Bless Me, Ultima (12 page)

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.