of seeing that she was alluding to. She complied after a mo-
ment’s vacillation and gave me an account of the same ticklish
sensation I had become so aware of during my confrontations
with dona Soledad and the little sisters. La Gorda said that the
sensation started on the top of her head and then went down
her back and around her waist to her womb. She felt it inside
her body as a consuming ticklishness, which turned into the
knowledge that I was clinging to my human form, like all the
rest, except that my particular way was incomprehensible to
them.
Did you hear a voice telling you all that? I asked.
No. I just saw everything I’ve told you about yourself,
she replied.
I wanted to ask her if she had had a vision of me clinging
to something, but I desisted. I did not want to indulge in my
usual behavior. Besides, I knew what she meant when she
said that she saw. The same thing had happened to me when
I was with Rosa and Lidia. I suddenly knew where they
lived; I had not had a vision of their house. I simply felt that
I knew it.
I asked her if she had also felt a dry sound of a wooden
pipe being broken at the base of her neck.
The Nagual taught all of us how to get the feeling on top
of the head, she said. But not everyone of us can do it. The
sound behind the throat is even more difficult. None of us has
ever felt it yet. It’s strange that you have when you’re still
empty.
How does that sound work? I asked. And what is it?
You know that better than I do. What more can I tell
you? she replied in a harsh voice.
She seemed to catch herself being impatient. She smiled
sheepishly and lowered her head.
I feel stupid telling you what you already know, she said.
Do you ask me questions like that to test if I have really lost
my form?
I told her that I was confused, for I had the feeling that I
knew what that sound was and yet it was as if I did not know
anything about it, because for me to know something I actu-
ally had to be able to verbalize my knowledge. In this case,
I did not even know how to begin verbalizing it. The only
thing I could do, therefore, was to ask her questions, hoping
that her answers would help me.
I can’t help you with that sound, she said.
I experienced a sudden and tremendous discomfort. I told
her that I was habituated to dealing with don Juan and that
I needed him then, more than ever, to explain everything
to me.
Do you miss the Nagual? she asked.
I said that I did, and that I had not realized how much I
missed him until I was back again in his homeland.
You miss him because you’re still clinging to your human
form, she said, and giggled as if she were delighted at my
sadness.
Don’t you miss him yourself, Gorda?
No. Not me. I’m him. All my luminosity has been changed;
how could I miss something that is myself?
How is your luminosity different?
A human being, or any other living creature, has a pale
yellow glow. Animals are more yellow, humans are more
white. But a sorcerer is amber, like clear honey in the sunlight.
Some women sorceresses are greenish. The Nagual said that
those are the most powerful and the most difficult.
What color are you, Gorda?
Amber, just like you and all the rest of us. That’s what the
Nagual and Genaro told me. I’ve never seen myself. But I’ve
seen everyone else. All of us are amber. And all of us, with the
exception of you, are like a tombstone. Average human be-
ings are like eggs; that’s why the Nagual called them luminous
eggs. Sorcerers change not only the color of their luminosity
but their shape. We are like tombstones; only we are round at
both ends.
Am I still shaped like an egg, Gorda?
No. You’re shaped like a tombstone, except that you have
an ugly, dull patch in your middle. As long as you have that
patch you won’t be able to fly, like sorcerers fly, like I flew
last night for you. You won’t even be able to drop your hu-
man form.
I became entangled in a passionate argument not so much
with her as with myself. I insisted that their stand on how to
regain that alleged completeness was simply preposterous. I
told her that she could not possibly argue successfully with
me that one had to turn one’s back to one’s own children in
order to pursue the vaguest of all possible goals: to enter into
the world of the nagual. I was so thoroughly convinced that
I was right that I got carried away and shouted angry words
at her. She was not in any way flustered by my outburst.
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 chil-
dren, 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 king-
dom of heaven.
I objected to her religious connotation on principle. I had
become accustomed by don Juan never to dwell on that sub-
ject. 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-