“Swear by the cross of the church that you will never hunt or kill a carp.” He pointed to the cross. I had never sworn on the cross before. I knew that if you broke your oath it was the biggest sin a man could commit, because God was witness to the swearing on his name. But I would keep my promise! I would never break my oath!
“I swear,” I said.
“Come!” Cico was off, wading across the river. I followed. I had waded across that river many times, but I never felt an urgency like today. I was excited about seeing the magical golden carp.
“The golden carp will be swimming down the creek today,” Cico whispered. We scrambled up the bank and through the thick brush. We climbed the steep hill to the town and headed towards the school. I never came up this street to go to school and so the houses were not familiar to me. We paused at one place.
“Do you know who lives there?” Cico pointed at a green arbor. There was a fence with green vines on it, and many trees. Every house in town had trees, but I had never seen a place so green. It was thick like some of the jungles I saw in the movies in town.
“No,” I said. We drew closer and peered through the dense curtain of green that surrounded a small adobe hut.
“Narciso,” Cico whispered.
Narciso had been on the bridge the night Lupito was murdered. He had tried to reason with the men; he had tried to save Lupito’s life. He had been called a drunk.
“My father and my mother know him,” I said. I could not take my eyes from the garden that surrounded the small house. Every kind of fruit and vegetable I knew seemed to grow in the garden, and there was even more abundance here than on my uncles’ farms.
“I know,” Cico said, “they are from the llano—”
“I have never seen such a place,” I whispered. Even the air of the garden was sweet to smell.
“The garden of Narciso,” Cico said with reverence, “is envied by all—Would you like to taste its fruits?”
“We can’t,” I said. It was a sin to take anything without permission.
“Narciso is my friend,” Cico said. He reached through the green wall and a secret latch opened an ivy-laden door. We walked into the garden. Cico closed the door behind him and said, “Narciso is in jail. The sheriff found him drunk.”
I was fascinated by the garden. I forgot about seeing the golden carp. The air was cool and clear, not dusty and hot like the street. Somewhere I heard the sound of gurgling water.
“Somewhere here there is a spring,” Cico said, “I don’t know where. That is what makes the garden so green. That and the magic of Narciso—”
I was bewildered by the garden. Everywhere I looked there were fruit-laden trees and rows and rows of vegetables. I knew the earth was fruitful because I had seen my uncles make it bear in abundance; but I never realized it could be like this! The ground was soft to walk on. The fragrance of sun-dazzling flowers was deep, and soft, and beautiful.
“The garden of Narciso,” I whispered.
“Narciso is my friend,” Cico intoned. He pulled some carrots from the soft, dark earth and we sat down to eat.
“I cannot,” I said. It was silent and peaceful in the garden. I felt that someone was watching us.
“It is all right,” Cico said.
And although I did not feel good about it, I ate the golden carrot. I had never eaten anything sweeter or juicier in my life.
“Why does Narciso drink?” I asked.
“To forget,” Cico answered.
“Does he know about the golden carp?” I asked.
“The magic people all know about the coming day of the golden carp,” Cico answered. His bright eyes twinkled. “Do you know how Narciso plants?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. I had always thought farmers were sober men. I could not imagine a drunk man planting and reaping such fruits!
“By the light of the moon,” Cico whispered.
“Like my uncles, the Lunas—”
“In the spring Narciso gets drunk,” Cico continued. “He stays drunk until the bad blood of spring is washed away. Then the moon of planting comes over the elm trees and shines on the horde of last year’s seeds—It is then that he gathers the seeds and plants. He dances as he plants, and he sings. He scatters the seeds by moonlight, and they fall and grow—The garden is like Narciso, it is drunk.”
“My father knows Narciso,” I said. The story Cico had told me was fascinating. It seemed that the more I knew about people the more I knew about the strange magic hidden in their hearts.
“In this town, everybody knows everybody,” Cico said.
“Do you know everyone?” I asked.