everything. They think that they are the only ones who know.
It took two Toltecs to make us. We are the children of both.
Those witches. ..
Wait, wait, Pablito, I said, putting my hand over his
mouth.
He stood up, apparently frightened by my sudden move-
ment.
What do you mean that it took two Toltecs to make us?
The Nagual told us that we are Toltecs. All of us are
Toltecs. He said that a Toltec is the receiver and holder of
mysteries. The Nagual and Genaro are Toltecs. They gave us
their special luminosity and their mysteries. We received their
mysteries and now we hold them.
His usage of the word Toltec baffled me. I was familiar only
with its anthropological meaning. In that context, it always
refers to a culture of Nahuatl-speaking people in central and
southern Mexico which was already extinct at the time of the
Conquest.
Why did he call us Toltecs? I asked, not knowing what
else to say.
Because that’s what we are. Instead of saying that we are
sorcerers or witches, he said that we are Toltecs.
If that’s the case, why do you call the little sisters witches?
Oh, that’s because I hate them. That has nothing to do with
what we are.
Did the Nagual tell that to everyone?
Why, certainly. Everyone knows.
But he never told me that.
Oh, that’s because you are a very educated man and are
always discussing stupid things.
He laughed in a forced, high-pitched tone and patted me on
the back.
Did the Nagual by any chance tell you that the Toltecs
were ancient people that lived in this part of Mexico? I asked.
See, there you go. That’s why he didn’t tell you. The old
crow probably didn’t know that they were ancient people.
He rocked in his chair as he laughed. His laughter was very
pleasing and very contagious.
We are the Toltecs, Maestro, he said. Rest assured that
we are. That’s all I know. But you can ask the Witness. He
knows. I lost my interest a long time ago.
He stood up and went over to the stove. I followed him. He
examined a pot of food cooking on a low fire. He asked me if
I knew who had made that food. I was pretty sure that la
Gorda had made it, but I said that I did not know. He sniffed
it four or five times in short inhalations, like a dog. Then he
announced that his nose told him that la Gorda had cooked it.
He asked me if I had had some, and when I said that I had
finished eating just before he arrived, he took a bowl from a
shelf and helped himself to an enormous portion. He recom-
mended in very strong terms that I should eat food cooked
only by la Gorda and that I should only use her bowl, as he
himself was doing. I told him that la Gorda and the little sisters
had served me my food in a dark bowl that they kept on a
shelf apart from the others. He said that that bowl belonged
to the Nagual. We went back to the table. He ate very slowly
and did not talk at all. His total absorption in eating made me
realize that all of them did the same thing: they ate in com-
plete silence.
La Gorda is a great cook, he said as he finished his food.
She used to feed me. That was ages ago, before she hated me,
before she became a witch, I mean a Toltec.
He looked at me with a glint in his eye and winked.
I felt obligated to comment that la Gorda did not strike me
as being capable of hating anyone. I asked him if he knew that
she had lost her form.
That’s a lot of baloney! he exclaimed.
He stared at me as if measuring my look of surprise and then
hid his face under his arm and giggled like an embarrassed
child.
Well, she actually did do that, he added. She’s just
great.
Why do you dislike her, then?
I’m going to tell you something, Maestro, because I trust
you. I don’t dislike her at all. She’s the very best. She’s the
Nagual’s woman. I just act that way with her because I like
her to pamper me, and she does. She never gets mad at me. I
could do anything. Sometimes I get carried away and I get
physical with her and want to strike her. When that happens
she just jumps out of the way, like the Nagual used to do. The
next minute she doesn’t even remember what I did. That’s a
true formless warrior for you. She does the same thing with
everyone. But the rest of us are a sorry mess. We are truly
bad. Those three witches hate us and we hate them back.
You are sorcerers, Pablito; can’t you stop all this bicker-
ing?
Sure we can, but we don’t want to. What do you expect
us to do, be like brothers and sisters?
I did not know what to say.
They were the Nagual’s women, he went on. And yet
everybody expected me to take them. How in heaven’s name
am I going to do that! I tried with one of them and instead of
helping me the bastardly witch nearly killed me. So now every
one of those women is after my hide as if I had committed a
crime. All I did was to follow the Nagual’s instructions. He
told me that I had to be intimate with each of them, one by
one, until I could hold all of them at once. But I couldn’t be
intimate with even one.
I wanted to ask him about his mother, dona Soledad, but I
could not figure out a way to bring her into the conversation
at that point. We were quiet for a moment.
Do you hate them for what they tried to do to you? he
asked all of a sudden.
I saw my chance.
No, not at all, I said. La Gorda explained to me their
reasons. But dona Soledad’s attack was very scary. Do you see
much of her?
He did not answer. He looked at the ceiling. I repeated my
question. I noticed then that his eyes were filled with tears.
His body shook, convulsed by quiet sobs.
He said that once he had had a beautiful mother, whom, no
doubt, I could still remember. Her name was Manuelita, a
saintly woman who raised two children, working like a mule
to support them. He felt the most profound veneration for
that mother who had loved and reared him. But one horrible
day his fate was fulfilled and he had the misfortune to meet
Genaro and the Nagual, and between the two of them they
destroyed his life. In a very emotional tone Pablito said that
the two devils took his soul and his mother’s soul. They killed
his Manuelita and left behind that horrendous witch, Soledad.
He peered at me with eyes flooded with tears and said that that
hideous woman was not his mother. She could not possibly be
his Manuelita.
He sobbed uncontrollably. I did not know what to say. His
emotional outburst was so genuine and his contentions so
truthful that I felt swayed by a tide of sentiment. Thinking as
an average civilized man I had to agree with him. It certainly
looked as if it was a great misfortune for Pablito to have
crossed the path of don Juan and don Genaro.
I put my arm around his shoulders and almost wept myself.
After a long silence he stood up and went out to the back. I
heard him blowing his nose and washing his face in a pail of
water. When he returned he was calmer. He was even smiling.
Don’t get me wrong. Maestro, he said. I don’t blame
anyone for what has happened to me. It was my fate. Genaro
and the Nagual acted like the impeccable warriors they were.
I’m just weak, that’s all. And I have failed in my task. The
Nagual said that my only chance to avoid the attack of that
horrendous witch was to corral the four winds, and make
them into my four corners. But I failed. Those women were
in cahoots with that witch Soledad and didn’t want to help
me. They wanted me dead.
The Nagual also told me that if I failed, you wouldn’t
stand a chance yourself. He said that if she killed you, I had
to flee and run for my life. He doubted that I could even get
as far as the road. He said that with your power and with what
the witch already knows, she would have been peerless. So,
when I felt I had failed to corral the four winds, I considered
myself dead. And of course I hated those women. But today,