Bless Me, Ultima (11 page)

“Crazy little bastard!” Andrew nodded. His face was red from running and his eyes full of tears. “Someday you will beat him, Tony. Some day you will beat us all—” He waved and went off to work.

I did not feel that I could ever beat the Vitamin Kid, but Andrew must have had a reason for saying that. I looked across the bridge and Samuel was starting across. I waited for him and we walked to school together.

“Samuel,” I asked, “where does the Kid live?”

“The Kid is my brother,” Samuel said softly. I did not know if he was kidding or not, but we never talked about it again.

That year we waited for the world to end. Each day the rumor spread farther and wider until all the kids were looking at the calendar and waiting for the day. “It’ll be in fire,” one would say, “it’ll be in water,” another would argue. “It’s in the Bible, my father said.” The days grew heavy and ominous. Nobody seemed to know except the kids that the world was coming to an end. During recess we gathered in the playground and talked about it. We talked about the signs we had seen; Bones even said he had talked to people from a ship from space. We looked at the clouds and waited. We prayed. Fear grew. Then the day came, and was gone, and it was kind of disappointing that the world didn’t end. Then everybody just said, “See, I told you so.”

And that year Bones had a wild fit and busted Willie’s head open with a big jar of paste. It was too bad because after that not too many of us ate the sweet-tasting paste.

That year a pissing contest was held behind the schoolhouse, and Horse won, but the principal found out about it and all the pissers in the contest got spanked.

George got to burping in class. He could burp anytime he wanted to. He would just go “Auggghk!” Then he could do variations with it. “Augggh-pah-pah-pop!” He would do it in girls’ ears and get socked every time. But he didn’t mind, he was kinda crazy, like Bones.

And that year I learned to read and write. Miss Maestas was very pleased with me. On the last day of school she handed out report cards to the other kids, but when it came to me she took me to the principal’s office. He explained to me that I was a little older than the other kids in first grade and that my progress had been very good. Miss Maestas beamed. So instead of passing me from first to second he was passing me from first to third.

“What do you think of that?” he smiled.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I was very happy. My mother would be proud of me, and that meant that next year I would be in the same grade as the rest of the gang.

“Your mother will be very pleased,” Miss Maestas said. She kissed my cheek.

“Yes,” I said.

The principal handed me my report card and a piece of paper. “That will explain everything to your parents,” he said. He shook my hand, like man to man, and he said, “Good luck.”

There was magic in the letters, and I had been eager to learn the secret.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

The rest of the day we were like goats held by hobbles. At the end of the day some of the mothers planned a party for our class, but I did not feel like staying because I still felt apart from them. And my mother would not be there. I thanked Miss Maestas for her help, and when the last bell rang I ran home. The freedom of the summer raced with my footsteps as I worked my way through the sweaty, swarming mob of kids.

“School is over! School is over!” was on every tongue. The buses honked nervously for their kids. I waved and the farm kids waved back. We would see each other next fall. By the see-saws a fight had started, but I didn’t want to waste time watching it.

“Whaggggggh!” The cry split the air. The vatos from Los Jaros ran by. I raced after them but cut off at Allen’s, past the Longhorn Saloon, cut past Rosie’s and to the bridge.

I started across the bridge, and it was the first time I ever remember talking to it. I sang a song in my mind. Oh beautiful bridge, I cross you and leave the town, I cross towards the llano! I climb the hill, I race over the goat path, and I am home! I did not feel it was a silly song, I only felt happy.

“Toni-eeeeee…” hoof beats clattered on the concrete and the hatchet face of the Kid passed me by.

“Pass?”

“Yeah!” And he was gone. At the far end of the bridge he passed Samuel. “Samuel!” I called. He turned and waited for me. “I passed, did you?”

“Oh yes,” he smiled, “those teachers keep passing us right along,” he said. Samuel was only in the third grade, but he always seemed wise and old when he talked, kind of like my grandfather.

“But I passed to the third grade, next year I’ll be in class with you!” I bragged.

“Good,” he said, “let’s go fishing.”

“Now?”

“Sure.”

Usually I only thought of fishing on weekends, but it was true that school was over. The first runoff was just subsiding in the river. There should be a lot of hungry catfish waiting for us.

“No line,” I said.

“I have some,” he said.

I thought of my mother. I always went straight home after school, but today I had something to celebrate. I was growing up and becoming a man and suddenly I realized that I could make decisions.

“Sure,” I said. We turned right towards the railroad bridge. I never came up this way. Farther up were the cliffs where Jasón’s Indian lived. We passed under the dark shadow of the gigantic railroad bridge.

“There is evil here,” Samuel said. He pointed to a clear plastic balloon beside the path. I did not know why that was evil.

“Heeee-heee-haaaah-haaaaaagh!” Frightening, wild laughter filled the air. I froze in my tracks. I thought that surely here in the dark shadow of this bridge la Llorna lurked.

“Ay!” I cried. I must have jumped because Samuel put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. He pointed up. I looked up at the black girders of the huge bridge and saw a figure scamper precariously from perch to perch. I thought it was the Kid.

“Is he crazy?” I asked Samuel.

Samuel only smiled. “He is my brother,” he answered. He led me out of the shadow of the bridge and far away from it. We walked to the bank of the river where Samuel had some line and hooks hidden. We cut some tamarisk branches for poles and dug worms for bait.

“You fish a lot?” I asked.

“I have always been a fisherman,” he answered, “as long as I can remember—”

“You fish,” he said.

“Yes. I learned to fish with my brothers when I was very little. Then they went to war and I couldn’t fish anymore. Then Ultima came—” I paused.

“I know,” he said.

“So last summer I fished. Sometimes with Jasón.”

“You have a lot to learn—”

“Yes,” I answered.

The afternoon sun was warm on the sand. The muddy waters after-the-flood churned listlessly south, and out of the deep hole by the rock in front of us the catfish came. They were biting good for the first fishing of summer. We caught plenty of channel catfish and a few small yellow-bellies.

“Have you ever fished for the carp of the river?”

The river was full of big, brown carp. It was called the River of the Carp. Everybody knew it was bad luck to fish for the big carp that the summer floods washed downstream. After every flood, when the swirling angry waters of the river subsided, the big fish could be seen fighting their way back upstream. It had always been so.

The waters would subside very fast and in places the water would be so low that, as the carp swam back upstream, the backs of the fish would raise a furrow in the water. Sometimes the townspeople came to stand on the bridge and watch the struggle as the carp splashed their way back to the pools from which the flood had uprooted them. Some of the town kids, not knowing it was bad luck to catch the carp, would scoop them out of the low waters and toss the fish upon the sand bars. There the poor carp would flop until they dried out and died, then later the crows would swoop down and eat them.

Some people in town would even buy the carp for a nickel and eat the fish! That was very bad. Why, I did not know.

It was a beautiful sight to behold, the struggle of the carp to regain his abode before the river dried to a trickle and trapped him in strange pools of water. What was beautiful about it was that you knew that against all the odds some of the carp made it back and raised their families, because every year the drama was repeated.

“No,” I answered, “I do not fish for carp. It is bad luck.”

“Do you know why?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.

“No,” I said and held my breath. I felt I sat on the banks of an undiscovered river whose churning, muddied waters carried many secrets.

“I will tell you a story,” Samuel said after a long silence, “a story that was told to my father by Jasón’s Indian—”

I listened breathlessly. The lapping of the water was like the tide of time sounding on my soul.

“A long time ago, when the earth was young and only wandering tribes touched the virgin grasslands and drank from the pure streams, a strange people came to this land. They were sent to this valley by their gods. They had wandered lost for many years but never had they given up faith in their gods, and so they were finally rewarded. This fertile valley was to be their home. There were plenty of animals to eat, strange trees that bore sweet fruit, sweet water to drink and for their fields of maíz—”

“Were they Indians?” I asked when he paused.

“They were
the people,
” he answered simply and went on. “There was only one thing that was withheld from them, and that was the fish called the carp. This fish made his home in the waters of the river, and he was sacred to the gods. For a long time the people were happy. Then came the forty years of the sun-without-rain, and crops withered and died, the game was killed, and the people went hungry. To stay alive they finally caught the carp of the river and ate them.”

I shivered. I had never heard a story like this one. It was getting late and I thought of my mother.

“The gods were very angry. They were going to kill all of the people for their sin. But one kind god who truly loved the people argued against it, and the other gods were so moved by his love that they relented from killing the people. Instead, they turned the people into carp and made them live forever in the waters of the river—”

The setting sun glistened on the brown waters of the river and turned them to bronze.

“It is a sin to catch them,” Samuel said, “it is a worse offense to eat them. They are a part of
the people
.” He pointed towards the middle of the river where two huge back fins rose out of the water and splashed upstream.

“And if you eat one,” I whispered, “you might be punished like they were punished.”

“I don’t know,” Samuel said. He rose and took my fishing line.

“Is that all the story?” I asked.

He divided the catfish we had caught and gave me my share on a small string. “No, there is more,” he said. He glanced around as if to make sure we were alone. “Do you know about the golden carp?” he asked in a whisper.

“No,” I shook my head.

“When the gods had turned the people into carp, the one kind god who loved the people grew very sad. The river was full of dangers to the new fish. So he went to the other gods and told them that he chose to be turned into a carp and swim in the river where he could take care of his people. The gods agreed. But because he was a god they made him very big and colored him the color of gold. And they made him the lord of all the waters of the valley.”

“The golden carp,” I said to myself, “a new god?” I could not believe this strange story, and yet I could not disbelieve Samuel. “Is the golden carp still here?”

“Yes,” Samuel answered. His voice was strong with faith. It made me shiver, not because it was cold but because the roots of everything I had ever believed in seemed shaken. If the golden carp was a god, who was the man on the cross? The Virgin? Was my mother praying to the wrong God?

“Where?” I wanted to know.

“It is very late,” Samuel said. “You have learned a lot today. This summer Cico will find you and take you to the golden carp—” And with a swish of branches he disappeared into the dusk.

“Samuel!” I called. Only silence. I had heard Cico’s name mentioned before. He was a town boy, but he didn’t hang out with them. They said he spent all his time along the river, fishing. I turned homeward in the gathering dusk, full of wonder at the strange story Samuel had told me.

“Toni-eeee!” someone called. I broke into a run and didn’t stop until I got home.

When I got home my mother was very angry with me. I had never been late before. “¡Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe! I have been crazy with worry about you!” she cried. I showed her my promotion and her feelings changed quickly. “Grande, Deborah, Theresa! Come quick! Tony had been promoted two grades! Oh I knew he would be a man of learning, maybe a priest!” She crossed herself and sobbed as she held me tightly.

Ultima was very happy too. “This one learns as much in one day as most do in a year,” she smiled. I wondered if she knew about the golden carp.

“We must pray to the Virgin,” my mother said, and although Deborah objected, saying nobody prayed for a grade promotion, my mother gathered us around the Virgin’s altar.

My father arrived home late from work and was hungry. We were still praying and supper was late. He was angry.

T
he summer came and burned me brown with its energy, and the llano and the river filled me with their beauty. The story of the golden carp continued to haunt my dreams. I went to Samuel’s house but it was boarded up. A neighbor, an old lady, told me that Samuel and his father had taken a job sheepherding for the rest of the summer. My only other avenue to the golden carp would be Cico, so every day I fished along the river, and watched and waited.

Andrew worked all day so I did not see him much, but it was reassuring at least to have him home. León and Gene hardly ever wrote. Ultima and I worked in the garden every morning, struggling against the llano to rescue good earth in which to plant. We spoke little, but we shared a great deal. In the afternoons I was free to roam along the river or in the blazing hills of the llano.