Bless Me, Ultima (23 page)

I knew now what Tenorio had done, and I hated myself for not having guessed it, and I hated Andrew for not listening to Narciso. The devil Tenorio had sneaked around while we lingered at Rosie’s house, and had waited to ambush Narciso under the juniper tree. I looked for help, but there was none. Their battle would be to the end this time, with only me to witness.

“Ay diablo, you have shot me in cowardly fashion!” Narciso cried in pain and rage.

“You are a dead man, cabrón!” Tenorio shouted back.

They clutched at each other and spun around and around, like two huge animals. Blood was already blackening the snow as the wind buckled the two to the ground.

Under the protection of the juniper they rolled and grunted and cursed. I stood frozen, watching the deadly scene, unable to do anything. Then I heard the second shot. This time it was not muffled by the wind but by the body against which it had been fired. I held my breath as the living man untangled himself from the dead one and stumbled to his feet. It was Tenorio.

“May your soul be damned and go to hell!” Tenorio cursed. His body heaved as he gasped and grunted for breath. Then to add to his curse he spit on the body of Narciso. I heard a low moan as Tenorio aimed his pistol at the head of Narciso. I screamed with fear and Tenorio spun around and saw me. He aimed the pistol at me and I heard the click of the firing pin. But there was no shot.

“You bastard of the witch!” he snarled. He stuffed the pistol into his pocket, turned and fled towards the highway.

For some time I did not move. I could not believe I was alive; I could not believe I was not dreaming a frightful nightmare. Then a moan from the dying man called me, and I walked to Narciso and knelt at his side.

It was peaceful under the juniper tree. The snow continued to fall dense and heavy, but the wind was still. The tree’s huge, dark branches offered protection, like a confessional. I looked down at the bloodied face of Narciso, and I almost felt relieved of the terrible tension my fevered body had carried for so many hours. He seemed asleep. Snow covered the huge, brown, mustached face. I brushed some of the snow away and his eyelids fluttered.

“Narciso,” I heard myself say faintly.

“Hijo—” he murmured.

I slipped my hand under his head and whispered, “Are you dead?”

He smiled faintly, his eyelids fluttered open, and I saw a glaze on his eyes that I had never seen before. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, and when his huge hand moved from his chest I saw that he had been clutching the wound from the bullet. A warm, pulsating stream of blood wet his jacket and the snow. He made the sign of the cross, leaving dabs of blood where he touched his forehead, his chest, and the sides.

“Muchacho,” his hoarse voice whispered, “I need confession—I am dying—”

I shook my head in desperation. There would be no time to go for the priest. I couldn’t, I couldn’t make it back across the bridge, back to town, to the church. My cheeks did not feel the warm, salty tears that began flowing down and splattering on his bloodied face.

“I am not a priest,” I said. I felt his body jerk and stiffen. He was dying.

“Ultima—” His voice was very faint, dying.

“There is not time,” I whispered.

“Then pray for me,” he said weakly and closed his eyes, “you are pure of heart—”

I knew what I had to pray. I had to pray an Act of Contrition for his departing soul, like I prayed for Lupito. But I had not held Lupito while his body went cold. I had not bloodied my hands with his life’s blood. I looked at the wound on the chest and saw the blood stop flowing; rage and protest filled me. I wanted to cry out into the storm that it was not fair that Narciso die for doing good, that it was not fair for a mere boy to be at the dying of a man.

“Confess me—”

I placed my ear to his mouth and heard his mumbled confession. I felt the tears running now, flooding my eyes and blinding me, flowing into the corners of my mouth, and I felt great sobs choking at my throat, trying to get loose.

“Thank you, father, I will sin no more—”

I prayed, “Oh my God, I am sorry for all of my sins, not because I dread the fires of Hell, but because they displease you, Lord, Who art all good, and deserving of all my love—and with Thy help, I will sin no more—”

Then I made the sign of the cross over him.

“It is good to die on a hill of the llano, beneath the juniper—” were his last words. I felt his last intake of air, and the moan as he breathed for the last time. I slipped my hand from under his head, then the sobs came. I knelt by his side for a long time, crying, thinking of all that had happened.

And when the crying had cleansed my soul of the great weight of pity, I got up and ran home. I felt very weak and sick by the time I burst into my mother’s kitchen.

“¡Antonio!” my mother cried. I rushed into her warm arms and was safe. “Ay, Jesús, María y José—”

“Where have you been?” I heard my father ask from his chair.

“School’s been out a long time—” It was Deborah teasing.

I think I started laughing, or crying, because my mother looked at me strangely and felt my forehead. “Your clothes are wet, and you have a fever!”

Then I felt Ultima’s hand on mine. “¡Sangre!” she whispered. It was the blood of Narciso on my hands. The room and the faces staring at me began to swim, as if I was the center of a dark, rushing whirlpool.

“¡Dios mío!” my mother cried. “Are you hurt, Tony?”

“I knew those were pistol shots I heard!” my father leaped from his chair and grabbed me by the collar of my jacket. “Are you hurt? What has happened?”

“Narciso!” I blurted out.

“By the juniper—” I thought I heard Ultima say. She knit her brow and seemed to be testing the air for any trace of danger left to us.

“He is dead!” I cried.

“But where?” My father said in disbelief. My mother’s eyes fluttered and she stumbled back. Ultima picked me up.

“On the goat path—”

“But how? Did you see it?” He was already reaching for his jacket.

“The boy can speak no more. He must rest,” Ultima said.

“Sí,” my mother cried anxiously. Together they carried me to her room.

“I will go and see,” my father said. I heard the door bang.

“More blankets,” Ultima told my mother and she ran to obey. They had taken off my wet, frozen clothes and stuffed me under thick, warm blankets.

“He was coming to warn you,” I whispered to Ultima, “Tenorio threatened to kill you, there was a terrible fight, he was coming to warn you—”

“He was a good man,” her sad eyes filled with sympathy, “but you must not talk now, my son, you must rest—”

My mother brought the blankets. Ultima rubbed my body with an ointment of Vicks and many of her herbs, then she gave me something cool to drink. She begged me to be still, but the fever compelled me to repeat my awful tale over and over.

“Beneath our juniper, on the goat path, he shot Narciso! I saw all, I gave confession—”

“My son!” my mother cried. I could see in their eyes that they were very worried, and I tried to tell them that I was not sick, that I simply had to tell my story to purge the fever. Over and over I shouted out the scene of the murder. Then the cold spells came and I shivered with a cold that could not be thawed by the warmth of the blankets. Late into the afternoon I alternated between the burning fever and the shivering cold.

Soon I lost track of time. Sometime during the illness I saw the face of the doctor from town, and later I saw Andrew. And always Ultima was near me, caring for every turn I made in the progress of that hideous journey. It was a long night during which the nightmares, like a herd of wild horses, trampled through my fevered mind.

Strange scenes swirled in my ocean of pesadilla, and each one seemed to drown me with its awful power.

I saw Andrew and the young girl from Rosie’s. They held each other and danced while Narciso pounded at the cold door. She was naked, and her long, flowing hair enveloped Andrew and kept him from helping Narciso. She pulled Andrew away, and he followed her into the frightful fires of hell.

Androooooooo! I cried. I struggled desperately to help him, but I could not move beneath the heavy blankets.

God forgive him! I screamed. And from the dancing flames there issued a thunderous voice.

I am not a God of forgiveness! the Voice roared.

Hear me! I begged.

I hear no one who has not communed with me! God answered. Your brother has sinned with the whores, and so I condemn him to hell for eternity!

No! I pleaded, hear me and I shall be your priest!

I can have no priest who has golden idols before him, God answered, and the flames roared and consumed everything.

In the cracking, frolicking flames I saw the face of Narciso. His face was bloody, and his eyes dark with death.

Forgive Narciso! I cried to God.

I will, the terrible Voice responded, if you also ask me to forgive Tenorio.

But Tenorio murdered Narciso! Tenorio did evil!

A loud peal of laughter boomed and rang out in the valley of flames. It rolled in clouds of dark smoke like the thunder of the summer thunderstorms.

I will forgive Tenorio, a soft voice called. I turned and saw the forgiving Virgin.

No! No! I cried, it is Narciso that you must forgive! Intercede for him so that he may gain the joys of heaven.

Antonio, she smiled, I forgive all.

You cannot! I persisted in my delirium, you must punish Tenorio for killing Narciso!

And again the laughter rang from the flames. You foolish boy, God roared, don’t you see you are caught in your own trap! You would have a God who forgives all, but when it comes to your personal whims you seek punishment for your vengeance. You would have my mother rule my heavens, you would send all sinners to her for forgiveness, but you would also have her taint her hands with the blood of vengeance—

Vengeance is Mine! He shouted, not even your golden carp would give up that power as a god!

Oh, I cried, forgive me Lord! I have sinned, I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed. My thoughts have trapped me and made me flee from You!

Then the flames parted and I saw the blood of Narciso flow into the river and mix with the blood of Lupito. Many people were drawn by the sweet smell of blood. There was much excitement in the town as the news spread that the blood on the hill was sweet and a curative for all sins.

The mob gathered and chanted, taste but one drop of the blood of la curandera and the key to heaven is assured.

We must have the blood of Ultima! they cried, and they formed a long caravan to cross the bridge and come unto the hill. Like Tenorio and the men who killed Lupito they trampled the once pure pebbles of the goat path.

At the head of the caravan were three men. They were three tortured spirits led by three women who drove them with whips.

Antonio-ooooooo, they called, Antonio-forooooooos. Help us. We are your brothers who have lost the way—

Their voices cried in the gathering wind.

Oh, help us, our sweet brother, help us. We followed neither the laws of God or of your pagan god, and we paid no heed to the magic of your Ultima. We have sinned in every way. Bless us, brother, bless us and forgive us.

My heart was wrenched at the sight of their flagellation, but I was helpless. I am not a priest, I cried, I too have sinned! I have doubted the Lord!

But you have the blood of the Luna priest, they persisted, but touch our foreheads and we shall be saved!

I held my bloodied hands out to touch them and felt the cloven hooves of hairy animals. I looked up and saw the three Trementina sisters dancing around me.

Hie! Hie! They cried and danced, through your body went the spell that cured Lucas, and your name lent strength to the curse that took one of us from the service of our Master. We will have our vengeance on you, their voices crackled.

They cut my black hair with rusty scissors and mixed the hair with the blood of bats. This they poured, together with the insides of a toad, into a bowl. They knew the toad was the animal opposed to me in life, and that its touch or even its sight made me sick. They brewed this mixture over their evil fire, and when it was done they drank it.

I saw my body withering away. My mother came and touched my forehead then began her mourning wail. Ultima sat by me, powerless in the face of death. I saw the priest from town come, and he rubbed the holy oil at my feet and prayed. A long, dark night came upon me in which I sought the face of God, but I could not find Him. Even the Virgin and my Saint Anthony would not look at my face. I had died without having taken the Eucharist, and I was cursed. In front of the dark doors of Purgatory my bleached bones were laid to rest.

And the Trementina sisters led the caravan over the path and onto our hill. Before the maddened crowd the she-goats and the he-goats ran in fright. Florence, Red, Ernie, Bones, Horse, and all the rest also tried to flee, but they were captured and put in chains. Even the girls, Rita and Agnes and Lydia and Ida and June, were caught and put in heavy chains of iron. Under the weight of the chains their young faces wrinkled and grew old.

The wicked people burned our castle on the hill. My father and mother and my sisters perished in the flames. They killed the owl and made Ultima powerless, then they beheaded her and drank her blood. When they were bathed in blood they tied her to a post, drove a stake through her heart, and burned her. They went to the river and caught the carp that swam there, and brought the fish back and cooked it in the fires of Ultima’s ashes. And they ate the flesh of the carp.

Then there was a thundering of the earth, and a great rift opened. The church building crumbled, and the school collapsed into dust, then the whole town disappeared into the chasm. A great cry went up from the people as they saw crashing, tumultuous waters fill the dark hole. The people were afraid.