Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  Ojos Puros came down and he put a sacred rope of garlic around Don Victor’s neck and slit the throats of three chickens, hanging them upside down at the foot of the bed.

  The garlic gave off an aura of magical healing powers, and the three chickens communicated with the blessed Trinity of God. The Catholic Church and Ojos Puros’ Indian beliefs were so interwoven inside the deep crevices of his mind that his knowledge of the Almighty was so complete that he had no questions.

  “Doña Guadalupe,” said Ojos Puros, “I’m sorry about Sophia’s death. But I swear it, unless you and your family abandon the gold that you’ve mined, the same evil spirits that destroyed Sophia will never let you get out of this canyon alive. For no one can leave this sacred place of God with gold and expect to start a new life. See what happened to the two families who tried to go out over the north rim? See how the Colonel was tortured to death for trying to take gold? They all died terrible deaths, just like my own father!”

  The dogs barked and the coyotes howled and la gente began to chant in eerie sounds outside of the ramada. “Gold is evil!” continued Ojos Puros. “You must abandon it. Or the same monster of the deep that crushed Sophia’s ship will come out of the depth of your souls and destroy you, too!”

  Watching her father lying there, Lupe began to think that maybe Ojos Puros was right. All night Lupe and her mother attended to Don Victor, but it was very difficult to keep heart with Ojos Puros shouting at them about their evil ways and the Indians chanting eerie sounds.

  But how could they possibly do what Ojos Puros demanded, asked Lupe to herself. They’d worked so hard for the gold and they’d starve to death down in the lowlands without it.

  The next morning, when Lupe awoke, her mother was gone. Quickly, Lupe and Victoriano set out to look for her. The sun was going down when Lupe came through a break between two large, white boulders and found her mother sitting at the base of a huge oak tree. Giving her thanks to God, Lupe came close, step-by-step, not wishing to startle her mother.

  “Is that you, mi hijita?” said the old grey-haired lady, blinking her eyes into the dimming light.

  “Yes,” said Lupe. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been here all day, mi hijita.”

  “But we’ve been so worried! You didn’t say anything to anyone!”

  The old woman took a big, long breath. “Yes, I know . . . sometimes a woman needs to just leave, mi hijita, without a word or she’ll go crazy, I swear.”

  Lupe didn’t know what to think.

  “Come here,” said the old woman, “and sit by me.”

  Lupe came close and sat down on the ground with her mother. Sheets of golden, pale light came down through the tree branches, surrounding them.

  “You know, mi hijita,” said her mother, “last night I got so confused and tired that I didn’t know what to think. I was so worried about your father and brokenhearted over Sophia’s death that I was beginning to believe that Ojos Puros was right and we’d have to abandon our gold.

  “But then, coming up here this morning to my crying tree, I cried and cried, and now I feel much better, because I now know that Sophia isn’t dead. No, she’s alive.”

  “But what about her ship going down?” asked Lupe.

  Her mother shrugged. “So what about the ship? All I know is that down deep in my heart, I’d know if Sophia was dead and I don’t know that, so that means she’s alive.”

  “Oh, Mama, you really think so?” asked Lupe excitedly.

  “Yes,” said her mother, “absolutely.” She stroked Lupe’s hair. “Mi hijita, I tell you, every day that I grow older I see that life is much bigger than we realize. For instance, what you did yesterday was so much bigger and braver than I thought was possible for a girl your age that I’m still astonished.”

  Lupe lowered her head, feeling her little heart beginning to pound.

  “Lupe,” continued her mother, “I saw you when you saw your deer.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. And I also saw that you saw how hungry all the people were and you turned and went away so they could enjoy themselves. That was very, very brave of you, mi hijita,” said the old woman, tears coming to her eyes. “And no one had to tell you to do that. No, you just knew; you knew about your deer before you’d even seen him, and you knew about the people’s hunger and how to handle it before you’d even really thought about it.

  “Well, mi hijita, the more I live and see, I’m beginning to think that the most important things in life seem to come to us like, well, in a gift, a vision, a special knowledge so deep inside us that we actually know things before we even know them.” She took a deep breath. “And I can tell you, now that I’ve rested here with my great friend, this mighty oak tree, that Sophia isn’t dead. No, she’s alive! And we’re going to be reunited with her someday and we can keep our gold! Men do not tell me what to think or how to live anymore. I think and live as I, a woman, see the world around me, and that’s that!

  “Here, take a good look at my crying tree, and see her mighty limbs, her great trunk, and where her limbs have been broken by fire and lightning, but how she’s mended herself. Imagine, mi hijita, all that this tree has been through. Look at her broken places and see the tender new growth that she’s sprouted. Look at the great burn that reached the heart of her trunk and, yet, she withstood that great fire of the meteorite that burned down all the big pines. No, mi hijita, as sure as this tree lives, so does my heart tell me that Sophia lives! Yes, one day, I swear it before God, we’ll find Sophia and the tree of our family will be mended, too!”

  Lupe glanced up at the huge oak tree and she saw its big, broken limbs and how they’d grown new life. She looked at its mighty trunk and saw how the fire had half destroyed it and, yet, it lived. She felt a great peace sweep through her. Her mother was right; Sophia had to be alive. Or she, their mother, the trunk of their familia, would know it here inside her soul.

  “This is my crying tree,” said Doña Guadalupe, “and ever since we came to this canyon, I’ve been coming up here when I feel sad or lonely or just too tired to go on. This tree listens to me, giving me strength, breathing new hope and power into my . . . my very soul.” She smiled, drying her eyes. “My daughter lives. She lives, and all is well, and yes, we’ll keep our gold!”

  Lupe glanced up at the tree again, and she felt the peace grow inside her. “But how will we ever find Sophia, Mama?” she asked.

  Doña Guadalupe shrugged again. “I guess by just going on with our lives,” she said, “and keeping our faith in God.”

  Lupe breathed and she felt so happy, so fortunate that she had found her mother here by this wonderful tree.

  “You know, Mama,” said Lupe, “I guess that I also have a crying tree, too. When I feel sad, I go up to the high country and I sit by the little pine tree where I buried my Colonel’s coat and I talk to God until I feel all better inside.”

  Doña Guadalupe reached out, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Good, wonderful, mi hijita, for no matter how young or old, every woman needs her own crying tree.”

  “And men?”

  “Men? Who knows?” said her mother. “They drink, they gamble, they do so many other things,” she said, laughing. “Remember, even God doesn’t allow the great huge sun out in the night because he’s a male.”

  Hearing this, Lupe laughed, too, remembering the saying that God didn’t allow the sun out after dark because he was a male and scared of the unknown; he’d upset the harmony of the stars who were, of course, all female and at peace, even in darkness.

  Walking home that night, holding hands, Lupe felt closer to her mother than she’d felt in years. But then, arriving, they found that the Indians were still chanting in front of the ramada and Ojos Puros was still shouting about Sophia’s death and the evils of gold.

  Instantly, without hesitation, Lupe saw her mother turn into a mighty she-boar willing to do battle to the devil himself, and she rushed forward, ripping down the three hanging chickens an
d yelling at the chanting Indians.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” she shouted. “Sophia isn’t dead! and we have no evil spirits in this home! Get out! Get out! We are good, God-loving people! We have done no wrong!”

  “No, you must understand! Your daughter died because of the gold!” yelled Ojos Puros. “You must repent!”

  “No! Sophia is alive! and we have nothing to repent! Nothing! Get out of my home! In the name of the Lord God, I will not permit you here!”

  Lupe couldn’t believe it, before her very eyes she saw her dear old mother become so huge, so powerful that she pushed Ojos Puros and the Indians out of their home, shouting and yelling until her mighty voice echoed up to the towering cathedral rocks.

  Four days later, Don Victor finally began to move about. Doña Guadalupe decided that they’d go out of the canyon while she was still strong. Doña Manza and her family decided to go out, too, but a few days earlier so they wouldn’t be a big group and could get out of the mountains without being noticed.

  The day Doña Manza was ready to leave, Don Victor explained to her and her two sons where the river was low and how to get across it.

  Lupe gave Manuelita a big abrazo. “Oh, I only wish we could all go out together!”

  “No, it’s better this way,” said Manuelita, drying her eyes. “If we all went together, we’d attract too much attention.”

  “True,” said Lupe. “But what if we never see each other again?”

  “We will,” said Manuelita, hugging Lupe again. “With the help de Dios, we’ll always be close, Lupe.”

  Lupe and Manuelita cried together, feeling so scared of being separated. Lupe walked her friend and her family to the canyon’s end. There, Lupe watched her best friend disappear down the overgrown trail into the vastness of the jungle. Everyone was gone now. Only Lupe and her family and the Indians were left in the canyon.

  The following day, Lupe climbed up over the north rim of the canyon with Cruz to tell her Colonel goodbye. Getting to the pile of flat rocks, Lupe’s eyes filled with tears. She and Cruz rebuilt the little altar that the wind and rain had eroded. Then they gathered flowers and placed them on the altar and knelt down to pray.

  An eagle flew overhead, letting out a screeching scream.

  “That’s the spirit of my great-grandfather, Don Espirito,” said Cruz. “His remains were also buried in this same pile of flat rocks.”

  “No, really?!” said Lupe excitedly. “Well, then, when you come up to visit your great-grandfather, you can keep my Colonel’s altar for me, too, until I return.”

  “Then you’ll be coming back for sure?” said Cruz.

  “Of course,” said Lupe. “This is our home. And when I return, I want to see you reading well.”

  “I promise,” said Cruz, feeling so important to be entrusted with the altar of Lupe’s love.

  Walking home that afternoon, Lupe wondered if, indeed, she’d ever return. A part of her felt as if they’d never come back.

  Finally, it was the morning that they were to go out. They were all packed, but Lupe just couldn’t figure out how to protect her Colonel’s card and her other treasures for the long journey. Finally, she called her brother aside.

  “Look,” she said, “I know how much of a hurry we’re in, but could you please help me build a box to put my special treasures in?”

  Seeing how anxious his sister was, Victoriano pulled some boards off their home and built a little box no bigger than two fists.

  Quickly, Lupe put her Colonel’s card, the red ribbon for her wedding dress and her rosary inside the box. Then she wrapped the box in the blanket that she’d carry her clothes in.

  They were all ready to go when the old midwife came to get the milk goats that they’d given her. Ojos Puros and the Indians came to tell them goodbye and get whatever else there was left behind.

  It became a time of wet eyes and big abrazos, then they were on their way: María, Esabel and their child, Lupe, Victoriano and their parents. Don Victor was leading Don Tiburcio’s little white mule up the rocky trail to the main road when, suddenly, Doña Guadalupe yelled.

  “No!” she said. “I can’t go!”

  Lupe almost screamed with joy, not wanting to go, either.

  “But what are you saying?” said Don Victor, taking off his straw hat and throwing it on the ground. “You’re sending me to damnation, woman! It was you who said we had to go before we lost all hope!” He began jumping up and down on his hat, crushing it.

  “Yes, I know,” she said sadly. “But I just can’t leave. I need to take something with me to keep our canyon in my heart.”

  “All right,” he said, trying to keep calm. “I can understand that. But what is it you want, my dear?” he asked through his teeth.

  “The smell, the feel . . . my lilies!” said his wife. “My white mountain lilies!” And she put down her load. “Help me, quick! We’ll take my lilies! They smell of the canyon!”

  “But we can’t take them!” shouted Don Victor, losing all patience. “Each of us is already packed with more than he can carry!”

  “I’ll carry them for Mama,” said Victoriano.

  “Me, too,” said María.

  “I’ll dig them up for you,” said Lupe.

  Don Victor shook his fist at the heavens. “Give me patience, dear God! And right now!”

  The sun was five fists off the jagged horizon when they were ready to go once more. Don Victor was in the lead with the little white mule, and Esabel and Victoriano and Lupe were in the rear with their mother. María was in the middle and she had her child strapped to her back.

  “Don’t look back,” said Don Victor as they came to the canyon’s mouth. “Please, I’m warning all of you, don’t, or you’ll by crying for the whole first day!”

  No one could help themselves. And when Lupe looked back, she saw the luscious green growth at the bottom of the canyon and splashes of colorful wildflowers up on the barrancas. And in the distance, the towering, gigantic cathedral rocks, reaching for the sky. Then, there came a cloud of dancing color, flying into the canyons—tens of millions of butterflies, filling the canyon in a dancing tapestry of light, dazzling the early morning sunlight in flashing colors of red and orange and bright gold.

  “Look!” yelled Lupe, making the sign of the cross over her heart.

  “God is with us,” said their mother. “He’s come to tell us goodbye.”

  They all knelt down to pray, giving their thanks to the Almighty, then they got to their feet and started down the trail.

  Tears streamed down Lupe’s face as she walked on, her head down, forehead pushing against the shawl that was strapped to her basket. The silent tears continued to run down her cheeks as each step took her farther and farther from home, from the memories of her goats, her pet deer, her Colonel and the old midwife and El Borracho and the little Indian girls. She walked on, head bent down, stepping quickly, as they picked up the pace and took the first turn in the overgrown trail. And then it was all jungle, nothing but jungle. Birds and insects everywhere. Lupe walked on, passing snakes and lizards and wide trails of huge red ants.

  It was late afternoon when they came to the cliffs called the Gateway Del Diablo on this side of the great, father river of El Urique. The right eye of God was going down behind the cliffs and the fading light was tricky, holding between the long, dark shadows.

  “Careful, very careful,” said Don Victor to all of them. “When we go on these cliffs Del Diablo, I want you all to stay close. There’s a lot of loose rock, and so pay attention so you don’t fall.”

  Starting around the first bend, Lupe was truly amazed that Don Tiburcio and their father had made this trip so often without ever getting hurt. The trail was nothing but a crack in the rock, and the river was more than three thousand feet below them. At each bend, Don Victor told them to look out for this rock and that batch of loose gravel.

  It was almost dark when the wind picked up. Lupe began to feel deep cramps in the middle of her stomach. Her h
ead went dizzy and she struggled to keep up. But she was in such pain that she started falling behind. Coming around the last bend on the trail, a huge valley lay ahead. Lupe gasped, momentarily forgetting her pain. This was the first time in her life that she’d ever seen flat country.

  “We made it,” said Don Victor, pushing back his hat proudly. “There’s a little ranchería up ahead by the river where we can sleep, and in the morning they’ll help us across on a raft. But we have to hurry if we want to get there before dark,” he added.

  Doña Guadalupe got hold of the little, white mule’s tail, and they continued down the wider, soft dirt trail.

  But Lupe just wasn’t able to keep up, no matter how hard she tried. The terrible pain in her stomach now took her legs away. Still, she said nothing and tried her best to stay with her family. But the aching of her stomach just grew, making her want to vomit. Her head went dizzy, and the pain drove down into her body with a terrible force. Suddenly, Lupe felt herself break inside, and a thick wetness seeped down between her legs. She touched herself through her coarse cotton dress, looking in horror at her blood-soaked fingers. She cried out in fear, but no sounds came out; she fell to the soft, warm earth.

  Victoriano was the first one to notice that his little sister was missing and he ran back. María came, too.

  “I’m dying!” said Lupe, showing them the blood when they came up.

  “Oh, no, Lupita,” said her older sister, squatting down next to her. “You’ve just become a woman, you poor child.”

  Breathing hard, Doña Guadalupe and Don Victor came rushing up, too. Victoriano took off his shirt and went down to the river.

  María and Doña Guadalupe helped Lupe to her feet and took her off the road to the privacy of the thick foliage. Birds, ants and insects were everywhere. Victoriano came back and handed his mother his wet shirt. Doña Guadalupe thanked him and told him to go and stay with his father and Esabel.

  “Oh, mi hijita,” said Doña Guadalupe, feeling terrible, “I just had no idea you’d grown so much. I should have prepared you like I did your other sisters but, well, I just didn’t, I’m sorry to say.”