How it hurt to breathe! After a set of X-rays, the admitting doctor confirmed that she had a broken rib. The worst thing was that nothing could be done about it except to bandage her torso and wait for it to heal. As for her broken femur, that was another story. Her leg had been put in a hard cast that forced her to stay in bed. As for healing the fractures of her soul, those required a different medicine. Lupita knew it, and she was determined to be sober once more. Recapitulation and restructuring required peace, and the tranquilizer she was being given facilitated her rest and silence.
Celia would have killed for five minutes of rest. As soon as she filled out the paperwork for Lupita and said good-bye, she went home to take a shower. She immediately headed to the house of the actress who would portray Mary in the procession. After doing her makeup, she also had to apply makeup on Pontius Pilate and many others. There was a small window of time between Mary and Pontius Pilate, and Celia used it to call Captain Martinez to let him know that Lupita wasn’t missing or a fugitive, but was in fact checked into a rehab clinic and urgently needed to talk to him.
Celia then ran to Judas’s house and on her way became aware of a great commotion in the delegación. The neighbor who was to portray Judas, and who had been on the waiting list for thirteen years, had been found dead in a field near one of the caves atop Star Hill. Notwithstanding the gravity of the case, the understudy for the part felt completely unprepared to take on the role. Carlos, the murdered Judas, had undergone psychoanalysis for over a year in order to build up his self-esteem. During the Passion procession, the crowds usually assaulted Judas verbally. They would yell horrible things at him as he passed, and the actor had to be capable of keeping his personal identity separate from his character.
Celia was taken aback by the news. The Judas who had been murdered was the same man who had been lying next to Lupita near the cave when she and Miguel picked her up. Celia hadn’t paid much attention. She had been focused on helping her friend so she’d disregarded the corpse. Celia had met Carlos. One day before she had done a makeup test and then had walked with him to a dress rehearsal where a group of neighbors were waiting to see if the harness that would hold him after he hung himself from the tree was fitted properly, as it would have to hold him for several hours. Celia wanted to make sure that the makeup she had applied would hold out in the heat. Now she had to repeat the test with Don Neto, the understudy. He’d been waiting for her and was really nervous. Don Neto was a few pounds heavier than the last Judas and prayed the harness would hold him. Never before in all the years of the Passion procession had anything of this sort happened. Everybody was surprised and on edge, Celia most of all, but her professionalism shone through and she performed her duty in a timely manner. She was dying to speak to Captain Martinez again, but it had to be in person. The information she had to share with him was very delicate. In the meantime, between applying eye shadow and mascara, fake eyelashes and fingernails, Celia used every available second to continue her own investigation. She found out that Mami was recovering at the hospital, that Ostión had gone to visit her, and that Hilario Gomez had sent her a phenomenal bouquet wishing her a speedy recovery. She also heard that Mami had reached an agreement with Licenciado Larreaga before his death in which she and her street vendors would evacuate Cuihtláhuac Park, and in exchange the delegación would build them a new shopping plaza where they could sell their products. The person in charge of assigning booths at this new plaza would, of course, be Mami. The ideal grounds for building this project had been a cause for quarrel because a group of traditionalists claimed ownership over the land. This group had backed Larreaga during his candidacy. Celia was told that Conchita Ugalde—the leader of this group—had organized a breakfast banquet for Larreaga after his triumph, during which she spoke for all traditionalist groups and told the newly elected delegado: “We offer our word and our commitment. In exchange we ask that you not betray us. These lands are sacred to my people. Let us continue to make use of them as our ancestors have, and continue with our traditions. That is all we ask of you.” The delegado, with tears in his eyes, said that yes, he would of course respect the lands and uphold this vow. Unfortunately—or at least so Celia heard—he no sooner wiped away his tears than he betrayed those people. With great diligence he expropriated the nine-acre property from the guardians of tradition and offered it to Mami, to whom he owed his position. Without her help he would have never won the election, even if he counted on the votes from the guardians of tradition. Mami had many more people on her payroll. All things considered, Mami’s support was worth more than that of the guardians so without further thought the delegado ordered them to evacuate their ancestors’ lands. Obviously the guardians were quite upset and refused. One night, approximately a hundred mercenaries tried to evict them forcefully, and the guardians fought back with sticks, stones, and a bullet or two. Police in riot gear had to intervene to restore order.
All of this information came from Don Lupe, a car washer who worked for the delegación. From the curb where he operated he overheard all sorts of conversations and observed the comings and goings of government employees. Don Lupe was going to portray Dimas in the Passion and needed Celia to attach his wig. He was very proud to finally participate in the procession. While Celia attached the wig, she noticed his hand was bandaged.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, it’s just a splinter.”
“Seems like a big wound.”
“Yes ma’am, and I don’t even know where it came from. I had just washed the delegado’s car, and I’d left my bucket and rag next to where he was murdered.”
Celia’s detective instinct kicked in.
“And after the whole ordeal was over, I wrung my rag and that’s when I got the splinter.”
“Was it glass?”
“Yeah! How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. Did you check the bucket for other glass shards?”
“No ma’am, I didn’t think to do so. I just threw out the water and tried to bandage my finger because it was bleeding heavily. You don’t know how hard it was to get it out. My wife helped me and we had to borrow a magnifying glass from a neighbor because it kept breaking when we tried to pull it.”
Celia felt that she had stumbled upon a very important clue and was dying to tell Lupita, but she was so busy that it would have to wait until the next day. What Celia didn’t realize, however, was that Gomez’s employees had been following her around.
As Lupita lay in bed at the rehab center, oblivious to everything that was happening, she tried to rest and familiarize herself with the new sounds that surrounded her, and which sometimes unexpectedly startled her. She still was not used to the noises from the kitchen, the nurses’ conversations, and doors opening and closing. Out of nowhere, and without any context, she began to sing “Canción Mixteca” to herself. She never knew why, but that song always moved her to tears. An enormous sadness overcame her and every time she got drunk she would belt out the lyrics:
I’m so far from the land where I was born,
A great nostalgia invades my thoughts.
And being so alone and sad like a leaf in the wind,
I want to cry, I want to die of grief.
Oh, land of the sun! I long to see you
Now that I am far without light, without love.
And being so alone and sad like a leaf in the wind
I want to cry, I want to die of grief.
Just thinking about the song made Lupita’s eyes water. Thinking about the land of the sun, visiting that paradise where nothing was needed, made her so nostalgic! Lupita would have liked to go there without having to die. She would love to enter and exit her body at will without losing consciousness.
HALLUCINOGENIC PLANTS IN THE PRE-HISPANIC WORLD
The use of psychoactive plants in the sacred rituals performed by Mesoamerican Indians was very common, with ancient roots. They were used to induce trances that connected the participants of the ceremony wit
h the god that inhabits everyone. That is why they are referred to as entheogenic. They were used by shamans to cure disease or to delve into their divination practice. Some of these plants are referred to as “medicine.” In his General History of the Things of New Spain, Friar Bernardino de Sahagún identified various psychoactive plants. Some are still used today by various ethnic groups. One of the most common is peyote. Other plants that have psychoactive substances, or are considered sacred and medicinal, are tobacco flowers (Nicotiana tabacum), cocoa flowers (Quararibea funeris), thorn apple (Datura innoxia), morning glory (Turbina corymbosa), and certain fungi known as teonanácatl. All of them provoke different reactions: hallucination, trance, or delusion. The presence of shamans during their use guaranteed that participants could “travel” to another reality and return to their bodies safe and sound. The experience of the trip allowed “patients” to reflect upon the cause of their disease and how to recover their health, gave them a sense of well-being, and, most importantly, reminded them of the divinity that dwelled within them.
Leaving her body unconsciously was not all that pleasant. Lupita would never forget the shock on the day she had woken up next to an unknown man, and not just any man, a significantly repulsive one. After observing him with disgust for a moment she inspected the bed to measure the extent of the damages. What she discovered was even more horrifying: the sheets were covered in all sorts of fluids and stains. On the positive side, she went to rehab straight after that. On the negative side, as soon as she got out she relapsed very quickly. It wasn’t until her son’s death that she was able to evade the bottle for several years.
Now she had relapsed and found herself in a similar situation, except this time she had woken up next to a cadaver. She didn’t want to risk a next time. She wished with all her soul to live sober and conscious of her actions.
LUPITA LIKED TO RUN
Until she collapsed, until she couldn’t feel the pain in her legs anymore, until she transcended all bodily sensations and entered a trancelike state. When she was young she tried to go for a run every weekend, but for some time now her work had gotten in the way. Running had always been a way to escape. It permitted her to flee from reality in a healthier way than alcohol did. When she drank she lost control over her mind and body, but when she ran she recovered it. Running gave her a complete sense of freedom, and that was why she felt so uncomfortable being a prisoner, limited in her movement. She had an IV in her left hand, and she was getting tired of it. When she first checked in she was grateful for every drop of saline solution that went into her bloodstream, but now that she felt significantly better, the artificial umbilical cord gave her mixed feelings. On one hand she liked knowing that her body received all the nutrients it needed from a single source. It was nice to travel back to the time when her mother provided sustenance through a cord that joined their bodies. But on the other hand her condition forced her to stay still if she wanted to stay connected to the cord that nourished her. She couldn’t move her arm at will. She couldn’t wander like she wanted to. She had to stay connected to the IV—sleep with it, bathe with it.
To make matters worse the cast on her leg impeded her movement even more. Lupita felt restless on the bed. Her body screamed out to change position, but she couldn’t obey. She felt like a prisoner again, but this time to her own physical condition. The worst part was that she had brought this upon herself. Nobody forced her at knifepoint to go to the cantinas. Nobody forced her to violently insult everyone within her reach. Nobody twisted her arm to do so much cocaine. These had all been her choices. Was her current condition caused by an unresolved emotional illness? Maybe so, but no matter the reason only she could decide how to face her problems. If people were to write about her they could credibly refer to a “lone killer”: Lupita, the one responsible for everything. Coincidentally, that was what the people in charge of the delegado’s murder investigation were trying to do. That morning’s newspaper contained a front-page article that gave a new version of the facts. According to the paper, the delegado had committed suicide with a box cutter he had hidden in his shirtsleeve. Where was this box cutter? No one knew. And where was the suicide note? No one knew. Why did he kill himself? No one knew. None of that was important. The priority was to close the case, get on with the Passion procession, and make sure it went off without a hitch. Everything seemed to be going according to plan.
Newscasts were covering the procession step by step. As Judas, Don Neto was doing a fine job of resisting the insults hurled at him by the crowds. There was only one instance in which he wanted to respond to an aggression, but vanity held him back. If he got in a fistfight with the Nazarene who insulted him, the wig that Celia placed on his head could fly off and his baldness would be exposed to everyone.
The only good thing that came from the Passion procession was that due to the tremendous need to carry on with it, Lupita was no longer a murder suspect. That put her in a more comfortable position but there was still a distinct possibility that the people who had left her for dead would find out she was alive and would come looking for her.
Maybe it was from all the saline solution, or because she remembered the murder, but Lupita suddenly had an irresistible urge to urinate. She called out to a nurse for help but got no answer. With great effort she stood up and limped to the bathroom while dragging along the IV stand. Outside, fireworks were going off constantly. The Passion procession was at its peak. Every loud boom reverberated in Lupita’s head. The noise annoyed her, but her need to pee was stronger.
As soon as she got to the bathroom and sat down, peeing brought her enormous pleasure. She was so relieved that she didn’t notice the loud fireworks fading into rapid gunfire, until she heard people running and screaming down the hall. Lupita instinctively got up and hid behind the bathroom door. The door to her room was kicked open and several bullets hit her empty bed. It took a few seconds before she heard anything else. She carefully peered out from behind the door, just able to see the bed in her room. The covers were in a bunch so it looked like she was underneath them. A man walked to the bed and swiftly raised the covers. Lupita leaned back against the wall and held her crutch like a weapon. An absurd thought crossed her mind: Shit, at least I was able to pee this time! Someone kicked the bathroom door open, and Lupita held her breath. She heard more yelling and people running down the hallway. Someone had ordered a retreat. More gunfire and shouting made the attacker leave her room. Lupita leaned on the IV stand and knew that she had to run. She didn’t know where she got the strength to step out into the hall and leave the rehab center, much less how she wasn’t shot. Adrenaline pushed her to run, but her legs weren’t responding.
A block from the rehab facility she ran into a group of Nazarenes at the head of the procession. They were approaching the base of Star Hill, where the celebration would culminate with the crucifixion of Christ. Lupita had never been a big fan of the Passion. She respected it as part of tradition but nothing more. But now it took on a whole new meaning for her. She joined the procession because she had no other choice. Everyone was dressed in long tunics and didn’t seem to mind that she was only wearing a hospital gown. They may have thought that it was a new way to participate in the procession and that her IV stand was just another cross to bear. Lupita was trying to remove the needle from her hand, but it was hard for her to keep her balance on one leg while trying to rip off the adhesive gauze. When she finally got the needle out, she collapsed on the ground. The pain in her leg was intense. People walked by her and paid no attention. Everybody was concentrated on their own thing, praying and supplicating themselves to Christ on the cross.
Lupita observed these people and wished she shared their faith. She had lost hers at a very young age, the very day she was raped by her stepfather. Where was God that morning? Why had He allowed that? She had not forgiven Him since then and had veered away from religion completely. One of the requisites to join AA was to surrender to a higher power. Lupita did this but never in a religi
ous sense. Honestly, she hadn’t ever surrendered to a superior power because she couldn’t even grasp the concept. Nonetheless, after removing the IV needle she felt an urge to connect to something else, something immaterial that could keep her alive. As a child she had heard that the center of the cross is where the four winds meet and where the spirit of existence resides. Lupita liked to think that Christ had felt no pain on the cross because when He was nailed to the wood His soul migrated to the center of the cross. That place outside of time where people who left their body went. It was the place she so eagerly sought to reach through alcohol, the place where suffering did not exist. Physical pain definitely encouraged the elevation of the spirit. Her body, tired of suffering, wanted to leave aside all of its ailments and rest.
Lupita rested her head between her knees and gave up. She asked whichever superior force would listen to be allowed to rest in the center. In the spirit, where there is peace. Where there is light. Light. Light.
STAR HILL
At the top of Star Hill—called Huizachtépetl by the Aztecs—was where light was sought, where light was yearned for, where light was venerated since pre-Hispanic times by means of the Ceremony of the New Fire. The hill is 8,070 feet above sea level, and from the top you can see the entire Valley of Mexico. Lighting the New Fire marked the end of a solar cycle and the beginning of a new one. The ceremony called for human sacrifice.
The Nazarenes came to a halt. The time for crucifixion had come. The atmosphere at Star Hill was magnificent and poignant. All the attendants kept completely quiet as Christ died on the cross. Everyone who had carried a cross raised it in unison. Lupita closed her eyes and allowed herself to be invaded by the faith that surrounded her. Absolute peace engulfed her. Clarity took over her mind and comforted her. If she were to die then, she would die in peace. If a bullet found her, so be it! She didn’t know why, but for the first time in her life she was sure that death didn’t exist. Rather, everything converged in the center of the Universe, everything came together. Everything took shape over and over in an eternal and continuous cycle.