one from the pile of firewood. Dona Soledad stood by the
front door.
I began to tease the dog with the short stick in my right
hand and at the same time I tried to release the safety lock
with the long one in my other hand. The dog nearly bit my
right hand and made me drop the short stick. The rage and
power of the enormous beast were so immense that I nearly
lost the long one too. The dog was about to bite it in two
when dona Soledad came to my aid; pounding on the back
window she drew the dog’s attention and he let go of it.
Encouraged by her distracting maneuver I dove, headfirst,
and slid across the length of the front seat and managed to re-
lease the safety lock. I tried to pull back immediately, but the
dog charged toward me with all his might and actually thrust
his massive shoulders and front paws over the front seat, be-
fore I had time to back out. I felt his paws on my shoulder. I
cringed. I knew that he was going to maul me. The dog
lowered his head to go in for the kill, but instead of biting me
he hit the steering wheel. I scurried out and in one move
climbed over the hood and onto the roof. I had goose bumps
all over my body.
I opened the right-hand door. I asked dona Soledad to hand
me the long stick and with it I pushed the lever to release the
backrest from its straight position. I conceived that if I teased
the dog he would ram it forward, allowing himself room to
get out of the car. But he did not move. He bit furiously on
the stick instead.
At that moment dona Soledad jumped onto the roof and lay
next to me. She wanted to help me tease the dog. I told her
that she could not stay on the roof because when the dog came
out I was going to get in the car and drive away. I thanked
her for her help and said that she should go back in the house.
She shrugged her shoulders, jumped down and went back to
the door. I pushed down the release again and with my cap I
teased the dog. I snapped it around his eyes, in front of his
muzzle. The dog’s fury was beyond anything I had seen but
he would not leave the seat. Finally his massive jaws jerked
the stick out of my grip. I climbed down to retrieve it from
underneath the car. Suddenly I heard dona Soledad screaming.
Watch out! He’s getting out!
I glanced up at the car. The dog was squeezing himself over
the seat. He had gotten his hind paws caught in the steering
wheel; except for that, he was almost out.
I dashed to the house and got inside just in time to avoid
being run down by that animal. His momentum was so power-
ful that he rammed against the door.
As she secured the door with its iron bar dona Soledad said
in a cackling voice, I told you it was useless.
She cleared her throat and turned to look at me.
Can you tie the dog with a rope? I asked.
I was sure that she would give me a meaningless answer,
but to my amazement she said that we should try everything,
even luring the dog into the house and trapping him there.
Her idea appealed to me. I carefully opened the front door.
The dog was no longer there. I ventured out a bit more. There
was no sight of him. My hope was that the dog had gone back
to his corral. I was going to wait another instant before I made
a dash for my car, when I heard a deep growl and saw the
massive head of the beast inside my car. He had crawled back
onto the front seat.
Dona Soledad was right; it was useless to try. A wave of
sadness enveloped me. Somehow I knew my end was near. In
a fit of sheer desperation I told dona Soledad that I was going
to get a knife from the kitchen and kill the dog, or be killed by
him, and I would have done that had it not been that there was
not a single metal object in the entire house.
Didn’t the Nagual teach you to accept your fate? dona
Soledad asked as she trailed behind me. That one out there is
no ordinary dog. That dog has power. He is a warrior. He
will do what he has to do. Even kill you.
I had a moment of uncontrollable frustration and grabbed
her by the shoulders and growled. She did not seem surprised
or affected by my sudden outburst. She turned her back to me
and dropped her shawl to the floor. Her back was very strong
and beautiful. I had an irrepressible urge to hit her, but I ran
my hand across her shoulders instead. Her skin was soft and
smooth. Her arms and shoulders were muscular without being
big. She seemed to have a minimal layer of fat that rounded
off her muscles and gave her upper body the appearance of
smoothness, and yet when I pushed on any part of it with the
tips of my fingers I could feel the hardness of unseen muscles
below the smooth surface. I did not want to look at her
breasts.
She walked to a roofed, open area in back of the house that
served as a kitchen. I followed her. She sat down on a bench
and calmly washed her feet in a pail. While she was putting on
her sandals, I went with great trepidation into a new outhouse
that had been built in the back. She was standing by the door
when I came out.
You like to talk, she said casually, leading me into her
room. There is no hurry. Now we can talk forever.
She picked up my writing pad from the top of her chest of
drawers, where she must have placed it herself, and handed it
to me with exaggerated care. Then she pulled up her bed-
spread and folded it neatly and put it on top of the same chest
of drawers. I noticed then that the two chests were the color
of the walls, yellowish white, and the bed without the spread
was pinkish red, more or less the color of the floor. The bed-
spread, on the other hand, was dark brown, like the wood of
the ceiling and the wood panels of the windows.
Let’s talk, she said, sitting comfortably on the bed after
taking off her sandals.
She placed her knees against her naked breasts. She looked
like a young girl. Her aggressive and commandeering manner
had subdued and changed into charm. At that moment she was
the antithesis of what she had been earlier. I had to laugh at
the way she was urging me to write. She reminded me of
don Juan.
Now we have time, she said. The wind has changed.
Didn’t you notice it?
I had. She said that the new direction of the wind was her
own beneficial direction and thus the wind had turned into
her helper.
What do you know about the wind, dona Soledad? I
asked as I calmly sat down on the foot of her bed.
Only what the Nagual taught me, she said. Each one of
us, women that is, has a peculiar direction, a particular wind.
Men don’t. I am the north wind; when it blows I am different.
The Nagual said that a warrior can use her particular wind for
whatever she wants. I used it to trim my body and remake it.
Look at me! I am the north wind. Feel me when I come
through the window.
There was a strong wind blowing through the window,
which was strategically placed to face the north.
Why do you think men don’t have a wind? I asked.
She thought for a moment and then replied that the Nagual
had never mentioned why.
You wanted to know who made this floor, she said,
wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. I made it myself.
It took me four years to put it down. Now this floor is like
myself.
As she spoke I noticed that the converging lines in the floor
were oriented to originate from the north. The room, how-
ever, was not perfectly aligned with the cardinal points; thus
her bed was at odd angles with the walls and so were the lines
in the clay slabs.
Why did you make the floor red, dona Soledad?
That’s my color. I am red, like red dirt. I got the red clay
in the mountains around here. The Nagual told me where to
look and he also helped me carry it, and so did everyone else.