Bless Me, Ultima(6)

“What?”

“Nothing,” I answered. I felt a cool sweat on my forehead and I knew I had to run, I had to clear my mind of the dream. “I am going to Jasón’s house,” I said hurriedly and slid past my mother. I ran out the kitchen door, past the animal pens, towards Jasón’s house. The white sun and the fresh air cleansed me.

On this side of the river there were only three houses. The slope of the hill rose gradually into the hills of juniper and mesquite and cedar clumps. Jasón’s house was farther away from the river than our house. On the path that led to the bridge lived huge, fat Fío and his beautiful wife. Fío and my father worked together on the highway. They were good drinking friends.

“¡Jasón!” I called at the kitchen door. I had run hard and was panting. His mother appeared at the door.

“Jasón no está aquí,” she said. All of the older people spoke only in Spanish, and I myself understood only Spanish. It was only after one went to school that one learned English.

“¿Dónde está?” I asked.

She pointed towards the river, northwest, past the railroad tracks to the dark hills. The river came through those hills and there were old Indian grounds there, holy burial grounds Jasón told me. There in an old cave lived his Indian. At least everybody called him Jasón’s Indian. He was the only Indian of the town, and he talked only to Jasón. Jasón’s father had forbidden Jasón to talk to the Indian, he had beaten him, he had tried in every way to keep Jasón from the Indian.

But Jasón persisted. Jasón was not a bad boy, he was just Jasón. He was quiet and moody, and sometimes for no reason at all wild, loud sounds came exploding from his throat and lungs. Sometimes I felt like Jasón, like I wanted to shout and cry, but I never did.

I looked at his mother’s eyes and I saw they were sad. “Thank you,” I said, and returned home. While I waited for my father to return with Ultima I worked in the garden. Every day I had to work in the garden. Every day I reclaimed from the rocky soil of the hill a few more feet of earth to cultivate. The land of the llano was not good for farming, the good land was along the river. But my mother wanted a garden and I worked to make her happy. Already we had a few chile and tomato plants growing. It was hard work. My fingers bled from scraping out the rocks and it seemed that a square yard of ground produced a wheelbarrow full of rocks which I had to push down to the retaining wall.

The sun was white in the bright blue sky. The shade of the clouds would not come until the afternoon. The sweat was sticky on my brown body. I heard the truck and turned to see it chugging up the dusty goat path. My father was returning with Ultima.

“¡Mamá!” I called. My mother came running out, Deborah and Theresa trailed after her.

“I’m afraid,” I heard Theresa whimper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Deborah said confidently. My mother said there was too much Márez blood in Deborah. Her eyes and hair were very dark, and she was always running. She had been to school two years and she spoke only English. She was teaching Theresa and half the time I didn’t understand what they were saying.

“Madre de Dios, but mind your manners!” my mother scolded. The truck stopped and she ran to greet Ultima. “Buenos días le de Dios, Grande,” my mother cried. She smiled and hugged and kissed the old woman.

“Ay, María Luna,” Ultima smiled, “buenos días te de Dios, a ti y a tu familia.” She wrapped the black shawl around her hair and shoulders. Her face was brown and very wrinkled. When she smiled her teeth were brown. I remembered the dream.

“Come, come!” my mother urged us forward. It was the custom to greet the old. “Deborah!” my mother urged. Deborah stepped forward and took Ultima’s withered hand.

“Buenos días, Grande,” she smiled. She even bowed slightly. Then she pulled Theresa forward and told her to greet la Grande. My mother beamed. Deborah’s good manners surprised her, but they made her happy, because a family was judged by its manners.

“What beautiful daughters you have raised,” Ultima nodded to my mother. Nothing could have pleased my mother more. She looked proudly at my father who stood leaning against the truck, watching and judging the introductions.

“Antonio,” he said simply. I stepped forward and took Ultima’s hand. I looked up into her clear brown eyes and shivered. Her face was old and wrinkled, but her eyes were clear and sparkling, like the eyes of a young child.