“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.
A dust trail followed the truck down the dusty street. It was deathly quiet in El Puerto. Not even the dogs barked at the truck. And the men of the village were not working in the fields, they clung together in groups at the adobe corners of houses and whispered to each other as we drove by. My uncle drove straight to my grandfather’s house. No one came to the truck for a long time and my uncle grew nervous. Women in black passed silently in and out of the house. We waited.
Finally my grandfather appeared. He walked slowly across the dirt patio and greeted Ultima. “Médica,” he said, “I have a son who is dying.”
“Abuelo,” she answered, “I have a cure for your son.”
He smiled and reached through the open window to touch her hand. “It is like the old days,” he said.
“Ay, we still have the power to fight this evil,” she nodded.
“I will pay you in silver if you save my son’s life,” he said. He seemed unaware of me or my uncle. It seemed a ceremony they performed.
“Forty dollars to cheat la muerte,” she mumbled.
“Agreed,” he responded. He looked around to the nearby houses where, through parted curtains, curious eyes watched. “The people of the pueblo are nervous. It has been many years since a curandera came to cure—”
“Farmers should be farming,” Ultima said simply. “Now, I have work to do.” She stepped out of the truck.
“What will you need?” my grandfather asked.
“You know,” she said. “A small room, bedsheets, water, stove, atole to eat—”
“I will prepare everything myself,” he said.
“There are women already mourning in the house,” Ultima said and gathered her shawl around her head, “get rid of them.”
“As you say,” my grandfather answered. I do not think he liked to empty his house of his sons’ wives, but he knew that when a curandera was working a cure she was in charge.
“There will be animals sniffing around the house at night, the coyotes will howl at your door—inform your sons that no shots are to be fired. I will deal with those who come to spoil the cure myself—”
My grandfather nodded. “Will you enter my house now?” he asked.
“No. I must first speak to Tenorio. Is he in his dog hole, that place he calls a saloon?” she asked. My grandfather said yes. “I will speak to him,” Ultima said. “I will first try to reason with him. He must know that those who tamper with fate are often swallowed by their own contrivance—”
“I will send Pedro and Juan with you,” my grandfather began, but she interrupted him.
“Since when does a curandera need help to deal with dogs,” she retorted. “Come, Antonio,” she called and started down the street. I scurried after her.
“The boy is necessary?” my grandfather called.
“He is necessary,” she answered. “You are not afraid, are you Antonio?” she asked me.
“No,” I answered and took her hand. Many hidden eyes followed our progress up the dusty, vacant street. The saloon was at the end of the street, and opposite the church.
It was a small, run-down ado
be house with a sign over the entrance. The sign said the saloon belonged to Tenorio Trementina. This man who doubled as the villagers’ barber on Saturdays had a heart as black as the pit of hell!
Ultima did not seem to fear him, nor the evil powers of his three daughters. Without hesitation she pushed her way through the doorway, and I followed in her wake. There were four men huddled around one of the few tables. Three turned and looked at Ultima with surprise written in their eyes. They had not expected her to come into this place of evil. The fourth one kept his back to us, but I saw his hunched shoulders tremble.
“I seek Tenorio!” Ultima announced. Her voice was strong and confident. She stood tall, with a nobleness to her stature that I had seen often when we walked on the llano. She was not afraid, and so I tried to stand like her and put my fears out of my heart.
“What do you want bruja!” the man who would not face us snarled.
“Give me your face,” Ultima demanded. “Have you not the strength to face an old woman? Why do you keep your back to me?”
The thin, hunched body jumped up and spun around. I think I jumped at the sight of his face. It was thin and drawn, with tufts of beard growing on it. The eyes were dark and narrow. An evil glint emanated from them. The thin lips trembled when he snarled, “Because you are a bruja!” Spots of saliva curled at the edges of the mouth.
Ultima laughed. “Ay, Tenorio,” she said, “you are as ugly as your dark soul.” It was true, I had never seen an uglier man.
“¡Toma!” Tenorio shouted. He crossed his fingers and held the sign of the cross in front of Ultima’s face. She did not budge. Tenorio gasped and drew back, and his three cronies pushed their chairs to the floor and backed away. They knew that the sign of the cross would work against any bruja, but it had not worked against Ultima. Either she was not a bruja, or to their way of thinking, she had powers that belonged to the Devil himself.
“I am a curandera,” Ultima said softly, “and I have come to lift a curse. It is your daughters who do evil that are the brujas—”
“You lie, vieja!” he shouted. I thought he would attack Ultima, but his gnarled body only trembled with anger. He could not find the courage to touch her.
“Tenorio!” It was Ultima who now spoke sternly. “You are a fool if you do not heed my words. I did not need to come to you, but I did. Listen to my words of reason. Tell your daughters to lift the curse—”
“Lies!” he screamed as if in pain. He turned to the three men he had depended upon to act as witnesses, but they did not protest on his behalf. They nervously glanced at each other and then at Ultima.
“I know when and where the curse was laid,” Ultima continued. “I know when Lucas came to your shop for a drink and to have his hair clipped by your evil shears. I know that your daughters gathered the cut hair, and with that they worked their evil work!”
It was more than the three men could stand. They were frightened. They lowered their eyes to avert Tenorio’s gaze and scurried for the door. The door banged shut. A strange, dark whirlwind swept through the dusty street and cried mournfully around the corner of the saloon. The storm which had been around us broke, and the rising dust seemed to shut off the light of the sun. It grew dark in the room.
“¡Ay bruja!” Tenorio threatened with his first, “for what you have said to shame my daughters and my good name in front of those men, I will see you dead!” His voice was harsh and ominous. His evil eyes glared at Ultima.
“I do not fear your threats, Tenorio,” Ultima said calmly. “You well know, my powers were given to me by el hombre volador—”
At the mention of this great healer from Las Pasturas Tenorio drew back as if slapped in the face by an invisible power.
“I thought I could reason with you,” Ultima continued, “I thought you would understand the powers at work and how they can wreck the destinies of many lives—but I see it is useless. Your daughters will not lift the curse, and so I must work the magic beyond evil, the magic that endures forever—”
“And my three daughters?” Tenorio cried.
“They chose to tamper with fate,” Ultima answered. “Pity the consequence—” She took my hand and we walked out into the street. The choking dust was so thick that it shut out the sun. I was used to dust storms of early spring, but this one in the middle of summer was unnatural. The wind moaned and cried, and in the middle of the sky the sun was a blood-red
dot. I put one hand to my eyes and with the other I gripped Ultima tightly as we struggled against the wind.
I was thinking about the evil Tenorio and how Ultima had made him cower when I heard the hoofbeats. If I had been alone I would have paid no heed to them, so concerned was I with finding some direction in the strange duststorm. But Ultima was more alert than I. With a nimble sidestep and a pull she jerked me from the path of the black horse and rider that went crashing by us. The rider that had almost run us down disappeared into the swirling dust.
“Tenorio!” Ultima shouted in my ear. “He is hurrying home to warn his daughters. Beware of his horse,” she added, “he has trained it to trample and kill—” I realized how close I had been to injury or death.
As we approached my grandfather’s house there was a lull in the storm. The sky remained dark around us, but the clouds of dust abated somewhat. The women who were already in mourning for my uncle Lucas took this opportunity to place their mantas over their faces and to scurry to their homes before the hellish storm raised its head again. It was very strange to see the women in black hurrying out of the house and into the howling storm. It was like seeing death leaving a body.
We hurried into the house. The door slammed behind us. In the dark my grandfather was waiting. “I grew worried,” he said.
“Is everything ready?” Ultima asked.
“As you ordered,” he said and led us through the dark, quiet rooms of the house. The flickering lantern he held cast our dancing shadows on the smooth, clean adobe walls. I had never seen the house quiet and empty like it was today. Always there were my uncles and aunts and cousins to greet. Now it was like a quiet tomb.
Far in the deep recesses of the long house we came to a small room. My grandfather stood at the door and motioned. We entered the simple room. It had a dirt floor packed down from many water sprinklings, and its walls were smooth-plastered adobe. But the good clean earth of the room did not wash away or filter the strong smell of death in the room. The wooden bed in the room held the shrunken body of my dying uncle Lucas. He was sheathed in white and I thought he was already dead. He did not seem to breathe. His eyes were two dark pits, and the thin parchment of yellow skin clung to his bony face like dry paper.
Ultima went to him and touched his forehead. “Lucas,” she whispered. There was no answer.
“He has been like this for weeks now,” my grandfather said, “beyond hope.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Life is never beyond hope,” Ultima nodded.
“Ay,” my grandfather agreed. He straightened his stooped shoulders. “I have brought everything you ordered,” he nodded towards the small stove and pile of wood. There was clean linen on the chair next to the stove, and on the shelf there was water, atole meal, sugar, milk, kerosene, and other things. “The men have been instructed about the animals, the women in mourning have been sent away—I will wait outside the room, if you need anything I will be waiting—”
“There must be no interference,” Ultima said. She was already removing her shawl and rolling up her sleeves.
“I understand,” my grandfather said. “His life is in your hands.” He turned and walked out, closing the door after him.
“Antonio, make a fire,” Ultima commanded. She lit the kerosene lantern while I made the fire, then she burned some sweet incense. With the crackling warmth of the fire and the smell of purifying incense the room seemed less of a sepulchre. Outside the storm roared and dark night came.
We warmed water in a large basin, and Ultima bathed my uncle. He was like a rag doll in her
hands. I felt great pity for my uncle. He was the youngest of my uncles, and I always remembered him full of life and bravado. Now his body was a thin skeleton held together by dry skin, and on his face was written the pain of the curse. At first the sight of him made me sick, but as I helped Ultima I forgot about that and I took courage.
“Will he live?” I asked her while she covered him with fresh sheets.
“They let him go too long,” she said, “it will be a difficult battle—”
“But why didn’t they call you sooner?” I asked.
“The church would not allow your grandfather to let me use my powers. The church was afraid that—” She did not finish, but I knew what she would have said. The priest at El Puerto did not want the people to place much faith in the powers of la curandera. He wanted the mercy and faith of the church to be the villagers’ only guiding light.
Would the magic of Ultima be stronger than all the powers of the saints and the Holy Mother Church? I wondered.
Ultima prepared her first remedy. She mixed kerosene and water and carefully warmed the bowl on the stove. She took many herbs and roots from her black bag and mixed them into the warm oily water. She muttered as she stirred her mixture and I did not catch all of what she said, but I did hear her say, “the curse of the Trementinas shall bend and fly in their faces. We shall test the young blood of the Lunas against the old blood of the past—”
When she was done she cooled the remedy, then with my help we lifted my uncle and forced the mixture down his throat. He groaned in pain and convulsed as if he wanted to throw up the medicine. It was encouraging to see signs of life in him, but it was difficult to get him to keep the medicine down.
“Drink, Lucas,” she coaxed him, and when he clamped his teeth shut she pried them open and made him drink. Howls of pain filled the small room. It was very frightening, but at length we got the medicine down. Then we covered him because he began sweating and shivering at the same time. His dark eyes looked at us like a captured animal. Then finally they closed and the fatigue made him sleep.