gently tried to push her away as I asked her if Nestor was
still seeing don Genaro and don Juan. During our farewell
meeting don Juan had expressed doubts that Nestor was ready
to finish his apprenticeship.
Genaro has left forever, she said letting go of me.
She fretted nervously with the edge of her blouse.
How about don Juan?
The Nagual is gone too, she said, puckering her lips.
Where did they go?
You mean you don’t know?
I told her that both of them had said good-bye to me two
years before, and that all I knew was that they were leaving
at that time. I had not really dared to speculate where they
had gone. They had never told me their whereabouts in the
past, and I had come to accept the fact that if they wanted to
disappear from my life all they had to do was to refuse to
see me.
They’re not around, that’s for sure, she said, frowning,
And they won’t be coming back, that’s also for sure.
Her voice was extremely unemotional. I began to feel an-
noyed with her. I wanted to leave.
But you’re here, she said, changing her frown into a
smile. You must wait for Pablito and Nestor. They’ve been
dying to see you.
She held my arm firmly and pulled me away from my car.
Compared to the way she had been in the past, her boldness
was astounding.
But first, let me show you my friend, she said and forci-
bly led me to the side of the house.
There was a fenced area, like a small corral. A huge male
dog was there. The first thing that attracted my attention was
his healthy, lustrous, yellowish-brown fur. He did not seem
to be a mean dog. He was not chained and the fence was not
high enough to hold him. The dog remained impassive as we
got closer to him, not even wagging his tail. Dona Soledad
pointed to a good-sized cage in the back. A coyote was curled
up inside.
That’s my friend, she said. The dog is not. He belongs
to my girls.
The dog looked at me and yawned. I liked him. I had a
nonsensical feeling of kinship with him.
Come, let’s go into the house, she said, pulling me by the
arm.
I hesitated. Some part of me was utterly alarmed and
wanted to get out of there quickly, and yet another part of
me would not have left for the world.
You’re not afraid of me, are you? she asked in an accus-
ing tone.
I most certainly am! I exclaimed.
She giggled, and in a most comforting tone she declared
that she was a clumsy, primitive woman who was very awk-
ward with words, and that she hardly knew how to treat peo-
ple. She looked straight into my eyes and said that don Juan
had commissioned her to help me, because he worried about
me.
He told us that you’re not serious and go around causing
a lot of trouble to innocent people, she said.
Up to that point her assertions had been coherent to me,
but I could not conceive don Juan saying those things about
me.
We went inside the house. I wanted to sit down on the
bench, where Pablito and I usually sat. She stopped me.
This is not the place for you and me, she said. Let’s go
to my room.
I’d rather sit here, I said firmly. I know this spot and I
feel comfortable on it.
She clicked her lips in disapproval. She acted like a disap-
pointed child. She contracted her upper lip until it looked like
the flat beak of a duck.
There is something terribly wrong here, I said. I think
I am going to leave if you don’t tell me what’s going on.
She became very flustered and argued that her trouble was
not knowing how to talk to me. I confronted her with her un-
mistakable transformation and demanded that she tell me what
had happened. I had to know how such a change had come
about.
If I tell you, will you stay? she asked in a child’s voice.
I’ll have to.
In that case I’ll tell you everything. But it has to be in my
room.
I had a moment of panic. I made a supreme effort to calm
myself and we walked into her room. She lived in the back,
where Pablito had built a bedroom for her. I had once been
in the room while it was being built and also after it was fin-
ished, just before she moved in. The room looked as empty as
I had seen it before, except that there was a bed in the very
center of it and two unobtrusive chests of drawers by the door.
The whitewash of the walls had faded into a very soothing
yellowish white. The wood of the ceiling had also weathered.
Looking at the smooth, clean walls I had the impression they
were scrubbed daily with a sponge. The room looked more
like a monastic cell, very frugal and ascetic. There were no
ornaments of any sort. The windows had thick, removable
wood panels reinforced with an iron bar. There were no chairs
or anything to sit on.
Dona Soledad took my writing pad away from me, held it
to her bosom and then sat down on her bed, which was made
up of two thick mattresses with no box springs. She indicated
that I should sit down next to her.
You and I are the same, she said as she handed me my
notebook.
I beg your pardon?
You and I are the same, she repeated without looking at
me.
I could not figure out what she meant. She stared at me, as
if waiting for a response.
Just what is that supposed to mean, dona Soledad? I
asked.
My question seemed to baffle her. Obviously she expected
me to know what she meant. She laughed at first, but then,
when I insisted that I did not understand, she got angry. She
sat up straight and accused me of being dishonest with her.
Her eyes flared with rage; her mouth contracted in a very
ugly gesture of wrath that made her look extremely old.
I honestly was at a loss and felt that no matter what I said it
would be wrong. She also seemed to be in the same predica-
ment. Her mouth moved to say something but her lips only
quivered. At last she muttered that it was not impeccable to
act the way I did at such a serious moment. She turned her
back to me.
Look at me, dona Soledad! I said forcefully. I’m not
mystifying you in any sense. You must know something that
I know nothing about.
You talk too much, she snapped angrily. The Nagual
told me never to let you talk. You twist everything.
She jumped to her feet and stomped on the floor, like a
spoiled child. I became aware at that moment that the room
had a different floor. I remembered it to be a dirt floor, made
from the dark soil of the area. The new floor was reddish pink.
I momentarily put off a confrontation with her and walked
around the room. I could not imagine how I could have missed
noticing the floor when I first entered. It was magnificent. At
first I thought that it was red clay that had been laid like
cement, when it was soft and moist, but then I saw that there
were no cracks in it. Clay would have dried, curled up,
cracked, and clumps would have formed. I bent down and
gently ran my fingers over it. It was as hard as bricks. The
clay had been fired. I became aware then that the floor was
made of very large flat slabs of clay put together over a bed of
soft clay that served as a matrix. The slabs made a most intri-
cate and fascinating design, but a thoroughly unobtrusive one,
unless one paid deliberate attention to it. The skill with which
the slabs had been placed in position indicated to me a very
well-conceived plan. I wanted to know how such big slabs had
been fired without being warped. I turned around to ask dona
Soledad. I quickly desisted. She would not have known what
I was talking about. I paced over the floor again. The clay was
a bit rough, almost like sandstone. It made a perfect slide-proof
surface.
Did Pablito put down this floor? I asked.
She did not answer.
It’s a superb piece of work, I said. You should be very
proud of him.
I had no doubt that Pablito had done it. No one else could
have had the imagination and the capacity to conceive of it. I
figured that he must have made it during the time I had been
away. But on second thought I realized that I had never en-