”
“Ay.”
“And he has strong Luna blood—”
“Ave María Purísima,” my mother muttered.
“It must be so if you want your brother cured,” Ultima decreed.
My mother looked at her brother. My uncle only shrugged. “Whatever you say, Grande,” my mother said. “It will be good for Anthony to see his uncles—”
“He does not go to visit,” Ultima said solemnly. “I will prepare some clothing—”
“He must go as he is,” Ultima said. She turned to me. “Do you want to help your uncle, Antonio?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“It will be hard,” she said.
“I do not mind,” I answered, “I want to help.”
“And if people say you walk in the footsteps of a curandera, will you be ashamed?”
“No, I will be proud, Ultima,” I said emphatically.
She smiled. “Come, we waste precious time—” My uncle and I followed her outside and into the truck. Thus began our strange trip.
“Adiós,” my mother called, “¡Cuidado! ¡Saludos a papá, y a todos!
¡Adiós!”
“¡Adiós!” I called. I turned and waved goodbye.
The drive to El Puerto was always a pleasant one, but today it was filled with strange portents. Across the river where lonely farms dotted the hills, whirlwinds and dust devils darkened the horizon. I had never seen anything like it, we seemed to travel a sea of calmness but all around the sky darkened. And when we arrived at the village we saw the horned day-moon fixed exactly between the two dark mesas at the southern end of the valley!
“The moon of the Lunas,” my uncle remarked, breaking the silence of the entire trip.
“It is a good sign,” Ultima nodded. “That is why they call this place El Puerto de la Luna,” she said to me, “because this valley is the door through which the moon of each month passes on its journey from the east to the west—”
So it was fitting that these people, the Lunas, came to settle in this valley. They planted their crops and cared for their animals according to the
cycles of the moon. They lived their lives, sang their songs, and died under the changing moon. The moon was their goddess.
But why was the weather so strange today? And why had Ultima brought me? I wanted to help, but how was I to help? Just because my name was Juan? And what was it about my innocent Luna blood that was to help lift the curse from my uncle? I did not know then, but I was to find out.
A dust trail followed the truck down the dusty street. It was deathly quiet in El Puerto. Not even the dogs barked at the truck. And the men of the village were not working in the fields, they clung together in groups at the adobe corners of houses and whispered to each other as we drove by. My uncle drove straight to my grandfather’s house. No one came to the truck for a long time and my uncle grew nervous. Women in black passed silently in and out of the house. We waited.
Finally my grandfather appeared. He walked slowly across the dirt patio and greeted Ultima. “Médica,” he said, “I have a son who is dying.”
“Abuelo,” she answered, “I have a cure for your son.”
He smiled and reached through the open window to touch her hand. “It is like the old days,” he said.
“Ay, we still have the power to fight this evil,” she nodded.
“I will pay you in silver if you save my son’s life,” he said. He seemed unaware of me or my uncle. It seemed a ceremony they performed.
“Forty dollars to cheat la muerte,” she mumbled.
“Agreed,” he responded. He looked around to the nearby houses where, through parted curtains, curious eyes watched. “The people of the pueblo are nervous. It has been many years since a curandera came to cure—”
“Farmers should be farming,” Ultima said simply. “Now, I have work to do.” She stepped out of the truck.
“What will you need?” my grandfather asked.
“You know,” she said. “A small room, bedsheets, water, stove, atole to eat—”
“I will prepare everything myself,” he said.
“There are women already mourning in the house,” Ultima said and gathered her shawl around her head, “get rid of them.”
“As you say,” my grandfather answered. I do not think he liked to empty his house of his sons’ wives, but he knew that when a curandera was working a cure she was in charge.
“There will be animals sniffing around the house at night, the coyotes will howl at your door—inform your sons that no shots are to be fired. I will deal with those who come to spoil the cure myself—”
My grandfather nodded. “Will you enter my house now?” he asked. “No. I must first speak to Tenorio. Is he in his dog hole, that place he
calls a saloon?” she asked. My grandfather said yes. “I will speak to him,” Ultima said. “I will first try to reason with him. He must know that those who tamper with fate are often swallowed by their own contrivance—”
“I will send Pedro and Juan with you,” my grandfather began, but she interrupted him.
“Since when does a curandera need help to deal with dogs,” she retorted. “Come, Antonio,” she called and started down the street. I scurried after her.
“The boy is necessary?” my grandfather called.
“He is necessary,” she answered. “You are not afraid, are you Antonio?” she asked me.
“No,” I answered and took her hand. Many hidden eyes followed our progress up the dusty, vacant street. The saloon was at the end of the street, and opposite the church.
It was a small, run-down adobe house with a sign over the entrance. The sign said the saloon belonged to Tenorio Trementina. This man who doubled as the villagers’ barber on Saturdays had a heart as black as the pit of hell!
Ultima did not seem to fear him, nor the evil powers of his three daughters. Without hesitation she pushed her way through the doorway, and I followed in her wake. There were four men huddled around one of the few tables. Three turned and looked at Ultima with surprise written in their eyes. They had not expected her to come into this place of evil. The fourth one kept his back to us, but I saw his hunched shoulders tremble.
“I seek Tenorio!” Ultima announced. Her voice was strong and confident. She stood tall, with a nobleness to her stature that I had seen often when we walked on the llano. She was not afraid, and so I tried to stand like her and put my fears out of my heart.
“What do you want bruja!” the man who would not face us snarled. “Give me your face,” Ultima demanded. “Have you not the strength to
face an old woman? Why do you keep your back to me?”
The thin, hunched body jumped up and spun around. I think I jumped at the sight of his face. It was thin and drawn, with tufts of beard growing on it. The eyes were dark and narrow. An evil glint emanated from them. The thin lips trembled when he snarled, “Because you are a bruja!” Spots of saliva curled at the edges of the mouth.
Ultima laughed. “Ay, Tenorio,” she said, “you are as ugly as your dark soul.” It was true, I had never seen an uglier man.
“¡Toma!” Tenorio shouted. He crossed his fingers and held the sign of the cross in front of Ultima’s face. She did not budge. Tenorio gasped and drew back, and his three cronies pushed their chairs to the floor and backed away. They knew that the sign of the cross would work against any bruja, but it had not worked against Ultima. Either she was not a bruja, or to their way of thinking, she had powers that belonged to the Devil himself.
“I am a curandera,” Ultima said softly, “and I have come to lift a curse.
It is your daughters who do evil that are the brujas—”
“You lie, vieja!” he shouted. I thought he would attack Ultima, but his gnarled body only trembled with anger. He could not find the courage to touch her.
“Tenorio!” It was Ultima who now spoke sternly. “You are a fool if you do not heed my words. I did not need to come to you, but I did. Listen to my words of reason. Tell your daughters to lift the curse—”
“Lies!” he screamed as if in pain. He turned to the three men he had depended upon to act as witnesses, but they did not protest on his behalf. They nervously glanced at each other and then at Ultima.
“I know when and where the curse was laid,” Ultima continued. “I know when Lucas came to your shop for a drink and to have his hair clipped by your evil shears. I know that your daughters gathered the cut hair, and with that they worked their evil work!”
It was more than the three men could stand. They were frightened. They lowered their eyes to avert Tenorio’s gaze and scurried for the door. The door banged shut. A strange, dark whirlwind swept through the dusty street and cried mournfully around the corner of the saloon. The storm which had been around us broke, and the rising dust seemed to shut off the light of the sun. It grew dark in the room.
“¡Ay bruja!” Tenorio threatened with his first, “for what you have said to shame my daughters and my good name in front of those men, I will see
you dead!” His voice was harsh and ominous. His evil eyes glared at Ultima.
“I do not fear your threats, Tenorio,” Ultima said calmly. “You well know, my powers were given to me by el hombre volador—”
At the mention of this great healer from Las Pasturas Tenorio drew back as if slapped in the face by an invisible power.
“I thought I could reason with you,” Ultima continued, “I thought you would understand the powers at work and how they can wreck the destinies of many lives—but I see it is useless. Your daughters will not lift the curse, and so I must work the magic beyond evil, the magic that endures forever
—”
“And my three daughters?” Tenorio cried.
“They chose to tamper with fate,” Ultima answered. “Pity the consequence—” She took my hand and we walked out into the street. The choking dust was so thick that it shut out the sun. I was used to dust storms of early spring, but this one in the middle of summer was unnatural. The wind moaned and cried, and in the middle of the sky the sun was a blood- red
dot. I put one hand to my eyes and with the other I gripped Ultima tightly as we struggled against the wind.
I was thinking about the evil Tenorio and how Ultima had made him cower when I heard the hoofbeats. If I had been alone I would have paid no heed to them, so concerned was I with finding some direction in the strange duststorm. But Ultima was more alert than I. With a nimble sidestep and a pull she jerked me from the path of the black horse and rider that went crashing by us. The rider that had almost run us down disappeared into the swirling dust.
“Tenorio!” Ultima shouted in my ear. “He is hurrying home to warn his daughters. Beware of his horse,” she added, “he has trained it to trample and kill—” I realized how close I had been to injury or death.
As we approached my grandfather’s house there was a lull in the storm. The sky remained dark around us, but the clouds of dust abated somewhat. The women who were already in mourning for my uncle Lucas took this opportunity to place their mantas over their faces and to scurry to their homes before the hellish storm raised its head again. It was very strange to
see the women in black hurrying out of the house and into the howling storm. It was like seeing death leaving a body.
We hurried into the house. The door slammed behind us. In the dark my grandfather was waiting. “I grew worried,” he said.
“Is everything ready?” Ultima asked.
“As you ordered,” he said and led us through the dark, quiet rooms of the house. The flickering lantern he held cast our dancing shadows on the smooth, clean adobe walls. I had never seen the house quiet and empty like it was today. Always there were my uncles and aunts and cousins to greet. Now it was like a quiet tomb.
Far in the deep recesses of the long house we came to a small room. My grandfather stood at the door and motioned. We entered the simple room. It had a dirt floor packed down from many water sprinklings, and its walls were smooth-plastered adobe. But the good clean earth of the room did not wash away or filter the strong smell of death in the room. The wooden bed in the room held the shrunken body of my dying uncle Lucas. He was sheathed in white and I thought he was already dead. He did not seem to breathe. His eyes were two dark pits, and the thin parchment of yellow skin clung to his bony face like dry paper.
Ultima went to him and touched his forehead. “Lucas,” she whispered.
There was no answer.
“He has been like this for weeks now,” my grandfather said, “beyond hope.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Life is never beyond hope,” Ultima nodded.
“Ay,” my grandfather agreed. He straightened his stooped shoulders. “I have brought everything you ordered,” he nodded towards the small stove and pile of wood. There was clean linen on the chair next to the stove, and on the shelf there was water, atole meal, sugar, milk, kerosene, and other things. “The men have been instructed about the animals, the women in mourning have been sent away—I will wait outside the room, if you need anything I will be waiting—”
“There must be no interference,” Ultima said. She was already removing her shawl and rolling up her sleeves.
“I understand,” my grandfather said. “His life is in your hands.” He turned and walked out, closing the door after him.
“Antonio, make a fire,” Ultima commanded. She lit the kerosene lantern while I made the fire, then she burned some sweet incense. With the crackling warmth of the fire and the smell of purifying incense the room seemed less of a sepulchre. Outside the storm roared and dark night came.
We warmed water in a large basin, and Ultima bathed my uncle. He was like a rag doll in her hands. I felt great pity for my uncle. He was the youngest of my uncles, and I always remembered him full of life and bravado. Now his body was a thin skeleton held together by dry skin, and on his face was written the pain of the curse. At first the sight of him made me sick, but as I helped Ultima I forgot about that and I took courage.
“Will he live?” I asked her while she covered him with fresh sheets. “They let him go too long,” she said, “it will be a difficult battle—” “But why didn’t they call you sooner?” I asked.
“The church would not allow your grandfather to let me use my powers.
The church was afraid that—” She did not finish, but I knew what she would have said. The priest at El Puerto did not want the people to place much faith in the powers of la curandera. He wanted the mercy and faith of the church to be the villagers’ only guiding light.
Would the magic of Ultima be stronger than all the powers of the saints and the Holy Mother Church? I wondered.
Ultima prepared her first remedy. She mixed kerosene and water and carefully warmed the bowl on the stove. She took many herbs and roots from her black bag and mixed them into the warm oily water. She muttered as she stirred her mixture and I did not catch all of what she said, but I did hear her say, “the curse of the Trementinas shall bend and fly in their faces. We shall test the young blood of the Lunas against the old blood of the past
—”
When she was done she cooled the remedy, then with my help we lifted my uncle and forced the mixture down his throat. He groaned in pain and convulsed as if he wanted to throw up the medicine. It was encouraging to see signs of life in him, but it was difficult to get him to keep the medicine down.
“Drink, Lucas,” she coaxed him, and when he clamped his teeth shut she pried them open and made him drink. Howls of pain filled the small room. It was very frightening, but at length we got the medicine down. Then we covered him because he began sweating and shivering at the same time. His
dark eyes looked at us like a captured animal. Then finally they closed and the fatigue made him sleep.
“Ay,” Ultima said, “we have begun our cure.” She turned and looked at me and I could tell she was tired. “Are you hungry?” she smiled.
“No,” I replied. I had not eaten since breakfast, but the things that had happened had made me forget my hunger.
“Still, we had better eat,” she said, “it might be the last meal we will have for a few days. They had his fresh clipped hair to work with, the curse is very strong and his strength is gone. Lay your blankets there and make yourself a bed while I fix us some atole.”
I spread the blankets close to the wall and near the stove while Ultima prepared the atole. My grandfather had brought sugar and cream and two loaves of fresh bread so we had a good meal.
“This is good,” I said. I looked at my uncle. He was sleeping peacefully.
The fever had not lasted long.
“There is much good in blue corn meal,” she smiled. “The Indians hold it sacred, and why not, on the day that we can get Lucas to eat a bowl of atole then he shall be cured. Is that not sacred?”
I agreed. “How long will it take?” I asked. “A day or two—”
“When we were in Tenorio’s bar, you were not afraid of him. And here, you were not afraid to enter where death lurks—”
“Are you afraid?” she asked in turn. She put her bowl aside and stared into my eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I will tell you why,” she smiled. “It is because good is always stronger than evil. Always remember that, Antonio. The smallest bit of good can stand against all the powers of evil in the world and it will emerge triumphant. There is no need to fear men like Tenorio.”
I nodded. “And his daughters?”
“They are women who long ago turned away from God,” she answered, “and so they spend their time reading in the Black Book and practicing their evil deeds on poor, unsuspecting people. Instead of working, they spend their nights holding their black masses and dancing for the devil in the
darkness of the river. But they are amateurs, Antonio,” Ultima shook her head slowly, “they have no power like the power of a good curandera. In a few days they will be wishing they had never sold their souls to the devil
—”
The cry of hungry coyotes sounded outside. Their laughter-cry sounded directly outside the small window of the room. I shivered. Their claws scratched at the adobe walls of the house. I looked anxiously at Ultima, but she held her hand up in a sign for me to listen. We waited, listening to the howling wind and the cries of the pack scratching at our wall.
Then I heard it. It was the call of Ultima’s owl. “O-ooooooo,” it shrieked into the wind, dove and pounced on the coyotes. Her sharp claws found flesh because the evil laughter of the coyotes changed to cries of pain.
Ultima laughed. “Oh those Trementina girls will be cut and bruised tomorrow,” she said. “But I have much work to do,” she spoke to herself now. She tucked me into the blankets and then burned more incense in the room. I huddled against the wall so I could see everything she did. I was tired now, but I could not sleep.
The power of the doctors and the power of the church had failed to cure my uncle. Now everyone depended on Ultima’s magic. Was it possible that there was more power in Ultima’s magic than in the priest?
My eyelids grew very heavy, but they would not close completely. Instead of sleep I slipped into a deep stupor. My gaze fixed on my poor uncle and I could not tear my glance away. I was aware of what happened in the room, but my senses did not seem to respond to commands. Instead I remained in that waking dream.
I saw Ultima make some medicine for my uncle, and when she forced it down his throat and his face showed pain, my body too felt the pain. I could almost taste the oily hot liquid. I saw his convulsions and my body too was seized with aching cramps. I felt my body wet with sweat. I tried to call to Ultima but there was no voice; I tried to move but there was no movement. I suffered the spasms of pain my uncle suffered, and these alternated with feelings of elation and power. When the pain passed a wave of energy seemed to sweep through my body. Still, I could not move. And I could not take my eyes from my uncle. I felt that somehow we were going through the same cure, but I could not explain it. I tried to pray, but no words filled my mind, only the closeness I shared with my uncle remained. He was
across the room from me, but our bodies did not seem separated by the distance. We dissolved into each other, and we shared a common struggle against the evil within, which fought to repulse Ultima’s magic.
Time ceased to exist. Ultima came and went. The moaning of the wind and the cries of the animals outside mixed into the thin smoke of incense and the fragrance of piñón wood burning in the stove. At one time Ultima was gone a long time. She disappeared. I heard the owl singing outside, and I heard its whirling wings. I saw its wise face and fluttering wings at the window—then Ultima was by me. Her feet were wet with the clay-earth of the valley.
“The owl—” I managed to mutter.
“All is well,” Ultima answered. She touched my forehead and the terrible strain I felt seemed lifted from my shoulders. “There is no fever,” Ultima whispered to me, “you are strong. The blood of the Lunas is very thick in you—”
Her hand was cool, like the fresh air of a summer night.
My uncle groaned and thrashed about in his bed. “Good,” Ultima said, “we have beaten the death spirit, now all that remains is to have him vomit the evil spirit—”
She went to the stove and prepared a fresh remedy. This one did not smell like the first one, it was more pungent. I saw her use vials of oil she had not used before, and I saw that some of the roots she used were fresh with wet earth. And for the first time she seemed to sing her prayers instead of muttering them.
When she had finished mixing her herbs she let the small bowl simmer on the stove, then she took from her black bag a large lump of fresh, black clay. She turned off the kerosene lantern and lit a candle. Then she sat by the candlelight and sang as she worked the wet clay. She broke it in three pieces, and she worked each one carefully. For a long time she sat and molded the clay. When she was through I saw that she had molded three dolls. They were lifelike, but I did not recognize the likeness of the clay dolls as anyone I knew. Then she took the warm melted wax from the candle and covered the clay dolls with it so they took on the color of flesh. When they had cooled she dressed the three dolls with scraps of cloth which she took from her black bag.
When she was done she stood the three dolls around the light of the flickering candle, and I saw three women. Then Ultima spoke to the three women.
“You have done evil,” she sang,
“But good is stronger than evil,
“And what you sought to do will undo you…”
She lifted the three dolls and held them to my sick uncle’s mouth, and when he breathed on them they seemed to squirm in her hands.
I shuddered to see those clay dolls take life.
Then she took three pins, and after dipping them into the new remedy on the stove, she stuck a pin into each doll. Then she put them away. She took the remaining remedy and made my uncle drink it. It must have been very strong medicine because he screamed as she forced it down. The strong smell filled the room, and even I felt the searing liquid.
After that I could rest. My eyelids closed. My stiff muscles relaxed and I slid from my sitting position and snuggled down into my blankets. I felt Ultima’s gentle hands covering me and that is all I remember. I slept, and no dreams came.
When I awoke I was very weak and hungry. “Ultima,” I called. She came to my side and helped me sit up.
“Ay mi Antonito,” she teased, “what a sleepy head you are. How do you feel?”
“Hungry,” I said weakly.
“I have a bowl of fresh atole waiting for you,” she grinned. She washed my hands and face with a damp cloth and then she brought the basin for me to pee in while she finished preparing the hot cereal. The acrid smell of the dark-yellow pee blended into the fragrance of the cereal. I felt better after I sat down again.
“How is my uncle Lucas?” I asked. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Before he did not seem to breathe, but now his chest heaved with the breath of life and the pallor was gone from his face.
“He will be well,” Ultima said. She handed me the bowl of blue atole. I ate but I could not hold the food down at first. I gagged and Ultima held a
cloth before me into which I vomited a poisonous green bile. My nose and eyes burned when I threw up but I felt better.
“Will I be all right?” I asked as she cleaned away the mess.
“Yes,” she smiled. She threw the dirty rags in a gunnysack at the far end of the room. “Try again,” she said. I did and this time I did not vomit. The atole and the bread were good. I ate and felt renewed.
“Is there anything you want me to do?” I asked after I had eaten. “Just rest,” she said, “our work here is almost done—”
It was at that moment that my uncle sat up in bed. It was a fearful sight and one I never want to see again. It was like seeing a dead person rise, for the white sheet was wet with sweat and it clung to his thin body. He screamed the tortured cry of an animal in pain.
“Ai-eeeeeeeeeee!” The cry tore through contorted lips that dripped with frothy saliva. His eyes opened wide in their dark pits, and his thin, skeletal arms flailed the air before him as if he were striking at the furies of hell.
“Au-ggggggggh! Ai-eeee!” He cried in pain. Ultima was immediately at his side, holding him so that he would not tumble from the bed. His body convulsed with the spasms of a madman, and his face contorted with pain.
“Let the evil come out!” Ultima cried in his ear.
“¡Dios mío!” were his first words, and with those words the evil was wrenched from his interior. Green bile poured from his mouth, and finally he vomited a huge ball of hair. It fell to the floor, hot and steaming and wiggling like live snakes.
It was his hair with which they had worked the evil!
“Ay!” Ultima cried triumphantly and with clean linen she swept up the evil, living ball of hair. “This will be burned, by the tree where the witches dance—” she sang and swiftly put the evil load into the sack. She tied the sack securely and then came back to my uncle. He was holding the side of the bed, his thin fingers clutching the wood tightly as if he were afraid to slip back into the evil spell. He was very weak and sweating, but he was well. I could see in his eyes that he knew he was a man again, a man returned from a living hell.
Ultima helped him lie down. She washed him and then fed him his first meal in weeks. He ate like a starved animal. He vomited once, but that was only because his stomach had been so empty and so sick. I could only watch from where I sat.
After that my uncle slept, and Ultima readied her things for departure. Our work was done. When she was ready she went to the door and called my grandfather.
“Your son lives, old man,” she said. She undid her rolled sleeves and buttoned them.
My grandfather bowed his head. “May I send the word to those who wait?” he asked.
“Of course,” Ultima nodded. “We are ready to leave.”
“Pedro!” my grandfather called. Then my grandfather came into the room. He walked towards the bed cautiously, as if he were not sure what to expect.
Lucas moaned and opened his eyes. “Papá,” he said. My grandfather gathered his son in his arms and cried. “Thanks be to God!”
Aunts and uncles and cousins began to fill the house, and there was a great deal of excitement. The story of the cure spread quickly through El Puerto. My uncles began to pour into the room to greet their brother. I looked at Ultima and knew that she wanted to get out of the commotion as quickly as possible.
“Do not tire him too much at first,” Ultima said. She looked at Lucas, who gazed around with curious but happy eyes.
“Gracias por mi vida,” he said to Ultima. Then all my uncles stood and said gracias. My grandfather stepped forward and handed Ultima the purse of silver which was required by custom.
“I can never repay you for returning my son from death,” he said.
Ultima took the purse. “Perhaps someday the men of El Puerto will save my life—” she answered. “Come Antonio,” she motioned. She clutched her black bag and the gunnysack that had to be burned. We pressed through the curious, anxious crowd and they parted to let us pass.
“¡La curandera!” someone exclaimed. Some women bowed their heads, others made the sign of the cross. “Es una mujer que no ha pecado,” another whispered. “Hechicera.” “Bruja—”
“No!” one of my aunts contested the last word. She knelt by Ultima’s path and touched the hem of her dress as she passed by.
“Es sin pecado,” was the last I heard, then we were outside. My uncle Pedro led us to his truck.
He held the door open for Ultima and said, “Gracias.” She nodded and we got in. He started the truck and turned on the lights. The two headlights cut slices into the lonely night.
“Do you know the grove of trees where Lucas saw the brujas dance?” Ultima asked.
“Sí,” my uncle said.
“Take us there,” Ultima said.
My uncle Pedro sighed and shrugged. “You have performed a miracle,” he said, “were it not for that I would not visit that cursed spot for all the money in the world—” The truck leaped forward. We crossed the ancient wooden bridge and turned right. The truck bounced along the cow path. On either side of us the dark brush of the bosque closed in.
Finally we came to the end of the rutty trail. My uncle stopped the truck.
We seemed swamped by the thick brush of the river. Strange bird cries cut into the swampy night air. “We can go no farther,” my uncle said. “The clearing of the witches is straight ahead.”
“Wait here,” Ultima said. She shouldered the sack that contained all the dirty linen and the evil ball of hair. She disappeared into the thick brush.
“Ay, what courage that old woman has!” my uncle exclaimed. I felt him shiver next to me, and I saw him make the sign of the cross to ward off the evil of this forsaken ground. Around us the trees rose like giant skeletons. They had no green on them, but were bare and white.
“Uncle,” I asked, “how long were we in the room with my uncle Lucas?”
“Three days,” he answered. “Do you feel well, Tony?” he rubbed my head. Next to Ultima it seemed the first human contact I had felt in a long time.
“Yes,” I answered.
Up ahead we saw a fire burst out. It was Ultima burning the evil load of the sack exactly where the three witches had danced when my uncle saw them. A trace of the smell of sulfur touched the foul, damp air. Again my uncle crossed himself.
“We are indebted to her forever,” he said, “for saving the life of my brother. Ay, what courage to approach the evil place alone!” he added.
The burst of flames in the bush died down and smouldered to ashes. We waited for Ultima. It was very quiet in the cab of the truck. There was a
knock and we were startled by Ultima’s brown face at the window. She got in and said to my uncle, “Our work is done. Now take us home, for we are tired and must sleep.”
