(1941) The Forgotten Village Page 2

  Then teacher and Wise Woman met in the doorway. “It is not the airs,” the teacher said, “it is the water. The well is contaminated.” “Trini will cure it, whatever it is,” the father said.

  Trini said angrily, “What is this nonsense—these new things—these young men who tell their elders? You will kill the people with your new foolishness. This for your nonsense!” And she threw his medicines to the ground.

  Trini sat beside Paco. “So the egg did not cure?” she asked. “Well, I have another cure, a better one.

  “We will draw the pains downward to his feet. We will suck the pains from his belly. We will draw the airs up to his temples and lose them. Now he will be well again.”

  But Paco died and became a little saint—gone straight to heaven

  without sin or sorrow, without shame or burden.

  The neighbors came and danced all night, as they always do. It is not good to be sad at such a time.

  The neighbors came and danced all night in the room with the little saint.

  Only the family was sad.

  A little saint

  without sin or sorrow

  going straight to heaven

  in his new hat.

  The little sister cooked the food that night and the family waited. For the mother was shocked by the loss of one child to early labor on another.

  In the kitchen, father and brothers and sister waited in the night. And Juan Diego read to them from a book. He read how an Indian boy named Juárez became a great man and president of all Mexico. And he read how in this one Indian who became president was bound the promise that all the people would some day be free and happy. They listened, half believing, to the story.

  The Wise Woman worked her magic, and chanted the old words: “Now he is forming,

  Now he is ready.

  “Now he has hands.

  Now he has eyes.

  Now he is forming.”

  When the birth was near, they awakened the father to give strength and comfort to the mother. Between his knees he held her and braced her against her pain, and took some of the pain to himself.

  And Trini worked with the last labor. She chanted, “Now he is formed, now he is ready.” The father whispered in Esperanza’s ear, “Be of good courage, I am with you. Be of good courage, I am with you.” And Trini cried in triumph, “He is formed—he is born! He is here!”

  In the morning the family welcomed the new baby. He was a boy child and beautiful. And he had hurried to be born on the feast day of his own village of Santiago.

  His name would be Santiago; he must be fortunate with such an omen. And he was very beautiful.

  They sent up rockets for the little fiesta of Santiago, and they drank and danced in the plaza. The people congratulated the father on his new son, and on the prophecy. The father was a great and happy man on that day.

  Then, in front of the church, the people celebrated in dance the ancient war of Castilians and Moors.

  They acted out a battle between peoples they did not know in a land they had never heard of in a time that was forgotten. And the people enjoyed the death of the king of the Moors, as they did every year.

  But many children were sick and the fiesta did not cure them. And the white headbands of the Wise Woman were everywhere. And more children were sick, and the people of Santiago were frightened.

  In fear they carried the Saint and the Christ in procession.

  “Our Guardian, look on the sadness of Thy village,” they sang.

  “Look on the children.

  Save us from this sorrow.

  “Show us the sin we have committed, that we may repent.

  Save us from this sorrow.

  Look on Thy people and Thy village.

  Look on the sinless children dying for our sins.

  Save us from this sorrow.

  Save us, Santiago, Save us, Lord Jesus.”

  But the children sickened and new sorrow fell upon the people.

  At the school Juan Diego and the teacher prepared, with a borrowed kerosene-lamp projector and scratched film, to show the people what caused the sickness and how it could be cured.

  They made a petition to the medical authorities in the distant capital.

  Then the teacher gathered the people in the school. And he amused them first with cartoons so that they might not be against him.

  Then he told them of the doctors who visit the villages when they can. He told them invisible little animals cause many sicknesses- typhoid, smallpox, and malaria.

  “Here in our village, there are little animals that live in the water. They are the murderers of the children. But there is a way to cure it. We must clean up the water and cure the children. The serum from an infected horse can cure the children.”

  “Horses’ blood!” the chief said. “Are we animals? Are we horses or dogs or rats? What is this horses’ blood? What is this new nonsense?”

  The teacher said, “We want to help you, not to hurt you. The men of science are working to cure the children. Now you have seen the cause of the sickness and you have seen the cure. The men of science work to help you, but first you must help yourselves. If you, the people of the village, will sign this petition, the doctors will come and cure the children and help us to clean the water.”

  But the chief protested. “We do not want horses’ blood. Are we horses?” And another said, “Truly, some of the children die and go to heaven. Perhaps it is intended that way. We do not like these new things.”

  Juan Diego spoke for the teacher, “The children are dying. The curandera cannot cure them. Listen to the teacher. He knows.”

  The chief cried then, “I am tired of babies telling their elders! I am tired of these new things—this horse blood.”

  At the house, the little sister, Maria, had taken the illness.

  The Wise Woman brought another ancient cure for her—one that was oldest and strongest of all, a snakeskin to draw the pain. Juan Diego went out of the house and walked to the little school.

  Juan Diego said to the teacher, “They have put a snakeskin on my sister. They are using charms as they did with Paco.” “They rejected the petition,” the teacher said. “What is done we must do ourselves. We must send the letter ourselves.” “I will take the letter to the doctors,” Juan Diego said, “I myself.”

  Then Juan Diego, who had never been more than ten miles from his own village, went out into a strange new world, among people he did not know. He was frightened, but he had to do it.

  He walked into a new world.

  When at last he was tired and thirsty, he stopped at a military post to ask for water.

  The soldier said, “Here is water. Where do you travel?”

  “I go to the city. The babies of my pueblo are dying. I go to bring the doctors to save the children.” A man had said the doctors would not come. The village was too far away and it was a waste of time.

  “You will think I who am a soldier should like to fight. I am an old soldier. I was a boy from a village like you before I was a soldier. Yours is the true people’s work,” the soldier said; “saving, not killing ; growing, not dying. That is the people’s work, yours and mine. And now a straight path for your feet and benevolence on your task.”

  Then Juan Diego walked on in country that was strange to him.

  The city was terrible to him.

  He saw buildings fantastic and unbelievable. People whose lives he could not imagine. He was frightened.

  But the children were sick. He asked his way to the hospital.

  Finally he found his way to the hospital. The doctor said, “The medical trucks are all out at other villages. There is no one to send.” And Juan Diego pleaded with him, “The children of Santiago are sick. More every day. My own sister. My brother is dead.

  “We need your help. We think it is the water. The people go to the Wise Woman. She says it is the airs. She is treating my own sister with a rattlesnake skin.” “What can we do?” the doctor asked. “The medical truck
s are all out. There is no one to send.” “The children are dying-more every day. And we can do nothing!” cried Juan Diego. “You can save the children. You must come to Santiago.”

  They set out for the village in a rural service car. They took an interne and a nurse, equipment for water-test, serums.

  They came to the village to save the children.

  Trini saw them and was afraid for her business. She called, “The horse-blood men are here.”

  And the people hid their children from the doctors.

  The doctor examined Maria. “Snakeskin! This will never cure her,” he said.

  “She is very ill. I think I know her illness. But I must see the other sick children before I can be sure. I will come back when I’m sure. This medicine will reduce the fever—nothing more.”

  And when he left the house, the mother put the snakeskin back on Maria’s belly.

  The warning of Trini had gone through the village. The strangers-the horse-blood men—are here. The village was against them, for the rumor had run through the village: they bring horses’ blood for the children.

  The people hid the children. “There are no sick children here.”

  And only a few received them.

  The father was courteous, but he said, “We do not want horses’ blood here.” “But she will die without the injection,” the doctor warned.

  Ventura said, “Then she will die by God’s will, not by horses’ blood. You may not enter my house nor poison my children.”

  At the medical tent the interne set up a microscope. He said, “Here they are. I have them on the plate, the little murderers. This is the water of your well. Come, look at them.”

  And Juan Diego and the teacher looked at the entero bacilli which caused the sickness.

  Then they went to the well to disinfect it. “We’ll kill the murderers first,” the doctor said, and he gave the disinfectant to the teacher.

  “You must do this every day until no more children sicken,” he said.

  “Our regular medical trucks will come with more soon. We must kill the little murderers at the source.”

  Trini saw them pour the powder into the well, and when they had gone she tasted the water and spat it out. “They have poisoned the well! It is not enough that they bring horses’ blood. They must poison us too.”

  She collected the people under the churchyard tree. “The strangers have poisoned the water,” she said. “The well is poisoned.” Then the people grew angry because they believed the well was poisoned.

  They moved angrily down to the medical tent.

  They shouted, “You have poisoned the water! We have no water now. This woman’s baby has just died of your poison. You have killed her baby. Look at her.”

  “The water is safe now,” the doctor said. “We have made it safe. The little animals are dead.”

  And the people cried, “We do not want you—poisoners!” Trini turned on Juan Diego and struck him in the face. “And you, traitor to your own people, why do you deal with strangers?

  “We must drive them out before they kill us all. Drive them out-the poisoners! Drive them out!” Then the people drove the doctors out of the village with curses.

  The father said to Juan Diego, “You are disgracing me with our own people. I am a laughing stock to the great men of Santiago.”

  In the night, Juan Diego stole his little sister from the house, and he carried her out of the village. The doctor and the teacher waited for him.

  “We can save her,” the doctor said. “It is soon enough. She will be well again. She will be well.” And he gave the little girl the saving injection.

  “Here are medicines,” he said to the teacher. “Use them when you can. And do not forget the well, even if you must disinfect it at night.... You can take her back. She will be well.”

  Juan Diego crept back to his own house, carrying his sister. And the father waited in the door.

  “You are against your village and your family,” the father said. “You are a friend of the poisoners. You do not belong to us. Go to your friends.” And he struck him and pushed him from the house.

  Then Juan Diego went sadly to the teacher. “My father said I must never return again.”

  “We thought it would happen,” the teacher said. “You have broken the law of your father. You have hurt his pride in the village. The doctors said they would place you in school in the city.

  “You must take the short-cut over the mountains to meet the medical car. But you must hurry. Hurry. You will come back to your own people later, when you know enough. Hurry.”

  Then Juan Diego ran over the mountains and he met the car returning to the city.

  He sat wide-eyed in the car and listened to the doctor. “Do not worry about your sister—she will get well,” the doctor said. “The teacher has medicine enough until our regular medical service truck gets back to the village. When the people see that your sister is well, they will accept the medicine. Do not blame them. It is the young people who will change them,” the doctor said.

  “They come from the villages to learn, boys like you, Juan Diego, and girls. They learn not for themselves, but for their people. It will not be quick, Juan Diego; learning and teaching are slow, patient things.

  “Changes in people are never quick. But the boys from the villages are being given a chance by a nation that believes in them. From the government schools, the boys and girls from the villages will carry knowledge back to their own people, Juan Diego.

  “And the change will come, is coming; the long climb out of darkness. Already the people are learning, changing their lives, learning, working, living in new ways.

  “The change will come, is coming, as surely as there are thousands of Juan Diegos in the villages of Mexico.”

  And the boy said, “I am Juan Diego.”