Bless Me, Ultima (14 page)

“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.”

H
ey Toni-eeeeee. Huloooooo Antonioforous!”