Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  Scrambling down into the hole, Victoriano called loudly so the ranch dogs wouldn’t attack them. Angelina heard them calling and came out to quiet the dogs. At this time of the month, the midwife was very busy. More babies were born during the full moon than at any other time.

  The midwife was a full-blooded Tarahumara Indian and she was married to the town drunk, El Borracho, who was the finest guitarist in all the region. There wasn’t a family in all of La Lluvia de Oro who hadn’t been serenaded by El Borracho at their wedding or helped in childbirth by his wife Angelina.

  “Who’s in need?” asked Angelina. Her two front teeth were missing and her smile looked like a dark hole in the moonlight.

  “The Colonel’s wife,” said Victoriano.

  “Oh, she’s big,” laughed the midwife. “I saw her the other day when I brought your sister María a love note.” Angelina was also the local matchmaker who delivered messages back and forth between prospective lovers. “Well, let’s go,” she said, and she took off at a run.

  Going back up into the canyon, neither Lupe nor Victoriano were able to keep up with the old midwife. Once, long ago, when the first Americans had come in to work the mine from California, Angelina had run a foot race against six young engineers who’d said they were great athletes. The distance had been twenty-five miles. She’d been five months pregnant, but still she arrived an hour ahead of them.

  Arriving at their ramada, the old midwife was hardly out of breath. Quickly, she examined Socorro. Then she gave her the heart of a dried cactus to chew. It was the same kind of cactus that the great Tarahumara runners used when they ran a race worthy of a man, meaning a hundred or more miles. She told everyone to leave the lean-to except for the women who were going to assist her.

  “All right, out, mi hijita,” said Doña Guadalupe to Lupe, ushering her out the door along with Victoriano and Don Benito.

  “But no, Mama,” said Lupe, “I want to stay.”

  “Let her stay,” said the midwife, rubbing an oily liniment on Socorro’s legs and feet. “No girl is ever too young to learn the ways of a woman. Believe me, I know, it’s the ones who never see who end up having the most difficulties.”

  “Please, Mama,” said Lupe, not once taking her eyes off the midwife and the shiny herbal oil she was rubbing onto Socorro’s limbs. The oily substance smelled good and strong and brush-like. “I want to help. I promised my Colonel.”

  Doña Guadalupe didn’t like it, but she was too busy to argue. Socorro was crying out in pain and the coyotes were answering her from the distance. The whole night was full of eerie sounds.

  “Oh, all right,” said Doña Guadalupe, “but you leave the moment you can’t stand it, you understand?”

  “Yes, Mama,” said Lupe, and she came close to help her sisters.

  They had a lot of work to do. They had to get the big rope tied to the stout center post of their lean-to, keep the water hot and help the midwife give comfort to Socorro. A mother in labor, after all, had to be kept relaxed so the child would come happily into the world.

  Lupe could feel the nervous anticipation inside the dimly lit lean-to as the women went to work. This was a place where no men were allowed; it was only for women. All her life, Lupe had been told that men simply couldn’t endure the pain a woman could.

  Outside of the ramada, Victoriano sat with Don Benito, looking up at the stars and listening to Socorro’s cries of pain.

  “I love Lydia,” said Don Benito, “but those screams scare me more than bullets.”

  Two days before, Don Manuel had taken two shots at the old man when he’d come to serenade his daughter, Lydia, under her bedroom window. The whole pueblo was hissing with gossip about Don Benito’s courtship of the mayor’s daughter, whom the mayor had specially groomed to marry an American.

  “I’ll never do this to my Lydia,” said Don Benito. “It’s just awful what women have to suffer to bring life into the world.”

  Inside, the midwife was trying to get Socorro to open her mouth wide and let the pain come out. “Open your mouth,” said Angelina, massaging Socorro’s neck and shoulders, “and let out what you feel. Don’t keep it in, querida, let it out.”

  Socorro cried softly at first, but little by little she loosened up and she began to let out long, ear-piercing screams.

  “Good,” said the midwife, “now breathe deeply, deeply, and then cry out again, letting all the pain go out of your body.”

  Socorro did as she was told, letting out another cry. Lupe, to her own surprise, wasn’t getting upset by them. No, she felt relieved. The cries just seemed so natural. But Lupe could see that the cries were making her sister, Carlota, very nervous.

  “Good, mi hijita, good,” said the midwife, “that last one truly came up from here, in your stomach. Now roll softly side-to-side, yes, that’s it, and roll out long, soft guttural grunts like a pig. No, don’t laugh,” she smiled, “the pig is a very good mother, mi hijita, and she’s also very strong and brave.

  “Now, grunt, that’s right, grunt strong and deep, and with each sound imagine your body opening up, opening up, larger and larger like a rose, like a flower opening up to the sunlight, like you’re going to make love to an enormous watermelon.”

  Doña Guadalupe didn’t like it. Sophia and María blushed. Carlota screeched with embarrassment. Lupe didn’t understand. But even Socorro, in the midst of her pain, had to smile. The thought of making love to a watermelon sounded simply awful.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny?” said Angelina, turning to Carlota who couldn’t shut up. “Well, you young girls just remember what you’re seeing here the next time a boy makes eyes at you. For the man, it’s only joy, but for a woman, she has to carry the responsibility of that joy and confirm it before God in PAIN!” She yelled out the word “pain,” deliberately scaring the young girls.

  Doña Guadalupe went to attend to the water on the wood-burning stove across the room. She’d never liked this midwife and her famous tongue. But she was the best midwife in the area, and she’d known Socorro was going to have a difficult time.

  The cries of pain continued, and Doña Guadalupe and María and Sophia helped the midwife massage and comfort Socorro as Lupe and her mother kept the boiling water coming so the lean-to would keep warm and moist. But Carlota wouldn’t help. She just stood there, holding her ears, not able to bear Socorro’s screams anymore.

  And then Lupe smelled something that she had never smelled before. And the smell got stronger as the cries and groans of pain continued.

  Suddenly, the cries stopped. A steady rhythm of rolling, guttural sounds began, slowly at first, then faster and stronger. And outside, Lupe could hear the coyotes in the distance and the dogs and the goats and cattle in the town. It was a symphony of sound, rolling and growing and echoing off the mighty cliffs.

  “Drink, mi hijita,” said the midwife to Socorro, “you’re losing your water.”

  “No,” said Socorro. She was full of pain and wanted to be left alone. But her water had broken, so the midwife insisted.

  “Open your mouth,” she said, “and do as I say. Drink, drink, yes, that’s right, all of it.” It was a specially prepared potion of wild herbs and roots that women took in this region of Mexico while in labor.

  Reluctantly, Socorro drank it. The hours passed and the moon moved across the heavens. The pains of childbirth continued as Socorro’s body opened up, bones and flesh moving, opening up like a rose, a flower welcoming the birth of new life. And all the women in the lean-to knew that God, the Father, was here on earth with them, giving them power through the spirit of the Virgin Mary and helping them in their time of need.

  And then it was time, and Angelina reached up inside Socorro with her hand, checking the movement of the bones spreading.

  “You’re ready,” said the old midwife. “Your bones have moved, and the baby’s in place.” The old woman had beads of sweat running down her face. “You’re doing good, mi hijita,” she added. “Very good. The spirit of Our Lady
is with us tonight. But virgin, she never was.” She laughed. “Hell, giving birth to God must have moved more bone than a mountain, I tell you,” she said, in her coarse, happy voice. “Now come, Sophia and María, you two help me lift her and put her to the rope so you’ll both know how to do this when your time comes.”

  Sophia and María came forward and lifted Socorro by the armpits, helping her to the thick rope which hung at the center of the lean-to.

  “Get hold of the rope,” said Angelina.

  Lupe could see that it took all of Socorro’s power to obey the midwife and grip the rope.

  “Now squat,” said Angelina, “like you’re going to take an enormous caca.”

  María and Sophia laughed.

  “Stop that,” said the midwife, “and hold her strong so she can squat Indian-style on her haunches. This is the best way for childbearing, and I don’t care what the priests or doctors say!”

  The old woman now knelt down close to Socorro and massaged her great stomach and buttocks as she told her to push and grunt in rhythm. The young pregnant woman gripped the stout rope and pulled and grunted as she forced down with all her power. Lupe watched her, squatting there, face straining like she was constipated, forcing down with more power than she’d ever thought a woman had in her.

  “Good, mi hijita,” said the midwife, “push down and pull on the rope and stare straight ahead and keep in mind only what I’m telling you. Don’t fight; your body and your baby know everything. Good, catch your breath, and we’ll do it again.”

  Lupe and her mother brought over another pot of hot water. The lean-to smelled warm and moist. Lupe could hear Socorro’s quick, little breaths, catching her strength between pushes, and then here it came again, another long roll of forceful grunts as she pushed and pulled.

  “Good,” said the midwife in her ear, talking so softly that it almost sounded like Socorro’s own brain was talking to her.

  Then it came again, a series of terrible cries, and a small, hairy wet spot poked out between Socorro’s muscular legs as the midwife talked faster and faster, massaging Socorro’s huge stomach with one hand and helping her between her legs with the other.

  Lupe froze, staring in disbelief as she watched and heard and felt the power of this miracle of miracles. Her eyes filled with tears.

  The head of the baby was now beginning to come out, to appear in the yellow glow of light from the hanging lantern, and Lupe stood there, wide-eyed with excitement.

  Upon seeing the baby’s head, Carlota ran out of the lean-to. “I’ll never have children as long as I live!” she screamed.

  The midwife had Socorro lean back on the mattress they’d brought up and rest with her legs wide apart. Lupe couldn’t take her eyes away. She’d never seen a woman in this position before; all hairy and open and wet with the top of the infant’s head coming out of her.

  Then, having given her blood-gorged legs a rest, the midwife had Socorro squat down once more and grip the stout rope. Pushing and pulling and forcing down with all the power of her young, strong, supple body, Socorro pulled on the rope with her strong, young hands and she pushed again and again, long and hard and steady, sweating profusely. The midwife wiped the sweat from her face, and María and Sophia supported her under the armpits while Doña Guadalupe helped the midwife with the baby.

  Suddenly, the whole head of the baby popped out, long and lopsided, wet and shiny as a big-headed rabbit, covered with a transparent, silvery, slippery mess of non-smelling film. And Socorro now did everything by herself, screaming, pulling, pushing, as if she’d been doing it for ten million years. And the cries were good, coming from her gut, and her pushes were good, too, coming down with all the power of her young, strong body. Even the baby was helping. He was moving inside the transparent film, fighting for his life. And Socorro cried out so loud that her sounds went up to the mighty cliffs, hitting them, and then they came back down, echoing in a symphony of sound. And the baby came sliding, slipping out between her taut legs like a huge caca.

  The coyotes went silent, and the dogs quit barking. The goats and mules went silent, too, listening to Socorro’s great cries, now echoing off the mighty cliffs.

  Then it was done, just like that, and Lupe was amazed at the odorless smell that filled the room. With all the blood and flesh and slimy liquid that had come out of Socorro, Lupe had expected a much stronger odor. But then she remembered that women up here in the mountains always drank a lot of herbs during their pregnancy.

  Holding the newborn up high in the dim light, the midwife now stretched out the long cord from the baby’s belly to the placenta and gently took it in her hand.

  “Look,” she said to the three young girls helping her, “you can see life passing through the cord if you look closely.”

  Drawing close, Lupe saw it was true. She could actually see the cord pulsating with life between Socorro and the child. But then, like magic, the flow of life quit between the mother and child. Lupe watched the midwife clip the cord with her mother’s sewing scissors. Quickly, she tied the cord with a string next to the baby’s stomach, then put the baby to his mother’s warm, soft flesh. The child hugged in close, instinctively trying to find a nest as warm and moist as the one he’d just left.

  María and Sophia helped the midwife lay Socorro down on their mother’s straw mattress. Doña Guadalupe began to wash the child off with warm, clean water as he hugged in close, smelling and getting to know his mother, his first full contact in the world.

  Doña Guadalupe put the baby’s little feet in a bowl of warm water, and the child continued clinging to his mother. He never cried, listening to her heartbeat, the same music that he’d heard from inside the womb. No, he was quiet, content, doing what nature had taught him to do since prehistoric times: to keep quiet so the coyotes and other predators wouldn’t find him.

  Looking at Socorro with her child, Lupe had never seen a more exhausted and yet happy-looking woman in all her life.

  “Come,” said the midwife, “let’s leave them alone.”

  Lupe followed her mother and sisters and the midwife out of the lean-to. Outside, the old woman stretched her tired limbs and caught her breath. Lupe and her mother and sisters joined her, stretching and looking up at the stars and the full moon.

  “This one, your youngest,” said the midwife, turning to Doña Guadalupe as she stretched and worked the small of her back, “is going to be a fine woman. Why, Lupe was sniffing the air, she so much wanted to get into the birth.

  “Now, please give this old woman a drink, Doña Guadalupe,” continued the midwife, “and let’s take a little rest, because in a few moments, the next baby will be coming.”

  “Another?” said Sophia and María at the same time.

  “Yes,” said the old woman, “another.”

  Quickly, Doña Guadalupe went and got the bottle of tequila she kept hidden in the kitchen. She had a drink along with the midwife. Lupe was shocked. She’d never seen her mother drink alcohol before.

  Then, they were just catching their breath when there came a new series of cries from Socorro again.

  They all hurried back inside.

  The light of the full moon was dancing off the towering mighty cliffs when Lupe came out of the lean-to holding one child and María holding the second one. Victoriano came rushing up with Don Benito and Carlota. They saw the two little infants in Lupe’s and María’s arms. They were overwhelmed by the miracle of life.

  The newborns were moving, squirming, reaching out for life. It was truly a sign from God. Up in her pen, the mother goat smelled the excitement and called out. The dogs began to bark once more, and the coyotes answered them. Then the cattle and mules came in, too, and the canyon filled with a symphony of sounds. Carlota forgot her fears and came to María, and took the child. Lupe gave the other to her brother.

  Lupe and her mother, sisters and brother stayed up the rest of the night with the midwife, talking and drinking and warming their feet on a shovel full of hot coals in fron
t of the ramada. The stars and the moon kept them company and the hard-packed earth in front of the ramada felt good under their bare feet.

  Lupe sat there with her mother and sisters, as Socorro and her two little boys slept in the lean-to, and she listened to the talk and laughter of the women. The midwife poured tequila in her herbal tea and told story after story of the different children she’d delivered who were now adults in the community. Lupe felt good being introduced by these women into the mystery of life. She felt more complete inside her deepest self than she’d ever felt before.

  Then the eastern sky began to pale. It was the coming of a new day. They all got up to stretch so they could go to work. But instead of feeling tired, Lupe felt refreshed and strong.

  “Let us pray,” said Doña Guadalupe, and they all knelt down. And as they prayed and Lupe saw the eastern sky growing yellow and rose and pink, she felt herself fill with such power, with such a strength and well-being, that she just knew in her bones that life was eternal.

  Her eyes filled with tears, she felt so close to these women. The whole world sang and danced before her very eyes as the cycle of life continued and the new day came forth in all its wondrous beauty—a gift from God.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  And so she dreamed of her truelove coming to get her on his orange-red stallion to take her to his home on the top of a small white cloud.

  Early one morning, the half-dozen soldiers that the Colonel had left behind disappeared without a word. Rumor had it that General Obregón was in a major battle with the Villistas down in the foothills, so the Colonel’s men had rushed out to reinforce him.

  Lupe prayed that day as she’d never prayed before, asking God to protect her true-love, if, indeed, he was in the battle, and to bring him safely back to her. The following afternoon Lupe was coming up with her sisters from the springs below the town with their baskets of laundry when she saw two Tarahumara Indians come into the plaza, dropping from exhaustion. Lupe and her sisters put down their baskets and quickly rushed up. They heard the Indians tell the townspeople that a terrible battle was going on down below near the Río Fuerte.