"What do you call this place?" questioned Fred.
"This place is called Tampico-Alto, in the state of Veracruz. We are divided by the Rio Panuco that flows out into the gulf. The city of Tampico is located to the northwest in the state of Tamaulipas. We will come and take you to Father Gonzales when you feel better. Tampico-Alto is several miles up the dirt road. He will be pleased to see you. El Señor de Tampico-Alto has answered our prayers." They were all smiling and very pleased, knowing that miracles can happen and that their prayers had been fervent enough to bring a savior who had come to rescue the weak and sick among them.
Before long, Fred's health improved and he was promoted from the grass cot, to a hammock. He was given a loose, white Panama shirt that was big and long enough to fit him. He was also honored with a pair of leather sandals too small for his big feet and a worn-out straw hat with many holes in it. The pants that he had arrived in were washed and mended by the kindly old woman who had nursed him back to health. He had bathed and had shaved with a sharp knife the old fisherman used for cutting up his fish. They offered him their old donkey to take him up to the village. He mounted the animal and laughed, as did they since his long legs caused his feet to drag the ground. Fred was grateful for everything and promised to repay them all a thousand times.
The little village of Tampico-Alto was several miles up a dirt road bordered by stately coconut palms, guava shrubs, figs, and groves of banana, mango, lemon and orange trees. There was vegetation of every kind, with clinging bougainvilleas and yellow mimosa flowers, making it a perfect paradise above the shores of the Gulf.
He was getting away from pesky, hungry, tormenting insects: the sand flies which could trigger a leprosy type disease; horse flies that could inflict a form of blood disease; and black flies caused blindness if not treated properly. This was mosquito country, and they were big enough to screw a grown chicken and inject malaria into a person's system, or other mosquito-borne plagues like dengue fever and yellow fever.
It was a small fishing village with dogs and naked children playing everywhere. In the center was the main attraction, the Church of El Señor de Tampico-Alto, with its tower up top that enclosed a large bell. Around the village were many picturesque mud huts with thatched roofs, and several adobes with wooden, mud plastered picket fences. Donkeys intermingled with hundreds of goats, chickens, and pigs, while dogs scampered around the streets, barking and playing with the children.
The shrubs and bright colored flowers of hibiscus and gardenia were extremely dense and high, to the point of obscuring many of the homes. A young, barefoot girl about ten, carrying her naked baby brother on her hip, stood mesmerized and observed Fred as he passed by. Nearby, a mangy, rickety dog humped a mangy, half-starved bitch in full view.
Inside the church was the largest crucifix Fred had ever seen—a breathtaking Christ covering the whole altar wall. Below the hanging Christ, on the large altar, were hundreds of items that people from all over Mexico and the surrounding area, grateful for El Señor's great miracles, had brought in payment for his favors. Pictures of people and small children of different nationalities were lined up side by side. All represented miracles that the patrons had asked for, and prayers that had been answered time and time again. Fred stood in awe viewing all of the good works.
An overwhelming spiritual awareness overtook Fred as he stood gazing at the high altar, and a feeling of humility overpowered him. He was grateful he was alive and perhaps had been guided into this hidden, unknown paradise by a simple divine destiny. So taken was he by an almost overpowering force, that his knees buckled, and he knelt on the steps of the altar before the Christ. He took off his straw hat, his eyes fixed on the agonizing face of the figure on the crucifix. He felt humbled and full of devotion to be in His presence and felt as if he were only a grain of sand upon an infinite beach. He wondered if other visitors felt the same way when viewing the Christ.
He crossed himself and thought of his religious mother. "Heavenly Father," he spoke aloud without thinking, in an almost hypnotic state. "Please forgive my transgressions and the things that I have done to offend you. I must have done something terrible and am being punished for it, to be sent through so much hardship to this place. Please guide me to do good works and to continue to help the people in this village—"
"—and good works we need in this place, Dr. Cantu." Father Gonzales answered and greeted him, coming up the aisle behind him. The priest had already learned of his near tragic encounter with the sea from the excited, gossiping inhabitants of the village.
Surprised, Fred immediately stood up, straw hat in hand, and greeted the priest.
Coming from Spanish blood, handsome Father Gonzales was in his early forties, a dedicated priest with a light complexion, black hair, and light-colored eyes. He was wearing the customary long, black cassock. He was steadfast in his convictions, which kept him busy performing daily Mass and hundreds of baptisms and confirmations, not counting the number of people he counseled. Mostly of Spanish descent, the people of the village were mixed with Mayan and other Indian blood. He saw his labors coming to fruition among his congregation, who were growing and maturing from a stubborn, uneducated, ignorant people into a population who could read and write and determine their own affairs.
In his small ministry and mission kingdom, Father Gonzales was assisted by two older nuns who taught English and Spanish to the children who wanted to come to their three-class school on the grounds of the church. There were many other buildings around the church, including living quarters for the priest and separate quarters for the nuns.
It was getting close to the great Posadas celebration, which was one of the most important activities of the year. In preparation, a group of young girls was rehearsing the songs that were sung at each home and during the final celebration that took place inside the church. The singing was being led by a nun, who smiled at Fred as he peeked his head in the door of the rectory, viewing the group of young girls, whose eyes were full of excitement. Several giggled shyly and put their hands in their mouths when they saw Fred looking at them.
This was the land of fiestas. Everyone who lived in this small community was a devout Catholic, each with his or her own saint's day, and they took part in the celebration parties, sometimes once a week. It motivated each individual by bringing music, dancing, friendship, communication, and passion to the people of this isolated village.
"Do you have any mail coming into your village?" Fred asked the priest. "Do you have any newspapers that are delivered here?" He was being cautious, for it had been many weeks now since he had left the rotten prison in Matamoros, and he wanted some answers about his situation. He also wanted to find a way to inform his family in Texas without arousing the suspicion of the people or the priest in the village, or anyone across the border.
"No, my son," replied Father Gonzales. "This is a very poor village, and the only information we get is from Tampico across the river. Sometimes weekly vendors bringing items to sell will have news of what is happening in the outside world. I have not seen the bishop who comes from Mexico City to bring me instructions of the church for many years now. I have lost contact since the Catholic Rebellion. As you can tell, we are very limited in what we have. No phones, no radios, no newspapers. Here, we are at peace with nature, the sea, and our holy commandments of the church." He paused, then added,
"And with the people who want to stay and live here."
"I see," answered Fred, trying to sound casual. "So if I want to send a letter or a telegram, I will have to travel to the city of Tampico, across the river, and take a ferry."
Father Gonzales stood back and eyed him intently. "That is correct," he answered, deciding not to inquire about his circumstances. "Whatever great sins you have, they shall be forgiven, my son. Turn to our savior, El Señor de Tampico-Alto, and he will answer all prayers, no matter how large or small your sins have been, and everything will turn as white as snow. El Señor knows that each of his children mu
st suffer to become stronger and later serve his other lost sheep." The priest gazed at him in his infinite kindness, knowing that there was a long story behind the tall man he was addressing, but he never dared to question him. He saw each individual as a good soul, and each had a purpose in life. "How long do you plan to stay with us? Your coming has been prophesied for many years by the people of this village."
"I'm honored," Fred answered, touched by his simplicity and kindness. "I will try to set up a practice as soon as I can find a place to do so."
"Here, on the church grounds, is the center of all activities in this community. We can make room for you and get you some help." His eyes lit up, as he saw that a miracle was beginning to unfold.
"Get me help?" Fred questioned in amazement.
"Why yes, we have many young girls in the village who would be interested in helping out in whatever way they can. We can empty one of the classrooms for you. How soon can you start?"
"First, I'll have to find some money to get the medicine that I need and buy the supplies for running a medical clinic. I'll have to travel to Tampico to buy the things that I need."
"Do not worry, my son. With God's help, nothing is impossible. We will find the money that is needed for you to get started. We have a little money here in the church, and we will find one of the members of the community to drive you across the river." Father Gonzales turned to view the group of young girls leaving the rectory. Catching the eye of one of the older girls, he called her name.
Maria Dolores Gariby was beautiful; light complexioned, with all the features coming from Spanish blood. She stood five-feet-five, with a slender figure, brownish hair down to her waist, and soft brown eyes. Coming over, she blushed immediately, and in her shyness, looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact with Fred.
"Dolores, meet your doctor! Remember, it was you who asked in your prayers for a doctor to come into our village? Well, here he is! Your prayers, my daughter, have been answered. Dr. Federico Cantu, meet Dolores."
Flustered and embarrassed, Dolores extended her right hand to Fred. She stood enthralled, looking at the handsome, tall individual with torn and mended jeans and worn out leather sandals, and the poor little donkey patiently waiting outside. She thought it was a wonder the donkey hadn't thrown him off while riding, dragging his long legs. She wanted to laugh—he looked more like a first class beggar than a doctor.
Father Gonzales was pleased and spoke, addressing Dolores, "I have mentioned to Dr. Cantu that you would be willing to assist him when he starts building his medical practice here on the church grounds."
She was still in a state of dazed stupor. "Yes, I will be more than willing," she answered shyly, then turned and left rapidly, meeting the other girls who were waiting for her to walk home. She did not want to disrespect Father Gonzales by saying no. She had never been more embarrassed in her life, but she wanted to tell her surprised parents that her prayers had been answered. The girls walked home laughing and giggling.
"Now you have the help you need, and we can get more from the nuns, if necessary."
"She is very beautiful. Tell me about her," Fred asked, mesmerized.
"Her father, Venustiano Gariby came from Zaragoza, España, and has lived in this area for many years. He is a much-respected landowner of a sugar cane plantation and also owns hundred of goats. They donate much meat and goat cheese to the church and to other needy people in the area. They have many children and are very dedicated to El Señor de Tampico-Alto. Dolores is their oldest daughter and spends most of her time helping the nuns in the classrooms and helping the sick. She devotes much of her time to the Church and sings in the choir."
*****
In December the celebration of las Posadas went on for over a week, where everyone visited each other's homes with their own displayed version of Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, and shared their food with prayer and singing. Midnight Mass was celebrated the night of December 24th, but Christmas was not celebrated as it was in the United States. The giving of gifts was celebrated in January, known as Los Tres Reyes, and the presents were put inside the children's shoes that were left out that night.
Inspired, Father Gonzales and the nuns kept busy buying the necessities for running a medical practice, as well as cleaning and painting the inside of the designated room.
Fred took advantage of some of the money that Father Gonzales had given him and, while in the port of Tampico buying cases of chloroform, alcohol, and cotton swabs, he ended up with sufficient money to send a telegram to Felicia, who was the safest person to notify his father and sister in Texas. The message was short, informing them that he was fine and would explain later what had taken place in the last three months. He gave no return address. Any return messages would be left at the telegraph office in Tampico, and he would pick them up later.
It was in Tampico that Fred realized that something terrible had happened to the economy in the United States by the way the merchants talked of the American dollar. Not understanding the full impact, he picked up several newspapers and was startled to learn that the stock market had collapsed. He was appalled because all of his money that he had saved throughout his medical practice had been invested. His father had owned several hundred stocks in the oil companies and had all his money invested in several depositories. He also learned that the banks were closing their doors and people throughout the U.S. were losing everything; many were committing suicide, especially rich investors. He stood shaken, wondering what was going to happen in Texas and to his family's future. Starting from scratch in the medical field in a small village with nothing to go on but faith was going to take an even bigger miracle than he thought!
Returning to the village, Fred retreated in self-introspection and refused to converse with anyone. His conscience was beginning to bother him, as he was leading a good life like few had ever experienced, at a time when others were apparently encountering serious trouble back home. His thoughts were going through a critical, unbridled moment of despair and truth. If he was going to stay in this village, a matter in which he had no choice, he would have to reassess his self-tormented life in a humble way and think things through. He prayed for guidance.
It was a time of miracles and faith, and the following day, Antonio Terán arrived in the village in a battered, noisy, old Ford Roadster, anxious to meet Fred. The two formed an immediate and harmonious mutual friendship since their thinking regarding their profession was in agreement. Dr. Terán was brown-skinned, with brown hair and eyes, and nice white teeth, beautifully displayed when he laughed, which was often. He was medium in stature, slender, and handsome in his own manly way, and exhibited a very optimistic humor. He had studied medicine in Europe and had gone to school in Mexico City. He was a humanitarian with enormous empathy for the sick and poor. He was an intelligent, charming young newlywed residing in the oil city of Tampico close to the shores of the Rio Panuco. He was in tune with Father Gonzales and had been pleading for a medical facility in the village, but never considered making his residence in the small community, for it did not offer the facilities needed for an ambitious, upcoming young doctor.
"Come and stay with my wife and me in Tampico," he said. "You will love my wife Teresa, who is very kind and loves company. She gets very lonely since I'm working in my medical office and gone most of the day. Come and join me downtown so I can show you my clinic. We have several students and many young men there learning this profession. And you are more than welcome to use any of my instruments. I have an extra stethoscope and a microscope that you can borrow and several other instruments that I'm not using that you can have for your office."
"Thank you! I sure can use all of them. I'll come down when I buy supplies next week," answered Fred happily. With his new friend and his new medical practice, life was beginning to offer welcome and challenging possibilities. Meeting Dr. Terán would represent a turning point in his life.
For the time being, Fred would have to concentrate and devote his skills to the charm
ing, dreamy village of lavish gardens, grass-hut bungalows, moonlit fiestas, and strolling marimba bands, where the people were easy going and humble. The natives' only thoughts were of their three-course meals, which might explain the prevalence of obesity. They ate heavy meals and rested in their siestas and enjoyed the music and the environment. They never hurried anywhere or breathed hard from rushing about. It was a heavenly paradise.
On a sunny afternoon, Fred strolled down to the shore close to where the old man and woman had found him washed up on the beach. He wanted to be alone and think, since he was drenched in his own sadness of loss, and the sound of the ocean always gave him intuitive insights. He sat on the sandy bank hugging his knees and viewing from a distance several girls wearing straw hats and a young boy swimming down below in the surf. The girls carried a wicker basket and were finding many of the larger blue crabs that were in abundance in this part of the Gulf. The girls waded with their skirts wrapped around their legs, while they splashed through the shallow, blue-green water. He sat quietly so as not to disturb anyone and enjoyed the trade winds blowing around him. He tried to piece together his anguished and sometimes overwhelming life, hoping he might heal on his perdicament in the silence. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his knees.
Fred should have paid more attention to where he was sitting, for it was near the entrance of a red anthill. The huge red ants in this area were vicious and hostile and would attack any intruder coming anywhere near their domain. Their sting was brutal and painful—worse was the biting crabs. The nerve of anyone sitting on top of their home was unforgivable, especially when anyone could have sat anywhere else on the thousand-mile seashore. How rude of him!
Almost immediately, Fred felt the stings of the ants. He had a million of them crawling underneath his clothes, all over his legs and body, on his arms and his neck. His body and soul awoke with a start. He stood up and yelled, with his arms in the air, and ran toward the water, stumbling over scattered stones. His actions caught the attention of the spectators, making the girls and the young boy look up, startled.
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