Read Online Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya - Free Book Online

to Ultima.
    “If you listen carefully—” she whispered.
    “Can you speak to it?” I asked as the whirling, haunting sound touched us.
    “Ay, my child,” Ultima smiled and touched my head, “you want to know so much—”
    And the
presence
was gone.
    “Come, it is time to start homeward.” She rose and with the sack over her shoulder hobbled up the hill. I followed. I knew that if she did not answer my question that that part of life was not yet ready to reveal itself to me. But I was no longer afraid of the
presence
of the river.
    We circled homeward. On the way back we found some manzanilla. Ultima told me that when my brother León was born that his mollera was sunken in, and that she had cured him with manzanilla.
    She spoke to me of the common herbs and medicines we shared with the Indians of the Rio del Norte. She spoke of the ancient medicines of other tribes, the Aztecas, Mayas, and even of those in the old, old country, the Moors. But I did not listen, I was thinking of my brothers León, and Andrew, and Eugene.
    When we arrived home we put the plants on the roof of the chicken shed to dry in the white sun. I placed small rocks on them so the wind wouldn’t blow them away. There were some plants that Ultima could not obtain on the llano or the river, but many people came to seek cures from her and they brought in exchange other herbs and roots. Especially prized were those plants that were from the mountains.
    When we had finished we went in to eat. The hot beans flavored with chicos and green chile were muy sabrosos. I was so hungry that I ate three whole tortillas. My mother was a good cook and we were happy as we ate. Ultima told her of the orégano we found and that pleased her.
    “The time of the harvest is here,” she said, “it is time to go to my brothers’ farms. Juan has sent word that they are expecting us.”
    Every autumn we made a pilgrimage to El Puerto where my grandfather and uncles lived. There we helped gather the harvest and brought my mother’s share home with us.
    “He says there is much corn, and ay, such sweet corn my brothers raise!” she went on. “And there is plenty of red chile for making ristras, and fruit, ay! The apples of the Lunas are known throughout the state!” My mother was very proud of her brothers, and when she started talking she went on and on. Ultima nodded courteously, but I slipped out of the kitchen.
    The day was warm at noonday, not lazy and droning like July but mellow with late August. I went to Jasón’s house and we played together all afternoon. We talked about Lupito’s death, but I did not tell Jasón what I had seen. Then I went to the river and cut the tall, green alfalfa that grew wild and carried the bundle home so that I would have a few days of food laid in for the rabbits.
    Late in the afternoon my father came whistling up the goat path, striding home from the flaming-orange sun, and we ran to meet him. “Cabritos!” he called. “Cabroncitos!” And he swung Theresa and Deborah on his shoulders while I walked beside him carrying his lunch pail.
    After supper we always prayed the rosary. The dishes were quickly done then we gathered in the sala where my mother kept her altar. My mother had a beautiful statue of la Virgen de Guadalupe. It was nearly two feet high. She was dressed in a long, flowing blue gown, and she stood on the horned moon. About her feet were the winged heads of angels, the babes of Limbo. She wore a crown on her head because she was the queen of heaven. There was no one I loved more than the Virgin.
    We all knew the story of how the Virgin had presented herself to the little Indian boy in Mexico and about the miracles she had wrought. My mother said the Virgin was the saint of our land, and although there were many other good saints, I loved none as dearly as the Virgin. It was hard to say the rosary because you had to kneel for as long as the prayers lasted, but I did not mind because while my mother prayed I