Ultima prepared her first remedy. She mixed kerosene and water and carefully warmed the bowl on the stove. She took many herbs and roots from her black bag and mixed them into the warm oily water. She muttered as she stirred her mixture and I did not catch all of what she said, but I did hear her say, “the curse of the Trementinas shall bend and fly in their faces. We shall test the young blood of the Lunas against the old blood of the past—”
When she was done she cooled the remedy, then with my help we lifted my uncle and forced the mixture down his throat. He groaned in pain and convulsed as if he wanted to throw up the medicine. It was encouraging to see signs of life in him, but it was difficult to get him to keep the medicine down.
“Drink, Lucas,” she coaxed him, and when he clamped his teeth shut she pried them open and made him drink. Howls of pain filled the small room. It was very frightening, but at length we got the medicine down. Then we covered him because he began sweating and shivering at the same time. His dark eyes looked at us like a captured animal. Then finally they closed and the fatigue made him sleep.
“Ay,” Ultima said, “we have begun our cure.” She turned and looked at me and I could tell she was tired. “Are you hungry?” she smiled.
“No,” I replied. I had not eaten since breakfast, but the things that had happened had made me forget my hunger.
“Still, we had better eat,” she said, “it might be the last meal we will have for a few days. They had his fresh clipped hair to work with, the curse is very strong and his strength is gone. Lay your blankets there and make yourself a bed while I fix us some atole.”
I spread the blankets close to the wall and near the stove while Ultima prepared the atole. My grandfather had brought sugar and cream and two loaves of fresh bread so we had a good meal.
“This is good,” I said. I looked at my uncle. He was sleeping peacefully. The fever had not lasted long.
“There is much good in blue corn meal,” she smiled. “The Indians hold it sacred, and why not, on the day that we can get Lucas to eat a bowl of atole then he shall be cured. Is that not sacred?”
I agreed. “How long will it take?” I asked.
“A day or two—”
“When we were in Tenorio’s bar, you were not afraid of him. And here, you were not afraid to enter where death lurks—”
“Are you afraid?” she asked in turn. She put her bowl aside and stared into my eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I will tell you why,” she smiled. “It is because good is always stronger than evil. Always remember that, Antonio. The smallest bit of good can stand against all the powers of evil in the world and it will emerge triumphant. There is no need to fear men like Tenorio.”
I nodded. “And his daughters?”
“They are women who long ago turned away from God,” she answered, “and so they spend their time reading in the Black Book and practicing their evil deeds on poor, unsuspecting people. Instead of working, they spend their nights holding their black masses and dancing for the devil in the darkness of the river. But they are amateurs, Antonio,” Ultima shook her head slowly, “they have no power like the power of a good curandera. In a few days they will be wishing they had never sold their souls to the devil—”
The cry of hungry coyotes sounded outside. Their laughter-cry sounded directly outside the small window of the room. I shivered. Their claws scratched at the adobe walls of the house. I looked anxiously at Ultima, but she held her hand up in a sign for me to listen. We waited, listening to the howling wind and the cries of the pack scratching at our wall.
Then I heard it. It was the call of Ultima’s owl. “O-ooooooo,” it shrieked into the wind, dove and pounced on the coyotes. Her sharp claws found flesh because the evil laughter of the coyotes changed to cries of pain.
Ultima laughed. “Oh those Trementina girls will be cut and bruised tomorrow,” she said. “But I have much work to do,” she spoke to herself now. She tucked me into the blankets and then burned more incense in the room. I huddled against the wall so I could see everything she did. I was tired now, but I could not sleep.
The power of the doctors and the power of the church had failed to cure my uncle. Now everyone depended on Ultima’s magic. Was it possible that there was more power in Ultima’s magic than in the priest?
My eyelids grew very heavy, but they would not close completely. Instead of sleep I slipped into a deep stupor. My gaze fixed on my poor uncle and I could not tear my glance away. I was aware of what happened in the room, but my senses did not seem to respond to commands. Instead I remained in that waking dream.