the young boys overseas, and their families move to California where there is work—”
“Ave Mariá Purisima,” my mother made the sign of the cross for my three brothers who were away at war. “Gabriel,” she said to my father, “it is not right that la Grande be alone in her old age—”
“No,” my father agreed.
“When I married you and went to the llano to live with you and raise your family, I could not have survived without la Grande’s help. Oh, those were hard years—”
“Those were good years,” my father countered. But my mother would not argue.
“There isn’t a family she did not help,” she continued, “no road was too long for her to walk to its end to snatch somebody from the jaws of death, and not even the blizzards of the llano could keep her from the appointed place where a baby was to be delivered—”
“Es verdad,” my father nodded.
“She tended me at the birth of my sons—” And then I knew her eyes glanced briefly at my father. “Gabriel, we cannot let her live her last days in loneliness—”
“No,” my father agreed, “it is not the way of our people.”
“It would be a great honor to provide a home for la Grande,” my mother murmured. My mother called Ultima la Grande out of respect. It meant the woman was old and wise.
“I have already sent word with Campos that Ultima is to come and live with us,” my father said with some satisfaction. He knew it would please my mother.
“I am grateful,” my mother said tenderly, “perhaps we can repay a little of the kindness la Grande has given to so many.”
“And the children?” my father asked. I knew why he expressed concern for me and my sisters. It was because Ultima was a curandera, a woman who knew the herbs and remedies of the ancients, a miracle-worker who could heal the sick. And I had heard that Ultima could lift the curses laid by brujas, that she could exorcise the evil the witches planted in people to make them sick. And because a curandera had this power she was misunderstood and often suspected of practicing witchcraft herself.
I shuddered and my heart turned cold at the thought. The cuentos of the people were full of the tales of evil done by brujas.
“She helped bring them into the world, she cannot be but good for the children,” my mother answered.
“Está bien,” my father yawned, “I will go for her in the morning.”
So it was decided that Ultima should come and live with us. I knew that my father and mother did good by providing a home for Ultima. It was the custom to provide for the old and the sick. There was always room in the safety and warmth of la familia for one more person, be that person stranger or friend.
It was warm in the attic, and as I lay quietly listening to the sounds of the house falling asleep and repeating a Hail Mary over and over in my thoughts, I drifted into the time of dreams. Once I had told my mother about my dreams, and she said they were visions from God and she was happy, because her own dream was that I should grow up and become a priest. After that I did not tell her about my dreams, and they remained in me forever and ever…
In my dream I flew over the rolling hills of the llano. My soul wandered over the dark plain until it came to a cluster of adobe huts. I recognized the village of Las Pasturas and my heart grew happy. One mud hut had a lighted window, and the vision of my dream swept me towards it to be witness at the birth of a baby.
I could not make out the face of the mother who rested from the pains of birth, but I could see the old woman in black who tended the just-arrived, steaming baby. She nimbly tied a knot on the cord that had connected the baby to its mother’s blood, then quickly she bent and with her teeth she bit off the loose end. She wrapped the squirming baby and laid it at the mother’s side, then she returned to cleaning the bed. All linen was swept aside to be washed, but she carefully wrapped the useless cord and the afterbirth and laid the package at the feet of the Virgin on the small altar. I sensed that these things were yet to