Looking for my mother of God.
Arnoldo de los Santos Palacios Mosquera
Book 1. Certegui.
II • The healers
From early on the town remains bleak, alone; its inhabitants are scattered in the deposits of platinum and gold or in the few minuscule agricultural plantations. They return around five in the afternoon.
So the news spread, and by nightfall our house was packed with people, just as when someone dies. Men, women, children yelled, producing the confusion of the uproar that occurs in a brawl. Which more which less launched an opinion. My mother was overwatering in that human river, rushing into it, each one in a spectacular way becoming notorious by expressing her feelings. Judging by the language, the bitterness on her faces, my mom deduced that they were giving her their condolences.
“Don’t be intimidated, doña” -he said.
“God is guarding his son’s place there in heaven” said that one.
“For me I have to give him a bad fever” -commented so-and-so.
“No! It was pernicious fever» -zutano rectified.
«Tabardillo».
“They looked at it.”
“Yes ma’am”.
The wooden floor swayed under the heavy bare feet of miners accustomed to stomping on the earth. A thick cloud of smoke filled the room, despite the fact that the doors were wide open.
“Do you see how he invested it?”
«That child was very beautiful; I did not live».
“Aunt Felisa knows how to cure the evil eye.”
“That’s a witch. You need to be blind pano veil».
“Send, yes, send.”
“Don’t tell me. His boy from Mandalena wanted so beautiful ».
That sounded like I was already dead.
Aunt Felisa opened the field; better, her presence stood out, with her hands on her waist and her tobacco in her mouth with the candle inside:
«For me I know mine, this is a new injumerá. .. It’s not an eye, no, my people”.
«Aunt Fela: that’s brujo”
“I’ll be hit by lightning if that isn’t a pelicious fever, man!”
“My Aunt Fela knows her thing… Isn’t she right, Aunt Felisa?”
“Who’s talking about lightning!”
“That’s it, don’t be tempted”
“It was a bad fever!”
«No jora, brother, the same is eight than eighty».
Everyone was pumping their cigar, both men and women.
“I swear to you by my mother’s ashes that there is no one to cure that boy. He has a witch and is plotted. He does not save the vira or er whore herizo. There are bad people here in this town, even if you don’t believe it».
Then Juan D. appeared, that is, Juan Domingo Ramírez. He brought a voluminous book, the cover all dirty, as if scratched with a razor’s edge. He barely stammered out a good night. He approached me. He examined me. He pursed his lips and sat sideways on the edge of my bed.
Juan D. did not care about his clothes. He was wearing a frayed, short-sleeved flannel with visible banana milk stains; Long black denim pants, worn. Except for Licosiome, who was not from the point, Juan D. Ramírez had been the only healer to use, apart from his herbs, pharmacy remedies. Sitting on the edge of my bed he devoted himself to reading, which he suspended from time to time without raising his face; From time to time, he drenched his index finger with saliva, with which he turned the page.
Tía Fela, discreet as always, tried to isolate herself from the yelling; she was leaning against the wall, she was smoking her cigarette with the candle inside her mouth; she was waiting for Juan Domingo to see her. The man was absorbed in his science, his brow furrowed, drenched in sweat. He shook his head doubtfully.
“No! This disease is not here in my book »she exclaimed aloud.
Tía Fela took her cigar out of her mouth, turned her head toward the wall, and spit.
“Can you give me a little pigeon, Juancho?” asked Aunt Felisa.
Juan Domingo raised his face:
“Oh! … Oh, Felisa, helmanita poi Dió, I had not seen you, forgive me!”
«Isn’t it true what a rare enjuelmerá, Juancho?»
“He’s not a witch, nor is he a bad eye,” Juan Domingo assured.
“That’s what I say,” Aunt Fela agreed.
Juan D.’s attention was drawn to a certain rumor similar to a prayer among the visitors. He pricked up his ears:
“God save you, Queen and Mother
Mother of Mercy
life and sweetness
our hope
God saves you
… We cry out to you
we sigh to you
moaning and crying
The banished sons of Eve
In this vale of tears».
And in the back of the house the choir could be heard answering, because those who were far away, unable to see me, believed that it was already an angel’s business. Juan D. Ramirez shouted angrily:
“What’s that, damn it! There is no death here yet, my people… Find out first before continuing with the story about him. Pray to a living person, it is sin, it is called death; that is entirely an abuse, man… »
The crowd tried to calm down.
Juan D. approaches my mother, taking her arm:
«The case is not within the competence of us here. You have to take your boy to a doctor… They say that an Italian hero has arrived in Andagoya, who is the tatacoa. .. , name is Emilio Pampana».
Juan Domingo even became reckless in his trade. He pulled teeth with carpentry pliers, without disinfection, gnawed. How difficult would he find my case when he did not dare to take it upon himself to give me back the use of my legs!
Unnerved by his implacable implacability that was finally revealing itself to himself for the first time, Juan Domingo turned his back and vanished, confused with the rest of the people who were vacating our house.