Then the railroad came. The barbed wire came. The songs, the corridos became sad, and the meeting of the people from Texas with my forefathers was full of blood, murder, and tragedy. The people were uprooted. They looked around one day and found themselves closed in. The freedom of land and sky they had known was gone. Those people could not live without freedom and so they packed up and moved west. They became migrants.
My mother did not like the people of the llano. To her they were worthless drunkards, wanderers. She did not understand their tragedy, their search for the freedom that was now forever gone. My mother had lived in the llano many years when she married my father, but the valley and the river were too ingrained in her for her to change. She made only two lasting friends in Las Pasturas, Ultima, for whom she would lay down her life, and Narciso, whose drinking she tolerated because he had helped her when her twins were born.
It was late in the summer and we were all seated around the kitchen table making our plans to go to El Puerto for the harvest when my mother with strange premonition remembered Narciso. “He is a fool, and he is a drunkard, but he did help me in my hour of need—”
“Ay yes, that Narciso is a gentleman,” my father winked and teased her.
“Bah!” my mother scoffed, and went on. “That man didn’t sleep for three days, rushing around getting things for Ultima and me, and he never touched the bottle.”
“Where was papá?” Deborah asked.
“Who knows. The railroad took him to places he never told me about,” my mother answered angrily.
“I had to work,” my father said simply, “I had to support your family—”
“Anyway,” my mother changed the subject, “it has been a good summer at El Puerto. The harvest will be good, and it will be good to see my papá, and Lucas—” She turned and looked thankfully at Ultima.
“This calls for a drink of thanksgiving,” my father smiled. He too wanted to preserve the good spirits and humor that were with us that night. He was standing when Narciso burst through the kitchen door. He came in without knocking and we all jumped from our seats. One minute the kitchen was soft and quiet and the next it was filled with the huge figure of Narciso. He was the biggest man I had ever seen. He wore a huge mustache and his hair flowed like a lion’s mane. His eyes were wild and red as he stood over us, gasping and panting for breath; saliva dripped from his mouth. He looked like a huge, wounded monster. Deborah and Theresa screamed and ran behind my mother.
“Narciso!” my father exclaimed. “What is the matter?”
“Teh-Teh-norio!” Narciso gasped. He pointed at Ultima and ran and kneeled at her feet. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Narciso,” Ultima smiled. She took his hand and made him stand.
“¿Qué pasa?” my father repeated.
“He is drunk!” my mother exclaimed anxiously. She clutched Deborah and Theresa.
“No! No!” Narciso insisted. “Tenorio!” he gasped and pointed to the kitchen door. “Grande, you must hide!” he pleaded with Ultima.
“You don’t make sense,” my father said. He took Narciso by the shoulders. “Sit down, catch your breath—María, send the children to bed.”
My mother pushed us past Narciso, who sank into my father’s chair. I didn’t know what was happening, nobody seemed to know, but I was not about to miss the action simply because I was a child. My mother’s first concern was to rush the frightened Deborah and Theresa up the stairs to their room. I held back and slipped into the darkness beneath the stairs. I huddled down and watched with anticipation the drama that unfolded as Narciso regained his composure and related his story.
“Grande must hide!” he insisted. “We must waste no time! Even now they come!”
“Why must I hide, Narciso?” Ultima asked calmly.
“Who is coming?” my mother added as she returned to the kitchen. She had not missed me and I was glad for it.
Narciso roared. “Oh my God!”
At that moment I heard Ultima’s owl hoot a danger cry outside. There was someone out there. I looked at Ultima and saw her smile vanish. She held her head high, as if sniffing the wind, and the strength I had seen when she dealt with Tenorio at the bar filled her face. She, too, had heard the owl.
“We know nothing,” my father said, “now make sense, hombre!”
“Today Tenorio’s daughter, nay, his witch died. The small evil one died at El Puerto today—”
“What has that to do with us?” my father asked.
“¡Ay Dios!” Narciso cried and wrung his hands. “Living on this cursed hill, away from town, you hear nothing! Tenorio has blamed la Grande for his daughter’s death!” He pointed to Ultima.