The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [80]
She attended the births of foals. She reached into cows and adjusted the gangly legs of calves in the birth canal. She helped she-goats squeeze out slick bloody babies. By the time her own body was preparing itself to begin its childbearing years, the women of Aquihuiquichi began to ask for her to sit with the midwives as they suffered through labor. Las parteras knew they could not show her the Mystery that happened between the legs, not yet. Huila would have their heads. But they saw no harm in allowing her to witness the pain, to smell the odors of birth, or to hold the shiny babies freshly risen from the womb.
Teófano finally mounted his mule and rode to Cabora. He stood before the gates of the main house, afraid to enter. He stood outside the gates for two hours, hat in hand, watching the front door. It opened. A young woman with a pan of soapy water came out. She poured the water over the roots of the plum tree. “Señorita,” he called. She shielded her eyes and looked out to him. “Huila, por favor.” The young woman went back inside. In another twenty minutes, Huila came out. She saw Teófano and scowled. This, he knew, was a warm greeting from Huila.
“Come in,” she said.
“Oh, no.”
“Come on inside, man. Have some coffee.”
“No, no,” he said. “Not me.”
She came down the steps.
She offered him a small black cigar from her apron pocket. He smiled. He put it in his mouth. She struck a red match on the wall and lit it for him.
“Gracias,” he said.
After a while, she said, “So?”
“It is the girl,” he replied. “She is attending births.”
“Already?”
“Sí.”
Huila sighed.
She said, “Shit.”
Saturday morning seemed like a good time to sleep instead of taking yet another horse ride. Tomás was far too proud to ride a wagon like an old woman or a maize-delivery man. But he had skipped last week’s visit with Loreto and the children, and were he to sleep in today he would miss another.
He stumbled through his predawn routines. A visit to the amazing Aguirre waterpot in its pleasant closet: Aguirre had arranged for water to drop from the ceiling and flush out the bowl. A call for hot water, and the blushing girl delivering a pitcher to him. Stropping the razor and shaving in the little round mirror. Down for breakfast. Coffee.
A knock at the door.
“I’ll get it!” he yelled.
It was Segundo.
“Ready to go?” Tomás said.
“Boss,” said Segundo.
“What?”
“Boss.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“What the devil is wrong with you today?”
Segundo looked around. Tomás looked out into the courtyard. That little street-dog kid Buenaventura was slouching out there.
“Boss, you once told me to report everything.”
“Right. Y ese cabrón?” Tomás asked. “Qué trae?”
Segundo sighed.
“Everything, right?”
Tomás nodded to Buenaventura.
Buenaventura jerked his chin up once.
“Boss,” Segundo said, “it’s all a great mystery, right?”
Tomás looked long at him.
“Segundo?” he said. “Qué chingados dices!”
“Everything encompasses both good and bad. For the good of the ranch.”
“Good-bye,” said Tomás, tiring of this foofaraw and starting to shut the door in Segundo’s face.
He stepped up on the veranda and whispered in Tomás’s ear. “His name is Buenaventura . . . Urrea!”
“Mierda!”
“No, it’s true.”
“Goddamn it!”
“Ask him.”
Tomás glared at Buenaventura.
“Who is your mother?” he snapped.
“Quelita.”
“Quelita who?”
“Angelita the tortilla girl of Ocoroni.”
Tomás blinked.
“Ah cabrón!” he said.
“You courted her sixteen years ago.”
“Ay chingado,” Tomás noted.
He knew perfectly well when he had dated Quelita.
“She lived in a blue house,” Buenaventura said.
Tomás gave his most poisonous stare to Segundo as a memorable gift.
Then he said to Buenaventura: “I remember the blasted house.”
Segundo said, “Sorry, boss.”
They stood there staring off at the land, each one’s eyes cast in a different direction.
After a few minutes, Tomás sighed, rubbed his face. “I suppose,” he said, “you caballeros should come in for some coffee.”
Twenty-five
“LOOK AT YOU,” Huila said when she entered the shack.
Teresita jumped up from