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Select one of the following questions and develop your answer into a five paragraph essay. Essay should be at least 3-4 pages long. You may use class notes, films, textbooks or any outside resource to support your answer. (50pts) MLA Format.

What is the significance of the conflict between English-speakers and Spanish-speakers that Antonio encounters at school? Why is language so important in the novel? In what sense does this conflict give Antonio perspective on the conflict within his family?

2. Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work. Discuss and analyze a theme in Bless Me, Ultima.

3.An integral aspect of the construction of Bless Me, Ultima is the point of view from which the story is told. The novel is narrated by the main character, Antonio, who is six –years- old when the novels begins, and yet who is much more perceptive than a six-year-old. It is clear that the narrator is really an adult remembering and articulating the events of his childhood. Bless Me, Ultima is told from the point of view of the main character, in what ways does the use of the first-person narrator affect the impact of the story?

4. Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya is written in a style of literature known as Magical Realism. This is a genera of writing where magical and mystical elements are added into realistic stories of fiction. Magical Realism is an encounter between familiarity and strangeness, which is mostly associated with the Latin, Mexican and Chicano culture. In your essay, further explore how Anaya implements magical realism in his novel.

https://ilearn.laccd.edu/courses/247416/pages/vide…

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Bless Me, Ultima is about the social-psychological maturation of a Mexican-American,
or Chicano, boy living on the eastern plains of New Mexico during the 1940s. The novel
begins with Ultima, a curandera,or folk healer, going to live with the Márez family during
the summer that Antonio is six years old. Antonio is preoccupied with and anxious about
attending school and having to be separated from his mother. Related to these
concerns is his engrossment with knowing his destiny. This concern is exacerbated by
his mother’s desire that he become a priest to a community of farmers, where her family
lives. At the same time, Antonio is concerned about realizing the wandering desire that
stems from his paternal lineage.
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“Her eyes swept the surrounding bUls and
through them I saw for the first ttme the
wild beauty of our hills and the magtc of
the green river. My nostrils quivered,as I
feU tbe song of the mockingbirds and tbe
drone of tbe grasshoppers mingle with the
pulse of the earth.
The four directions of
the llano met in me, and the white sun
shone on my soul . . :�
-from BLESS ME, UI37MA
000
“This extraordinary storyteller has always written
unpre tentiously but provocatively about identity. Every
work is a fiesta, a ceremony preservin g but reshaping
old traditions that honor the power within the land
and Ia raz-a, the people.”
-Los Angeles Times Booll Review
more …
000
Anaya is in the vanguard of a movement to refashion
”
the Chicano identity by writing about il”
-NIIIUmlll Clltbolle Reporler
0
“Quite extraordinary . . . intersperses the legendary,
folkloric, stylized, or allegorized material with the
realistic
.
•
.
.
..
.
•
.
–lllll 11 Amerlclln Llter11ry Review
0
“A nay a’s first novel, BLESS ME, ULTIMA probably
the best-known and most-respected contempo­
rary Chicano fiction, probes into the fat satchel
of remembered you th.”
-NewYoriTlmes
0
“A unique Americn novel that deserves to be better
known.”
000
000
“An unforgettable novel … already becoming a classic
for its uniqueness on story, narrative technique, and
structure.”
—Cbkilt10 Perspectives 111 LllerlltJire
0
“One of the best writers in this country.”
-El PIISO Times
0
“Remarkable … a unique American novel … a rich
and powerful synthesis for some of life’s sharpest
oppositions.”
0
”When some of the ‘new’ ethnic voices become nation­
al treasures themselves, it will be in part because the
generation of Solas, Anaya, Thomas, and Hinojosa
served as their compass.”
-Tbe Natltnl
0 00
Books by Rudolfo Anaya
BLESS ME, ULTIMA
BENDfCEME, ULTIMA
ALBURQUERQUE
THE ANAYA READER
ZIA SUMMER
)ALAMANTA
ATIENTION:
SCHOOLS AND CORPORATIONS
WARNER books are available at quantity dis­
counts with bulk purchase for educational,
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mation, ple a s e wr ite to: SPEC IAL SALE S
DEPARTME NT, WARN E R
BOOKS, 1271
AVENUE OFTHEAMERICAS, NEW YORK, N.Y.
10020.
BLESS ME,
ULTIMA
RUDOLFO ANAYA
A Time Warner Company
This boo k was first published by TQS Publications, Berkeley, California.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book may have been stolen property and reponed as “unsold and
destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor lhe pub­
lisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1972 by Rudolfo A. Anaya
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Diane Luger
Cover illustration by Bernadette Vigil
Book design by L. McRee
This Warner Books edition is published by ammgement with the author.
Warner Books, Inc.
1271 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Visit our Web site at
www . wamerbooks.com
�� A Time Warner Company
Printed in the United States of America
First Warner Books Paperback Printing: April 1994
20
19
IS
17
16
Con .Jlonor
rpara .Jvfis rpadres
BLESS ME.
ULTIMA
Wno
Q/Itima came to stay with us the summer I was almost
seven. When she came the beauty of the llano unfolded
before my eyes, and the gurgling waters of the river sang to
the hum of the turning earth. The magical time of childhood
stood still, and the pulse of the living earth pressed its mys­
tery into my living blood. She took my hand, and the silent,
magic powers she possessed made beauty from the raw, sun­
baked llano, the green river valley, and the blue bowl which
was the white sun’s home. My bare feet felt the throbbing
earth and my body trembled with excitement. Time stood
still, and it shared with me all that had been, and all that was
to come….
Let me begin at the beginning. I do not mean the begin­
ning that was in my dreams and the stories they whispered to
me about my birth, and the people of my father and mother,
and my three brothers-but the beginning that came with
Ultima.
The attic of our home was partitioned into two small
rooms. My sisters, Deborah and Theresa, slept in one and I
slept in the small cubicle by the door. The wooden steps
creaked down into a small hallway that led into the kitchen.
From the top of the stairs I had a vantage point into the heart
of our home, my mother’s kitchen. From there I was to see
the terrified face of Chavez when he brought the terrible
news of the murder of the sheriff; I was to see the rebellion
2
Rudolfo Anaya
of my brothers against my father; and many times late at
night I was to see Ultima returning from the llano where she
gathered the herbs that can be harvested only in the light of
the full moon by the careful hands of a curandera.
That night I lay very quietly in my bed, and I heard my
father and mother speak of Ultima.
“Esta sola,” my father said, “ya no q ueda gente en e l
pueblito d e Las Pasturas-”
He spoke in Spanish, and the village he mentioned was his
home. My father had been a vaquero all his life, a calling as
ancient as the coming of the Spaniard to Nuevo Mejico.
Even after the big rancheros and the tejanos came and fenced
the beautiful llano, he and those like him continued to work
there, I guess because only in that wide expanse of land and
sky could they feel the freedom their spirits needed.
“Que lastima,” my mother answered, and I knew her nim­
ble fingers worked the pattern on the doily she crocheted for
the big chair in the sala.
I heard her sigh, and she must have shuddered too when
she thought of U ltima living alone in the loneliness of the
wide llano. My mother was not a woman of the llano, she
was the daughter of a farmer. She could not see beauty in the
llano and she could not understand the coarse men who lived
half their lifetimes on horseback. After I was born in Las
Pasturas she persuaded my father to leave the llano and bring
her family to the town of Guadalupe where she said there
would be opportunity and school for us. The move lowered
my father in the esteem of his compadres, the other vaqueros
of the llano who clung tenaciously to their way of life and
freedom. There was no room to keep animals in town so my
father had to sell his small herd, but he would not sell his
horse so he gave it to a good friend, Benito Campos. But
Campos could not keep the animal penned up because some­
how the horse was very close to the spirit of the man, and so
the horse was allowed to roam free and no vaquero on that
llano would throw a lazo on that horse. It was as if someone
had died, and they turned their gaze from the spirit that
walked the earth.
Bless Me, Ultima
3
It hurt my father’s pride. He saw less and less of his old
c o m p ad res. He went to work on t h e highway and o n
Saturdays after they collected their pay h e drank with his
crew at the Longhorn, but he was never close to the men of
the town. Some weekends the llaneros would come into town
for supplies and old amigos like Bonney or Campos or the
Gonzales brothers would come by to visit. Then my father’s
eyes lit up as they drank and talked of the old days and told
the old stories. But when the western sun touched the clouds
with orange and gold the vaqueros got in their trucks and
headed home, and my father was left to drink alone in the
long night. Sunday morning he would get up very crudo and
complain about having to go to early mass.
“-She served the people all her life, and now the people
are scattered, driven like twnbleweeds by the winds of war.
The war sucks everything dry,” my father said solemnly, “it
takes the young boys overseas, and their families move to
California where there is work-”
“Ave Maria Purisima,” my mother made the sign of the
c r o s s for my three br others who w e r e away at w a r .
“Gabriel,” she said to m y father, ” i t i s n o t right that Ia
Grande be alone in her old age-”
“No,” my father agreed.
“When I married you and went to the llano to live with
you and raise your family, I could not have survived without
Ia Grande’s help. Oh, those were hard years-”
“Those were good years,” my father countered. But my
mother would not argue.
“There isn’t a family she did not help,” she continued, “no
road was too long for her to walk to its end to snatch some­
body from the jaws of death, and not even the blizzards of
the llano could keep her from the appointed place where a
baby was to be delivered-”
“Es verdad,” my father nodded.
“She tended me at the birth of my sons-” And then I
knew her eyes glanced briefly at my father. “Gabriel, we
cannot let her live her last days in loneliness-”
“No,” my father agreed, “it is not the way of our people.”
Rudolfo Anaya
4
” I t would be a great honor to provide a home for l a
Grande,” m y mother murmured. M y mother called Ultima l a
Grande out of respect. I t meant the woman was old and wise.
“I have already sent word with Campos that Ultima is to
come and live with us,” my father said with some satisfac­
tion. He knew it would please my mother.
“I am grateful,” my mother said tenderly, “perhaps we can
repay a l i ttle of the kindness Ia Grande has given to so
many.”
“And the children?” my father asked. I knew why he
expressed concern for me and my sisters. It was because
Ultima was a curandera, a woman who knew the herbs and
remedies of the ancients, a miracle-worker who could heal
the sick. And I had heard that Ultima could l ift the curses
laid by brujas, that she could exorcise the evil the witches
planted in people to make them sick. And because a curan­
dera had this power she was misunderstood and often sus­
pected of practicing witchcraft herself.
I shuddered and my heart turned cold at the thought. The
cuentos of the people were full of the tales of evil done by
brujas.
“She helped bring them into the world, she cannot be but
good for the children,” my mother answered.
“Esta bien,” my father yawned, “I will go for her in the
morning.”
So it was decided that Ultima should come and live with
us. I knew that my father and mother did good by providing
a home for Ultima. It was the custom to provide for the old
and the sick. There was always room in the safety and
warmth of Ia familia for one more person, be that pe rson
stranger or friend.
It was warm in the attic, and as I lay quietly listening to
the sounds of the house falling asleep and repeating a Hail
Mary over and over in my thoughts, I drifted into the time of
dreams. Once I had told my mother about my dreams, and
she said they were visions from God and she was happy,
because her own dream was that I should grow up and
Bless Me, Ultima
5
become a priest. After that I did not tell her about my
dreams, and they remained in me forever and ever . ..
In my dream I flew over the rolling hills of the llano. My
soul wandered over the dark plain until it came to a cluster
of adobe huts. I recognized the village of Las Pasturas and
my heart grew happy. One mud hut had a lighted window,
and the vision of my dream swept me towards it to be witness
at the birth of a baby.
I could not make out the face of the mother who rested
from the pains of birth, but I could see the old woman in
black who tended the just-arrived, steaming baby. She nim­
bly tied a knot on the cord that had connected the baby to its
mother’s blood. then quickly she bent and with her teeth she
bit off the loose end. She wrapped the squirming baby and
laid it at the mother’s side. then she returned to cleaning the
bed. All linen was swept aside to be washed, but she care­
fully wrapped the useless cord and the afterbirth and laid the
package at the feet of the Virgin on the small altar. I sensed
that these things were yet to be delivered to someone.
Now the people who had waited patiently in the dark were
allowed to come in and speak to the mother and deliver their
gifts to the baby. I recognized my mother’s brothers, my
uncles from El Puerto de los Lunas. They entered ceremoni­
ously. A patient hope stirred in their dark, brooding eyes.
This one will be a Luna, the old man said, he will be a
·
farmer and keep our customs and traditions. Perhaps God
will bless our family and make the baby a priest.
And to show their hope they rubbed the dark earth of the
river valley on the baby’s forehead, and they surrounded the
bed with the fruits of their harvest so the small room smelled
of fresh green chile and corn , ripe apples and peaches,
pumpkins and green beans.
Then the silence was shattered with the thunder of hoof­
beats; vaqueros surrounded the small house with shouts and
gunshots, and when they entered the room they were laugh­
ing and singing and drinking.
Gabriel, they shouted, you have a fine son! He will make a
fine vaquero! And they smashed the fruits and vegetables
Rudo/fo Anaya
6
that surrounded the bed and replaced them with a saddle,
horse blankets, bottles of whiskey, a new rope, bridles, cha­
pas, and an old guitar. And they rubbed the stain of earth
from the baby’s forehead because man was not to be tied to
the earth but free upon it.
These were the people of my father, the vaqueros of the
llano. They were an exuberant, restless people , wandering
across the ocean of the plain.
We must return to our valley, the old’ man who led the
farmers spoke. We must take with us the blood that comes
after the birth. We will bury it in our fields to renew their
fertility and to assure that the baby will follow our ways. He
nodded for the old woman to deliver the package at the altar.
No! the 1/aneros protested, it will stay here! We will burn
it and let the winds of the llano scatter the ashes.
It is blasphemy to scatter a man’s blood on unholy
ground, the farmers chanted. The new son must fulfill his
mother’s dream. He must come to El Puerto and rule over
the Lunas of the valley. The blood of the Lunas is strong in
him.
He is a Marez, the vaqueros shouted. His forefathers were
conquistadores, men as restless as the seas they sailed and
as free as the land they conquered. He is his father’s blood!
Curses and threats filled the air, pistols were drawn, and
the opposing sides made ready for battle. But the clash was
stopped by the old woman who delivered the baby.
Cease! she cried, and the men were quiet. I pulled this
baby into the light of life, so I will bury the afterbirth and the
cord that once linked him to eternity. Only I will know his
destiny.
The dream began to dissolve. When I opened my eyes I
heard my father cranking the truck outside. I wanted to go
with him, I wanted to see Las Pasturas, I wanted to see
Ultima. I dressed hurriedly, but I was too late. The truck was
bouncing down the goat path that led to the bridge and the
highway.
I turned, as I always did, and looked down the slope of our
hill to the green of the river, and I raised my eyes and saw
Bless Me, Ultima
7
the town of Guadalupe. Towering above the housetops and
the trees of the town was the church tower. I made the sign
of the cross on my l ips. The only other building that rose
above the housetops to compete with the church tower was
the yellow top of the schoolhouse. This fall I would be going
to school.
My heart sank. When I thought of leaving my mother and
going to school a wann, sick feeling came to my stomach.
To get rid of it I ran to the pens we kept by the molino to
feed the animals. I had fed the rabbits that night and they will
had alfalfa and so I only changed their water. I scattered
some grain for the hungry chickens and watched their mad
scramble as the rooster called them to peck. I milked the cow
and turned her loose. During the day she would forage along
the highway where the grass was thick and green, then she
would return at nightfall. She was a good cow and there were
very few times when I had to run and bring her back in the
evening. Then I dreaded it, because she might wander into
the hills where the bats flew at dusk and there was only the
sound of my heart beating as I ran and it made me sad and
frightened to be alone.
I collected three eggs in the chicken house and returned
for breakfast.
“Antonio,” my mother smiled and took the eggs and milk,
“come and eat your breakfast.”
I sat across the table from Deborah and Theresa and ate
my atole and the hot tortilla with butter. I said very little. I
usually spoke very little to my two sisters. They were older
than I and they were very close. They usually spent the entire
day in the attic, playing dolls and giggling. I did not concern
myself with those things.
“Your father has gone to Las Pasturas,” my mother chat­
tered, “he has gone to bring Ia Grande.” Her hands were
wh ite with the flour of the dough. I watched carefully.
“-And when he returns, I want you children to show your
manners. You must not shame your father or your mother-”
“lsn ‘t her real name Ultima?” Deborah asked. She was
like that, always asking grown-up questions.
8
Rudo/fo Anaya
” You wi ll address her as Ia Grande,” my mother said
flatly. I looked at her and wondered if this woman with the
black hair and laughing eyes was the woman who gave birth
in my dream.
“Grande,” Theresa repeated.
“Is it true she is a witch?” Deborah asked. Oh, she was in
for it. I saw my mother whirl then pause and control herself.
“No!” she scolded. “You must not speak of such things!
Oh, I don ‘t know where you learn such ways-” Her eyes
flooded with tears. She always cried when she thought we
were learning the ways of my father, the ways of the Marez.
“She is a woman of learning,” she went on and I knew she
didn’t have time to stop and cry, “she has worked hard for all
the people of the village. Oh, I would never have survived
those hard years if it had not been for her-so show her
respect. We are honored that she comes to live with us,
understand?”
“Si, marna,” Deborah said half willingly.
“Si, mama,” Theresa repeated.
“Now run and sweep the room at the end of the hall.
Eugene’s room-” I heard her voice choke. She breathed a
prayer and crossed her forehead. The flour left white stains
on her, the four points of the cross. I knew it was because my
three brothers were at war that she was sad, and Eugene was
the youngest.
“Marna.” I wanted to speak to her. I wanted to know who
the old woman was who cut the baby’s cord.
“Sf.” She turned and looked at me.
“Was Ultima at my birth?” I asked.
“jAy Dios mfo!” my mother cried. She carne to where I
sat and ran her hand through my hair. She smelled warm,
like bread. “Where do you get such questions, my son. Yes,”
she smiled, “la Grande was there to help me. She was there
to help at the birth of all of my children-”
“And my uncles from El Puerto were there?”
“Of course,” she answered, “my brothers have always
been at my side when I needed them. They have always
prayed that I would bless them with a-”
Bless Me, Ultimo
9
I did not hear what she said because I was hearing the
sounds of the dream, and I was seeing the dream again. The
wann cereal in my stomach made me feel sick.
“And my father’s brother was there, the Marez’ and their
friends, the vaqueros-”
“Ay !” she cried out. “Don ‘t speak to me of those worth­
less Marez and their friends!”
”There was a fight?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “a silly argument. They wanted to start a
fight with my brothers-that is all they are good for. Va­
queros, they cal l themselves, they are worthless drunks!
Thieves! Always on the move, like gypsies, always dragging
their families around the country like vagabonds-”
As long as I could remember she always raged about the
Marez family and their friends. She called the village of Las
Pasturas beautiful; she had gotten used to the loneliness, but
she had never accepted its people. She was the daughter of
fanners.
But the dream was true. It was as I had seen it. Ultima
knew.
“But you will not be like them.” She caught her breath and
stopped. She kissed my forehead. “You w i l l be like my
brothers. You will be a Luna, Antonio. You will be a man of
the people, and perhaps a priest.” She smiled.
A priest, I thought, that was her dream. I was to hold mass
on Sundays like father Byrnes did in the church in town. I
was to hear the confessions of the silent people of the valley,
and I was to administer the holy Sacrament to them.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Yes,” my mother smiled. She held me tenderly. The fra-
grance of her body was sweet.
“But then,” I whispered, “who will hear my confession?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I answered. I felt a cool sweat on my forehead
and I knew I had to run, I had to clear my mind of the dream.
“I am going to Jason’s house,” I said hurriedly and slid past
my mother. I ran out the kitchen door, past the animal pens,
10
Rudolfo Anaya
towards Jas6n ‘ s house. The white sun and the fresh air
cleansed me.
On this side of the river there were only three houses. The
slope of the hill rose gradually into the hills of juniper and
mesquite and cedar clumps. Jason’s house was farther away
from the river than our house. On the path that led to the
bridge lived huge, fat Ffo and his beautiful wife. Ffo and my
father worked together on the highway. They were good
drinking friends.
” jJas6n !” I called at the kitchen door. I had run hard and
was panting. His mother appeared at the door.
“Jas6n no esta aquf,” she said. All of the older people
spoke only in Spanish, and I myself u nderstood only
Span ish. It was only after one went to school that one
learned English.
“t,D6nde esra?” I asked.
She pointed towards the river, northwest, past the railroad
tracks to the dark hills. The river came through those hills
and there were old Indian grounds there, holy burial grounds
Jas6n told me. There in an old cave lived his Indian. At least
everybody called him Jason’s Indian. He was the only Indian
of the town, and he talked only to Jas6n. Jas6n’s father had
forbidden Jas6n to talk to the Indian, he had beaten him, he
had tried in every way to keep Jas6n from the Indian.
But Jas6n persisted. Jas6n was not a bad boy, he was just
Jas6n. He was quiet and moody, and sometimes for no rea­
son at all wild, loud sounds came exploding from his throat
and lungs. Sometimes I felt like Jas6n, like I wanted to shout
and cry, but I never did.
I looked at his mother’s eyes and I saw they were sad.
“Thank you,” I said, and returned home. While I waited for
my father to return with Ultima I worked in the garden.
Every day I had to work in the garden. Every day I reclaimed
from the rocky soil of the hill a few more feet of earth to cul­
tivate. The land of the llano was not good for farming, the
good land was along the river. But my mother wanted a gar­
den and I worked to make her happy. Already we had a few
chile and tomato plants growing. It was hard work. My fin-
Bless Me, Ultima
11
gers bled from scraping out the rocks and it seemed that a
square yard of ground produced a wheelbarrow full of rocks
which I had to push down to the retaining wall.
The sun was white in the bright blue sky. The shade of the
clouds would not come until the afternoon. The sweat was
sticky on my brown body. I heard the truck and turned to see
it chugging up the dusty goat path. My father was returning
with Ultima.
“jMama!” I called. My mother came running out, Deborah
and Theresa trailed after her.
“I’m afraid,” I heard Theresa whimper.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Deborah said confi­
dently. My mother said there was too much Marez blood in
Deborah. Her eyes and hair were very dark, and she was
always running. She had been to school two years and she
spoke only English. She was teaching Theresa and half the
time I didn’t understand what they were saying.
” Madre de Dios, but mind your manners! ” my mother
scolded. The truck stopped and she ran to greet Ultima.
“Buenos dfas le de Dios, Grande,” my mother cried. She
smiled and hugged and kissed the old woman.
“Ay, Maria Luna,” Ultima smiled, “buenos dfas te de
Dios, a ti y a tu familia.” She wrapped the black shawl
around her hair and shoulders. Her face was brown and very
wrinkled. When she smiled her teeth were brown. I remem­
bered the dream.
“Come, come!” my mother urged us forward. It was the
custom to greet the old. “Deborah ! ” my mother urged.
Deborah stepped forward and took Ultima’s withered hand.
“B uenos dfas, Grande,” she smiled. She even bowed
slightly. Then she pulled Theresa forward and told her to
greet la Grande. My mother beamed. Deborah ‘s good manners
surprised her, but they made her happy, because a family
was judged by its manners.
“What beautiful daughters you have raised,” Ultima nod­
ded to my mother. Nothing could have pleased my mother
more. She looked proudly at my father who stood leaning
against the truck, watching and judging the introductions.
12
Rudolfo Anaya
“Antonio,” he said simply. I stepped forward and took
Ultima’s hand. I looked up into her clear brown eyes and
shivered. Her face was old and wrinkled, but her eyes were
clear and sparkling, like the eyes of a young child.
“Antonio,” she smiled. She took my hand, and I felt the
power of a whirlwind sweep around me. Her eyes swept the
surrounding hills and through them I saw for the first time
the wild beauty of our hills and the magic of the green river.
My nostrils quivered as I felt the song of the mockingbirds
and the drone of the grasshoppers mingle with the pulse of
the earth. The four directions of the llano met in me, and the
white sun shone on my soul. The granules of sand at my feet
and the sun and sky above me seemed to dissolve into one
strange, complete being.
A cry came to my throat, and I wanted to shout it and run
in the beauty I had found.
“Antonio.” I felt my mother prod me. Deborah giggled
because she had made the right greeting, and I who was to be
my mother’s hope and joy stood voiceless.
“Buenos dias le de Dios, Ultima,” I muttered. I saw in her
eyes my dream. I saw the old woman who had delivered me
from my mother’s womb. I knew she held the secret of my
destiny.
“jAntonio!” My mother was shocked I had used her name
instead of calling her Grande. But Ultima held up her hand.
“Let it be,” she smiled. “This was the last child I pulled
from your womb, Maria. I knew there would be something
between us.”
My mother who had started to mumble apologies was
quiet. “As you wish, Grande,” she nodded.
“I have come to spend the last days of my life here,
Antonio,” Ultima said to me.
“You will never die, Ultima,” I answered. “I will take care
of you-” She let go of my hand and laughed. Then m y
father said, “Pase, Grande, pase. Nuestra casa e s s u casa. I t is
too hot to stand and visit in the sun-”
“Si, sf,” my mother urged. I watched them go in. My
father carried on his shoulders the large blue-tin trunk which
Bless Me, Ultima
13
later I learned contained all of Ultima’s earthly possessions,
the black dresses and shawls she wore, and the magic of her
sweet smelling herbs.
As Ultima walked past me I smelled for the first time a
trace of the sweet fragrance of herbs that always lingered in
her wake. Many years later, long after Ultima was gone and I
had grown to be a man, I would awaken sometimes at night
and think I caught a scent of her fragrance in the cool-night
breeze.
And with Ultima came the owl. I heard it that night for the
first time in the juniper tree outside of Ultima’s window. I
knew it was her owl because the other owls of the llano did
not come that near the house. At first it disturbed me, and
Deborah and Theresa too. I heard them whispering through
the partition. I heard Deborah reassuring Theresa that she
would take care of her, and then she took Theresa in her
arms and rocked her until they were both asleep.
I waited. I was sure my father would get up and shoot the
owl with the old rifle he kept on the kitchen wall. But he
dido’t, and I accepted his understanding. In many cuentos I
had heard the owl was one of the disguises a bruja took, and
so it struck a chord of fear in the heart to hear them hooting
at night. But not Ultima’s owl. Its soft hooting was like a
song, and as it grew rhythmic it calmed the moonlit hills and
lulled us to sleep. Its song seemed to say that it had come to
watch over us.
I dreamed about the owl that night, and my dream was
good. La Virgen de Guadalupe was the patron saint of our
town. The town was named after her. In my dream I saw
Ultima’s owl lift Ia Virgen on her wide wings and fly her to
heaven. Then the owl returned and gathered up all the babes
of Limbo and flew them up to the clouds of heaven.
The Virgin smiled at the goodness of the owl.
Wltima slipped easily into· the routine of our daily life.
The first day she put on her apron and helped my mother
with breakfast, later she swept the house and then helped my
mother wash our clothes in the old washing machine they
pulled outside where it was cooler under the shade of the
young elm trees. It was as if she had always been here. My
mother was very happy because now she had someone to
talk to and she didn’t have to wait until Sunday when her
women friends from the town came up the dusty path to sit
in the sala and visit.
Deborah and Theresa were happy because Ultima did
many of the household chores they normally did, and they
had more time to spend in the attic and cut out an inter­
minable train of paper dolls which they dressed, gave names
to, and most miraculously, made talk.
My father was also pleased. Now he had one more person
to tell his dream to. My father’s dream was to gather his sons
around him and move westward to the land of the setting
sun, to the vineyards of California. But the war had taken his
three sons and it had made him bitter. He often got drunk on
Saturday afternoons and then he would rave against old age.
He would rage against the town on the opposite side of the
river which drained a man of his freedom, and he would cry
because the war had ruined his dream. It was very sad to see
Bless Me, Ultima
15
my father cry, but I understood it, because sometimes a man
has to cry. Even if he is a man.
And I was happy with Ultima. We walked together in the
llano and along the river banks to gather herbs and roots for
her medicines. She taught me the names of plants and flow­
ers, of trees and bushes, of birds and animals; but most
important. I learned from her that there was a beauty in the
time of day and in the time of night, and that there was peace
in the river and in the hills. She taught me to listen to the
mystery of the groaning earth and to feel complete in the ful­
fillment of its time. My soul grew under her careful guid­
ance.
I had been afraid of the awful presence of the river, which
was the soul of the river, but through her I learned that my
spirit shared in the spirit of all things. But the innocence
which our isolation sheltered could not last forever, and the
affairs of the town began to reach across our bridge and enter
my life. Ultima’s owl gave the warning that the time of
peace on our hill was drawing to an end.
It was Saturday night. My mother had laid out our clean
clothes for Sunday mass, and we had gone to bed early
because we always went to early mass. The house was quiet,
and I was in the mist of some dream when I heard the owl
cry its warning. I was up instantly, looking through the small
window at the dark figure that ran madly towards the house.
He hurled himself at the door and began pounding.
“jMarez!” he shouted, “jMarez! jAndale, hombre!”
I was frightened, but I recognized the voice. It was Jas6n’s
father.
“jUn momento!” I heard my father call. He fumbled with
the faro!.
“jAndale, h ombre, andale!” Chavez cried p i tifully.
“Mataron a mi hermano–”
“Ya vengo–” My father opened the door and the fright­
ened man burst in. In the kitchen I heard my mother moan,
“Ave Maria Purfsima, mis hijos-” She had not heard
Chavez’ last words, and so she assumed the aviso was one
that brought bad news about her sons.
16
Rudolfo Anaya
“Chavez, j,que pasa?” My father held the trembling man.
“jMi hermano, mi hermano!” Chavez sobbed. “He has
killed my brother!”
“j,Pero que dices, hombre?” my father exclaimed. He
pulled Chavez int