Bless Me, Ultima(101)

Then I heard an owl cry its welcome to the night, and I was reminded again of my purpose. The owl’s cry reawakened Tenorio’s threat:

“This very night I will avenge the death of my two daughters! It is the owl that is the spirit of the old witch—”

It was true that the owl was Ultima’s spirit. It had come with Ultima, and as men brought evil to our hills the owl had hovered over us, protecting us. It had guided me home from Lupito’s death, it had blinded Tenorio the night he came to hurt Ultima, the owl had driven away the howling animals the night we cured my uncle, and it had been there when the misery of the Téllez family was removed.

The owl had always been there. It sang to me the night my brothers came home from the war, and in my dreams I sometimes saw it guiding their footsteps as they stumbled through the dark streets of their distant cities. My brothers, I thought, would I ever see my brothers again. If my sea-blood called me to wander and sailed me away from my river and my llano, perhaps I would meet them in one of the dazzling streets of their enchanting cities—and would I reach out and whisper my love for them?

I ran with new resolution. I ran to save Ultima and I ran to preserve those moments when beauty mingled with sadness and flowed through my soul like the stream of time. I left the river and ran across the llano; I felt light, like the wind, as my even strides carried me homeward. The pain in my side was gone, and I did not feel the thorns of the cactus or the needles of yucca that pierced my legs and feet.

The full moon of the harvest rose in the east and bathed the llano in its light. It had knocked softly on the door of my uncles’ valley, and they had smiled and admitted her. Would they smile when they learned I doubted the God of my forefathers, the God of the Lunas, and knew I praised the beauty of the golden carp?

Would I ever race like a kid again, a wild cabrito rattling the pebbles on the goat path; and would I ever wrestle the crazy Horse and wild Bones again? And what dream would form to guide my life as a man? These thoughts tumbled through my mind until I saw the lights of the town across the river. I had arrived. Just ahead were the juniper-spotted hills I knew so well. My pounding heart revived at their sight, and with a burst of speed I urged myself forward and reached the top of the gentle hill. From here I could see our huddled home. There was a light shining through the kitchen door, and from where I stood I could make out the silhouette of my father. All was peaceful. I paused to catch my breath and for the first time since I began my race I slowed down to a walk. I was thankful that I had arrived in time.

But the tranquility of the night was false. It was a moment of serenity, lasting only as long as my sigh of relief. A truck came bouncing over the goat path and pulled to a screeching stop in front of the kitchen door.

“Antonio! Has Antonio come?” I heard my uncle Pedro shout.

“¿Qué? ¿Qué pasa?” My father appeared at the door. Ultima and my mother were behind him.

I was about to shout and answer that I was here and well when I saw the lurking shadow under the juniper tree.

“¡Aquí!” I screamed, “Tenorio is here!” I froze as Tenorio turned and pointed his rifle at me.

“—¡Espíritu de mi alma!” I heard Ultima’s command ring in the still night air, and a swirling of wings engulfed Tenorio.

He cursed and fired. The thundering report of the rifle followed the flash of fire. That shot destroyed the quiet, moonlit peace of the hill, and it shattered my childhood into a thousand fragments that long ago stopped falling and are now dusty relics gathered in distant memories.

“Ultima!” I cried.

My father came running up the hill, but my uncle Pedro who had remained in his truck raced past him. The bouncing headlights of the truck revealed Tenorio on his hands and knees, searching the ground at the foot of the tree.

“Aiiiiiii-eeeee!” he cried like a fiend when he found the object of his search. He jumped up and waved the dead body of Ultima’s owl over his head.

“No,” I groaned when I saw the ruffled, bloodied feathers, “Oh God, no—”

“I win! I win!” he howled and danced. “I have killed the owl with a bullet molded by the Prince of Death!” he shouted at me. “The witch is dead, my daughters are avenged! And you, cabroncito, who escaped me on the bridge will follow her to hell!” With his evil eye blazing down the rifle’s barrel he aimed at my forehead and I heard the shot ring out.

There was a loud ringing in my ears, and I expected the wings of death to gather me up and take me with the owl. Instead I saw Tenorio’s head jerk in surprise, then he dropped the owl and his rifle and clutched at his stomach. He turned slowly and looked at my uncle Pedro who stood on the running board of the truck. He held the smoking pistol still aimed at Tenorio, but a second shot was not needed. Tenorio’s face twisted with the pain of death.