CHAPTER 3 THE DESERT AGAIN

Maria knew that she was being punished. That was why she had conceived no other child since Portina's birth over eight years ago. Somehow, she had offended God. He was punishing her. Kneeling in the church, ignoring the on-going Mass, she once again prayed to become pregnant. As the prayers flowed habitually through her mind, she thought back over the years, searching for that one event that God saw but she didn't. That one event that had caused God to turn her barren. That one event for which she should beg forgiveness and thereby turn around her unproductive years. As had been the case every time before, her mental search revealed nothing. Turning her head slightly to the left, Maria saw Juan kneeling beside her. He looked so old. He had aged far more than the wear of the last nine years should have caused. His hair was heavily streaked with gray. Deep thin wrinkles were scribed all through the lean flesh of his face. His shoulders were continually bent. He carried them as if they were made of stone. Juan also knew she was cursed by God. He never said so, but she saw it in his eyes. It even showed at night in their bed. The act to procreate, initiated only by her now, was as regular as they were capable of, but never two nights in a row. It was quick and shallow -- a gesture performed without hope for more than the fleeting gratification he received. Never was there the permanent gratification of a seed successfully sown. Now, unlike the early years, Juan didn't even mention the possibility of another child. Maria turned her head slightly to the right. Kneeling beside her, deep in prayer, head bowed and touching her folded hands was Maria's only successful act of procreation: beautiful Portina. Beautiful to her, anyway. Maria resented that some of the people of the village said un-kind things about Portina. They whispered that she was slow, not as intelligent as other children her age. They gossiped about her short stature. They commented on her bulky features, indicative of the Indians from far Southern Mexico. Her features had surely come from Maria's ancestors. Despite what other people thought, Maria knew her daughter was beautiful and good. She was a lovely girl to know. Her mind kept concepts simple and perceived everyone and everything from an innocent viewpoint. She even wept when it was necessary to slaughter a farm animal for food. It frustrated Juan. He could not understand such a foolish attitude. Portina's arm brushed Maria's. Maria moved slightly to increase the contact between them. Then, she returned her attention to her prayers and the Mass. After Mass and the obligatory period of discussions in the zocalo, Maria and Portina hastily withdrew to the Father's hacienda. There they busily assisted the children. It had become a routine over the years. While the children of the Father's orphanage changed, not much else had. The Father remained steadfast in his rigorous demands for unwavering obedience and complete occupation by the children. His beliefs were constant: idle hands and minds are the workshop of the devil and to be diligently avoided; and, some measure of the flames of Hell here on earth will save a person from an eternity of burning in Hell. Red marks glared from normally hidden parts of the children's bodies. They provided testimony to his continuing assignment of this penance. From what the girls implied, Maria knew that his demands in other respects were also undiminished.

"We're here," Maria heard the Father's dogmatic call come from the distant entrance to the hacienda. The unexpected voice startled her. The men had arrived from the square sooner than she anticipated. He and Juan would be ready now for the breakfast that Maria, Portina and the children hadn't finished preparing. Maria directed Nadina, and Portina to take the orange juice and sweet breads into the dining room where she knew the two men would be waiting. The girls looked at each other and then Maria. Their faces expressed a wariness that they all felt. They each recognized that the Father had immediate expectations that they were not prepared to fulfill. She smiled at them and said, "It'll be okay. Just hurry there and come back quickly." She refused to let her own discomfort show and infect the girls. They rushed off with the peace offering. Despite the distance, the sound of the Father's reprimand came clearly to the kitchen. "Don't talk to me like that!" The words were mixed with the distant sound of a slap. Maria cringed at the sounds. When the two girls rushed back into the kitchen, Maria's heart exploded in hurt. The welt on Portina's cheek and the tears in her eyes told her who had received the punishment. Portina choked out an explanation, "I just said that they got here too soon. Breakfast wasn't ready yet. Then, he hollered at me and hit me. What did I do wrong?" Maria bit at her lower lip, covering the act with her upper lip. She blinked back tears. The unjust pain Portina felt stabbed a thousand-fold over in Maria's heart. Even worse, she knew that there was no explanation for it and no recourse from it. Regaining her composure, she ordered, "Stop crying! That will serve no good." Then, she set Portina to stirring the beans cooking in the frying pan. She heated the tortillas and began preparing the eggs. As they worked, the Father's distant bellowing un-nerved Maria. He continued to demand food that wasn't ready. When it was ready, Maria and Portina took it to the dining room. Entering first, Maria pleaded in her softest and most penitent voice, "I'm sorry, Father. I got behind on breakfast." She placed the dishes of food on the table. Portina followed behind her. She kept her distance from the Father as she put down the basket of tortillas and a bowl of meat. "Probably idling away your time and the children's on silly conversation. I thought I taught you better." "Yes, Father," Maria replied. "You did." "Well, I'm not so sure you are passing my good teachings on to Portina." The Father looked at Juan. "Discipline, Juan. That is what children need. I'm sure your father taught you with it. The good friars that raised me certainly did. And it didn't hurt either of us in the long run. Did it?" "No, Father. In fact, I feel like I'm a much better man for it," Juan said. He looked up at Maria without any sympathy in his eyes. He obviously meant what he said. "Come here, girl," the Father ordered, looking intently at Portina. Alarm went to her face. She quickly looked over at Maria. Maria jerked her head towards the Father and gave Portina a stern look. It hurt to have to give her

daughter that look -- to force her into whatever the Father had in his mind. Maria knew she had no other choice. Portina cautiously stepped towards the Father. "Closer!" shouted the Father. The shout shook both women. They both instinctively jumped forward. The Father reached out, took Portina's wrist and jerked her next to him. "You need to show more respect for your elders," he said. "When they speak, you don't question them. You just do what they say; no questions; no tarrying. And when you speak to your elders, you speak respectfully. Not like a little while ago." He continued to lecture to her. As he did, he held her small wrist in one bony hand. With the long index finger of the other, he made his points by repeatedly poking her chest. The fingertip tapped the messages deeply and painfully into her. Heavy moisture coated her eyes. Her lower lip quivered visibly. Maria prayed that she would do the right thing -- stand passively and accept the lecture and the tiny pains it brought. Fortuneately, she did. In time, the Father felt he had said all he needed to. With a jerk on Portina's wrist, he twisted her about. He then placed his hand around her buttocks and pushed her. "Now go make yourself useful." She stumbled from the push, nearly falling. As Maria left the room with Portina, she heard the Father say those frightening words again, "I tell you, Juan, you ought to send Portina to live with me for a while. I could teach her well. Just as I did Maria." Maria slowed long enough to hear Juan's reply, "I know I should, but I don't think that this is the right time. Later, maybe." As they fled towards the kitchen, Portina's moist eyes burst forth with the tears that she had earlier managed to contain. Maria repeatedly blinked back her own tears. When they arrived, Maria looked at her daughter. She wanted to say something to comfort her. She knew that there was no message of sympathy that she could safely pass on. To do so would only put her daughter in future jeopardy. It might give her cause to dwell on the unfairness of the Father's behavior. It might give her cause to believe that the Father could be reasoned with in this matter. It might cause Juan to punish her -- or worse yet, send her to stay with the Father. 'No,' Maria concluded as she looked at Portina, 'I must not say anything. Portina must be totally obedient to the Father, just as I always had to be. The best I can do is to keep her away from the Father. Away from the Father and the fires of Hell.' She shuddered in memory of those punishments. They were still vivid even after all the years. <-----> Six more years passed. Each month Maria's womb again failed to bear the fruits of her night time efforts with Juan. He continued to age quickly, for the farm persisted in being a demanding master, despite the help of Maria and Portina. Father Rodriguez persisted in urging Juan to send Portina to him to educate. At times, Juan seemed on the verge of conceding. Maria battled back with subtle suggestions. She also saw to it that as Portina grew she increasingly helped Juan around the farm. By pushing Portina towards him, he grew to depend upon her and to accept her in place of the son he didn't have and now didn't expect. Portina progressed unequivocally towards womanhood: menstruation began; her torso, although plump,

took on a slight hourglass shape; her breasts blossomed; pubic hair appeared. Except for the on-set of menstruation, the rest happened slowly. These changes meant little in the larger context of meeting the day-to-day needs of the farm. Life dragged on for them. Neither had any reason or expectation for their lives ever to change. Life did begin to change one Thursday in early November. Portina was fourteen years old and less then three months from her fifteenth birthday. The warm afternoon was very late, verging on evening. The sun lay low in the southwestern sky, painting deep orange colors on the distant desert beneath it and stretching long shadows around the Conjon farmhouse. In the dining room, where they finished eating, the sunlight pierced the open doorway and splashed brightly on the opposite wall. Maria watched as Juan and Portina sat quietly munching on the sticky pastries. They looked as tired as she felt. Each had done a full day's work. If anyone were to have any excess energy, it would have been Portina, for she was young and eager for life. Even she merely sat quietly enjoying the sweets. Maria watched her tear off a piece of sweet bread with her index finger and thumb. She placed it into her mouth and sucked the honey off her fingers. Maria smiled at the slow and deliberate pleasure her daughter was taking from this dessert. Maria looked at the sunlight on the wall. It was growing deeper in orange color, indicating the pending sunset. The end of the day for all of them was just beyond that sunset. Little time was left in which to finish the day's chores, which included clearing the table of dishes. She placed her hands on her knees in a gesture of aiding her effort to stand. She had not completed standing up when, all of a sudden, she found herself falling towards the floor. It was as if a rug had been pulled out from beneath her. The Father's image flashed through her mind. Maria was unable to control her unexpected fall. As she went down, her head bumped the edge of the table. Her shoulder hit the floor first and painfully took the brunt of the fall. Maria was still trying to figure out what had happened when she heard Portina's scream. Quickly, the cause of her fall and the screams became clear. The floor was moving violently. Maria tried to stand up, using the table for assistance. The movement of the floor beneath her slowed her rise. The ground was no longer the solid restraint she had always known. It had found a life of its own -- shifting and shaking. For a fleeting instant, she thought of how hard it was to stand up in the moving wagon as it tipped and twisted over the un-even washes enroute to the village.. But, this was not the wagon! This was her home! The world around her was filled with strange sounds. Mostly, she heard a low dull rumbling. It emanated from everywhere. Accompanying it was the sound of the dishes in the cupboard clinking together; the door banging against the house; the boards of the house itself creaking and popping. Dirt rained down from between the boards of the ceiling. It touched them lightly like a swarm of gnats.Amongst it all, Portina wailed meaningless cries meant only to convey a deep primitive fear. It was the crash of the lantern, as it fell from the fireplace mantel onto the hearth, that stirred them to action. "Outside," she heard Juan shout. "Portina?" Maria shouted to Juan. "I'll get her," his shaking voice replied. Maria watched him struggle along the rolling floor, around the table and towards their daughter. Portina sat frozen in irrational fear. Her wailing screams were the only

action of which she appeared capable. Maria made towards the doorway. The rolling of the floor required her to use the table for support to keep her footing. She took the last steps from the table to the doorway in a quick dash. She safely reached the support of the doorway's frame. Juan worked his way towards the door with Portina clinging under his protective arm. Maria watched with fear as they struggled for footing against the unstable floor. Portina's wails had turned to bewildered moans. Juan staggered the final steps to the doorway with Portina. Reaching it, he placed his free hand on the doorjamb to steady them. Maria waited for Juan to get his footing and make a move outside. The light of the distant uncaring sun glared in her face. She couldn't see. She listened apprehensively to the sounds of the tortured house and ground. Suddenly, in front of them, louder than all of the other sounds, came a close-by crack followed by a long creaking sound. Then, like a shutter closing off the light to a camera, the outside world disappeared as the porch cover collapsed heavily across the doorway. Portina's moans returned to wails. Maria reached out and gripped her arm. Her eyes turned to Juan whom she could hardly see in the much darkened room. The fear that she had just barely managed to control before, was now starting to rise towards the crescendo of Portina's wails. Above her, she heard the roof making sounds similar to those that the porch cover had just made. It was going to collapse on them. She was convinced of it. It was going to shut out the screams of her beautiful daughter forever. Maria shut her eyes and prayed. "Dear Mother of Christ, please help us," she begged. "Please!" her mind screamed. She continued to send loud pleading prayers to the Virgin Mary through Portina's piercing cries. Then, she heard Juan say, "It's over." She paused in her prayers and probed the world around her. Indeed, it had stopped. The ground no longer swayed or rumbled. The dishes no longer clinked. Far fewer gnats of dirt flicked at her. The roof had stopped making threatening sounds. Seconds passed. They stood waiting in anticipation of the shaking's return. It remained absent. Portina even relaxed her wailing and cried with a trembling voice, "What happened, Papa? Why was everything shaking? Is God coming to punish us? What did we do wrong?" She began to cry from her fear of the unknown and the certainty that a great evil was befalling her. "I'm scared!" Portina shook in fear. Maria put her arms around Portina and tried to quiet the shaking that the earth had imparted to her and her daughter. Juan put his arms around both of them. "It's all right. Everything's okay. Sometimes the ground shakes like that, but never for very long." His voice projected far less conviction than Maria was sure he intended. "This happened before. I remember my father and mother telling me it happened when I was very young. A part of our house collapsed then. A villager was killed when a wall of his home fell on him. Some others were hurt by falling things." His voice became more calm as he spoke. Several more seconds passed with them locked together in a clutching mass of three. To Maria's relief, the earth didn't resume its shaking. The feel of Juan's arms around her was comforting. "I need to look around and see how much more damage there is." He glanced at the blocked doorway

then up at the ceiling. "First, though, let's pray to God and thank Him that none of us was harmed. We'll also pray that all of the villagers are okay." After praying, and in the advancing darkness, Juan checked around the immediate area of the farmhouse for damage. Meanwhile, Maria and Portina re-organized the worst of the disarray within the house. Juan quickly tore away at the fallen porch roof and made space to close the door. The sun had set and the darkness was complete before he finished. "Part of the barn's north wall fell," he informed Maria as they once again sat at the table. "Roof's okay, though. I don't see any other damage. I guess we were lucky. I hope so, anyway." They weren't lucky. It took several days to find out. <-----> The night of the earthquake Maria sensed a peculiar tension in Juan. She knew from his breathing beside her and the knots of movement that he remained awake when normally he would be sound asleep. She thought little of it. All of them were tense with fear over the day's event. Over the next two days, the ground shook three more times. None of these were as bad as the first. None-the-less, the new convulsions of the ground frightened all of them. Each day, Juan's tension increased. He became irritable and spoke little. Maria decided that his behavior was due to the continued ground movements. He didn't talk about his feelings. On the Sunday night after the main earthquake, as they lay in the dark, she asked him, "Juan is everything okay? You seem troubled." "I'm fine," he mumbled. Maria knew everything was not fine with him. Yet, she didn't pursue the issue. She didn't want to make him angry. Instead, she lay quietly wishing he would tell her what was troubling him. 'Have I done something wrong?' she wondered. 'Does he blame me for the earthquake?' Maria turned towards Juan and moved closer. She put her hand on his chest and began playing lightly with the hair at her fingertips. He remained immobile in indifference. In time, she let her hand drift down the long region of hair, past the navel and into the region of deep curly hair. Her delicate touch roamed the region seeking firmness. Nothing arose in answer to her touches. No rising swells of breathing occurred. Quite the opposite; his breathing became as limp and shallow as the flesh near her fingertips. He had fallen asleep. On the surface, this response relieved her. Deep inside, it didn't. In the past, she always carried him rapidly and with minimal prompting to his marital right. But tonight, he did not respond at all. 'Why?' she wondered. 'What have I done wrong? Why doesn't he want me anymore?' The questions delayed her from sleep. When sleep did come, the questions still circled and danced about like bees continually stirred from their hive. In her mind, she tried to calm the bees. Her attempts proved fruitless. The chaotic motions and sounds of these bees produced a restless sleep.

Two days later, Juan finally told her what was bothering him. He had gone to the fields early in the morning, as usual. He returned unexpectedly soon and slumped into a chair. The look on his face bordered on terror. The look frightened her. "What's the matter?" Maria asked. "I was afraid of this," he said. "I hoped and prayed that it wasn't. But, it is. I'm sure of it now." "What? Please tell me." "It's the spring. The water is definitely not flowing right." The words he spoke fed their own fear within her. "What do you mean? What's wrong?" she said. He looked up at her with terror still in his eyes. "My father said it happened when he was a boy. An earthquake occurred then too. The spring dried up. Three years of almost no water out of it before it started again. The farm was nearly ruined. Most of the family moved away. The spring never regained its former full flow." "Are you saying you think the spring is going to dry up?" Maria said. The idea seemed fearfully incredulous. "It already is. Even now, much less water is coming out of it." His terror increasingly infected her. The water was the life of the farm. Without it nothing would grow. They would have nothing to live on. A hot thirst came over her. With it came a feeling of being hopelessly lost. She fought against the feelings. "We should pray," she said. A glimmer of hope flashed in Juan's eyes. "Yes," he said. "We'll pray." They did. Afterwards, Maria went to the spring to see for herself. What she saw shocked her. Because Portina normally drew the household water, Maria seldom went to the spring. The last time she saw it was during late summer when it was at its normal bubbling self. Then, it gushed out water that filled a cup in two or three seconds. Even in the depths of winter, it filled a cup in seven or eight seconds. Now, it flowed at only half of its slowest rate. The normally vibrant splashing sound of the water falling into the cistern was only a whisper now -- an ominous whisper like the final fading murmurs of a dying man. Maria now understood the reason for Juan's recent tension. He had been in uncertain fear over the prospect of the spring drying up. His worst fear had come to pass. And, his worst fear was Maria's. As the weeks passed, the spring continued to slow its output. It slowed, but didn't cease completely. Juan and Maria continued to hope for its recovery. "The spring's flow always decreases in the Fall and increases during the winter," Juan speculated. "Surely, it will do so this year too. It'll recover back to its normal self." "Yes," said Maria. "I hope so." Yet, like the spring's flow, their hope for its rapid recovery ebbed slowly with the realities they saw each time they checked it. The demise of the spring didn't have an immediate impact. During mid-December, the winter rains started. They came regularly and provided an adequate supplement to the losses from the spring. Juan and Maria knew that it was only a stopgap. After March, the weather would turn dry for several long

hot months. Then, the spring's lack of output would prove truly devastating. Portina turned fifteen. Winter's cool hand gripped the land. Its short days and damp weather matched the feelings in Juan and Maria. The approach of Spring did nothing to revive their mood, just as the spring failed to revive its output. Maria repeatedly turned Juan and Portina towards the one source she felt might extricate them from this problem -- prayer. As the weeks of late winter passed, their un-answered prayers became more frequent and pleading. They even spent some of their precious little money for blest candles to burn as offerings in the church. Still, God remained deaf to them. In time, Maria urged Juan to consult with Father Rodriguez. Maybe he could help them reach God. The Father prayed for them. He said a Mass in the name of Juan's needs. All to no avail. Their prayers for the spring failed, just as had their prayers for a child. The spring too continued to fail in its performance. <-----> Maria's mood during the ride into the village for Easter Sunday Mass was a gloomy counterpoint to the bright sun and the new religious hope that the day represented. She looked out at the land around them. It was browning quickly. Gone now were the delicate flowers that just three short weeks ago lay strewn about in low clumps. Those flowers had been the last vestiges from the Spring rains. Now, they were no more. And with them had gone any hope of the spring's revival. All that lay ahead was a hot dry summer. Maria saw the desert in the distance. It shimmered with heat that seemed to be drawing closer. She looked away, frightened by the prospect. She continued searching for any residual blooms of spring. She saw only the dead brown blossoms on the heads of the tall yucca cactus. Over the last several weeks, Maria saw Juan's enthusiasm dying as quickly as the spring flowers. Each day she watched him plod more slowly at his chores around the farm. He moved as if attempting to save his energies and internal body fluids against the pending needs. Even in bed at night his inactivity was like an attempt to hoard his fluids within himself. Maria worried about Juan more than she worried about the state of the spring. There was water elsewhere, but her only protection in life was through Juan. She was doing everything she could think of to vitalize him, but his level of motivation continued to diminish. After Mass, Juan again spoke with the Father on this most serious of matters. Maria listened as he once again verbalized the import of the matter with heavy despair. "I am sure that God has a reason for this, Juan," the Father tried to console him. "It's a test. Sometimes God has the need to test our love of Him. Those that pass have a grander place in Heaven. Of that I am sure." "Yes, Father, you're right. I know that. It's just that without the spring water, I don't know how I'll feed Maria and Portina. The trees and the animals need a lot of water to live. It was terrible when it

happened to my grandparents." "Juan, you must have faith that God will see you through this," the Father chided him impatiently. "After all, your grandparents got through it, and with God's help I'm sure. Continue to pray and do penance. When God sees fit, He will make the spring flow again. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to help you." As the Father made this last remark he turned and looked quizically at Maria and Portina. Maria took an involuntary step back from the look. She immediately excused herself and Portina. They hurried off to prepare breakfast at the Father's hacienda. <-----> That day and in the days that followed, Maria re-enforced the Father's admonition about giving up hope. "We have to think of Portina," she advised Juan. "We have to pray for help and work hard to show God that we haven't given up. It's the only way." Her constant reminders appeared to help, for she saw Juan begin to move with more purpose. It was the Friday after Easter Sunday. They had just retired to bed. Maria let the fatigue in her muscles melt away into the feather mattress. Her mind quickly slid within the initial fog of sleep. The slide stalled when she heard a distant voice saying, "We could go north to the United States, I suppose." Maria's sleep drugged mind clung to the fading echo of the distant voice. It was a familiar voice, but who's? Her father's? The echo strengthened, as if carried to her on a strong wind. She felt that same hot wind sweeping her into memories of a distant place and time. She was a child again -- alone. The bright fires of Hell burned all around her. Her tongue was painfully dry and swollen. Every movement of her body ignited flames on her flesh. Terribly hot winds brought echoes of going North to her. It was a voice whose source she should know. Then, recognition of the voice returned to her. It was Juan's voice that the burning wind brought to her. Through the fog of half-sleep, she knew that she had to stop them; get them out of the burning desert. His suggestion was ludicrous; they would die. "No!" she blurted out. All of a sudden, like a stretched rubber band let loose, her mind snapped out of the desert and into the blackness of the bedroom. The sound of her own voice had brought her immediately awake. In her memory were traces of Juan's suggestion and her own reaction. Despite her rising panic and racing heart, she found the composure to add softly, "That wouldn't be right. The spring will flow again next year or the year after. Then, everything will be all right again. I don't think we should leave our home." Juan stayed silent. Maria breathed slowly wondering if she should or could say more. She listened apprehensively as Juan reasoned aloud. "I suppose a trip like that would be long and dangerous. We would have to leave the farm. The Lord only knows what would happen to it while we were gone. It would be very hard to start over again here if we lost all of our animals and crops." Maria allowed herself to breath again. "Of course, I could go North alone. I could go to my brothers. They are rich, you know. They would help me get work. Then, I could send money to you and Portina. You two could work the farm and keep

things going until the spring starts to flow again." His speculation raised a new panic inside Maria. She immediately turned to him and wrapped an arm around him. She pressed her loose breasts against his arm, feeling his warmth. Her cheek rested on his shoulder. "Don't leave us, Juan. Please. We'll make it through this. I know it'll be difficult, but God will help us. We'll just have to pray hard and do with less. I know we can make it." He didn't respond. She knew that if she could see his face, his eyes would be squinting into the distance. His lips would be puckered inwardly as if he were sucking a lemon. It was the way with him when he was deep in thought. She also knew if she interrupted him, he would get cross. He never wanted her advice or suggestions when he was doing his manly duty of making the decisions for the family. His silence bothered Maria. It gave her a feeling of abandonment and loneliness. She held him close, not wanting to let him go. It was not enough for her. She reached up and touched the worn dried skin of his cheek. The stubble of his beard was coarse. Her finger tips ran lightly over his face, sensing its every contour and wrinkle. Juan was as good to her as she could expect a man to be. She had come to view him like a great oak tree, standing over her and shading her from the destructive sun. She couldn't envision a life without him. The dread of being left without his protection wouldn't leave her. Maria's fingertips slid down to his chest. Her finger nails, honed short by continuous work, exposed coarse fingertips. She moved them lightly over his chest. Touching him failed to quell her desire to be close to him. She began to suck lightly on his shoulder. The salty taste brought a new sense of closeness. It helped her. Still, she wanted more. She bit down lightly into the hard flesh. He gasped and jerked. She panicked. 'Did I bite him too hard? Is he going to be angry?' She worried. Her worry was brief. His hand reached for her leg. His breathing and squirming lurched into a pattern she knew well, but hadn't seen in weeks. He was hers now. This she knew. Yet, she had to keep him. Working her fingers down his side, she paused at the sensitive abdomen and circled it several times before moving down to his lower hip. Her fingers wandered over his leg and to the sack enclosed orbs, scratching each ever so delicately. She knew how sensitive they were. He was breathing heavily now, moaning low and convulsing as she triggered each new nerve cluster. Upward her fingertips moved, to the skin covered end of his extremity. She could feel it pulsing; yearning to be tightly enclosed. Maria's hand gripped him with the mild firmness one might use to hold a child's forearm in guiding its first steps. Her gripping hold didn't last long. His movements indicated that an urgency of purpose had burst forth in him. He had waited several weeks, but now he couldn't wait even a few seconds more. A slight tug on the child's forearm brought Juan unerringly onto and into her. Maria was perplexed by her feelings. In their fifteen years of marriage, she never had the desire for sex with Juan. Rather than desire, her past actions in this matter were driven by the sense of duty she had been taught. Tonight, she felt different. She wanted Juan atop her and inside her. It was not for any physical pleasure, for his firm, direct and single purposed entry was uncomfortable -- even bordering on painful. Rather, with him atop her and within her, she felt completely surrounded in a cocoon of protection. She wanted it to remain around her forever. She had no desire to burst free from this cocoon and float with colored wings on the wind. They were burning winds that would singe her wings and bake her frail body. No, the cocoon was her safety.

Afterwards, he lay on his back beside her. One of his hands rested heavily on her abdomen. Neither of them had spoken throughout the entire event. "Juan, promise me you won't leave me. Please? Promise me? I don't want to be left here alone without you," she pleaded in a soft dependent voice. Juan paused a few seconds in thought. He patted her abdomen lightly and said, "I won't leave you. We'll make it somehow." "Good" was her only audible comment. 'Thank you, Lord,' she thought gratuitously. Maria lay for a while in silence, listening for Juan's sleep. Instead, she heard him say, "The day after tomorrow I'm going to take the mule and go up into the mountains to search for a spring. There was one not too far away that my papa showed me one time. If I can find it, we can use that for a water supply. I think that I can remember about where it's at. Hopefully, it won't have gone dry too." Not long after making this decision, he was asleep. <-----> The next day they set about making preparations for Juan's trip. Maria baked biscuits, slaughtered a hen, broiled it up and planned other foods for a three day trip. She checked and sealed the seams of leather pouches that Juan would use to carry water back if he found the spring. Juan repaired some long unused traps that he retrieved from the back of the barn. "I'll set these out along the way to capture rabbits and squirrels. At least, I'll bring us back some meat," he explained. When Portina heard that her father was going on a trip into the mountains, she asked to go along. "No!" he told her. "You'll stay here and help your mama. I need you to see that the orchard and new crops need to be watered each day like I showed you." He gave her a long list of other chores to accomplish. She had enough to ensure that she would have little time to waste or even to assist Maria around the farmhouse. That night they spent more than the usual time in prayer. Juan prayed for help in locating the spring. Maria echoed that prayer, but mostly she begged the Lord to protect Juan on his journey into the mountains. The family reassured themselves that God surely heard their prayers and would come to their aid. Juan and his mule set out at first light the next day. They disappeared quickly over a ridge south of the farm. Maria busied herself, not wanting to think about his absence. She couldn't keep the fact out of her mind. She even tried telling herself that he was just at another part of the farm working. The delusion didn't work. So, she prayed under her breath that Juan would return soon -- successful. A dread that Juan might not return accompanied her throughout the day. That night in bed was worse. She hadn't spent a night alone since she had been married to Juan. It never crossed her mind to wonder what it might be like. She slept poorly. The next night she also slept alone, but less fitfully than the first night. The third day, late in the afternoon, Portina came running to the house yelling, "Poppa's back. Poppa's back." Maria hurried out with her to greet him.

She knew the results of his expedition long before they reached him. The bulging sacks and slow pace of the mule indicated a heavy load. He had found water. More important to Maria was that he was safely back. Juan exuded excitement. Over a hot meal he explained that he had wandered around a lot looking for the spring. "I criss-crossed the area. I couldn't seem to find it where I thought it would be. This morning I was ready to give up and come back. I sat down to rest and you know what?" He looked back and forth from Maria to Portina. "What happened, Poppa? Tell me. What?" Portina squealed at the puzzle. "I closed my eyes for a few minutes. I prayed for help. When I opened my eyes, Francito was gone. I called out to him. He didn't give me any answer. So, I began to look around. I kept calling until I finally heard him bray back. When I found him, he was drinking from a spring. A good flowing spring. God showed Francito where the spring was while I was praying." "And, it's not too far away. I can get there and back in a day," Juan explained. "Of course, I'll have to start early." As an added bounty, Juan's traps yielded some fat rabbit and squirrel meat. That night, before retiring, they all knelt before the altar and prayed their thanks. <-----> In the days that followed, Juan set about making a water wagon. He used old wheels, wood and metal parts from around the farm. Portina helped by caulking between the boards with slivers of wood and wax. Juan kept the water wagon small enough for Francito to pull over the rough terrain, but large enough to haul about 200 gallons of water. Hauling water from the distant spring became an answer to their problems, but not a perfect one. Maria saw Juan off to the spring twice a week. The effort to load the water wagon took so much time that the water trips ended up keeping Juan overnight. So, twice each week Maria slept alone. The trips for water and work of the farm also kept them from Mass for three consecutive Sundays. When Maria reminded Juan of this, he responded, "Next Sunday. We'll go to Mass for sure next Sunday. God will understand. He surely wouldn't want us to starve so we could go to Mass." Early the following Friday Juan left for another trip to the spring. Everyone's spirits were as bright as the morning, which was typically warm and clear. A light breeze excited rustled the leaves of the trees that surrounded the farm house. It promised a comfortable day for the chores that had become more arduous now that Juan was gone for water so often. After Juan left, Portina went to the back of the farm to port the spring's meager output to the orchard trees. She would be gone for a couple of hours. Maria decided to take advantage her absence to slaughter three hens and to pluck and cook them. First, she set water to boil in a large black cauldron over an open pit in the back yard. Then she selected her first victim and set out to grab it.

Normally the chickens were always under her feet as Maria moved about the yard. Yet, today, as if sensing what was to happen, they kept their distance. Maria was forced to chase and dart after her choice until she caught it by the tail feathers. Grabbing its head, she flicked her wrist vigorously, flinging its body in a circle. The sound of its neck snapping told her it was all but dead. Maria dipped the dead hen in the cauldron of boiling water for several seconds before lifting it out. The stench of the wet feathers was overpowering, so she quickly laid the bird's carcass on the wood work table and stepped back. She decided to slaughter the other two and dip them before beginning the unpleasant job of plucking them. The remaining chickens seemed to have clearly sensed the danger now. They cackled and squawked and leapt fluttering away each time she approached one of them. Frustrated, but determined, Maria pursued them. She was intent on dominating this contest and soon. So pre-occupied was Maria that she didn't see the horse and its rider round the house into her fray. The chicken that was the focus of her attention, fluttered beneath the front hooves of the horse. It was only then that Maria finally saw the horse, just as it reared in frightened response to the raucous beneath it. Maria attempted to stem her forward momentum. It was too late. The horse's rising left shank caught Maria's shoulder. She tumbled backwards. Her fall carried her onto a rooster that had been watching the on-goings. It protested her assault by batting her with its wings and digging her with its claws. Maria rolled away from the rooster and jumped to her feet. Only then did she look up and recognize the horse's rider. It was the Father. He struggled to regain control of his horse. "Oh, Father. It's you," she said. "You almost got me killed, you foolish girl," he snapped. "You ought to pay more attention to what's going on around you." "I'm sorry, Father," Maria said instinctively. She stood up and approached the horse, wondering what to do to make the situation better. "I wasn't expecting you." "Well, I'm here," he said, dismounting the horse. "Can I help you? Are you okay?" she asked. "I'm all right. It was close. I almost fell off. I'm too old to take a fall like that," he groused. "I'm sorry," Maria repeated. The pain from the horse's kick and the rooster's scratches bothered her. She squirmed, trying to shake off the discomfort. "Where's Juan? Back at the spring?" "No, Father. He's gone off to the mountains to get water. He has found a spring there. He left this morning and won't be back until tomorrow." "Oh," said the Father. He looked around as if checking to see if maybe Maria had lied. "Gone, huh?" A silence bloomed between them. Maria stood looking at the Father. He appeared puzzled and

uncertain. She waited passively for him to decide on the next move. After an uncomfortably long time the Father said, "Let's go inside. It was a long ride for me this morning." "Oh! Yes," Maria said. "Come in. I'll get you something to drink. Would you like something to eat?" She led the way inside. "Yes. Food and drink are what I want," he replied. Maria left the Father in the parlor while she scurried about to get some refreshments. Her mind was as concerned with questions about the Father's presence as it was with the assembly of the refreshments. Shortly, she returned to the parlor and set them at the table next to the Father. He drank down the glassful of lemonade in one tip. When he set the glass down, Maria refilled it. She stood and watched him pick at the fruit. "I haven't seen you and Juan at Mass for the last few weeks. I rode out to see if everything was all right," he said. The look he gave her sent a clear message. "Juan's not been able to go. He found a spring nearby in the mountains. A couple times a week he goes there to get water. I spoke to him about missing Mass. He said this Sunday for sure." His look continued stern and direct. It made Maria feel uneasy. "I tried," she added. The Father's gaze shifted from her face to the rest of her. He didn't say anything as he looked her over. Maria stood under his gaze, wishing Juan were here to deal with him. The Father's attention left Maria and diverted to the drink and food. Maria used the opportunity to move away from him to a chair. She sat down, barely on the edge, leaning forward. She was ready to leap up if he required something more. "So the spring still isn't flowing right?" he said, watching the meat filled tortilla he was eating. "It's flowing a little, but not very much. We need the water that Juan fetches from the mountains." "It's such a tragedy to have the spring dry up like that. His farm can't exist without it. It's important all right. Why did God make it dry up? Now that's the puzzle." The Father examined her closely as if expecting to hear some explanation -- some confession. "What does Juan plan to do?" he asked. "Maybe he can haul enough water now, but what about when the real heat of summer gets here? What then? Will all of his efforts be enough?" "We'll pray and work hard. We'll make do with less. Juan believes God will help us to get through this," she summarized. "It could get very bad, Maria," he said. He took another long drink of lemonade. "It will be hard enough for just you and Juan, but Portina is a growing girl. She needs nourishment to stay strong. Where is she?"

"Up watering the trees." "A good, hard-working girl. A lot like you were. She resembles you very much, too. A lot." Maria nodded, but said nothing. She did worry about Portina. Her growth had been spectacular over the last year; to the point where she was nearly as tall as Maria. "You know, maybe it's time Portina came to stay with me at the orphanage. She would have plenty of food and water. She could take care of the place like you used to. I might even be able to pay her a little from the donations I get for the orphanage." The Father's words brought a sudden flush of heat to Maria. The heat flared hotter as the Father said, "Yes, I'll have to talk to Juan about that on Sunday. I'm sure he will see the sense of my proposal. After all, it's not like sending off a son." His face beamed distant and content. The world bloomed reddish before Maria's eyes. For an instant she was back in time, just a short while ago, when she grabbed the chicken's head and with a flick of her wrist wrenched its neck. Now, watching the Father through the red, she struggled to decide what to do. One message roared in her mind -- Portina would never go stay with the Father. In an unprecedented boldness, she looked the Father directly in the eyes. Controlling the trembling that wanted to convulse her body into some ill-defined action, she said, "That won't be necessary. We will manage." She saw the Father's look turn from self-contentment to dismay. It was clear that, despite all of her efforts at control, her feelings of contempt were completely apparent to him. For one fleeting fraction of a second, she regretted her action. But, the reddish world immediately dissolved that regret as if it were but another spoonful of maroon dye. The red she saw grew deeper, into monstrous proportions, in recognition of the fact that she had even considered conceding to his will. The unique feelings of consuming heat and red made Maria queasy. She tried to stuff them away. The red monster wouldn't disappear. Seeing the Father watch her with a puzzled look caused another specter to begin to stir within her -fear. It crawled from its den of the past until it loomed over her. She sat, desperately returning the Father's gaze, while the specter of fear and the red monster struggled against each other. They pummelled her emotions between them. Soon, the specter of fear began to gain the upper hand in the battle. Her gaze surrendered the Father's face and took up the floor in defeat. It was several seconds before the Father spoke. Maria hoped for the best from him. "Maria, dear girl," he started in a softer voice than he had ever before used with her, "I know that in the past I was harsh with you. But, I had to be. When you first came to me you were nearly dead from hunger and thirst. Even in my care, I wasn't sure that you would survive. But, God was merciful and you lived. Clearly, it was a message that God had sent you to me to make a Christian out of you. To teach you his ways so that you could serve as a part of His grand design. He went on. "I did what needed to be done. You had to learn the things you would need to be a good wife. You had to learn the obedience Our Lord demands of women to their husbands. I know the

lessons were painful, but certainly much less so than the flames of Hell. And now you are a much better servant of God's. In Heaven, God will take away the scars and the painful memories. They will be replaced with pleasures a thousand-fold over." "Do you understand me?" he asked. His silence lingered for an answer. Maria didn't understand. His words only served to revive memories that she had managed to shrink into near invisibility within her life's montage of recollections. Now, his words were a magnifying glass. They expanded the tiny images and made them huge and unavoidable. Her mind filled with humiliating memories -- and a hyena. It stood nearby laughing at her. Maria found speech impossible. Her thinking was completely clouded with confused feelings. The specter of fear still loomed over her. The hyena howled hilariously. The red monster faded beside her in near death. Her mind spun in hopeless bewilderment. From her subjugated view of the floor between them, Maria saw the Father rise and move to stand in front of her. His closeness loomed like the specter of fear. A familiar, but unpleasant pungent odor came from him. The shrieking of the hyena was at an unbearable pitch. She heard the Father speak. "I am going to help you and Juan. I'll take good care of Portina and treat her as my own daughter ..." He placed his fingers under her chin and raised it. His touch felt to her like a hot brand. Looking up at his face, an old image exploded from its microscopic position buried within the montage of her recollections. It brought with it humiliating and distasteful feelings. The new feelings energized the monster of red. It leapt up, revived from near death. In a single lash it destroyed the specter of fear and sent the hyena silently scurrying away. Carried upward with the red monster, Maria burst to her feet. She knocked the Father's hand away from her chin, nearly capsizing him. He stumbled backwards. Her voice blasted out at him forcing him into a continued backwards stumble. "Never! You'll never get my daughter! You are evil and God will punish you for everything. But, you'll never lay a hand on me or my daughter again. GET OUT!!! Get out of here and never come back! I don't ever want to see you again!" Her words, propelled by rage and the red monster, flung repeatedly at the Father. She approached him with raised fists. He backed away until he was out the door. Even as he was out the door and mounting his horse, she followed. Her words continued to blast away at him. "Go! Leave! You're evil! Evil!" She looked for something to throw at him. Nothing came readily to hand. From his mounted position, the Father managed to bring his retreat under control. Maria's attack subsided. The Father began to rage back at her. "Juan certainly has not disciplined you the way that he should have! I'll be talking to him about this. You can't talk to me that way!" He turned his horse towards the desert. "You have sinned badly and you'll pay for it," he shouted with a raised fist waving in the air. "Anger is a sin, you know!" He rode away in rapid retreat. <----->

Maria breathed shallowly and rapidly as she stood watching the Father's size dwindled into the distance. A trembling began as she calmed down and realized what had just happened. In the last few minutes, she experienced something totally new -- uncontrollable anger. She had been angry and for no reason she could understand. Moreover, she knew that, just as the Father had said, she had sinned. Standing in the sunlight, her actions now seemed as ephemeral as the shadow she cast upon the ground. Real and intangible, but yet a permanent part of her. Moreover, that sinful shadow of her angry outburst would follow her forever, sun or no sun. Maria's behavior towards the Father had drained her of energy. She felt heavily burdened by the knowledge of her sin. That tired her more. She moved to the porch and sat on its edge. There, she tried, but couldn't fight off the feeling of despair. It overwhelmed her. She placed her shaking hands over her face and cried. She had offended God. Worse yet, the only source of forgiveness was the operative upon which the offense had been committed. How would God punish her? Would His punishment harm Juan or Portina? "Dear God, forgive me. Please forgive me," she prayed silently. "I didn't mean it. I don't know why I said those things. I must be a terrible person. But, please forgive me. Don't punish me. Don't hurt Juan or Portina." Maria sat and let the tears flow down her cheeks at will. She didn't realize how much time passed. Then, she heard Portina's voice beside her. "Mama," she said with concern, "what's wrong? Why are you sitting there?" Maria looked up at her beautiful Portina. She wanted to hide her shame. She couldn't. Portina said in a voice full of fear, "Your eyes are all red and swollen, Mama. You've been crying. Are you ill?" Maria tried to smile. Instead, she began to cry again. "It's terrible. I've done something sinful. God is surely going to punish me." She relieved herself by relating to her only friend the events of the morning. "But, why did you get so angry at the Father?" asked Portina. "I don't know. I just don't know why. We were talking about you. Suddenly, these terrible feelings came over me. I couldn't stop them. A devil came into me and made me say horrible things. It's a devil within me. I'm evil." "No, Mama! You're not evil," Portina protested, her voice heavily tainted with panic. "I know you're not! "We have to pray to God," urged Portina, hugging her. "He will help us if we pray. He will keep the devil from ever coming near you again." Maria felt some relief in Portina's words and her touch. She agreed that praying for forgiveness was the answer. So, they prayed together for much of the remaining day. In their prayers, they explained to God their weakness in the face of the devil. They begged for his help in permanently exorcising the evil that had taken hold of Maria. That night Maria dwelt on the day's happening long after lying down in bed. She feared for her soul.

She feared for the punishment God might put upon her. Her continuing fear was that her punishment might in some way harm Portina, too. No restful sleep came that night. Late the next afternoon, Juan returned. The women said nothing to him about the prior day's traumatic event. In bed that evening, lying close to Juan, Maria could still not shake the feeling of dread that had persisted since her encounter with the Father. Even Juan's closeness didn't dispel her sense of isolation and inadequacy. She reflected on many things. Among the thoughts wandering through her conscious came the other self-recrimination -- her inability to conceive again for Juan. 'I haven't tried hard enough,' she reasoned. Too many nights she gladly let sleep take Juan and her apart. 'Is that the failing for which I am being punished?' she wondered. The question persisted in her mind, being tossed back and forth from denial of guilt to certainty of culpability. In the end, guilt and a reform-intending repentance won out. Juan was nearly asleep when she began to seduce him. It took only a few of her delicate touches to dissipate his grogginess and replace it with a fire that it was her role to smother. Her guidance was smooth, sure and careful. They took her where she longed to be -- pleasantly spun inside the cocoon of his sexual desire. There, she found mental relief in a physical closeness devoid of erotic content for her. Yet, it was everything she wanted. From within the cocoon she adroitly directed him, nurturing the flame of desire within him until, at just the point when it was most intense, she snuffed it extinct in one long convulsion. The encounter, a willing sacrifice to Juan and God, served to chase away the depressed feelings that gripped her. She fell asleep holding Juan close in her arms. <-----> Maria dreamed. She was a young child in an open meadow. Above her, the temperate sun played fleetingly with small billowy clouds. She laughed with the pleasure of her carefree childhood innocence as she dashed here and there in the meadow. The lush green grass around her, which barely reached her short knees, was abundantly adorned with flowers. Fat, fully clothed trees shaded portions of the meadow. The bittersweet fragrance of wild foliage entertained her nostrils. Birds chirped excitedly. Butterflies performed ballets around her. Maria, the child, played. Beyond the meadow, in the far northern distance, the land rose tall. Thick forests fully populated the higher elevations. On each side of the wide meadow, far from Maria, there gurgled two southward flowing streams -- wide and shallow, but full running. Their waters were cool and clear, having not long ago been snow on the distant mountains. The streams could be seen to converge in the far distance. Farther away yet, their combined waters flowed into the ocean. Maria picked large dark-red raspberries from the shrubs in the meadow. Some, she put in the straw basket she carried. Others, she ate. Their sweet flavor lingered on her tongue and in her nostrils long after she swallowed them. Maria hummed a joyful melody as she gathered and ate from the abundant supply of sweet fruit. She felt an ecstasy made all the more pleasurable by a knowledge that all of this was forever. Maria stopped beneath a tree. It was full of a red fruit -- a sort of heart shaped fruit she didn't recognize.

It was pretty and inviting. The only piece within her reach hung low on a coiled branch. The piece of fruit was too large for only one of her small hands. She set her basket down and plucked the fruit with both hands. Its thin skin yielded easily to her bite. The white meat beneath crunched firmly as she chewed. Its flavor fulfilled the promise of its bright red skin. "We must go to the other side of the river now," Maria heard her father say. "Yes, we have to go there," her brothers all agreed in unison. Maria puzzled at why they would have to leave this wonderful place. Her mother also seemed hesitant, until her father tugged at her mother's arm. She relented. Maria watched her mother pick up her baby sister and set out with the others. The rest of her family moved rapidly towards the westward stream. Her oldest brother turned back and encouraged Maria, "Come on, Maria." Maria watched without concern as her family moved away from her. She looked at the large red fruit she held and the basket of berries, trying to decide which to carry. She dropped the partially eaten fruit and picked up the basket. When Maria looked back towards her family, they appeared much farther away than seemed right. She started towards them, somewhat anxious now to catch up. Periodically, one of them turned and called her along. With each call they were farther away than at the last beckon. Now she worried. Obviously they were getting increasingly ahead of her. As hard as she tried to move, she was unable to make the progress she sought. Soon, she no longer saw them. She was alone. The landscape began to change as she struggled onward after her family. The mountain forests with their lush shade and protection became remote -- so distant she could no longer distinguish them. The green meadow turned brown and barren around her. The bounty of the plants shriveled. The green and full berry bushes lost their leaves and fruit; their branches thickened; the tiny thorns, previously inconsequential, were now long dangerous needles. The berry bushes had become cactus. Gone was the deep green grass -- only brown sand remained. The billowy clouds were burned away by a sun that was now unbearably hot. The once cool breeze was scorching, as if it were liquid sun itself. Maria felt fraught with frustration and anxiety. Where was her baby sister? She had to find her baby sister lost here in the desert. Wandering, she searched nearby and scanned all the way to the horizon. Her anxiety at not being able to find her helpless sister increased. She continued to search for what seemed an interminable time. 'Where is she? I was just with her a short time ago,' Maria felt in her mind. The sun burned her; the wind blew sand that rasped her skin; thirst plagued her mouth; yet, she worried about finding her baby sister. Her own suffering didn't matter. Then, she saw it in the distance: a dull black obelisk. It was a singularity in the barren desert. Sand everywhere -- and only hot sand -- except for the very black obelisk. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'the answer is there.' She trudged through the hot sand until she approached it. In its long shadow she saw her tiny baby sister sitting -- smiling, gurgling and happy. Maria, an adult woman now, went to the obelisk and picked up her baby sister. Having found her, she realized that it was important to go on to find the river, her family and the pleasant bountiful meadow. She turned and began to walk away.

Before she had taken a half-dozen steps, a voice behind her boomed out, "Stop! Come back here with my child!" Maria turned around. The obelisk was gone. In its place stood a larger-than-life priest, robed in black. "This is my sister. She's not your child," Maria explained. "She's mine! Bring her back to me! Now!" he thundered in anger. "No," pleaded Maria. "She's my baby. See." Maria turned the baby to show her to the Father. "It's Portina. My daughter," she explained. The Father was unconvinced. Fear rose in Maria's dry throat. "The child is mine to raise. Bring her to me," the Father again demanded. He stood fast, pointing to the ground at his feet. The baby in her arms squirmed and insisted on being put down. Indeed, Maria found her to be heavy. She set her down. From beside her, the innocent face of her daughter, now a young girl, looked up. The girl's smiling face showed that she was clearly unaware of what was happening. "Don't be foolish, Maria. God wants the child for His own. Give me the child to take care of. You know I'll make her a good servant of God." Maria looked up from her daughter, puzzled by the change in tone of the Father's voice. It had gone from commanding to condescending and sly. The priest now stood naked behind a tall thick tubular cactus that reached to half of his height. The cactus was dense with long treacherous looking thorns. The tips were covered with drops of blood. The cactus had known many victims. Maria backed away from the priest, dragging Portina by the hand with her. "No! Stay away from us! No, you can't have her! Run, Portina, run!" she screamed. Maria tried to move away. The heavy sand beneath her feet dragged hard against her every step. "Stop! Now!" the Father commanded. Maria looked back. His right arm was raised, stiff and in their direction. The hand held a crucifix, upside down like a sword. A candle-like flame glowed at its end. "Come here to me, Portina. I command you in the name of God to come to me," he ordered in a stern voice. He held out his left hand. Portina pulled towards him. Her hand slipped out of Maria's grip. The crucifix in the priest's hand seemed to act as a magnet drawing Portina inexorably to itself. And, like the opposite poles of a magnet, even as it attracted her young nubile daughter, the older Maria was repelled from going to her aid. Now, her alarmingly naked daughter moved with slow unrestrained steps towards the priest. Maria feared that Portina's clear youthful skin would become painfully marred by her pending encounter. Portina seemed unaware and unconcerned about the unnatural situation, the treacherous cactus and the pain that awaited her. The priest's face melted into a contemptuous and lecherous grin. He clearly sensed that victory was his. "Yes, come to me, Portina. I'll take care of you. You'll serve God well. Come to me." "No, Portina! Stop! Come back to me! Don't go! No! Oh, nooo!" screamed Maria. The scream that echoed in Maria's ears was a horrible memory as she opened her eyes. Juan kept

shaking her even after she insisted that she was awake. Sweat drenched her body. She shook uncontrollably. Juan held her close trying to bring her back to reality. "Wake up, Maria. Wake up. You're having a bad dream. It's only a dream. Everything's okay," he comforted her. Even though she was now in full control of her consciousness, Maria felt sick with fear. Her mind reeled with the vivid memory of the dream. It seemed so close that she could still feel the heat of the desert sun. She could still see the Father standing naked calling her nude daughter to him. That memory and the prospect of her daughter in the hands of the priest filled her with a nauseating fear and dread that she was powerless against. "We must send Portina away. She has to go away," she uttered in panic to Juan as he lay back to return to sleep. "Portina go away? What are you saying? No, it's just a dream. You don't need to fear a dream. Try to go back to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning." Juan consoled her. "You'll see." His words gave her little consolation. They did nothing to rid her of the residual feelings from the dream. Those feelings continued to haunt her. They prevented her from sleeping soundly. <-----> Everything wasn't fine in the morning. Maria was ill. Her body burned with a fever. Nausea and weakness made it impossible for her to get out of bed. For the next two days she lay in a mental state that ebbed and flowed between a dream world and reality. Mostly, she found herself mired in the dream world, where normally small things appeared large and normally large things appeared small. The images of her naked daughter, the naked priest, the threatening cactus and the flaming crucifix, injected themselves repeatedly into her fever driven dream-state. Late the second day, the fever broke. She slept well that night without any haunting nightmares. On the third morning, weak from battling the illness, she sat in bed, sipping broth and eating tortillas that Portina had prepared. Juan sat beside her on the edge of the bed. Concern and pain over her suffering filled his composure. She had spent two days in a private hell. But, now she seemed better. When Portina left the room to get more broth for her, Maria said to Juan, "We must send Portina away. Somewhere far away where she will be safe." He looked at her with astonishment. She cared not how he felt about what she was saying or how boldly she said it. Come whatever, her mind was made up. She was determined. She would let nothing dissuade her. "Send her away? But why?" "We don't know how long the spring will be dry. I don't want anything to happen to her. I don't want her to... I don't want her to suffer if it gets really bad. She is so sweet and innocent. She shouldn't have to suffer," Maria said. She was unable to voice her real fears. "But... ," her confused husband started. "Why send her away? Sure it will be hard, but we can look after her."

"No. We can't be sure that we can. If something happens we may not be able to." "You've been awfully sick. I think that we should give this decision some time. When you feel better things will look different." Juan tried to de-fuse her steadfast position. "I won't feel any different. I know what we have to do." Maria pondered the matter further. Her determination increased. She reached a conclusion. Portina would be sent to the United States to stay with Juan's brothers. They could take care of her. After all, hadn't their messages from time to time urged Juan to come north to the land of plenty? Streets of gold. Wealth for the taking. Yes, Portina would be safe there -- and far far from the Father. Maria didn't drop the matter of sending Portina away. Like the wearing away of stone by continuous drops of water, she picked at Juan's resistance. By the following Sunday, she convinced him that Portina should go north to his brothers. It would be best for her. Portina would be taken care of, whatever happened to Juan and Maria. Juan's brothers would have the opportunity to see their niece. They would get to know each other. His brothers could see what a fine woman Portina was turning out to be. The visit would only be for a short time. When the spring revived she would come back to the farm and everything would be back to normal again. Everything would be safe. That Sunday, immediately after Mass, they had Rafeal prepare a letter to be sent to Juan's brothers. The letter stated the problem with the spring and asked if the successful brothers could arrange to bring Portina north to stay with them. The answer was received four and a half weeks later. Yes, they would certainly help their brother and niece in their time of misfortune. The letter said that within a short time Juan could expect a man named Jose Cervantez to come to get Portina. Jose would see that she got to Los Angeles safely. Los Angeles -- the City of Angels. How much more wonderful could it be than to send their daughter to the City of Angels to be with her uncles? God's beautiful angels. Rich uncles. Protective angels. 'How wonderful,' thought Maria. 'How safely away.'