Bless Me, Ultima (15 page)

A voice called.

At first I thought I was dreaming. I was fishing, and sitting on a rock; the sun beating on my back had made me sleepy. I had been thinking how Ultima’s medicine had cured my uncle and how he was well and could work again. I had been thinking how the medicine of the doctors and of the priest had failed. In my mind I could not understand how the power of God could fail. But it had.

“Toni-eeeeee!” the voice called again.

I opened my eyes and peered into the green brush of the river. Silently, like a deer, the figure of Cico emerged. He was barefoot, he made no noise. He moved to the rock and squatted in front of me. I guess it was then that he decided to trust me with the secret of the golden carp.

“Cico?” I said. He nodded his dark, freckled face.

“Samuel told you about the golden carp,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Have you ever fished for carp?” he asked. “Here in the river, or anywhere?”

“No,” I shook my head. I felt as if I was making a solemn oath.

“Do you want to see the golden carp?” he whispered.

“I have hoped to see him all summer,” I said breathlessly.

“Do you believe the golden carp is a god?” he asked.

The commandment of the Lord said, Thou shalt have no other gods before me…

I could not lie. I knew he would find the lie in my eyes if I did. But maybe there were other gods? Why had the power of God failed to cure my uncle?

“I am a Catholic,” I stuttered, “I can believe only in the God of the church—” I looked down. I was sorry because now he would not take me to see the golden carp. For a long time Cico did not speak.

“At least you are truthful, Tony,” he said. He stood up. The quiet waters of the river washed gently southward. “We have never taken a non-believer to see him,” he said solemnly.

“But I want to believe,” I looked up and pleaded, “it’s just that I have to believe in Him?” I pointed across the river to where the cross of the church showed above the tree tops.

“Perhaps—” he mused for a long time. “Will you make an oath?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. But the commandment said, Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.

“Swear by the cross of the church that you will never hunt or kill a carp.” He pointed to the cross. I had never sworn on the cross before. I knew that if you broke your oath it was the biggest sin a man could commit, because God was witness to the swearing on his name. But I would keep my promise! I would never break my oath!

“I swear,” I said.

“Come!” Cico was off, wading across the river. I followed. I had waded across that river many times, but I never felt an urgency like today. I was excited about seeing the magical golden carp.

“The golden carp will be swimming down the creek today,” Cico whispered. We scrambled up the bank and through the thick brush. We climbed the steep hill to the town and headed towards the school. I never came up this street to go to school and so the houses were not familiar to me. We paused at one place.

“Do you know who lives there?” Cico pointed at a green arbor. There was a fence with green vines on it, and many trees. Every house in town had trees, but I had never seen a place so green. It was thick like some of the jungles I saw in the movies in town.

“No,” I said. We drew closer and peered through the dense curtain of green that surrounded a small adobe hut.

“Narciso,” Cico whispered.

Narciso had been on the bridge the night Lupito was murdered. He had tried to reason with the men; he had tried to save Lupito’s life. He had been called a drunk.

“My father and my mother know him,” I said. I could not take my eyes from the garden that surrounded the small house. Every kind of fruit and vegetable I knew seemed to grow in the garden, and there was even more abundance here than on my uncles’ farms.

“I know,” Cico said, “they are from the llano—”

“I have never seen such a place,” I whispered. Even the air of the garden was sweet to smell.

“The garden of Narciso,” Cico said with reverence, “is envied by all—Would you like to taste its fruits?”

“We can’t,” I said. It was a sin to take anything without permission.

“Narciso is my friend,” Cico said. He reached through the green wall and a secret latch opened an ivy-laden door. We walked into the garden. Cico closed the door behind him and said, “Narciso is in jail. The sheriff found him drunk.”

I was fascinated by the garden. I forgot about seeing the golden carp. The air was cool and clear, not dusty and hot like the street. Somewhere I heard the sound of gurgling water.

“Somewhere here there is a spring,” Cico said, “I don’t know where. That is what makes the garden so green. That and the magic of Narciso—”

I was bewildered by the garden. Everywhere I looked there were fruit-laden trees and rows and rows of vegetables. I knew the earth was fruitful because I had seen my uncles make it bear in abundance; but I never realized it could be like this! The ground was soft to walk on. The fragrance of sun-dazzling flowers was deep, and soft, and beautiful.

“The garden of Narciso,” I whispered.

“Narciso is my friend,” Cico intoned. He pulled some carrots from the soft, dark earth and we sat down to eat.

“I cannot,” I said. It was silent and peaceful in the garden. I felt that someone was watching us.

“It is all right,” Cico said.

And although I did not feel good about it, I ate the golden carrot. I had never eaten anything sweeter or juicier in my life.

“Why does Narciso drink?” I asked.

“To forget,” Cico answered.

“Does he know about the golden carp?” I asked.

“The magic people all know about the coming day of the golden carp,” Cico answered. His bright eyes twinkled. “Do you know how Narciso plants?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I had always thought farmers were sober men. I could not imagine a drunk man planting and reaping such fruits!

“By the light of the moon,” Cico whispered.

“Like my uncles, the Lunas—”

“In the spring Narciso gets drunk,” Cico continued. “He stays drunk until the bad blood of spring is washed away. Then the moon of planting comes over the elm trees and shines on the horde of last year’s seeds—It is then that he gathers the seeds and plants. He dances as he plants, and he sings. He scatters the seeds by moonlight, and they fall and grow—The garden is like Narciso, it is drunk.”

“My father knows Narciso,” I said. The story Cico had told me was fascinating. It seemed that the more I knew about people the more I knew about the strange magic hidden in their hearts.

“In this town, everybody knows everybody,” Cico said.

“Do you know everyone?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded.

“You know Jasón’s Indian?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Ultima?” I asked.

“I know about her cure,” he said. “It was good. Come on now, let’s be on our way. The golden carp will be swimming soon—”

We slipped out of the coolness of the garden into the hot, dusty street. On the east side of the school building was a barren playground with a basketball goal. The gang was playing basketball in the hot sun.

“Does the gang know about the golden carp?” I asked as we approached the group.

“Only Samuel,” Cico said, “only Samuel can be trusted.”

“Why do you trust me?” I asked. He paused and looked at me.

“Because you are a fisherman,” he said. “There are no rules on who we trust, Tony, there is just a feeling. The Indian told Samuel the story; Narciso told me; now we tell you. I have a feeling someone, maybe Ultima, would have told you. We all share—”

“Hey!” Ernie called, “you guys want to play!” They ran towards us.

“Nah,” Cico said. He turned away. He did not face them.

“Hi, Tony,” they greeted me.

“Hey, you guys headed for Blue Lake? Let’s go swimming,” Florence suggested.

“It’s too hot to play,” Horse griped. He was dripping with sweat.

“Hey, Tony, is it true what they say? Is there a bruja at your house?” Ernie asked.

“¡A bruja!” “¡Chingada!” “¡A la veca!”

“No,” I said simply.

“My father said she cursed someone and three days later that person changed into a frog—”

“Hey! Is that the old lady that goes to church with your family!” Bones shrieked.

“Let’s go,” Cico said.

“Knock it off, you guys, are we going to play or not!” Red pleaded. Ernie spun the basketball on his finger. He was standing close to me and grinning as the ball spun.

“Hey, Tony, can you make the ball disappear?” He laughed. The others laughed too.

“Hey, Tony, do some magic!” Horse threw a hold around my neck and locked me into his half-nelson.

“Yeah!” Ernie shouted in my face. I did not know why he hated me.

“Leave him alone, Horse,” Red said.

“Stay out of it, Red,” Ernie shouted, “you’re a Protestant. You don’t know about the brujas!”

“They turn to owls and fly at night,” Abel shouted.

“You have to kill them with a bullet marked with a cross,” Lloyd added. “It’s the law.”

“Do magic,” Horse grunted in my ear. His half-nelson was tight now. My stomach felt sick.

“Voodoo!” Ernie spun the ball in my face.

“Okay!” I cried. It must have scared Horse because he let loose and jumped back. They were all still, watching me.

The heat and what I had heard made me sick. I bent over, wretched and vomited. The yellow froth and juice of the carrots splattered at their feet.

“Jesuschriss!” “¡Chingada!” “¡Puta!” “¡A la madre!”

“Come on,” Cico said. We took advantage of their surprise and ran. We were over the hill, past the last few houses, and at Blue Lake before they recovered from the astonishment I saw in their faces. We stopped to rest and laugh.

“That was great, Tony,” Cico gasped, “that really put Ernie in his place—”

“Yeah,” I nodded. I felt better after vomiting and running. I felt better about taking the carrots, but I did not feel good about what they had said about Ultima.

“Why are they like that?” I asked Cico. We skirted Blue Lake and worked our way through the tall, golden grass to the creek.

“I don’t know,” Cico answered, “except that people, grown-ups and kids, seem to want to hurt each other—and it’s worse when they’re in a group.”

We walked on in silence. I had never been this far before so the land interested me. I knew that the waters of El Rito flowed from springs in the dark hills. I knew that those hills cradled the mysterious Hidden Lakes, but I had never been there. The creek flowed around the town, crossed beneath the bridge to El Puerto, then turned towards the river. There was a small reservoir there, and where the water emptied into the river the watercress grew thick and green. Ultima and I had visited the place in search of roots and herbs.

The water of El Rito was clear and clean. It was not muddy like the water of the river. We followed the footpath along the creek until we came to a thicket of brush and trees. The trail skirted around the bosque.

Cico paused and looked around. He pretended to be removing a splinter from his foot, but he was cautiously scanning the trail and the grass around us. I was sure we were alone; the last people we had seen were the swimmers at the Blue Lake a few miles back. Cico pointed to the path.

“The fishermen follow the trail around the brush,” he whispered, “they hit the creek again just below the pond that’s hidden in here.” He squirmed into the thicket on hands and knees, and I followed. After a while we could stand up again and follow the creek to a place where an old beaver dam made a large pond.

It was a beautiful spot. The pond was dark and clear, and the water trickled and gurgled over the top of the dam. There was plenty of grass along the bank, and on all sides the tall brush and trees rose to shut off the world.

Cico pointed. “The golden carp will come through there.” The cool waters of the creek came out of a dark, shadowy grotto of overhanging thicket, then flowed about thirty feet before they entered the large pond. Cico reached into a clump of grass and brought out a long, thin salt cedar branch with a spear at the end. The razor-sharp steel glistened in the sun. The other end of the spear had a nylon cord attached to it for retrieving.

“I fish for the black bass of the pond,” Cico said. He took a position on a high clump of grass at the edge of the bank and motioned for me to sit by the bank, but away from him.

“How can you see him?” I asked. The waters of the pool were clear and pure, but dark from their depth and shadows of the surrounding brush. The sun was crystaline white in the clear, blue sky, but still there was the darkness of shadows in this sacred spot.

“The golden carp will scare him up,” Cico whispered. “The black bass thinks he can be king of the fish, but all he wants is to eat them. The black bass is a killer. But the real king is the golden carp, Tony. He does not eat his own kind—”

Cico’s eyes remained glued on the dark waters. His body was motionless, like a spring awaiting release. We had been whispering since we arrived at the pond, why I didn’t know, except that it was just one of those places where one can communicate only in whispers, like church.

We sat for a long time, waiting for the golden carp. It was very pleasant to sit in the warm sunshine and watch the pure waters drift by. The drone of the summer insects and grasshoppers made me sleepy. The lush green of the grass was cool, and beneath the grass was the dark earth, patient, waiting…

To the northeast two hawks circled endlessly in the clear sky. There must be something dead on the road to Tucumcari, I thought.

Then the golden carp came. Cico pointed and I turned to where the stream came out of the dark grotto of overhanging tree branches. At first I thought I must be dreaming. I had expected to see a carp the size of a river carp, perhaps a little bigger and slightly orange instead of brown. I rubbed my eyes and watched in astonishment.

“Behold the golden carp, Lord of the waters—” I turned and saw Cico standing, his spear held across his chest as if in acknowledgement of the presence of a ruler.

The huge, beautiful form glided through the blue waters. I could not believe its size. It was bigger than me! And bright orange! The sunlight glistened off his golden scales. He glided down the creek with a couple of small carp following, but they were like minnows compared to him.