Bless Me, Ultima (31 page)

My father picked up a dry brush of yerba de la vívora and striking a match to it he used it as a torch to set fire to the platform. The fire sputtered at first, but as it found the drier branches it hissed and crackled then whooshed up in a ball of yellow fire. The fragrance of the dry bush had been sharp and tangy, but as the green branches caught fire the sweet, spermy smell of the evergreen filled the air.

“Continue feeding the fire until I return,” Ultima commanded, and she turned and walked back to the house. We piled branches beneath the platform and kept it burning. Soon even the cedar posts were burning. Their popping sound and their sweet scent filled the night air. Somehow the fire seemed to dispel the brooding mystery we had felt since the shower of rocks.

“What is it we burn?” I asked my father as we watched the inferno envelop the bundles.

“I don’t know,” my father answered, “it is all so strange. My father once told me a story about the early comancheros on this llano, and what they learned from the Indians about their burial ceremony. They did not bury their dead the way we do, but they made a platform like this one and cremated the body. It was part of their way of life—”

He paused and I asked, “Are these the—” but before I could finish he said, “I don’t know, but if it will help Téllez be rid of these ungodly things who are we to question old ways—”

In the dark night we heard an owl sing. It was Ultima’s owl. It seemed the first sign of life we had heard around the ranch all day, and it lifted our spirits. Somehow the memory of the falling rocks faded with the owl’s cry, and what had been frightening and unexplainable grew distant. I looked for the rock pile in the corral, but I could not see it. Perhaps it was because the bright fire made the shadows around us very dark.

“¡Cuidado!” my father shouted. I turned and jumped back as the top of the platform toppled into the ashes beneath. A flower of sparks blossomed into the night air. The four posts which had held the platform continued to burn like torches, one for each of the directions of the wind. We threw the rest of the juniper branches in the fire. Already the platform and the three bundles were only white ashes.

“You two are good workers,” Ultima said. We had not heard her and were startled at her approach. I went to her and took her hand. She smelled sweet with incense. “It is done,” she said.

“Good,” my father answered and wiped his hands.

“You know, Gabriel,” she said to my father, “I am getting old. Perhaps this would be the best burial you could provide me—” She peered into the dying fire and smiled. I could see that she was very tired.

“It is a good way to return to the earth,” my father agreed. “I think the confines of a damp casket will bother me too. This way the spirit soars immediately into the wind of the llano, and the ashes blend quickly into the earth—”

Téllez came and stood by us. He too peered into the embers of the strange fire. “She says the curse is lifted,” he said dumbly. He too looked very tired.

“Then it is,” my father answered.

“How can I pay you?” Téllez asked Ultima.

“Instead of my silver,” she said, “you can bring us a nice lamb the next time you come to Guadalupe—”

“I will bring a dozen,” he smiled weakly.

“And stay away from the one-eyed Tenorio,” she finished.

“¡Ay! That devil was in this too!” my father exclaimed.

“I was at El Puerto about a month ago,” Téllez said, “I went to the saloon for a drink, and to play some cards. I tell you, Gabriel, that man has nothing but revenge in his heart for la Grande. He said something insulting, and I answered him. I thought nothing of it, I was only upholding my honor, our honor, the pride of those from Las Pasturas. Well, a week later the bad things started here—”

“You picked a bad one to tangle with,” my father shook his head thoughtfully as he stared into the dying fire, “Tenorio has already murdered one of our friends—”

“I know now of his true evil,” Téllez muttered.

“Well, what’s done is done,” my father nodded. “Now we must be on our way.”

“I can never thank you enough, old friend,” Téllez said and embraced my father warmly, then he embraced and kissed Ultima.

“Adiós.”

“Adiós.” We climbed into the truck and drove away, leaving Téllez standing by the dying embers of the fire. The bouncing lights of the truck cut a jerky path through the night as we traveled out of the dark llano back to Guadalupe. My father rolled a Bull Durham cigarette and smoked. The fatigue of the day and the humming sound of the tires on the highway made me sleep. I do not remember my father carrying me in when we arrived home.

In my dreams that night I did not recall the strange events that happened on the Agua Negra, instead I saw my three brothers. They were three dark figures driven to wander by the wild sea-blood in their veins. Shrouded in a sea-mist they walked the streets of a foreign city.

Toni-eeeeee, they called in the night fantasy. Tony-reel-ooooo! Where are you?

Here, I answered, here by the river!

The brown swirling waters lapped at my feet, and the monotonous chirping of the grillos as they sang in the trees mixed into a music which I felt in the roots of my soul.

Oooooo Tony… they cried with such a mournful sound that I felt a chill in my heart… Help us, Toni-eeeeee. Give us, grant us rest from this sea-blood!

I have no magic power to help you, I cried back.

I carefully marked where the churning waters eddied into a pool. There the catfish would lurk, greedy for meat. From my disemboweled brothers I took three warm livers and baited my hook.

But you have the power of the church, you are the boy-priest! they cried. Or choose from the power of the golden carp or the magic of your Ultima. Grant us rest!

They cried in such pain for release that I took their livers from the hook and cast them into the raging, muddy waters of the River of the Carp.

Then they rested, and I rested.

T
he days grew warmer and the Blue Lake opened for swimming, but Cico and I avoided the glistening, naked boys who dared the deep-blue power of the lake. Instead we worked our way around the teeming lake and towards the creek. It was time for the arrival of the golden carp!

“He will come today,” Cico whispered, “the white sun is just right.” He pointed up at the dazzling sky. Around us the earth seemed to groan as it grew green. We had waited many days, but today we were sure he would come. We crawled through the green thicket and sat by the edge of the pond. Around us sang the chorus of insects which had just worked their way out of winter nests and cocoons.

While we waited time flowed through me and filled me with many thoughts. I was still concerned with the silence of God at communion. Every Saturday since Easter I had gone to confession, and every Sunday morning I went to the railing and took communion. I prepared my body and my thoughts for receiving God, but there was no communication from Him. Sometimes, in moments of great anxiety and disappointment, I wondered if God was alive anymore, or if He ever had been. He had not been able to cure my uncle Lucas or free the Téllez family from their curse, and He had not been able to save Lupito or Narciso. And yet, He had the right to send you to hell or heaven when you died.

“It doesn’t seem right—” I said aloud.

“What?” Cico asked.

“God.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Then why do you go to church?” I asked.

“My mother believes—” he answered, “I go to please her—”

“I used to think everyone believed in God,” I said.

“There are many gods,” Cico whispered, “gods of beauty and magic, gods of the garden, gods in our own backyards—but we go off to foreign countries to find new ones, we reach to the stars to find new ones—”

“Why don’t we tell others of the golden carp?” I asked.

“They would kill him,” Cico whispered. “The god of the church is a jealous god; he cannot live in peace with other gods. He would instruct his priests to kill the golden carp—”

“What if I become a priest, like my mother wants me to—”

“You have to choose, Tony,” Cico said, “you have to choose between the god of the church, or the beauty that is here and now—” He pointed and I looked into the dark, clear water of the creek. Two brown carp swam from under the thicket into the open.

“He comes—” We held our breath and peered into the water beneath the overhanging thicket. The two brown carp had seen us, and now they circled and waited for their master. The sun glittered off his golden scales.

“It’s him!”

The golden fish swam by gracefully, cautiously, as if testing the water after a long sleep in his subterranean waters. His powerful tail moved in slow strokes as he slid through the water towards us. He was beautiful; he was truly a god. The white sun reflected off his bright orange scales and the glistening glorious light blinded us and filled us with the rapture true beauty brings. Seeing him made questions and worries evaporate, and I remained transfixed, caught and caressed by the essential elements of sky and earth and water. The sun warmed us with its life-giving power, and up in the sky a white moon smiled on us.

“Damn, he’s beautiful—” Cico whistled as the golden carp glided by.

“Yes,” I agreed, and for a long time we did not speak. The arrival of the golden carp rendered us silent. We let the sun beat down on us, and like pagans we listened to the lapping water and the song of life in the grass around us.

Whose priest will I be, I thought. The idea that there could be other gods besides the God of heaven ran through my mind. Was the golden carp a god of beauty, a god of here and now like Cico said. He made the world peaceful—

“Cico,” I said, “let’s tell Florence!” It was not right, I thought, that Florence did not know. Florence needed at least one god, and I was sure he would believe in the golden carp. I could almost hear him say as he peered into the waters, “at last, a god who does not punish, a god who can bring beauty into my life—”

“Yes,” Cico said after a long pause, “I think Florence is ready. He has been ready for a long time; he doesn’t have gods to choose between.”

“Does one have to choose?” I asked. “Is it possible to have both?”

“Perhaps,” he answered. “The golden carp accepts all magic that is good, but your God, Tony, is a jealous God. He does not accept competition—” Cico laughed cynically.

I had to laugh with him because I was excited and happy that we were going to let Florence in on our secret. Perhaps later Jasón would know, and then maybe others. It seemed like the beginning of adoration of something simple and pure.

We made our way up the creek until we were just below the Blue Lake. On this side of the lake there was a concrete wall with a spillway. As the lake filled it emptied in a slow trickle into el Rito. No one was allowed to swim along the wall because the water was very deep and full of thick weeds, and because the lifeguard was on the other side. But as we came up the gentle slope we heard the shouts of swimmers. I recognized Horse and the others shouting and waving at us.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Cico said.

“Something’s wrong,” I answered. I heard the pitch of fear in their voices as they called and gestured frantically.

“Remember, we tell only Florence,” Cico cautioned.

“I know,” I replied.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Abel cried.

“It’s a joke,” Cico said as we neared the gang.

“No, something’s happened—” We sprinted the last few yards and came to the edge of the culvert. “What?” I asked.

“Florence is down there!” Bones cried.

“Florence hasn’t come up! He hasn’t come up!” Abel sobbed and tugged at my arm.

“How long?” I shouted and worked myself loose from Abel. It was not a joke. Something was wrong!

“A long time!” Horse nodded through the spittle in his mouth. “He dived,” he pointed into the deep water, “and he didn’t come up! Too long!”

“Florence,” I groaned. We had come seeking Florence to share our secret with him, a secret of the dark, deep-blue water in which he swam.

“He drowned, he drowned,” Bones whimpered.

“How long?” I wanted to know, “how long has he been in the water?” But their fright would not let them answer. I felt Cico’s hand on my shoulder.

“Florence is a good swimmer,” Cico said.

“But he’s been down too long,” Abel whimpered.

“What do we do?” Horse asked nervously. He was frightened.

I grabbed Abel. “Go get the lifeguard!” I pointed across the lake where the high school boys loitered on the pier and dove off the high board to show off for the girls. “Tell anyone you can find there’s been an accident here!” I shouted into his fear-frozen face. “Tell them there’s a drowning!” Abel nodded and scampered up the path that cut around the side of the lake. He was instantly lost in the tall green reeds of the cattails.

It was a warm day. I felt the sweat cold on my face and arms. The sun glistened on the wide waters of the lake.

“Wha—?”

“Dive after him!”

“No! No!” Horse shook his head violently and bolted back.

“I’ll dive,” Cico said. He began to strip.

“Too late!”

We looked and saw the body come up through the water, rolling over and over in a slow motion, reflecting the sunlight. The long blonde hair swirled softly, like golden seaweed, as the lake released its grip and the body tumbled up. He surfaced near where we stood on the edge of the culvert. His open eyes stared up at us. There was a white film over them.

“Oh my God—”

“Help me!” Cico said and grabbed an arm. We pulled and tried to tear the dead weight of his body from the waters of the lake.

There was a red spot on Florence’s forehead where he must have hit bottom or the edge of the culvert. And there was some rusty-black barbed wire around one arm. That must have held him down.

“Horse!” I shouted, “help us!” The weight was too much for Cico and me. Horse hesitated, closed his eyes and grabbed a leg. Then he pulled like a frightened animal. At first he almost tipped us all back into the water, but he lunged and his frantic strength pulled Florence over the side of the culvert.