Bless Me, Ultima(17)

“You’re going to hell, Florence, because you don’t believe in God!” Horse shouted.

“Los vatos de Los Jaros are tough!” Bones gurgled. He wiped his thumbs on his nose and a green snot dangled there.

“Damn.” “Chingada.”

“Come on Florence, let’s wrestle,” Horse said. He was still angry about the spitting contest.

“You can’t wrestle before mass, it’s a sin,” Lloyd cut in.

“Bullshit,” Horse said and he turned to pounce on Lloyd, but as he did he saw me for the first time. He looked at me for a long time then he called me. “Hey kid, come here.”

They watched me with interest as I walked towards the Horse. I did not want to wrestle with Horse; he was tougher and bigger than I. But my father had often said that a man of the llano does not run from a fight.

“Who’z dat?” “Don’t know.” “Chingada.”

The Horse reached for my neck, but I knew about his favorite trick and ducked. I went low and came up yanking at his left leg. With a hard pull I flipped the Horse on his back.

“¡Hiii-jo-lah!” “¡Ah la veca!” “Did’jew see that, the kid threw the Horse!” Everyone laughed at Horse in the dust.

He got up slowly, his wild eyes never leaving me; he wiped the seat of his pants and came towards me. I braced myself and stood my ground. I knew I was in for a whipping. The Horse came up to me very slowly until his face was close to mine. His dark, wild eyes held me hypnotically, and I could hear the deep sounds a horse makes inside his chest when he is ready to buck. Saliva curled around the edges of his mouth and spittle threads hung down and glistened like spider threads in the sun. He chomped his teeth and I could smell his bad breath.

I thought the Horse was going to rear up and paw and stomp me into the ground, and I guess the other kids did too because they were very quiet. But instead of attacking me the Horse let out a wild, shocking cry that sent me reeling backward.

“Whaggggggggh!” He brayed. “The little runt actually threw me, he threw me?” He laughed. “What’s your name, kid?”

The other kids breathed easier. The Horse was not going to commit murder.

“Anthony Márez,” I replied, “Antonio Juan Márez y Luna,” I added in respect to my mother.

“Damn.” “Chingada.”

“Hey, you Andrew’s brother?” Horse asked. I nodded yes, “Well, put ’er there—” I shook my head no. I knew that Horse couldn’t resist throwing anyone who held out his hand. It was just his nature.

“Smart kid,” Bones laughed.

“Shut up!” Horse glared at him. “Okay, kid, I mean Anthony, you are a smart kid. The last guy that threw me was a big fifth grader, you hear—”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said. Everyone laughed.

“I know you didn’t,” Horse smiled, “and you’re too small to fight. That’s why I’m going to let you get away with it. But don’t think you can do it again, understand!” The message was as much for me as for the rest of the gang, because we all nodded.

They all gathered around me and asked me where I lived and about school. They were good friends, even though they sometimes said bad words, and that day I became a part of their gang.

Then Abel, who had been pissing against the church wall, called out that mass was starting and we all rushed to get the premium pews at the very back of the church.





Cuatro


There is a time in the last few days of summer when the ripeness of autumn fills the air, and time is quiet and mellow. I lived that time fully, strangely aware of a new world opening up and taking shape for me. In the mornings, before it was too hot, Ultima and I walked in the hills of the llano, gathering the wild herbs and roots for her medicines. We roamed the entire countryside and up and down the river. I carried a small shovel with which to dig, and she carried a gunnysack in which to gather our magic harvest.

“¡Ay!” she would cry when she spotted a plant or root she needed, “what luck we are in today to find la yerba del manso!”

Then she would lead me to the plant her owl-eyes had found and ask me to observe where the plant grew and how its leaves looked. “Now touch it,” she would say. The leaves were smooth and light green.

For Ultima, even the plants had a spirit, and before I dug she made me speak to the plant and tell it why we pulled it from its home in the earth. “You that grow well here in the arroyo by the dampness of the river, we lift you to make good medicine,” Ultima intoned softly and I found myself repeating after her. Then I would carefully dig out the plant, taking care not to let the steel of the shovel touch the tender roots. Of all the plants we gathered none was endowed with so much magic as the yerba del manso. It could cure burns, sores, piles, colic in babies, bleeding dysentery and even rheumatism. I knew this plant from long ago because my mother, who was surely not a curandera, often used it.