Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya

Author:Rudolfo Anaya [Anaya, Rudolfo]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
ISBN: 9780446675369
Publisher: Warner
Published: 1972-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Trece

We awakened late and hurried to pack for our trip to El Puerto. We did not talk about the awful thing that had happened that night, but I guess it was because of it that my father decided to go with us. We were excited because it was the first time he had made the trip and stayed. He went into town and arranged for a week’s leave from his work on the highway. When he returned I heard him whisper to my mother about the talk in town.

“Tenorio is in the hospital, he has lost the eye—and they say the priest at El Puerto will not allow the dead daughter inside the church for her mass. There is no telling what will happen—”

“I am glad you are going with us, Gabriel,” my mother answered.

I went outside. Someone, I guess my mother, had cleaned away the burnt torches and swept clean the patio. There was no trace of what had happened. The sun shone white and clean, and there was chill in the air. I ran to Jasón’s and asked him to feed the animals for me while we were gone. When I returned my uncle Pedro was already there, helping to load our luggage.

“¡Antonio!” he greeted me with an abrazo. I returned the greeting and went off to find Ultima. I was worried about her. But I found her busy at work, cleaning up the morning dishes. Everyone was busy doing something, and that helped us to forget the terror of the night before.

Deborah, Theresa, my mother and Ultima rode with my father. I rode with my uncle. We drove in silence and I had time to think. We drove past Rosie’s house and I thought about the sins of the town and how the golden carp would punish the sinners. He would drown them in clear, blue water. Then we passed the church and I thought about God’s punishment for sinners. He casts them in the burning pit of hell where they burn for eternity.

We passed over the bridge at El Rito and I remembered Cico’s story of the people and the god who became a fish. But why had the new god, the golden carp, chosen also to punish people? The old God did it already. Drowning or burning, the punishment was all the same. The soul was lost, unsafe, unsure, suffering—why couldn’t there be a god who would never punish his people, a god who would be forgiving all of the time? Perhaps the Virgin Mary was such a god? She had forgiven the people who killed her son. She always forgave. Perhaps the best god would be like a woman, because only women really knew how to forgive.

“You are quiet, Antonio,” my uncle Pedro interrupted my thoughts, “are you thinking about last night?”

“No,” I replied, “I am thinking about God.”

“¡Ay! Do not let me interrupt you.”

“Why did you not come to warn us last night?” I asked. My uncle frowned.

“Well,” he said finally, “your grandfather

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