He came to a halt and sat down to catch his breath. I sat next to him. We did not talk for a long time.
‘Why don’t you dig it out with the shovel?’ I asked.
‘It could cut and injure the plant. I had to get a stick that belonged to this area so that, if I had struck the root, the injury wouldn’t have been as bad as one caused by a shovel or a foreign object.’
‘What kind of a stick did you get?’
‘Any dry branch of the paloverde tree would do. If there are no dry branches you have to cut a fresh one.’
‘ Can you use the branches of any other tree?’
‘ I told you, only paloverde and not any other.’
‘Why is that so, don Juan?’
‘ Because the devil’s weed has very few friends, and paloverde is the only tree in this area which agrees with her – the only thing that grabs or hooks onto it [lo unico que prende]. If you damage the root with a shovel she will not grow for you when you replant her, but if you injure her with such a stick, chances are the plant will not even feel it.’
‘ What are you going to do with the root now?’
‘I’m going to cut it. You must leave me. Go find another plant and wait until I call you.’
‘ Don’t you want me to help you ?’
‘ You may help me only if I ask you!’
I walked away and started to look for another plant in order to fight the strong desire to sneak around and watch him. After some time he joined me.
‘Let us look for the female now,’ he said.
‘How do you tell them apart?’
‘The female is taller and grows above the ground so it really looks like a small tree. The male is large and spreads out near the ground and looks more like a thick bush. Once we dig the female out you will see it has a single root going for quite a way before it becomes a fork. The male, on the other hand, has a forked root joined to the stem.’
We looked together through the field of daturas. Then, pointing to a plant, he said, ‘That’s a female.’ And he proceeded to dig it out as he had done the other. As soon as he had cleared the root I was able to see that the root conformed to his prediction. I left him again when he was about to cut it.
When we got to his house he opened the bundle in which he had put the Datura plants. He took the larger one, the male, first and washed it in a big metal tray. Very carefully he scrubbed all the dirt from the root, stem, and leaves. After that meticulous cleaning, he severed the stem from the root by making a superficial incision around the width of their juncture with a short, serrated knife and by cracking them apart. He took the stem and separated every part of it by making individual heaps with leaves, flowers, and the prickly seedpods. He threw away everything that was dry or had been spoiled by worms, and kept only those parts that were complete. He tied together the two branches of the root with two pieces of string, cracked them in half after making a superficial cut at the joint, and got two pieces of root of equal size.
He then took a piece of rough burlap cloth and placed in it first the two pieces of root tied together; on top of them he put the leaves in a neat bunch, then the flowers, the seedpods, and the stem. He folded the burlap and made a knot with the corners.
He repeated exactly the same steps with the other plant, the female, except that when he got to the root, instead of cutting it, he left the fork intact, like an upside-down letter Y. Then he placed all the parts in another cloth bundle. When he finished, it was already dark.
Wednesday, 6 September 1961
Today, late in the afternoon, we returned to the topic of the
devil’s weed.
‘I think we should start with that weed again,’ don Juan said suddenly.
After a polite silence I asked him, ‘What are you going to do with the plants?’
‘The plants I dug out and cut are mine,’ he said. ‘It is as though they were myself; with them I’m going to teach you the way to tame the devil’s weed.’
‘How will you do that?’
‘The devil’s weed is divided into portions [partes]. Each one of these portions is different; each has its unique purpose and service.”
He opened his left hand and measured on the floor from the tip of his thumb to the tip of his fourth finger.
‘This is my portion. You will measure yours with your own hand. Now, to establish dominion over the devil’s weed, you must begin by taking the first portion of the root. But since I have brought you to her, you must take the first portion of the root of my plant. I have measured it for you, so it is really my portion that you must take at the beginning.’
He went inside the house and brought out one of the burlap bundles. He sat down and opened it. I noticed it was the male plant. I also noticed there was only one piece of root. He took the piece that was left from the original set of two and held it in front of my face.
‘This is your first portion,” he said. ‘I give it to you. I have cut it myself for you. I have measured it as my own; now I give it to you.’
For an instant, the thought that I would have to chew it like a carrot crossed my mind, but he placed it inside a small, white, cotton bag.
He walked to the back of the house. He sat there on the floor with his legs crossed, and with a round mano began to mash the root inside the bag. He worked it over a flat slab which served as a mortar. From time to time he washed the two stones, and kept the water in a small, flat, wooden dugout basin.
As he pounded he sang an unintelligible chant, very softly and monotonously. When he had mashed the root into a soft pulp inside the bag, he placed it in the wooden basin. He again placed the slab mortar and the pestle into the basin, filled it with water, and then carried it to a son of rectangular pig’s trough set against the back fence.
He said the root had to soak all night, and had to be left outside the house so it would catch the night air (el sereno). ‘ If tomorrow is a sunny, hot day, it will be an excellent omen,’ he said.
Sunday, 10 September 1961
Thursday, 7 September was a very clear and hot day. Don Juan seemed very pleased with the good omen and repeated several times that the devil’s weed had probably liked me. The root had soaked all night, and about 10:00 a.m. we walked to the back of the house. He took the basin out of the trough, placed it on the ground, and sat next to it. He took the bag and rubbed it on the bottom of the basin. He held it a few inches above the water and squeezed its contents, then dropped the bag into the water. He repeated the same sequence three more times, then discarded the bag, tossing it into the trough, and left the basin in the hot sun.
We came back to it two hours later. He brought with him a medium-size kettle with boiling, yellowish water. He tipped the basin very carefully and emptied the top water, preserving the thick silt that had accumulated on the bottom. He poured the boiling water on the silt and left the basin in the sun again.
This sequence was repeated three times at intervals of more than an hour. Finally he poured out most of the water from the basin, tipped it to an angle to catch the late afternoon sun, and left it.
When we returned hours later, it was dark. On the bottom of the basin there was a layer of gummy substance. It resembled a batch of half-cooked starch, whitish or light grey. There was perhaps a full teaspoon of it. He took the basin inside the house, and while he put some water on to boil. I picked out pieces of dirt the wind had blown into the silt. He laughed at me.
‘That little dirt won’t hurt anybody.’
When the water was boiling he poured about a cup of it into the basin. It was the same yellowish water he had used before. It dissolved the silt, making a sort of milky substance.