“Yeah!”
“I will bless you!” I cried down at the three, giant figures, but they took no heed of me.
“Hey! We’ll have to say goodbye to the girls at Rosie’s!” Gene laughed and they both socked Andrew on the shoulder. Andrew grinned.
I remembered when we took our cow to Serrano’s bull. It was a cold, misty Saturday. When the bull smelled the cow he jumped his pasture fence and came towards the truck. He circled us, snorting and pawing at the ground. I was very frightened. Finally we could open the tailgate of the truck and let the cow out. Immediately the massive weight of the bull was on her, humping her down, my father and Serrano were laughing and slapping their knees. They laughed until their eyes watered. Then they took turns drinking from a whiskey bottle, and they lowered their voices and talked about the girls at Rosie’s.
“Whoopeeeee!” They shouted. They were like wild bulls running down the goat path towards town.
“See you Toni-eeeeee….” they called. And their dark outlines were lost in the setting sun.
I got down and put my pants on. It hurt where they had spanked me. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh with them. There was an empty feeling inside, not because they spanked me, but because they would be gone again.
They would be lost again.
I remembered when they built our house. They were like giants then. Would they always be lost to me?
I wanted to cry after them, I bless you.
Nueve
In the dark mist of my dreams I saw my brothers. The three dark figures silently beckoned me to follow them. They led me over the goat path, across the bridge, to the house of the sinful women. We walked across the well-worn path in silence. The door to Rosie’s house opened and I caught a glimpse of the women who lived there. There was smoke in the air, sweet from the fragrance of perfume, and there was laughing. My brothers pointed for me to enter.
A young woman laughed gaily. She bowed and the soft flesh of her breasts hung loose and curved like cow udders.
When my mother washed her long, black hair she tucked in the collar of her blouse and I could see her shoulders and the pink flesh of her throat. The water wet her blouse and the thin cotton fabric clung around the curve of her breasts.
No! I shouted in my dream, I cannot enter, I cannot think those thoughts. I am to be a priest.
My brothers laughed and pushed me aside. Do not enter, I cried. It is written on the waters of the river that you shall lose your souls to hell if you enter!
Bah! Eugene scowled, you beat your breast like a holy-roller, but you too will find your way here. You are a Márez! he shouted and entered.
Even priests are men, León smiled, and every man is delivered of woman, and must be fulfilled by a woman. And he entered.
Andrew, I begged to the last figure, do not enter.
Andrew laughed. He paused at the gaily lit door and said, I will make a deal with you my little brother, I will wait and not enter until you lose your innocence.
But innocence is forever, I cried.
You are innocent when you do not know, my mother cried, but already you know too much about the flesh and blood of the Márez men.
You are innocent until you understand, the priest of the church said, and you will understand good and evil when the communion is placed in your mouth and God fills your body.
Oh, where is the innocence I must never lose, I cried into the bleak landscape in which I found myself. And in the swirling smoke a flash of lightning struck and out of the thunder a dark figure stepped forth. It was Ultima, and she pointed west, west to Las Pasturas, the land of my birth.
She spoke. There in the land of the dancing plains and rolling hills, there in the land which is the eagle’s by day and the owl’s by night is innocence. There where the lonely wind of the llano sang to the lovers’ feat of your birth, there in those hills is your innocence.
But that was long ago, I called. I sought more answers, but she was gone, evaporated into a loud noise.
I opened my eyes and heard the commotion downstairs.
“We have to go! We have to go!” an excited voice called. It was Eugene. I jumped to the door and peeked into the kitchen. My mother was crying.
“But why?” my father asked. “You can find work here. I can get you on a highway crew until summer, then we can—”
“We don’t want to work on the highway!” Eugene exploded. They were arguing about leaving and he was carrying the brunt of the argument. I thought he must be drunk to talk to my father like that. My father was small and thin compared to my brothers, but he was strong. I knew he could still break any one of them in two if he wanted.
But he was not mad. He knew he was losing them, and he shrunk back.
“Eugenio!” my mother pleaded. “Watch your language! Do not defy your father!”