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.
Veintiuno
The 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.
Bones would not come near. He stood away, a dry, rattling sound echoing from his throat. He was vomiting and the vomit ran down his chest and stomach and dirtied his swimming trunks. He didn’t know he was vomiting. His wild eyes just stared at us as we pulled Florence on the sand.
I looked across the lake and saw the high school boys pointing excitedly toward us. Some were already convinced something was wrong and were sprinting up the path. They would be here in seconds.
“Damn!” Cico cursed, “he’s dead for sure. He’s cold and heavy, like death—”
“¡Chingada!” Horse muttered and turned away.
I dropped to my knees beside the bronzed, wet body. I touched his forehead. It was cold. His hair was matted with moss and water. Sand clung to his skin, and as he dried little black sand ants began to crawl over him. I crossed my forehead and prayed an Act of Contrition like I had for Narciso, but it was no good. Florence had never believed.
The lifeguard was the first one there. He pushed me aside and he and another high school boy turned Florence on his stomach. He began pushing down on Florence’s back and a sickening white foam flowed from Florence’s mouth.
“Damn! How long was he under?” he asked.
“About five or ten minutes!” Bones growled through his vomit.
“You fucking little bastards!” the lifeguard cursed back. “I’ve told you guys a hundred times not to swim here! Two years I’ve had a perfect record here—now this!” He continued pushing down on Florence’s back and the white froth continued to flow from his mouth.
“Think we should get a priest?” the other high school boy asked worriedly. Quite a few people were already gathered around the body, watching the lifeguard work, asking, “Who is it?”
I wasn’t looking at Florence anymore, I wasn’t looking at anybody. My attention was centered on the northern blue skies. There two hawks circled as they rode the warm air currents of the afternoon. They glided earthward in wide, concentric circles. I knew there was something dead on the road to Tucumcari. I guess it was the sound of the siren or the people pushing around me that shattered my hypnotic gaze. I didn’t know how long I had been concerned with the hawks’ free flight. But now there were many people pushing around me and the sound of the siren grew louder, more urgent. I looked around for Cico, but he was gone. Bones and Horse were eagerly answering questions for the crowd.
“Who is he?”
“Florence.” “He’s our friend.”
“How did he drown? What happened?”
“He dove in and got caught in the wire. We told him not to go swimming here, but he did. We dove in and pulled him out—”
I didn’t want to hear anymore. My stomach turned and made me sick. I pushed my way through the crowd and began to run. I don’t know why I ran, I just knew I had to be free of the crowd. I ran up the hill and through the town’s quiet streets. Tears blinded my eyes, but the running got rid of the sick feeling inside. I made my way down to the river and waded across. The doves that had come to drink at the river cried sadly. The shadows of the brush and the towering cottonwoods were thick and dark.
The lonely river was a sad place to be when one is a small boy who has just seen a friend die. And it grew sadder when the bells of the church began to toll, and the afternoon shadows lengthened.
Veintidós
In my dreams that night I saw three figures. At first I thought the three men were my brothers. I called to them. They answered in unison.
This is the boy who heard our last confession on earth, they chanted as if in prayer. In his innocence he prayed the Act of Final Contrition for us who were the outcasts of the town.
Who is it? I called, and the three figures drew closer.
First I saw Narciso. He held his hands to the gaping, bloody wound at his chest. Behind him came the mangled body of Lupito, jerking crazily to the laughter of the townspeople. And finally I saw the body of Florence, floating motionlessly in the dark water.
These are the men I have seen die! I cried. Who else will my prayers accompany to the land of death?
The mournful wind moved like a shadow down the street, swirling in its path chalky dust and tumbleweeds. Out of the dust I saw the gang arise. They fell upon each other with knives and sticks and fought like animals.
Why must I be witness to so much violence! I cried in fear and protest.
The germ of creation lies in violence, a voice answered.
Florence! I shouted as he appeared before me, is there no God in heaven to bear my burden?
Look! He pointed to the church where the priest desecrated the altar by pouring the blood of dead pigeons into the holy chalice. The old gods are dying, he laughed.
Look! He pointed to the creek where Cico lay in wait for the golden carp. When the golden carp appeared Cico struck with his spear and the water ran blood red.
What is left? I asked in horror.
Nothing, the reply rolled like silent thunder through the mist of my dream.
Is there no heaven or hell?
Nothing.
The magic of Ultima! I insisted.
Look! He pointed to the hills where Tenorio captured the night-spirit of Ultima and murdered it, and Ultima died in agony.
Everything I believed in was destroyed. A painful wrenching in my heart made me cry aloud, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!”
And as the three figures departed my pesadilla they cried out longingly. We live when you dream, Tony, we live only in your dreams—
“What is it?” Ultima asked. She was at my bedside, holding me in her arms. My body was shaking with choking sobs that filled my throat.
“A nightmare,” I mumbled, “pesadilla—”
“I know, I know,” she crooned and held me until the convulsions left me. Then she went to her room, heated water, and brought me medicine to drink. “This will help you sleep,” she said. “It is the death of your young friend,” she talked as I drank the bitter potion, “perhaps it is all the things in your mind of late that cause the pesadilla—anyway, it is not good. The strengthening of a soul, the growing up of a boy is part of his destiny, but you have seen too much death. It is time for you to rest, to see growing life. Perhaps your uncles could best teach you about growth—”
She laid me back on my pillow and pulled the blanket up to my neck. “I want you to promise that you will go with them. It will be good for you.” I nodded my head in agreement. The medicine put me to sleep, a sleep without dreams.
When Florence was buried I did not go t
o the funeral. The bells of the church kept ringing and calling, but I did not go. The church had not given him communion with God and so he was doomed to his dream-wanderings, like Narciso and Lupito. I felt that there was nothing the church or I could give him now.
I overheard Ultima talking to my father and mother. She told them I was sick and that I needed rest. She talked about how beneficial a stay at El Puerto would be. My parents agreed. They understood that I had to be away from the places that held the memories of my friend. They hoped that the solitude of the small village and the strength of my uncles would lend me the rest I needed.
“I will be saddened at leaving you,” I told Ultima when we were alone.
“Ay,” she tried to smile, “life is filled with sadness when a boy grows to be a man. But as you grow into manhood you must not despair of life, but gather strength to sustain you—can you understand that.”
“Yes,” I said, and she smiled.
“I would not send you if I thought the visit would not be good for you, Antonio, but it will be. Your uncles are strong men, you can learn much from them, and it will be good for you to be away from here, where so much has happened. One thing—” she cautioned.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Be prepared to see things changed when you return—”
I thought awhile. “Andrew said things had changed when he returned from the army—do you mean in that way?”
She nodded. “You are growing, and growth is change. Accept the change, make it a part of your strength—”
Then my mother came to give me her blessings. I knelt and she said, “te doy esta bendición en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y el Espíritu Santo,” and she wished that I would prosper from the instruction of her brothers. Then she knelt by my side and Ultima blessed us both. She blessed without using the name of the Trinity like my mother, and yet her blessing was as holy. She only wished for strength and health within the person she blessed.
“Your father is waiting,” my mother said as we rose. Then I did something I had never done before. I reached up and kissed Ultima. She smiled and said, “Adiós, Antonio—”