Bless Me, Ultima(23)

“It is time to go, mamá,” Deborah interrupted.

“Ay, but those were beautiful years,” my father continued. “The llano was still virgin, there was grass as high as the stirrups of a grown horse, there was rain—and then the tejano came and built his fences, the railroad came, the roads—it was like a bad wave of the ocean covering all that was good—”

“Yes, it is time, Gabriel,” my mother said, and I noticed she touched him gently.

“Yes,” my father answered, “so it is. Be respectful to your teachers,” he said to us. “And you, Antonio,” he smiled, “suerte.” It made me feel good. Like a man.

“Wait!” My mother held Deborah and Theresa back. “We must have a blessing. Grande, please bless my children.” She made us kneel with her in front of Ultima. “And especially bless my Antonio, that all may go well for him and that he may be a man of great learning—”

Even my father knelt for the blessing. Huddled in the kitchen we bowed our heads. There was no sound.

“En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y el Espíritu Santo—”

I felt Ultima’s hand on my head and at the same time I felt a great force, like a whirlwind, swirl about me. I looked up in fright, thinking the wind would knock me off my knees. Ultima’s bright eyes held me still.

In the summer the dust devils of the llano are numerous. They come from nowhere, made by the heat of hell, they carry with them the evil spirit of a devil, they lift sand and papers in their path. It is bad luck to let one of these small whirlwinds strike you. But it is easy to ward off the dust devil, it is easy to make it change its path and skirt around you. The power of God is so great. All you have to do is to lift up your right hand and cross your right thumb over your first finger in the form of the cross. No evil can challenge that cross, and the swirling dust with the devil inside must turn away from you.

Once I did not make the sign of the cross on purpose. I challenged the wind to strike me. The twister struck with such force that it knocked me off my feet and left me trembling on the ground. I had never felt such fear before, because as the whirlwind blew its debris around me the gushing wind seemed to call my name:

Antoniooooooooooooooo…

Then it was gone, and its evil was left imprinted on my soul.

“¡Antonio!”

“What?”

“Do you feel well? Are you all right?” It was my mother speaking.

But how could the blessing of Ultima be like the whirlwind? Was the power of good and evil the same?

“You may stand up now.” My mother helped me to my feet. Deborah and Theresa were already out the door. The blessing was done. I stumbled to my feet, picked up my sack lunch, and started towards the door.

“Tell me, Grande, please,” my mother begged.

“María!” my father said sternly.

“Oh, please tell me what my son will be,” my mother glanced anxiously from me to Ultima.

“He will be a man of learning,” Ultima said sadly.

“¡Madre de Dios!” my mother cried and crossed herself. She turned to me and shouted, “Go! Go!”

I looked at the three of them standing there, and I felt that I was seeing them for the last time: Ultima in her wisdom, my mother in her dream, and my father in his rebellion.

“¡Adios!” I cried and ran out. I followed the two she-goats hopping up the path ahead of me. They sang and I brayed into the morning air, and the pebbles of the path rang as we raced with time towards the bridge. Behind me I heard my mother cry my name.

At the big juniper tree where the hill sloped to the bridge I heard Ultima’s owl sing. I knew it was her owl because it was singing in daylight. High at the top by a clump of the ripe blue berries of the juniper I saw it. Its bright eyes looked down on me and it cried, whoooo, whoooo. I took confidence from its song, and wiping the tears from my eyes I raced towards the bridge, the link to town.

I was almost halfway across the bridge when someone called “Race!” I turned and saw a small, thin figure start racing towards me from the far end of the bridge. I recognized the Vitamin Kid.

Race? He was crazy! I was almost half way across. “Race!” I called, and ran. I found out that morning that no one had ever beaten the Vitamin Kid across the bridge, his bridge. I was a good runner and I ran as hard as I could, but just before I reached the other side the clatter of hoofbeats passed me by, the Kid smiled a “Hi Tony,” and snorting and leaving a trail of saliva threads in the air, he was gone.

No one knew the Vitamin Kid’s real name, no one knew where he lived. He seemed older than the rest of the kids he went to school with. He never stopped long enough to talk, he was always on the run, a blur of speed.