The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [153]
Until that day, we pray for you. We light candles in your honor.
And in the name of all that is Holy, we will kill anyone who comes against you. Amen and amen.
In God,
Cruz Chávez
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My Dear Pope, Your Holiness:
Today, I was forced to let a man die. It was very sad. (Perhaps you recall our conversations. I do!) His sons had brought him on a pallet. He was old and frail. His insides were all hollowed out from cancer.
They cried for me to save their father. I knelt beside the old man and held his hand. “I cannot save you,” I told him. “Must I die?” he asked. “You must.” The sons started yelling, saying I was a fake, a devil. Saying I had no power. I tried to silence them. I told them, “I never had power. The only power I have is the power you yourselves have. God has the power. We are here to serve.” But they were angry at me.
Cruz! So many people are angry at me! I never liked being yelled at, you know. My auntie used to yell terrible things at me. Ay! It would be nicer if everybody liked me. Do you feel this way? Oh, you big Tiger—you don’t care if people like you or not, do you? So fierce!
I whispered to the old man. I told him what we both know. (Heaven and God.) It was he who silenced the sons. Can you believe it? He called them to him and said, “Don’t yell, boys. Don’t be angry. She has given me the best gift—better than healing. She has given me peace. She has given me a good death. I am not afraid.”
They carried him away.
My head hurts after a day like that.
I was sad to see you Tigers were gone. But I cherish your letter.
Your Friend,
Teresita
Not the “Saint”
of Cabora
P.S. Do no violence. Kill no one.
Fifty-one
TOMáS COULDN’T SLEEP. Even on the nights when his delightful Gabriela took him into the tender fragrance of her sexuality and they made love late, he lay awake afterward. He could feel the press of the bodies through the walls. The weird gurgle of the crowd. Coughs and scuffles and cries and hiccups. Bellies and noses made endless ugly noises, but they were so faint, especially as the crowds slept, that it almost became a lulling chant, like the sound of the river on that long-distant day that they had begun their journey from Ocoroni and had ridden the leaky ferry raft. One thought led to another. The sound of the wind somehow took him back to the apocalyptic graves of the two Indian lovers in the desert, and he imagined them writhing there still, trying to dig through the unyielding earth with the crowns of their heads.
Gabriela was asleep beside him in her usual cloud of deliciousness. He put his face to her hair and smelled her. Then he put his mouth on her bare belly and lipped the edges of her navel. He pulled the sheet up over her, kicked his legs over the edge of the bed, and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“Oh hell,” he muttered.
He rose, pulled on his trousers and let the suspenders hang down in back. He wore a white undershirt. He washed his face and ran his fingers through his still-thick hair. Not going bald yet! He fixed his mustache.
Might as well go down to the kitchen and see if there was anything to eat.
Tomás snuck out barefoot and made his way down the stairs. He checked the front door, to make sure it was locked. Went down the hall by touch, running his left hand along the wall. He turned the corner into the kitchen and found Teresita sitting at the table.
“Ay!” he said.
“Ay!” she cried.
She had lit a pair of candles. She had a plate before her with a large slice of calabaza. A glass of milk she had strained through a cheesecloth clotted with curds and cow hair.
“Father,” she said. “You startled me.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She nodded.
“I thought a snack,” he added, “might help.”
She gestured at her calabaza.
“Me too.”
He stood for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He finally stepped to her and put his hand on the back of her head. He caught a whiff of roses. Yes, that. The legendary