Re: Diego Rivera: My Art, My Life. An Autobiography With Gla
Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2015 1:15 am
A WITCHCRAFT CURE
A Number of Blank Days Passed. I was very ill. Most of the time I was in a coma. In brief intervals of wakefulness, I would see Antonia beside my bed, silent and immobile. My mother was away most of the day, hunting for a bigger house for all of us to live in. One day, when she came home with medicine prescribed by a doctor friend, Antonia vehemently restrained her from giving it to me.
I was still in bed and still feverish when my periods of consciousness began to lengthen. Since I awakened delirious many times in the night, Antonia remained at my bedside night and day.
She saw to it that the soft light of the clay lamp was constantly replenished with the animal grease which fed it and that the door to the corridor was closed to keep out any stronger light. For most of my illness, Antonia went without sleep. Around her erect form hung an almost visible aura of authority. When my father and mother visited me, she allowed them to come no further than the half-open door, where I could barely hear them whisper. She only fed me meals she had bought and prepared herself.
Convalescence brought with it a feeling of renewal and rebirth. Now Antonia permitted herself an occasional nap.
One morning, she came in to dress me, as she had begun to do each day. She combed my hair as she had when I was a child in the mountains. Then she took me in her arms and kissed me. I was suddenly afraid.
"What do you mean by this?" I asked fearfully. "Do you intend to leave me?"
Antonia laughed. Despite her age and her primitive life, her teeth were still strong and gleaming.
"No, my child. How could I leave you? I could never leave you, and don't you forget that, I mean never! No matter how far you may go, no matter how quickly you may travel on the path you are to follow after this day, no matter how many roads you must take, no matter what difficulties you encounter in building your tower , I'll be with you always. If need be, I'll cross seven rivers and seven seas and seven countries and each of them thirteen and twenty times to come back to you. As long as the sun shines, I will be with you always, my child, always."
With that, she laughed gaily and then began an incantation which was part of a magic rite symbolizing the transference of the spirit of life from one thing (an egg, in this instance) to another (me).
She took the egg from the space between her breasts and handed it to me. It was as warm as if it had been newly laid. Then she unwrapped a bone needle from a cotton cloth and pierced the egg at each end.
Kissing the egg, she said, "Now, my child, you kiss it and drink its inside as quickly as you can."
I did as Antonia bade me. The egg was emptied in a gulp.
Antonia took the hollow shell from my hands. All at once she began to chant loudly, joyously, in her native Tarascan. Singing, she led me into the kitchen, where she prepared a small wood fire. When the fire was ablaze, she threw the shell, the needle, and what seemed to be a small package into its midst. She vigorously fanned the flames with a straw fan, the volume of her voice rising.
Suddenly, as if they had leapt from some great hearth in my throat, the words of Antonia's song came to me, and I began to sing along with her. When the needle, the shell, and the package were consumed in the fire, Antonia put her left arm around my neck and kissed me many times while continuing to fan the fire with her right hand. Between her kisses, I heard the word "never" repeated over and over again. After a while she released me.
Putting the fan in my hand, she said to me, "Wait for me but don't stop fanning the fire until the last cinder turns to ash."
I did as she asked, not even thinking it strange. Antonia left the kitchen, and I fanned till nothing but ashes were left in the fireplace. Then I sat down and waited for her return. I waited all that morning and afternoon. By nightfall, seeing my vigilance unrewarded, my mother declared, "What a terrible and peculiar person Antonia is! What has happened to her? She left just like that without even saying good-bye."
During the next several days, my mother and father made inquiries about her of the police. They feared she might have met with an accident. Four days after her disappearance, they put an announcement in the papers, but with no response.
I, however, knew Antonia better than my parents. I realized that her departure was no more mysterious than her arrival had been. Little by little, I began to accept it.
At the end of dinner one night, my mother asked me with tears in her eyes, "But after she came to meet you by a real miracle, don't you have any feelings for Antonia? Aren't you worried about her? Are you the monster I feared you were when you opened the live mouse to see how a child comes to life?"
I had no language to answer my mother. She became furious at my silence and screamed hysterically, "My son, I am less than a dog to you, isn't it so? Answer me at once!"
Without being able to control myself, hard as I tried, I burst into loud laughter. Then I sang the Tarascan song Antonia had sung to me the last time we were together.
My mother's eyes grew wide. Real terror showed in her face. Glancing at me as if she feared that I would do her some harm, she got out of her chair and ran to the living room where my father was working at his books. After a while, I grew quiet. I went to find my mother, to placate her.
Approaching the living room, I heard her whisper to my father, "It is necessary to do something for the boy. I'm afraid he's out of his mind."
My father laughed softly. "No, Chiquita, he's all right. You gave birth to him, but that one gave him life. No matter where she is, he feels she will always be with him and will never leave him."
"Por Dios! You have gone as mad as the boy. What do you mean? Where is Antonia now? What has happened to her? Why will she never leave him? I don't understand. Why is it my destiny to live with people as crazy as the two of you?" And my mother began to cry bitterly.
Stealthily I went away. I walked out of the house into the street. The night was clear, familiar and warm.
No, Antonia would never leave me.
A Number of Blank Days Passed. I was very ill. Most of the time I was in a coma. In brief intervals of wakefulness, I would see Antonia beside my bed, silent and immobile. My mother was away most of the day, hunting for a bigger house for all of us to live in. One day, when she came home with medicine prescribed by a doctor friend, Antonia vehemently restrained her from giving it to me.
I was still in bed and still feverish when my periods of consciousness began to lengthen. Since I awakened delirious many times in the night, Antonia remained at my bedside night and day.
She saw to it that the soft light of the clay lamp was constantly replenished with the animal grease which fed it and that the door to the corridor was closed to keep out any stronger light. For most of my illness, Antonia went without sleep. Around her erect form hung an almost visible aura of authority. When my father and mother visited me, she allowed them to come no further than the half-open door, where I could barely hear them whisper. She only fed me meals she had bought and prepared herself.
Convalescence brought with it a feeling of renewal and rebirth. Now Antonia permitted herself an occasional nap.
One morning, she came in to dress me, as she had begun to do each day. She combed my hair as she had when I was a child in the mountains. Then she took me in her arms and kissed me. I was suddenly afraid.
"What do you mean by this?" I asked fearfully. "Do you intend to leave me?"
Antonia laughed. Despite her age and her primitive life, her teeth were still strong and gleaming.
"No, my child. How could I leave you? I could never leave you, and don't you forget that, I mean never! No matter how far you may go, no matter how quickly you may travel on the path you are to follow after this day, no matter how many roads you must take, no matter what difficulties you encounter in building your tower , I'll be with you always. If need be, I'll cross seven rivers and seven seas and seven countries and each of them thirteen and twenty times to come back to you. As long as the sun shines, I will be with you always, my child, always."
With that, she laughed gaily and then began an incantation which was part of a magic rite symbolizing the transference of the spirit of life from one thing (an egg, in this instance) to another (me).
She took the egg from the space between her breasts and handed it to me. It was as warm as if it had been newly laid. Then she unwrapped a bone needle from a cotton cloth and pierced the egg at each end.
Kissing the egg, she said, "Now, my child, you kiss it and drink its inside as quickly as you can."
I did as Antonia bade me. The egg was emptied in a gulp.
Antonia took the hollow shell from my hands. All at once she began to chant loudly, joyously, in her native Tarascan. Singing, she led me into the kitchen, where she prepared a small wood fire. When the fire was ablaze, she threw the shell, the needle, and what seemed to be a small package into its midst. She vigorously fanned the flames with a straw fan, the volume of her voice rising.
Suddenly, as if they had leapt from some great hearth in my throat, the words of Antonia's song came to me, and I began to sing along with her. When the needle, the shell, and the package were consumed in the fire, Antonia put her left arm around my neck and kissed me many times while continuing to fan the fire with her right hand. Between her kisses, I heard the word "never" repeated over and over again. After a while she released me.
Putting the fan in my hand, she said to me, "Wait for me but don't stop fanning the fire until the last cinder turns to ash."
I did as she asked, not even thinking it strange. Antonia left the kitchen, and I fanned till nothing but ashes were left in the fireplace. Then I sat down and waited for her return. I waited all that morning and afternoon. By nightfall, seeing my vigilance unrewarded, my mother declared, "What a terrible and peculiar person Antonia is! What has happened to her? She left just like that without even saying good-bye."
During the next several days, my mother and father made inquiries about her of the police. They feared she might have met with an accident. Four days after her disappearance, they put an announcement in the papers, but with no response.
I, however, knew Antonia better than my parents. I realized that her departure was no more mysterious than her arrival had been. Little by little, I began to accept it.
At the end of dinner one night, my mother asked me with tears in her eyes, "But after she came to meet you by a real miracle, don't you have any feelings for Antonia? Aren't you worried about her? Are you the monster I feared you were when you opened the live mouse to see how a child comes to life?"
I had no language to answer my mother. She became furious at my silence and screamed hysterically, "My son, I am less than a dog to you, isn't it so? Answer me at once!"
Without being able to control myself, hard as I tried, I burst into loud laughter. Then I sang the Tarascan song Antonia had sung to me the last time we were together.
My mother's eyes grew wide. Real terror showed in her face. Glancing at me as if she feared that I would do her some harm, she got out of her chair and ran to the living room where my father was working at his books. After a while, I grew quiet. I went to find my mother, to placate her.
Approaching the living room, I heard her whisper to my father, "It is necessary to do something for the boy. I'm afraid he's out of his mind."
My father laughed softly. "No, Chiquita, he's all right. You gave birth to him, but that one gave him life. No matter where she is, he feels she will always be with him and will never leave him."
"Por Dios! You have gone as mad as the boy. What do you mean? Where is Antonia now? What has happened to her? Why will she never leave him? I don't understand. Why is it my destiny to live with people as crazy as the two of you?" And my mother began to cry bitterly.
Stealthily I went away. I walked out of the house into the street. The night was clear, familiar and warm.
No, Antonia would never leave me.