“Not everybody has to do that,” she said. “Only sorcerers who want to enter into the other world. There are plenty of good sorcerers who see and are incomplete. To be complete is only for us Toltecs.
“Take Soledad, for instance. She’s the best witch you can find and she’s incomplete. She had two children; one of them was a girl. Fortunately for Soledad her daughter died. The Nagual said that the edge of the spirit of a person who dies goes back to the givers, meaning that that edge goes back to the parents. If the givers are dead and the person has children, the edge goes to the child who is complete. And if all the children are complete, that edge goes to the one with power and not necessarily to the best or the most diligent. For example, when Josefina’s mother died, the edge went to the craziest of the lot, Josefina. It should have gone to her brother who is a hardworking, responsible man, but Josefina is more powerful than her brother. Soledad’s daughter died without leaving any children and Soledad got a boost that closed half her hole. Now, the only hope she has to close it completely is for Pablito to die. And by the same token, Pablito’s great hope for a boost is for Soledad to die.”
I told her in very strong terms that what she was saying was disgusting and horrifying to me. She agreed that I was right. She affirmed that at one time she herself had believed that that particular sorcerers’ stand was the ugliest thing possible. She looked at me with shining eyes. There was something malicious about her grin.
“The Nagual told me that you understand everything but you don’t want to do anything about it,” she said in a soft voice.
I began to argue again. I told her that what the Nagual had said about me had nothing to do with my revulsion for the particular stand that we were discussing. I explained that I liked children, that I had the most profound respect for them, and that I empathized very deeply with their helplessness in the awesome world around them. I could not conceive hurting a child in any sense, not for any reason.
“The Nagual didn’t make the rule,” she said. “The rule is made somewhere out there, and not by a man.”
I defended myself by saying that I was not angry with her or the Nagual but that I was arguing in the abstract, because I could not fathom the value of it all.
“The value is that we need all our edge, all our power, our completeness in order to enter into that other world,” she said. “I was a religious woman. I could tell you what I used to repeat without knowing what I meant. I wanted my soul to enter the kingdom of heaven. I still want that, except that I’m on a different path. The world of the nagual is the kingdom of heaven.”
I objected to her religious connotation on principle. I had become accustomed by don Juan never to dwell on that subject. She very calmly explained that she saw no difference in terms of life-style between us and true nuns and priests. She pointed out that not only were true nuns and priests complete as a rule, but they did not even weaken themselves with sexual acts.
“The Nagual said that that is the reason they will never be exterminated, no matter who tries to exterminate them,” she said. “Those who are after them are always empty; they don’t have the vigor that true nuns and priests have. I liked the Nagual for saying that. I will always cheer for the nuns and priests. We are alike. We have given up the world and yet we are in the midst of it. Priests and nuns would make great fly-ing sorcerers if someone would tell them that they can do it.”
The memory of my father’s and my grandfather’s admiration for the Mexican revolution came to my mind. They mostly admired the attempt to exterminate the clergy. My father inherited that admiration from his father and I inherited it from both of them. It was a sort of affiliation that we had. One of the first things that don Juan undermined in my personality was that affiliation.
I once told don Juan, as if I were voicing my own opinion, something I had heard all my life, that the favorite ploy of the Church was to keep us in ignorance. Don Juan had a most serious expression on his face. It was as if my statements had touched a deep fiber in him. I thought immediately of the cen-turies of exploitation that the Indians had endured.
“Those dirty bastards,” he said. “They have kept me in ignorance, and you too.”
I caught his irony tight away and we both laughed. I had never really examined that stand. I did not believe it but I had nothing else to take its place. I told don Juan about my grandfather and my father and their views on religion as the liberal men they were.
“It doesn’t matter what anybody says or does,” he said. “You must be an impeccable man yourself. The fight is right here in this chest.”
He patted my chest gently.
“If your grandfather and father would be trying to be impeccable warriors,” don Juan went on, “they wouldn’t have time for petty fights. It takes all the time and all the energy we have to conquer the idiocy in us. And that’s what matters. The rest is of no importance. Nothing of what your grandfather or father said about the Church gave them well-being. To be an impeccable warrior, on the other hand, will give you vigor and youth and power. So, it is proper for you to choose wisely.”
My choice was the impeccability and simplicity of a warrior’s life. Because of that choice I felt that I had to take la Gorda’s words in a most serious manner and that was more threatening to me than even don Genaro’s acts. He used to frighten me at a most profound level. His actions, although certifying, were assimilated, however, into the coherent con-tinuum of their teachings. La Gorda’s words and actions were a different kind of threat to me, somehow more concrete and real than the other.
La Gorda’s body shivered for a moment. A ripple went through it, making her contract the muscles of her shoulders and arms. She grabbed the edge of the table with an awk-ward rigidity. Then she relaxed until she was again her usual self.
She smiled at me. Her eyes and smile were dazzling. She said in a casual tone that she had just “seen” my dilemma.
“It’s useless to close your eyes and pretend that you don’t want to do anything or that you don’t know anything,” she said. “You can do that with people but not with me. I know now why the Nagual commissioned me to tell you all this. I’m a nobody. You admire great people; the Nagual and Ge-naro were the greatest of all.”
She stopped and examined me. She seemed to be waiting for my reaction to what she said.
“You fought against what the Nagual and Genaro told you, all the way,” she went on. “That’s why you’re behind. And you fought them because they were great. That’s your particular way of being. But you can’t fight against what I tell you, because you can’t look up to me at all. I am your peer; I am in your cycle. You like to fight those who are better than you. It’s no challenge to fight my stand. So, those two devils have finally bagged you through me. Poor little Nagual, you’ve lost the game.”
She came closer to me and whispered in my ear that the Nagual had also said that she should never try to take my writing pad away from me because that would be as dangerous as trying to snatch a bone from a hungry dog’s mouth.
She put her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulders, and laughed quietly and softly.
Her “seeing” had numbed me. I knew that she was absolutely right. She had pegged me to perfection. She bugged me for a long time with her head against mine. The proximity of her body somehow was very soothing. She was just like don Juan at that. She exuded strength and conviction and purpose. She was wrong to say that I could not admire her.
“Let’s forget this,” she said suddenly. “Let’s talk about what we have to do tonight.”
“What exactly are we going to do tonight, Gorda?”
“We have our last appointment with power.”
“Is it another dreadful battle with somebody?”
“No. The little sisters are simply going to show you something that will complete your visit here. The Nagual told me that after that you may go away and never return, or that you may choose to stay with us. Either way, what they have to show you is their art. The art of the dreamer.”