Credit 37.1
Teresita’s gravesite
On Wednesday, March 24, 2010, my good friend the filmmaker Lourdes Portillo and I drove into the Arizona countryside to search for Teresita’s grave, located in a mining town called Clifton. The women at the Tucson AAA office warned us that Clifton was ugly with nothing to see. We didn’t tell them we were on a mission and took off from the flat desert of southern Arizona without anticipating the sudden changes in landscape we’d encounter.
In the middle of our yakking, Lourdes and I realized we were driving through great gauzy strips of fog. At first we thought it was a forest fire, and this rightfully scared us. Then we saw the clouds floating alongside us, drunk and slanted and sleepy. I didn’t understand. I’d never seen such clouds, as if they’d fallen from the sky. Then Lourdes explained we’d driven to their elevation gradually without even noticing. We laughed about this forever.
The land continued sneaking up on us, surprising us with its changes. The road rose past the drunken clouds through prehistoric mountains, rust-colored, pachydermian, and then descended through a valley giddy with poppies, a hue more vibrant than pumpkins, brighter than the orange stripe dividing the road. In the horizon, lavender mountains, and then the green scrubbed hills sprinkled here and there with turmeric poppies. Lucky for us to arrive after the rains.
Clifton surprised us too. A town in the cleft of two huge cheeks of earth like a giant pair of mooning buttocks. Who would build a town in a space where it was destined to flood? And it had flooded, even in Teresita’s time, to disastrous proportions. Oddly placed or not, Clifton is not an ugly town. Decayed, perhaps, abandoned, like a silk ball gown washed ashore after a tempest, but this is a kind of beauty. Hills fresh and green from the rain, the sky a morning-glory blue. Best of all, the most marvelous air, verdant and crisp.
We walked past the jail, a cave transformed into a cell with iron bars. This is where they incarcerated Teresita’s husband of one day, Guadalupe Rodríguez, in June of 1900. We wandered the town’s old main street, stopping at the Greenlee County Historical Museum, and met a helpful Mr. Joel Briskly, a local history buff, who connected us to Teresita’s great-grandniece, another Teresita—Terry Urrea.
I’d been heartbroken when Terry Urrea didn’t answer a note I’d left at her door earlier in the day, but Mr. Briskly, all kindness, called on our behalf and gave her our number. And, miracle of miracles, Terry Urrea did indeed phone us just as we wended our way in our rental car toward the cemetery. Terry directed us as we were driving and patiently stayed on the line until we pulled into the graveyard parking area. And yes, there was Teresita’s resting place, just as both Terry and Mr. Briskly had said, to the left as you enter the cemetery, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, small as a crib, an unmarked slab with pink silk roses, and rosaries and a dream catcher others had left behind.
What a beautiful spot to rest. It was lovely to watch the sunset among the hills. I sniffed the air and tried to discover the scent of roses, which some claim happens when you visit Teresita’s grave, but I can’t lie. I smelled green plants and fresh wind that whistled through the fence in a moan, but no roses. Such a chipper amber color at that hour of the day, light tethered to long blue shadows. Lourdes sat on a neighboring grave and I on another singing “Farolito,” and “Por un amor,” and Lorca’s “Son de Cuba,” because those are the only songs I know all the words to.
Then I asked Teresita to receive our lovely friend, the poet Ai, who had just died. And to open our camino, to bless and take care of our family and friends, my textile teacher la Señora María Luisa Camacho de López, who was in ill health, my friends and family with all their needy needs, Lourdes, me, my animals. Bring us peace, please. We left windburned and tired, but thrilled to have discovered what we came for. Someday I’d like to dedicate a story to Teresita. Until then, here’s what I know so far.
There was once a Mexican girl so famous she frightened the president of the Mexican republic and had to be exiled. It doesn’t seem so outrageous in our times for someone to terrorize a head of state now that we are living in the age of puro susto, pure fear, when plenty of people get deported or worse, but it’s hard to imagine a woman, a teenager, una mexicana capable of such power then or now. Her name was Teresa Urrea, and she was known in her lifetime as Teresita, the Saint of Cabora, a village in northern Mexico, in a region currently overrun by narcos.
Teresita lived and died before the Mexican Revolution began, yet she was certainly part of its volcanic rumblings that warned of the end of the old world order. Her story is extraordinary because she was a woman of color with no formal education who rose to power and fame as a mystic healer in Mexico and in the United States.
Teresita was mixed-race, a mestiza, during a time when class and color differences were more pronounced than even today. Her mother, Cayetana Chávez, was an indigenous woman, and her father, Tomás Urrea, was a light-skinned Mexican of Spanish descent. He owned all the lands and ranch where Teresita was born and where Cayetana was employed. Teresita was his natural daughter, but when she was in her mid-teens he recognized her as his offspring and invited her to live with him and his second (common-law) family.
Before this, Teresa had lived in a ramada, a house made of sticks and mud, with her mother’s relations. She was said to have been an excellent horsewoman, and she knew how to play the guitar and sing—all this the vaqueros, Mexican cowboys, had taught her. She must’ve been a remarkable child to have caught her father’s attention. Girls weren’t valued, especially those who were illegitimate and indigenous, and certainly not by a wealthy man like Tomás Urrea. But Teresita was tall and beautiful, as we can see for ourselves from her photographs, as well as charming and clever, by all accounts. Maybe her father recognized some part of himself in her and was proud to claim her as his. Only God knows. But by her mid-teens she was living the plot of a Latin American telenovela by moving under her father’s care and protection and moving up in class and color.
It was here in her father’s house that she met an indigenous elder who would lead her on her life path. The woman was known as Huila, and she was a curandera, a healer and midwife, who knew the powers of native plants. Teresa began working as Huila’s apprentice, and Huila shared all her skills since the girl showed aptitude. But something happened that would change Teresita’s life forever and give her powers that outreached her mentor’s.
They say that Teresita suffered a seizure as a result of a terrible susto in her mid-teens. Some say she was sexually assaulted or that there was an attempted assault. Some believe she suffered from epilepsy. It isn’t certain what happened exactly, but it was something powerful enough to cause Teresita to go into a coma for several months with her pulse and breathing so imperceptible, a mirror had to be held to her nose to make sure she was still alive. Over time Teresita’s pulse grew weaker and finally dimmed completely until her family had to admit death had claimed her.
Teresita’s wake was held in the family home, as was the custom in those times. Tomás Urrea ordered a coffin built for Teresita, and Huila bound the girl’s wrists together with a ribbon. It was during her velorio when the community had gathered to pray the rosary over her body that Teresita’s first two miracles occurred. First, she rose from the dead, or at least from her temporary death, and second, she announced that they need not remove the coffin, as it would be needed in three days. Her prediction proved true; her teacher Huila passed away and was buried in the coffin intended for Teresita.
Teresita was reborn, but she was visibly altered, and her life would never be the same. She spoke of having visited the Virgin Mary while she was away, and lived distracted for several weeks, unable to even feed or dress herself. When she finally came back to herself one morning, she couldn’t remember anything that had happened since she fell ill. It was as if she’d been alive, but not alive, as if she were paying attention only to things inside her own heart.
Other strange events occurred. After her rebirth, Teresita exhi
bited extraordinary powers of healing and vision. Teresita claimed she could look inside her patients and see their illness clearly as if she were looking into a window. Sometimes she was able to cure them just by placing her hands on them, and those she was unable to cure, she was at least able to comfort and give temporary relief.
Word spread across the region that a young girl could cure miraculously. Thousands of sick people, rich and poor, came to seek her out. Her father’s ranch was soon transformed into a carnival. Although Tomás Urrea tried to dissuade his daughter from doing her work, in the end her piety and dedication won him over. “I believe God has placed me here as one of his instruments to do good.” She was fulfilling an obligation.
And so the Urrea family made huge sacrifices on Teresita’s behalf. The world as they once knew it turned upside down. Teresita was installed in her own building, where she might receive her patients, and those who could afford to pay for food were charged, and those who could not were fed for free. In the way of a true healer, Teresita did not charge, however, for her healing services.
Teresita’s family loved and supported her, but they never claimed she was a saint. Whenever Teresita cured someone successfully, it was the crowd who called out, “Miracle!” and “¡Santa Teresa!”
Teresa did not want to be a saint. Who would want to be a saint? Would you? But sainthood is conferred by others, not by the saint, isn’t that so? Savvy businessmen out to make a living printed holy cards with Teresita’s image with angels floating about her, and these sold very well and were popular among her followers, especially among the indigenous tribes who claimed her as their patron and who wore Teresita’s image on their hats to protect themselves from harm.
“I’m not a saint,” Teresita insisted in an interview. Teresita admitted her body was like any other person’s, but her soul, that she knew was different. Teresita’s family also denied Teresita’s sainthood, though they had to admit Teresita had certain gifts even they couldn’t explain. For example, when she wanted to, she could make herself so heavy not even her strong half brothers could pick her up, but when she willed it, her slender best friend could lift her in her arms. Even more amazing was her ability to invite her best friend to travel together with her while they dreamt the same dream at night. They could go to Mexico City and walk about there, and then travel back to their bodies and remember the journey the next morning.
A great many theories abounded as to how exactly Teresita accomplished what she did. Was it magnetism, hypnotism, spiritism? Well, what exactly? Not even Teresita herself knew except she knew she was doing God’s work, and later in life even expressed an interest in going to Europe or to India for an explanation of her own mystical gifts.
Throughout her life Teresita defended the rights of the indigenous communities, perhaps because she was half indigenous and had lived in their world. Then as now, los indios were the poorest of the poor and suffered greatly. Teresita always spoke on their behalf and criticized the abuses inflicted by the government and the church. She encouraged the people to pray directly to God without the intercession of the priests or costly sacraments. Needless to say, the Mexican Church did not look kindly on Teresita’s power over the multitudes and denounced her as a fraud.
Eventually Teresita’s popularity among the Mayo, Tarahumara, and Tomochiteco communities caused her to become involved in politics, and ultimately exiled from the country. It so happened that the indigenous communities held Teresita in high regard as they recognized in her a person of great spiritual integrity and power. Porfirio Díaz, the dictator/ruler of Mexico, felt she was inciting them to rise against him and had her escorted to the U.S.-Mexico border, where she was booted out of the country. Her father accompanied Teresita and protected her during her exodus, and eventually established a home in Arizona, and later in Texas in El Paso. While Teresita was exiled, several indigenous communities did indeed organize themselves in strikes and uprisings. And though she was no longer a Mexican resident, Teresita was often implicated in these events because her followers wore her image on their sombreros. This caused Porfirio Díaz to fear she was even more powerful than imagined. Maybe the Mexican president believed the stories of Teresita’s ability to appear in more than one place at the same time. At any rate, he purportedly sent agents across the border to kidnap Teresita or to assassinate her.
It’s with good reason that the Urreas feared for Teresita’s safety, and so they were advised to move inland, away from the border and its volatile environment. Tomás sent for his wife and children and settled his family finally in Clifton, Arizona, a beautiful mining town tucked in the cleft between two bluffs. Here he established successful dairy and firewood businesses. But it was also here that he and his daughter would experience heartache.
It seems that Teresita fell in love with a Mexican miner from a neighboring town. His name was Guadalupe Rodríguez, and he was tall and handsome, like her father. Maybe she saw in him a man who could protect her, and she felt safe with him. And after knowing him eight months she married him, though her father didn’t approve the match. She was twenty-seven years old when she met Lupe. Did he see in Teresita a beautiful young woman, and not a saint? And perhaps this was something altogether new for Teresita, and though her father cursed her choice in love, women are always brave in the face of love even it means defying fathers.
Lupe had to steal Teresita from her father’s house. He came with his rifle and took her away, but not against her will. Maybe she had planned the confrontation, and she willingly went away with him to be married, and was married in the neighboring town of Metcalf, where he lived. But by morning her husband began to act strangely. Many Mexican men act strangely after their wedding night. Maybe he’d been drinking. Maybe he suspected Teresita was not such a saint, and this made him angry. Maybe she had been violated that day when she went into a coma, and this may have made Lupe feel he was cheated and getting damaged goods. Maybe he was hired by Porfirio Díaz. Or maybe he was simply un loco. We can only imagine, because we don’t know what happened to trigger Teresita’s new husband to such odd actions. He went into a rage, Teresita reported, and tore up her things. He made her pack her clothes in a bundle, and then, carrying it over his shoulder, ordered his new bride to follow him.
There were witnesses watching Teresita follow this madman. Was he shouting? Did he beat her? What did he do that folks came out and warned her not to follow him? Maybe they knew he was a crazy man all along. Guadalupe Rodríguez walked on the railroad track, and Teresita was forced to follow behind. Then Guadalupe broke into a run, and Teresita ran after him. He turned around and started to shoot at her. And only then did the bystanders come after him and carry him off to the authorities. They brought him back to Clifton and put him in a jail that had been created from a mountain cave, and there he behaved like a wild creature pacing his cage.
I want to imagine the things Lupe shouted about his bride for all to hear. I want to imagine her pain and her sadness. It couldn’t have been more humiliating to have gone against her father’s wishes and then return the next day knowing he was right. Her husband frothing in jail spewing out words against her. Now was she a saint?
And what does her father say? And what does Teresita say to him? What do they not say to each other, and what do they think? And if she could see into people’s hearts and into the future, why was she not able to see through love? the townsfolk ask. If you ever have lived such a scene in your life, you can fill in the blanks. Perhaps love makes fools of us all.
At the right moment, a Mrs. C. P. Rosencrans arrives and invites Teresita to California to heal her child, and perhaps because of her disastrous marriage, Teresita accepts and leaves Clifton, because she too is sick and needs to heal her own heart.
More than five hundred citizens go to the train station to see Teresita off. I think one person is not there. I think her father refuses to go and goes to work that day and pretends he’s too busy with his dairy, with his firewood business. This is how I imagine a man t
oo proud, too hurt, dealing with his sadness. Or perhaps he’s there. Does he join the crowd in waving a handkerchief, or does he stand as hard and still as a mountain?
Teresita is lost to him. Her father is lost to her. How powerless her father must’ve felt when she married, and now when she moves away, does a part of him die too?
And what about her? What must she feel to accept a trip to California that will take her far away? I think of her father sitting watching the sun set in Arizona. I think of Teresita watching that same sunset in California. Each thinking about the other.
Is this the beginning of the saint’s loss of her powers? Because in California a medical company will hire Teresita and promise her thousands of dollars to go on a curing crusade, and they will tell her she can travel and heal many people, but they don’t tell her they will charge her patients, and because she will be healing Anglos, she will have difficulties because she doesn’t speak English. And so Teresita’s healing crusade begins in Los Angeles, and takes her to St. Louis, and on to New York. And because she can’t find an adequate translator now that she is serving an Anglo audience, she sends a letter to her good friend, her comadre Juana Van Order, in Arizona, a Mexican woman who has married an Anglo and has two bilingual boys. The older son is sent to New York to assist Teresita in her work. His name is John Van Order, and he will become the father of Teresita’s two daughters.
How could love not develop between a nineteen-year-old boy and a woman of twenty-seven who has very little experience in love? Maybe he tells her things he believes with all his heart, but his heart is the heart of a child. But her heart is the heart of a girl. And though they can’t marry, because she is still legally married to Lupe, they promise to love each other as if they were married and to marry when they can. I can’t imagine it any other way, because Teresita lived and spoke always by way of her heart.
A House of My Own: Stories From My Life Page 25