glossy braids falling over her shoulders made me feel that she had performed this ceremony in some distant past.
My father picked up a dry brush of yerba de la vívora and striking a match to it he used it as a torch to set fire to the platform. The fire sputtered at first, but as it found the drier branches it hissed and crackled then whooshed up in a ball of yellow fire. The fragrance of the dry bush had been sharp and tangy, but as the green branches caught fire the sweet, spermy smell of the evergreen filled the air.
“Continue feeding the fire until I return,” Ultima commanded, and she turned and walked back to the house. We piled branches beneath the platform and kept it burning. Soon even the cedar posts were burning. Their popping sound and their sweet scent filled the night air. Somehow the fire seemed to dispel the brooding mystery we had felt since the shower of rocks.
“What is it we burn?” I asked my father as we watched the inferno envelop the bundles.
“I don’t know,” my father answered, “it is all so strange. My father once told me a story about the early comancheros on this llano, and what they learned from the Indians about their burial ceremony. They did not bury their dead the way we do, but they made a platform like this one and cremated the body. It was part of their way of life—”
He paused and I asked, “Are these the—” but before I could finish he said, “I don’t know, but if it will help Téllez be rid of these ungodly things who are we to question old ways—”
In the dark night we heard an owl sing. It was Ultima’s owl. It seemed the first sign of life we had heard around the ranch all day, and it lifted our spirits. Somehow the memory of the falling rocks faded with the owl’s cry, and what had been frightening and unexplainable grew distant. I looked for the rock pile in the corral, but I could not see it. Perhaps it was because the bright fire made the shadows around us very dark.
“¡Cuidado!” my father shouted. I turned and jumped back as the top of the platform toppled into the ashes beneath. A flower of sparks blossomed into the night air. The four posts which had held the platform continued to burn like torches, one for each of the directions of the wind. We threw the rest of the juniper branches in the fire. Already the platform and the three bundles were only white ashes.
“You two are good workers,” Ultima said. We had not heard her and were startled at her approach. I went to her and took her hand. She smelled sweet with incense. “It is done,” she said.
“Good,” my father answered and wiped his hands.
“You know, Gabriel,” she said to my father, “I am getting old. Perhaps this would be the best burial you could provide me—” She peered into the dying fire and smiled. I could see that she was very tired.
“It is a good way to return to the earth,” my father agreed. “I think the confines of a damp casket will bother me too. This way the spirit soars immediately into the wind of the llano, and the ashes blend quickly into the earth—”
Téllez came and stood by us. He too peered into the embers of the strange fire. “She says the curse is lifted,” he said dumbly. He too looked very tired.
“Then it is,” my father answered.
“How can I pay you?” Téllez asked Ultima.
“Instead of my silver,” she said, “you can bring us a nice lamb the next time you come to Guadalupe—”
“I will bring a dozen,” he smiled weakly.
“And stay away from the one-eyed Tenorio,” she finished.
“¡Ay! That devil was in this too!” my father exclaimed.
“I was at El Puerto about a month ago,” Téllez said, “I went to the saloon for a drink, and to play some cards. I tell you, Gabriel, that man has nothing but revenge in his heart for la Grande. He said something insulting, and I answered him. I thought nothing of it, I was only upholding my honor, our honor, the pride of those from Las Pasturas. Well, a week later the bad things started here—”
“You picked a bad one to tangle with,” my father shook his head thoughtfully as he stared into the dying fire, “Tenorio has already murdered one of our friends—”