Chapter Fifty

It was nearly ten o'clock before Alma Red Wing arrived. The compound was thick with the assembled neighbors of the valley. so when the children, who now numbered close to a dozen and were staking out the road, came dashing up the drive shouting, everyone milled around the low wall that marked the property line and pressed against each other to watch the cloud of dust on the horizon. Slowly the cloud resolved itself into a little party of Indians on horseback. In the lead was a short brown woman with deeply lined skin. Tassels and feathers were woven into her graying braids, and she was decked in layers of heavy turquoise jewelry, her shoulders wrapped in a bright red shawl. She sat her palomino easily, with a pride that gave her plain features an air of dignity. Beside her rode a tall man in a black velvet shirt and strings of animal bone necklaces. His face was weather-lined, but his hair still hung glossy and black below his shoulders, held in place around the forehead by a broad band of red cloth. He carried a drum strapped to his back, and out of respect to Doña Alma, he rode his horse a step behind hers, his mount's neck even with the withers of her palomino. Behind them both rode a little girl in blue, solemn and acutely aware of her own importance as she struggled to match the easy dignity of her elders.

As the party turned in at the gate, the assembled crowd fell silent, bowed their heads and crossed themselves. Carina joined in unabashedly, but Amalia and Donovan stole glances at each other.

Alma led her party to where José and his family were assembled in front of a table covered in a red and green Indian blanket with bowls of food and cups of coffee laid out in offering. "Bienvenidos, Doña Alma," José said. "Mi famila les doy a usted y a su ayudantes bienvenidos y toda la hospitalidad de mi casa. Por favor, usa lo que tenemos como lo suyo. Dios les ha guiado a ustedes a este lugar."

"Do you know what he said?" Donovan whispered in Amalia's ear as José and Doña Alma ritualistically handed a cup of herbal tea back and forth.

Amalia nodded, watching the little welcoming ceremony with a hint of bemusement. "He says he and his family welcome her, for her to use whatever she needs, God brought her here, that sort of thing."

"And what are they doing now?" Doña Alma and the Montoya family were engaged in a complicated little ritual of bows and greetings.

Amalia shrugged. "Beats me. My father used to say there are no authentic Indian ceremonies left in these parts, so I suspect most of this is made up, just like the dowsing ceremony will be." Catching the look of disappointment on Donovan's face, she added, "I'm sure they aspire to make it as close to tradition as they can, and of it puts people in the right frame of mind, it serves its purpose."

"I thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"I don't. But there's a big difference between not believing it works for me and not believing it works for anyone else. If it works for them and it doesn't hurt me, I'm for it."

Doña Alma and her attendants had by now dismounted and handed their horses to the Montoya children, who took them to the paddock. Meanwhile, José and his wife led the Indians in an improvised procession to the rocky and windswept area around the well, with the neighbors following in silence. When they were all gathered in a circle around the well, Doña Alma shooed the Montoyas away. She murmured a few words in a language only the Indians understood, and the little girl in blue handed her a leather pouch. The pouch contained blue cornmeal and Alma began sprinkling it in a broad circle around the old well, chanting in her native language as she went.

After she had gone around three times, the girl built a fire inside the circle and the man sat down on the ground and began tapping on his drum with the tips of his fingers. The drumbeats became louder as the fire fed off the sticks and herbs the girl fed it. She added some bundled sage, which gave off a pungent smoke, and now Doña Alma came over to the fire, chanting as the drumbeats increased in volume and tempo. She threw a handful of cornmeal into the fire, then some herbs and a powder that popped and made green sparks. Then she stood in the smoke, swaying and chanting.

This went on for awhile, the curandera standing over the fire while the drum beat its steady rhythm. The Montoyas and their neighbors found themselves lulled into a trance, swaying like the curandera to the rhythm. Then Doña Alma began a stomping dance around the perimeter of the cornmeal circle, first slow, then faster, throwing herbs into the fire as the drums beat louder and louder. Then suddenly all sound stopped and Doña Alma was left swaying and muttering over the flames, before the drums took up a beat again, soft and steady like the heartbeat of a feral beast.

For an hour this went on, Doña Alma alternating between frenetic dancing and solemn chants, the drummer keeping pace with her moods and the little girl feeding the fire, handing the curandera the items she needed without her having to ask. Finally, at no signal the crowd could discern, the girl moved away from the fire and knelt in a prayerful attitude. Doña Alma remained by the flames, chanting and moaning, but it was clear this time that she intended the fire to go out. Thirty minutes later it was reduced to glowing embers. From a flask hanging by a cord at her waist she slurped a mouthful of a local moonshine and spat it onto the coals. The flames leaped up a final time, then died.

The little girl now brought Doña Alma a Y-shaped stick and the curandera rubbed it in the ashes of the fire. The crowd scattered as she prepared to leave the magic circle to find water. Across the field she went, chanting softly, trailed by the little girl, both of them following the direction indicated by the divining rod. Back and forth, they wandered through the parched stubble of cornfields, bean fields and hay pastures. Finally at what seemed the most unlikely spot of all, the rod appeared to jerk downward. The girl handed Doña Alma a bit of cornmeal and she tossed it on the spot. Then, just to be certain, she walked a circle around the area, holding the stick steady, alert to any signs of life. Again it twitched at the spot and again she drizzled a little corn. At the third time, she gave José, who had hurried over at such promising signs, a steady look.

"Su agua está aquí."

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