Bless Me, Ultima (30 page)

“Téllez,” my father said calmly, “the imagination—”

“The imagination!” Téllez laughed sardonically. “This is not imagined!” He pointed again to the arm. “It was not an accident,” he insisted, “and I had not been drinking!”

“Perhaps it is a bad joke, someone who has a grudge against you,” my father the skeptic questioned.

“Gabriel, the people of the Agua Negra are good people. You know that! Who would carry out a joke this far. And who could make stones rain from the skies!”

“Stones from the skies!” my mother gasped.

“¡Sí! Day and night, without reason, the stones fall and pelt the house! Why? And how is this done? I am at my wit’s end! It is the devil’s work—” Téllez moaned.

“Courage,” my father said and reached across and placed his hand on Téllez’ shoulder.

“There was a curse like that at El Puerto when I was a little girl,” my mother nodded, “the dishes would move, the statues of the saints themselves were found in the pigpens and the outhouse, and stones would fall like rain on the house—”

“Sí, sí,” Téllez nodded in agreement. He knew if my mother believed then he could get Ultima’s help.

“The curse was lifted when the priest blessed the house with holy water—” she did not finish.

“Ay, mujer,” Téllez groaned, “do you think my good wife did not think of that! The priest from Vaughn came and blessed the entire house. It did not help. Now he will not come anymore. He says no evil can withstand the blessing by holy water, and so we must be making up stories. Stories—” He nodded his head and laughed bitterly. “Such stories! We cannot eat, we cannot sleep. My children are like walking zombies, the evil presence moves them like ghosts and the priest says we make up stories! It is too much—” He cupped his head in his hands and cried.

So again the power of the priest has failed, I thought. Why can’t the power of God work against the evils that beset the family of Téllez? Why is it allowed to continue?

“What can I do?” my father asked, trying to console the poor man.

“Come with me and see with your very eyes the things I speak about. Someone must believe!” Téllez exclaimed, taking some faith in my father’s offer.

“I will go,” my father nodded.

“¡Ay, gracias a Dios!” Téllez stood and embraced my father.

They left immediately, and my father did not return until late that night. The lights of the truck came bouncing up the goat path and I ran to meet him, but he did not greet me when he stepped down from the truck, in fact he did not seem to see me. He walked mechanically into the house, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead. He looked very tired.

“Gabriel,” my mother said, but he did not answer. He sat in his chair and looked ahead, as if peering into a dream; and it was not until he took a long drink of the hot coffee Ultima put in his hand that he spoke.

“At first I did not believe Téllez,” he whispered. “I am not a believer in spirits, good or bad, but—” and he turned and looked at us as if he were coming back to reality, his eyes bright and watery, “but I saw the things Téllez spoke about. I still cannot believe it—” his chin sank to his chest.

“¡Ave María Purísima!” my mother cried, then she turned and went to the sala to pray. Meantime, we waited in the kitchen.

“What is it that is happening out there at that ranch?” my father asked. He did not look at Ultima, but it was obvious he was seeking some understanding from her.

“A curse has been laid,” she said simply.

“Like on my uncle Lucas?” I asked. I was already wondering if she would take me to help this time.

“No,” she said, addressing my father, “this curse was not laid on a person, the curse was put on a bulto, a ghost. It is the bulto that haunts the house—”

“I don’t understand,” my father said. He looked up at her searchingly.

“A long time ago,” she began, “the llano of the Agua Negra was the land of the Comanche Indians. Then the comancheros came, then the Mexican with his flocks—many years ago three Comanche Indians raided the flocks of one man, and this man was the grandfather of Téllez. Téllez gathered the other Mexicans around him and they hanged the three Indians. They left the bodies strung on a tree; they did not bury them according to their custom. Consequently, the three souls were left to wander on that ranch. The brujas who laid the curse knew this, so instead of placing the curse on a member of the family and taking the chance of getting caught, they simply awakened the ghosts of the three Indians and forced them to do the wrong. The three tortured spirits are not to blame, they are manipulated by brujas—”

“It is unbelievable,” my father said.

“Yes,” Ultima agreed.

“Can they be stopped?” my father asked.

“Of course,” Ultima smiled, “all evil can be stopped.”

At that moment my mother returned from praying to the Virgin. “Téllez is your friend,” she said to my father.

“Of course,” my father answered, “we grew up on the llano together. We all count each other as brothers—”

“And he needs help,” she said, tracing the very simple steps for us to hear.

“There is no one more deserving of help at this moment,” my father said.

“Well then, we must help in any way we can,” she said with finality. She started to turn to Ultima, but my father motioned her to be still. He got up and went to Ultima.

“Will you help this poor family, will you help my friends?” he asked.

“You know the rules that guide the interference with any man’s destiny,” Ultima said.

“I know,” my father said. “I have tried to lead my own life, and I have given other men room and respect to live theirs. But I feel I must do this for my friends, so let the bad consequences in your chain of destiny fall on my head.”

“We will leave tomorrow at sunup,” Ultima said.

I was allowed to go, and so early next morning we got in my father’s truck and headed westward. We traveled halfway to Las Pasturas and then left the paved road and turned southward on a dirt road of the llano. The llano was beautiful in the early morning, beautiful before the summer sun of August burned it dry. The mesquite bushes were green, and even the dagger yucca was stately as it pushed up the green stem that blossomed with white bell flowers. Jackrabbits bolted from shady thickets at the approach of the truck and bounded away into the rolling hills spotted with dark juniper trees. The sun grew very white and warm in the clear, azure sky. It was hard to believe that in this wide beauty there roamed three souls trapped to do evil.

We had left home in the gray of dawn, and we had all been quiet. But now the lovely expanse of the llano filled our hearts and we forgot for awhile the strange, foreboding job ahead of us.

“Ah, there is no freedom like the freedom of the llano!” my father said and breathed in the fresh, clean air.

“And there is no beauty like this earth,” Ultima said. They looked at each other and smiled, and I realized that from these two people I had learned to love the magical beauty of the wide, free earth. From my mother I had learned that man is of the earth, that his clay feet are part of the ground that nourishes him, and that it is this inextricable mixture that gives man his measure of safety and security. Because man plants in the earth he believes in the miracle of birth, and he provides a home for his family, and he builds a church to preserve his faith and the soul that is bound to his flesh, his clay. But from my father and Ultima I had learned that the greater immortality is in the freedom of man, and that freedom is best nourished by the noble expanse of land and air and pure, white sky. I dreaded to think of a time when I could not walk upon the llano and feel like the eagle that floats on its skies: free, immortal, limitless.

“There is power here, a power that can fill a man with satisfaction,” my father said.

“And there is faith here,” Ultima added, “a faith in the reason for nature being, evolving, growing—”

And there is also the dark, mystical past, I thought, the past of the people who lived here and left their traces in the magic that crops out today.

Enveloped in our thoughts, we bounced down the sandy road that at times was no more than a cow path. I was lost in the immensity of land and sky, but my father knew where to go. At the foot of a hill ahead of us crouched the troubled home of Téllez. It was a simple adobe ranch house, squatting low to the good earth, its rusted tin roof shielding it from the hot sun. To the side of the house were the corrals.

“That is his place,” my father announced. He drove the truck near the corral and stopped. Téllez came running.

“¡Gracias a Dios que venites!” he cried. He believed in Ultima’s power, and he knew it was his last source of help. He took Ultima’s hand and kissed it, then led us excitedly into the house. A frail, thin woman and the children cringed against the wall when we entered. “It is all right, it is all right,” Téllez said soothingly, “la Grande has come to help us.”

Only then did the woman, whose eyes were burning with fever, come forth and greet Ultima. “Grande,” she said simply and kissed her hand.

“Dorotea Téllez,” Ultima greeted the woman.

“These are bad times,” Téllez’ wife whimpered, “I am sorry but I can offer you nothing to eat or drink—” Her voice broke and she went to the table, sat, bowed her head on the rough wooden planks and cried.

“It has been like this,” Téllez threw up his arms in exasperation, “since the evil thing came—”

As he spoke a strange thing happened. A cloud passed overhead and darkened the house. Téllez looked up and cried, “It’s here! It’s here!”

“Benditos sean los dulces nombres,” his wife moaned. She crossed herself and fell to her knees.

A few moments ago the sky had been clear, and now in the gloom we saw each other as dark bultos. My father started for the door but Téllez leaped in his way and shouted, “No! Do not go! The evil is out there!”

Then the pounding began. The darkness had already terrified me, but now the strange pounding noise on the roof made me seek Ultima’s hand. She stood quietly, listening to the devil’s bombardment that held us with such terror that we could not move. The fear of the deafening, evil noise held us prisoners. The children cringed around their mother, but they did not cry. They seemed accustomed to the devil’s beating on the roof.

“¡Jesús, María y José!” my father cried out, and he crossed his forehead.

“Aiiiiiiiie,” Téllez groaned, “it is the devil dancing on my roof—” His body twisted to the crescendo of the fearful drum beat. But almost as quickly as it had begun the noise stopped and the dark cloud moved away. My father ran to the door and we followed.

It was incredible, but we stepped out into the perfectly quiet day we had known earlier. The llano was so quiet I could hear the drone of the grasshoppers and crickets in the grass.

“The rocks,” my father muttered, “they weren’t here when we came—” He pointed at the melon-sized stones that lay around the house. That is what had pounded on the roof! But where had they come from? We looked up. There was not a cloud in the sky.

“Incredible,” my father said and shook his head. “The cloud darkened only the house, and the stones fell only on the roof—” As he spoke the two boys who had been inside with their mother came outside. Without a word they began picking up the rocks and carrying them to the nearby corral where there was already a pile of rocks.

“We stack the devil’s work in the corral,” Téllez said. “This is the third time the rocks have fallen—”

“But from where,” my father cried, “and how?” Téllez only shrugged. “You have searched around the house, into the hills?” Téllez nodded. “My God!” my father shivered.

“It is the work of the devil, I tell you,” Téllez murmured.

Ultima, who had stood quietly by us, answered. “It is the work of man,” she said. “But let us not waste time while the spirits grow stronger. Gabriel, I want you to erect a platform here.” She pointed to the ground and marked four spots. “Make the holes there. Use some of those cedar posts in the corral, make it this high.” She held her hand above her head. “Place many juniper branches on the platform. Cut many branches because we may have to burn a long time. Have Antonio cut them, he understands the power in the tree—” Then she turned and herded the family back into the house. After that we did not see her for a long time.

My father found an axe in the tool shed and gave it to me. I went into the hills and began cutting juniper branches. Where possible I took dead dry branches because Ultima had said we would be burning them, but when I had to cut into a live tree I first talked to the tree and asked it for its medicine, as Ultima had instructed me to do with every living plant. I dragged the branches to where my father worked on the platform. He dug four holes and placed the cedar posts in them. “Notice,” he said, “it is not square but long, as if it could hold a coffin.” With wire he securely tied some rafters across the top of the posts then we put the juniper branch roof on the platform. When we were done we rested, and looked at the altar that we had erected.

The day was very long. We had not brought food and so the only thing we had was water from the well, which tasted brackish. “That is why they call these the ranches of the Agua Negra,” my father explained. I wondered if the water which flowed beneath this earth connected to the waters beneath our town, the waters of the golden carp.

“Strange that there are no animals around the ranch,” my father said. “The animals sense this bad business and stay clear of it—just as we have stayed clear of those evil rocks.” He pointed to the pile of rocks in the corral. “What we have seen today is incredible,” he finished.

“It is good that we have Ultima to explain it,” I told him, and he only shrugged. We waited. A strange singing, a low chanting song emanated from the house all day long. Finally, at dusk when the nightjars and bats began to fly and the setting sun had passed from orange to gray, Ultima came through the front door of the house. She carried what appeared to be three bundles, and she stepped to the platform quickly.

“You have done well,” she said and placed the three bundles at the foot of the platform. “Place the bundles on the platform and set fire to it,” she commanded and stepped back. My father was surprised when he picked up the first bundle and found it heavy. Ultima had carried the three lightly but he had to strain to lift them up on the platform. There was another strange thing about Ultima as she stood with her arms crossed, quietly watching my father work. The way she stood, the bright sash around her waist, and the two glossy braids falling over her shoulders made me feel that she had performed this ceremony in some distant past.