I went to the store refrigerator and took out a bottle of coke. I was in such a hurry to drink it that I used my teeth to take off the cap. Then I poured half of the bottle into a cup for myself and gave the bottle to Verónica. With my thirst quenched, I continued.
Lucia was busy in her cargo and also working in the fields with her mother. We would see each other at church on Sunday, but I didn’t go to the courses in Yabteclum my first year of marriage, so I didn’t see her there. But sometimes she would visit me on her way home from praying for a sick person.
The day I told her that I was pregnant was on one of those visits. The family at the house where she had prayed gave her a lot of dried beef, and she wanted to share it with your father and me. My heart was touched because her gift took me back to the days at school when Lucia used to bring me a piece of the beef she received at a healing with her grandfather.
We were alone because my sister was in school and everyone else had gone to pick coffee. I felt sick that morning so I stayed home to take care of things there. After she sat down Lucia asked me how I was, and I told her.
“I’ve never felt so sick. Each morning I throw up a lot, that’s why I’m not in the cafetal with Victorio this morning. For a few months now I’ve known that I’m going to have a baby.”
Lucia didn’t seem surprised to hear that I was pregnant. She just said, “I know what you need for your stomach problems. I’ll be right back.”
Lucia went outside. In a little while, she came back with a handful of chamomile and jasmine leaves. She asked for some cinnamon and cloves, which luckily my mother had bought at the market the day before. Then Lucia made me a tea with these four ingredients. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
I gratefully accepted the tea from Lucia and savored each sip as she told me about the courses in Yabteclum.
“The courses weren’t too interesting for a few weeks because Madre Ester wasn’t there. She had to go to Mexico City because her father died. She’s been back about a couple weeks now, but she’s still in mourning. Last week she looked tired and sad. Since I’ve been praying at the beginning and end of each course, I asked God to pray for Madre Ester’s father.
“During the break, Madre Ester and I took our coffee and roll over to the tree where we used to sit with you. Right away Madre Ester thanked me for praying for her father. She said that my prayer eased the ache in her heart. She said that she was thinking of me when she was in Mexico City and bought me something in a bookstore there. It’s a book about the spiritual beings that our ancestors worshipped long ago. She said it was only fair for me to be able to learn about my own people’s history, not only the mestizos’ history.
“When Madre Ester pulled the book out of her bag I couldn’t say anything, not even thank you. I had never received a gift like this! Except for the food I receive at healings or what your mother brings us, the only gift I’ve received was a sweater on my graduation. Remember? Your godmother gave you one too. Just think of Madre Ester spending the little money she has to buy a book for me! Even Doña Dolores never gave me a book, although I think she would have if I had returned to work for her.”
As Lucia talked, I thought about the gifts that I received from my mother-in-law when I married—a gourd, a tortilla cloth, and a net bag. These gifts symbolize my union with your father and will go in my grave with me when I’m buried—not the original ones, of course, but new ones to replace them. That thought made me wonder what Lucia would be buried with since she will never marry. Before I could think more about that, Lucia went on to tell me about her conversation with Madre Ester.
“Madre Ester asked me about my work as a healer, if I’m tired at times from having to leave my house at any time of the day or night to go to a person in need. I told her that I’m used to it, but that’s not really true. At times I just want to sleep.
“It makes me happy that Madre Ester really cares about how I am. She asked about you too. I didn’t know you were pregnant, but I told her that I was learning to be a midwife and that when your first child was born I’d be there to help you. She said to give you her greetings and that she hopes you come back to the courses.”
I was glad to know that Madre Ester hadn’t forgotten about me and realized how much I missed being with Lucia and her. I told Lucia I would go back soon. Victorio wanted me to go. But after I married things changed for me so that I didn’t want to go far from home anymore. And then I started feeling sick every morning.
Verónica interrupted me to ask why I thought Madre Ester cared about Lucia enough to give her a book. I replied, “Maybe Madre Ester wanted Lucia to feel cared about since she didn’t have a husband. It might also be because they had a lot in common being single women and spiritual leaders.”
Verónica had another idea. “Maybe Madre Ester felt close to Lucia because she had confided in her about her boyfriend. I know if my friend had told me about something like that, I would feel close to them.”
“Well, we’ll never know what was in Madre Ester’s heart, daughter. Now let me continue telling Lucia’s story.”
At the time, I didn’t know that the more important question was why Lucia cared so much for Madre Ester. After Abolino was born and just before Lucia stopped going to the courses, my mother and I started going again. I saw how Lucia looked at Madre Ester when they were talking. It reminded me of how your father looked at me before we were married. I didn’t think about it much at the time, but after Lucia stopped going to the courses I remembered.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t told you about what happened when Abolino was born.
“Don’t worry,” Verónica said. “You don’t have to go in any order. You can tell me more about Lucia and Madre Ester now if you want to.”
“No, I don’t want to. First, I need to tell you about how Lucia helped me at Abolino’s birth.”
“As you wish,” she said, although I could tell she wanted to hear more about Madre Ester and Lucia.
The rest of my pregnancy I felt fine and was working in the coffee field with Victorio until the day before Abolino was born. We had just finished supper, and I was putting on the corn to boil when my pains started.
At first I thought I had gas from eating too many beans, but then I felt a strong cramp around my waist. It stayed for a long time. I was so relieved when it went away. But after a while it came back, and this time I felt like corn must feel when it’s crushed in the grinder. Later I felt like someone had their arms around me and was trying to see how tight they could squeeze me before I broke. The pain would leave for a while, but come back later, and I couldn’t relieve it no matter what I did. I would get up and walk around, but it only got worse and so I would sit back down.
My mother told Victorio to try to keep me calm while she went to get Lucia. Lucia left her house immediately with my mother. Mother was running so fast down the path to our house that she lost her footing and fell, which she never does. She was panting when she finally reached my side. It seemed that Abolino couldn’t wait to see his grandmother because after my mother returned, I felt him trying to come out of me.
Lucia took charge from then on. She pulled a chair close to me and instructed Victorio to sit on it. Then she directed me to kneel in front of him. Next, she lifted my arms and put my hands on Victorio’s shoulders and told me that when the pains got bad to bear down on Victorio, and he would give his strength to me while I pushed the baby out.
Then she said, “I’m going to see if I can feel the baby’s head.” I had lost all my embarrassment and let Lucia put her hands under my skirt and feel for Abolino’s head. “It’s coming!” she announced.
At that moment I felt that my baby was pulling me inside to help him come out, and I got scared. Was I going to disappear or maybe die? Since I was the baby’s mother, I had to help him, but I didn’t have control of my body. “I’m coming! Open the door!” he seemed to be commanding me, and I felt that I had to obey him. So, I pushed with all my power. Then it w
as over, and I heard him cry.
My mother cleaned Abolino and put some salt on his tiny lips, like little leaves. “May you always have salt,” she told him. She hoped he would always have money to buy salt and other necessities he couldn’t grow, and also that his food—his life—would have some flavor.
I paused for a few minutes to drink some water. Verónica asked me if her grandmother had said the same thing when she was born.
“Yes, she did,” I replied. “And I think God granted her wish because you have a job now and can buy the things you need. I think God has also been good to Abolino. He has a lot of coffee plants and can buy the things he needs, and he and his wife are happy together.”
Thank God my first son lived, because many children die at birth. Mothers die, too.
As you know, after I had Sebastian, I gave birth to another child who only lived two days. Lucia wasn’t with me for that birth. She wasn’t at home when Victorio arrived, so he went to find my sister-in-law Marcela who knew a little about helping women give birth.
The birth went well, but then two days later I woke up on the kitchen floor beside the fire on the narrow bed of boards that I slept on for several days after I gave birth. I felt content lying there by the fire with my baby sleeping in the curve of my arm. But when I tried to wake him, I couldn’t. I shook his little body gently, but he didn’t cry or move. Then I realized that he was cold to my touch.
I didn’t want to believe what my heart knew. I moaned and called out to God, “Why did you take my child before he had a chance to live?” Your father woke up to the sound of my sobbing and came into the kitchen where he knelt beside me. After he realized that our son was dead, he started crying too. We stayed together mourning our son for what seemed like a long time.
But it couldn’t have been, because soon your brothers woke up and came into the kitchen to drink their matz before going to school. Abolino and Sebastian were only seven and five at that time. When they saw us crying, they came up close to me and Abolino pulled back the blanket from the lower half of the baby’s face. Then he said, “Mother, why isn’t my little brother crying? What’s wrong with him?”
I explained to my son that his brother couldn’t stay with us, that he had gone to be with God in heaven. Abolino didn’t really understand, but we left it like that and prepared to bury my son.
THE JAGUAR WOMAN
VERÓNICA AND I didn’t talk again for a while. It was my turn at the Zapatista co-op store for a month. Each night when I got home from the co-op, I was too tired to talk. But one Sunday after church I said we could continue Lucia’s story. This time Verónica was determined not to stop recording until I told her about Lucia’s feelings for Madre Ester. But at the same time, she was trying to be respectful, to let me talk about what I wanted to. Which turned out to be my first year living with Victorio’s parents, and then, finally, more about what Verónica really wanted to know.
Soon after Abolino was born, it was time to move to your father’s land to live with his parents until we could build our own home, this house, the only one you’ve ever known. My mother and father-in-law weren’t bad people, but I was sad when I lived with them because I missed my parents terribly. I wasn’t like your father who liked living with my parents. I tried not to show my sadness, but it was always there in the bottom of my stomach reminding me of what I had left behind. My distraction was Abolino who could always make me laugh.
Two years later I had Sebastian. With the two boys life became busier for me but also happier. Your father and his parents were very content with little children in the house. Victorio helped me take care of them, and my mother-in-law often took care of the boys when I went to a course in Yabteclum with my mother.
The year that Sebastian turned one year old, your father and I decided to baptize him at the Feast of St. Peter. I asked Lucia if she would be Sebastian’s godmother, and she happily agreed. That meant that Sebastian wouldn’t have a godfather, but I felt that Lucia was as good as two godparents in many ways. From that time on, Lucia and I were comadres, as well as friends.
But then things with Lucia started to change. What I have to tell you now will be hard for me to tell and maybe for you to hear.
I lowered my voice as if I was afraid that someone besides Verónica and the tape recorder would hear me. Verónica made motions with her hands to make me talk louder, but I didn’t pay attention to her. I just moved closer to the machine and continued.
The year when Lucia and I turned twenty, I started to hear rumors about her that I didn’t want to believe. Eventually I had to accept that some of them were true, like the ones about her getting drunk at healings. But one rumor I refused to believe, at least at first. It came from my aunt who told it to your father and me when we were walking home together from the market.
According to my aunt, one evening she was hurrying up the path to her house, trying to get home before nightfall, when she heard a cry that sounded like a big cat. But it couldn’t be, because we don’t see these creatures in our forest.
The cry got louder until my aunt saw what looked like a jaguar moving toward her a little ways up the mountain. He had spots and a long sleek body, and he made a whipping sound as he zig-zagged through the bushes. My aunt froze, believing that her life was soon to end.
But then, just as the jaguar was about to pounce, he rose from all fours to a standing position and his spots and claws became the clothes and hands of a woman. The jaguar-woman turned to look at my aunt, and then my aunt was truly frightened because she saw that it was Lucia! Before my aunt could call out to her, Lucia covered her face with her shawl and whirled around so that her back was to my aunt. Then Lucia lowered herself to the ground where she turned back into a jaguar and disappeared into the bushes.
At first I didn’t believe my aunt’s story, but later Lucia told me something that made me think it could be true.
I was alone making tamales early one morning when she came to visit. My mother-in-law had helped me wrap the corn and beans in leaves before she left to the market, and now the tamales were steaming in a big pot. Lucia was on her way home from praying for a sick person. I could smell pox on her breath when she sat beside me. This didn’t surprise me because of the rumors I’d heard. But it still made me sad. I searched for a tamale that was cooked all the way through and put it on the table near Lucia.
“Eat, Comadre,” I told her. “It’ll give you strength.”
Lucia accepted the tamale and started to peel off the leaf. I put water on the fire to make coffee, thinking it might sober her up. While I was looking for the coffee and sugar, Lucia told me something that Mol Miguel had told her the week before.
“Last week I went to see Mol Miguel because I had a terrible headache that wouldn’t go away, no matter what medicine I took. It was the first time I had gone to Mol Miguel when I was sick, so he had never held my pulse to hear my blood, to find out what sickness I have.
“When he held my wrist in his hands, I saw a look of surprise come over his face, but then his look changed to one of a person who suddenly understands something they have suspected. Mol Miguel let go of my wrist and said to me, ‘Your spirit companion is wounded, and he is a jaguar, the most powerful of all spirit companions. I remember now, that your grandfather once told me that when he pulsed you he thought that your nagual might be a jaguar. He was waiting to make sure. Your head aches now because your spirit companion is gravely ill, and this places you in danger. You could die. I will pray for you that your nagual heals quickly.’
“Mol Miguel prayed for me that day and the next. We went to a cave near his house for the last prayer. Inside the mouth of the cave, Mol Miguel placed candles and pine boughs and lit incense. Then he took a mouthful of pox and sprayed it all around the cave.
“While he prayed, he took breaks to drink more pox and spray it into the cave. Afterwards he told me that he did this to blind the Earth Lord’s eyes so that my soul and my nagual could escape from the Earth Lord’s prison. Mol Migue
l prayed a long time to call my soul back. At the end of his prayer, he told me that my soul and my nagual were no longer in danger, and that my headaches would soon end.”
Lucia looked me in the eyes and asked, “Comadre, you know what this means, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. Did your headaches go away? What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean that I’ve found out that my cargo demands more of me than I have to give. Only the most powerful healers have jaguars for spirit companions, but I’m just a young woman who learned a little about how to heal.
“Grandfather said that healers who have jaguars for spirit companions have power to heal like God—but unlike God, they can use their power to make people sick or even die. They can do the devil’s work too. I have to control my spirit companion so that all his force goes toward good. I need to be strong to do this and look at me, I’m not strong!”
I looked at Lucia. Her calves and ankles were as thin as the sticks of my loom and her shoulder blades stuck out like handles above the yoke of her blouse. Next to her, with my round body and my ample breasts filled with milk, we had never looked so different.
Lucia went on to tell me that she was afraid of who she was and what she was becoming. “I know you can tell that I was drinking last night, but I have to confess, Comadre, I don’t only drink when I heal. No! I take the pox home with me. After my mother goes to bed, I drink. I don’t care about food anymore, just pox. This is who I am now. My grandfather would be ashamed of me. How can I go back to the little girl who the Moon Virgin chose and who grandfather showed how to heal?”
Lucia was crying now. I reached for her and stroked her hair as she laid her head on my shoulder. I looked for words of comfort and finally I said, “The little girl is still inside you. You just need to stop drinking to find her. The pox covers your eyes so all you can see is how miserable you are. Go back to sodas when you pray, Comadre. Your prayers were just as powerful when that’s all you drank, maybe more powerful because you saw things clearly. After all, that’s what a healer is, an j’ilol, someone who sees what the rest of us can’t.”
When a Woman Rises Page 12