The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [55]
“I should see,” she said.
“A messiah?” Aguirre asked. “A heretic, perhaps. An Antichrist! There is but one messiah.”
Huila eyed him.
“Yes, well,” she said.
Certain members of the rancho had already started to walk into the foothills. They were converting before they even saw Chepito. Tomás watched this with some alarm.
“Why are they going?” he asked Huila.
She shrugged.
“Curious,” she said. And, “If you were them, would you live like this?”
“Like what?” he asked.
Huila shook her head.
“I will return tomorrow,” she said. “Do not leave without me.”
She set about gathering her bundle of things for the walk, her shotgun and some shells. Old Teófano loaded his shotgun as well, and he threw a roll of blankets over his shoulder. Teresita, uninvited, joined them.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Into the hills,” Huila replied. “A place they are calling Sal Si Puedes.”
Get Out If You Can. It seemed like the wittiest name Teresita had ever heard for a place.
Teófano made a face and shook his head. “These desert and mountain people are crazy,” he said. “We don’t have messiahs in Sinaloa!”
They started walking along the obvious path cut through the grasses by the pilgrims. All kinds of interesting things lay along the path. An abandoned huarache. A bloody cloth. A length of hair tied to a tree, left as a manda to some saint—a woman trading her long mane for the health of a child, or the safety of a mate. Huila saw cast-off religious pictures of former messiahs the People had turned against.
They came upon a small camp with seven Mexicans gathered around a fire. Teresita was astounded to find Tía squatting here with her children.
“Auntie!” she cried.
Tía smiled.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said.
Teresita thought she was very strange. As if she were dreaming. Her eyes stared off over Teresita’s shoulder. Teresita turned to see what Tía was looking at, but she was staring at nothing.
“Isn’t what wonderful, Auntie?” she asked.
“Deliverance!”
The pilgrims hunched near Tía laughed and clapped and said, “Amen.”
Tía rose and tossed her cigarette makings into the flame.
“Deliverance,” she repeated.
“Adios!” Huila said and pulled Teresita along the path. “Está loca. Don’t look back, child. Let us go see for ourselves.”
“We should go back,” said Teófano.
“Don’t be a coward,” Huila muttered.
They went uphill, and then the path forked down into a steep canyon. They could smell the camp before they saw it. A stench of sweat and smoke rose out of the canyon. The little piñon pines were twisted in the midafternoon light, and smoke curled through their branches like little banners. Before they knew they were near, they broke through the trees and were in the camp. It wasn’t huge, but it was a mess. Broken carts and untethered mules filled the bottom of the canyon, and lean-to shacks seemed to collapse among busted wagons and drooping tents. Only about three hundred pilgrims were gathered. Huila strained and saw the Promised One seated on a small stage at the center of a moiling crowd. He looked like a fat boy sitting on a pillow with his legs crossed.
She grabbed Teresita’s hand and pulled her into the crowd, Don Teófano on guard behind them with his shotgun held across his chest. People parted easily to let them pass; blissful and starry-eyed, they hummed and rocked on their heels, said “Amen” quietly, and occasionally broke into giggles. Teresita’s neck hairs stood on end.
Near the stage, a small group of dancers whirled and whirled. Three men lay facedown in the dirt; one of them twitched and trembled as if he were being whipped by a savage wind.
“Does that man need help?” Huila asked.
A woman said, “No, hermana. He has seen God!”
“Ah, cabrón!” said Huila.
Niño Chepito was sitting on a small bit of carpet in the shade of a scraggly tree. His stage had raised him about three feet above their heads. His long hair was gathered behind his head and held in place by red ribbons. He had a generous double chin. He wore white peasant pants and a brightly colored blouse covered