to the doves cou-rou while we cross the mighty River of the Carp to build our father’s castle in the hills.
I must go! I cried to the three dark figures. I must lift the muddy waters of the river in blessing to our new home!
Along the river the tormented cry of a lonely goddess filled the valley. The winding wail made the blood of men run cold.
It is la llorona, my brothers cried in fear, the old witch who cries along the river banks and seeks the blood of boys and men to drink!
La llorona seeks the soul of Antoniooooooooo…
It is the soul of Lupito, they cried in fear, doomed to wander the river at night because the waters washed his soul away!
Lupito seeks his blessinggggggggg…
It is neither! I shouted. I swung the dark robe of the priest over my shoulders then lifted my hands in the air. The mist swirled around me and sparks flew when I spoke. It is the presence of the river!
Save us, my brothers cried and cowered at my words.
I spoke to the presence of the river and it allowed my brothers to cross with their carpenter tools to build our castle on the hill.
Behind us I heard my mother moan and cry because with each turning of the sun her son was growing old…
Tres
The day dawned, and already the time of youth was fleeing the house which the three giants of my dreams had built on the hill of juniper tree and yucca and mesquite bush. I felt the sun of the east rise and I heard its light crackle and groan and mix into the songs of the mockingbirds on the hill. I opened my eyes and the rays of light that dazzled through the dusty window of my room washed my face clean.
The sun was good. The men of the llano were men of the sun. The men of the farms along the river were men of the moon. But we were all children of the white sun.
There was a bitter taste in my mouth. I remembered the remedy Ultima had given me after my frightful flight from the river. I looked at my arms and I felt my face. I had received cuts from tree branches before and I knew that the next day the cuts were red with dry blood and that the welts were sore. But last night’s cuts were only thin pink lines on my flesh, and there was no pain. There was a strange power in Ultima’s medicine.
Where was Lupito’s soul? He had killed the sheriff and so he had died with a mortal sin on his soul. He would go to hell. Or would God forgive him and grant him Purgatory, the lonely, hopeless resting place of those who were neither saved nor damned. But God didn’t forgive anyone. Perhaps, like the dream said, the waters of the river had washed his soul away, and perhaps as the water seeped into the earth Lupito’s soul would water the orchards of my uncles, and the bright red apples would….
Or perhaps he was doomed to wander the river bottom forever, a bloody mate to la Llorona… and now when I walked alone along the river I would always have to turn and glance over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of a shadow—Lupito’s soul, or la Llorona, or the presence of the river.
I lay back and watched the silent beams of light radiate in the colorful dust motes I had stirred up. I loved to watch the sunbeams of each new morning enter the room. They made me feel fresh and clean and new. Each morning I seemed to awaken with new experiences and dreams strangely mixed into me. Today it was all the vivid images of what had happened at the bridge last night. I thought of Chávez, angered by the death of his brother, seeking the blood of revenge. I thought of Narciso, standing alone against the dark figures on the bridge. I thought of my father. I wondered if he had fired down on Lupito.
Now the men on the bridge walked the earth with the terrible burden of dark mortal sin on their souls, and hell was the only reward.
I heard my mother’s footsteps in the kitchen. I heard the stove clang and I knew she was kindling last night’s ashes.
“¡Gabriel!” she called. She always called my father first. “Get up. It is Sunday,” then she muttered, “and oh such evil things that walked the