|
HICULI HUALULA
|
|
- The " UNCLE ", was the... The " uncle " - declared the woman among
wailings, when their vitreous eyes looked at the face of the cadaver of
a young and brawny man. In front of her, solemn and rough, the patriarch
of Tezompan (small village on the state of puebla) listened.
The woman, prey of hysterical loquacity, didn't stop the language.
"Last night drunkard arrived... he said horrible things; then I doubt more
than the " uncle's " three times. Finally, drowned in mezcal, (ethylic
drink like tequila) I end up falling asleep. This morning it dawned stiff...
It was that it provoked it, yes, he doubted more than three times of the
" uncle's " power, that of the one that only you, to be the oldest and
the wisest, it can pronounce their name."
The patriarch stayed some silent moments, the woman looked at it expectant.
Then, syllabifying clearly, he said the word forbidden to all
the lips except to those of him:
"Hículi Hualula when he is caused it is perverse, vengeful,
bad; on the other hand..."
The old one cut the sentence you grieve began, maybe because he remembered
that I was present, me, a stranger that came pressing with my ethnologist
impertinence’s to the unfriendly population huichola (denomination for
a ethnical community) of Tezompan for one week... But it was already late,
the stranger term had been written in my notebook; there it was: "Hículi
Hualula", unusual voice that was only allowed to pronounce to the oldest
and more wise.
The patriarch had for me a suspicious look, he understood that it had
made a serious indiscretion and it tried to remedy in some form his nimbleness,
whenever with it didn't smash it the unalterable laws of the hospitality.
Then the old man said to the woman brief words in his indigenous language.
She became toward me and, without stopping to do me with their small and
red eyes, she gave loose to a tiresome speech in huichol, that rigid language,
of exotic sonorities and that me hardly if knew through the learned disgressions
of the philologists... When it finished their exhibition, the recent widow,
flooded in tears, she threw on the deceased's chest and she had shakes
and moving sobs.
The old patriarch passed his hand tenderly on the woman's head; later
he came until me, to tell me full with courtesy:
"Good it is that we leave it without more company than their pain."
I take for an arm and with gesture considered guide me until the door
of the shack; but there I stopped resolved, I could not abandon the place
without deepening in the enigma of the word that, written in the notebook
of notes, it demanded my professional attention imperatively.
- What is the Hículi Hualula? - I asked surprising and
dryly.
The old one loosed my arm, he took a step behind, their look sparkling
and in their lips an unpleasant grimace was drawn:
-for their health, Mister, don't repeat it. The " uncle's " name
I can only pronounce it without incurring in their anger.
I -need to know who he is, which their powers, their attributes
are.
The man didn't speak more, he stayed unshakable, with the vague, sunk,
such eyes if they looked toward inside, the same as the pathetic ancestral
deities...
In vain to insist; The man had closed in a caustic silent, but in such
a distressing way that I decided to abandon that on the way to inquiry,
more for pity that for fears. However, I believed myself from that instant
mostly forced to penetrate until the bottom of the enigma.
I understood then that the single clarification of the mystery that
trapped the word would mean the complete success of my company and that
to ignore it, on the other hand, it would represent anything less than
the failure.
The above-mentioned will explain the obsession very well that I was
victim during several days. With the security that a direct investigation
would lack effectiveness and I would maybe bring adverse effects, I decided
to surround the incognito one with a series of discreet investigations
whose ends, bundles advisably, they could grant me more satisfactory results...
But one morning in that the feverish rigor of the "tercianas" (strange
kind of fevers who appear every three days) had beaten me more fiercely
than of ordinary, my temperance jumped it tosses bits and I returned to
I rushed for the path of the rashness again: Mrs. Lucía, the mestizo,
prepared in my gift an infusion of keno; near her, in the domestic vents,
three or four women huicholas they were surrendered to the pulverization
of the corn toasted for the " pinole " (special spicevery usual in latinameric).
When Lucía, fat and goody, donates I lengthened the pitcher with
the bitter one compound, she came to my lips, unrestrainable and abruptly,
the question:
-Mrs. Lucía, do you know what or who is the Hículi
Hualula?
The woman made an expression of fright, move the index to the lips
and, without reaching breath, she looked at the Indians again who covering
you the hearings and arming atrocious fuss left the horrified shack.
The mestizo, giving samples of great restlessness, she took among their
hands plump my skillful one and then, with better accent of commiseration
that of reproach, she told me:
-Please, Mister, never say that word... Now you have caused me
a great damage, my maids have left and they won't return to this house
where the " uncle's " name has been pronounced unduely, until the new moon
undoes with its light the charm.
-you know it, Mrs. Lucía, tell me who is, what it is where
is...
The woman, without adding a word, gave my back; then she threw on a
puts she stops the work that the huicholas left to attack unconcluded.
That same afternoon I had to go until a cement plant to pick up the
letter in huichol of an agricultural ballad. The peasant that will pronounce
me the song waited for me elaborate against a canvas of tall wire that
protected the work; it was his a beautiful, high, thick " plot" and dark
greenish undergrowth of corn they shivered to the step of the temperate
air; the man felt proud and his good humor was patent. It was a small Indian
and I dry off as otate tube; he spoke little, but he smiled a lot, you
say that didn't waste an opportunity to shine their magnificent denture.
-beautiful " plot " Catarino -said for greeting.
-yes, beautiful -he answered.
- Did you pay the land?
-no needed it, it is good of for yes... And with the help of
God and of the " uncle ", because the " plots " grows, they flower and
they give a lot of corn he -said in simple tone, like the proverbs, the
most vulgar sentences or the prayers are said.
I felt to run for my body a tickling and to point I was of falling
again in nonsense.
- Did the " uncle " say? -ask with exaggerated indifference -.
That of which the name should not be pronounced?
-yes it -restored Catarino simply -. The " uncle " that is good
with who respects it.
There was in the face of the huichol such a serenity and in their words
so much and so much trust and faith that I am even fancied perversity the
single intent of pulling up him the secret.
Anyway, in that afternoon I advanced a little in the clarification
of the mystery: the " uncle " was good when it granted the life; but the
" uncle " was bad when it caused the death.
Little time took in aiming the words of the song of the sowing", I
thanked Catarino its attentions and I undertook the return to Tezompan.
In the road I reached Mateo San Juan, the rural teacher; he was a good
boy, huichol of pure race. To the first crossed words with him, he was
discovered their intelligence; soon one of the youth's yearning also noticed
to improve the economic and cultural condition of his. Mateo had special
interest in informing the strangers that he had lived and studied in Mexico,
in the Indigenous Student's House there in the time of Streets.
Mateo San Juan was accessible and talkative. That afternoon he went
for a walk, because it had finished their educational works on time. In
their hands a beautiful cherimoya rollicked. When he saw me it left among
their fingers the fruit and obsequious I offer myself a half. We continue
not savoring the sweetness of the cherimoya, and the together less pleasing
of the good company.
However, I was not loyal with Mateo San Juan, my words all spread to
take the conversation toward the point of my convenience, toward the place
of my interests. A difficult company that we say to approach the topic
was not; the same Mateo gave cause for it, when he spoke of the many difficulties
that are offered before penetrating in the reality of the Indian to the
stranger: "It is we easier to us to understand the world of you that to
the men of the city to know the simple brain of us" - Mateo San Juan said
an important little bit with his sentence.
- What is the Hículi Hualula? I -asked resolved.
Mateo San Juan calmly looked at me and until I noticed in his lips
a light irony fold.
-no it is strange that the " mystery " has captured you: equal happens
to all the outsiders that discover its existence... I would advise him
to be very discreet when treating this matter, if he doesn't want to meet
with unpleasant results.
I suspect -this way, but I won't rest until knowing the bottom
of that concern... You would be an ideal informant, Mateo San Juan I -said
a little upset in the face of the teacher's attitude.
-no you expect from me any light in the " uncle's " lathe... That you
happen good late, Mister investigator! -And saying that, it accelerated
their step until taking a speedy trotting
-hey, Mateo, wait I -screamed repeated times, but the rural teacher
didn't stop his march and he ended up to get lost of view in a corner of
the road.
It arrived on Saturday and with him my only hope; it was in Tezompan
the priest of Colotlán who week to week made visit to the jurisdiction
of its parish. When the old priest got off of his mule dapple-gray and
before it was robbed of his nether lands overcoat, it was already me in
his presence, begging him that he listened to me brief moments. The clergyman
kindly put on to my orders.
- Only –I say–that need to speak to him in extreme reservation.
- Well–the priest restored -, in the sacristy we will be alone the
time that is necessary.
And there, in that silent atmosphere, the priest told me all that had
been able to investigate in lathe of the “uncle.”
-in truth –he say -, that question was able to be interested
a while ago, but this people's hermeticism never allowed to go into all
that had wanted in the mysterious concern: “uncle” they tell him, because
they suppose it brother of “tata (dady) God” and it is for them so powerful
that the whole town can sleep calm if one knows under its protection...
But the “uncle” it is cruel and vengeful, with their life he will pay who
it reviles him or pronounce their name...
This last it is reserved only to the oldest in the community. Under
the help of the “uncle”, the huicholes travels confident, because they
believe that having their influences, the snakes will move away from the
road, the rays will discharge at distance and all the enemies will be hundcuffed.
There is not illness that resists to the “uncle” and the men that are not
in grace of him only die... Lament, my friend –finish the clergyman -,
not to be able to give him bigger data, because now my efforts are calculated,
better than in knowing details of the diabolical belief, in pulling up
it of the hearts of those unhappy ones...
“And well I told myself when to alone I made balance of the informations
provided by the priest -, him little that I know about the “uncle” hardly
if it is a sting to enter in the mystery and to make of him something precise
and clear...” But I checked that the time dedicated to the investigation
of the huicholes finished; in two days it should be with the coras (another
ethnic group) and for it to abandon, maybe forever, the clarification of
the incognito one.
Shy blows to the door suspended my monologue. Without waiting the leave,
Mateo San Juan penetrated in the shack that served me as room and laboratory.
The rural professor had an expression then comically enigmatic; he came
wrapped up until the chin in a blanket rust and the wing of his hat of
palm fall on the eyes; he greeted a little with voice trembling. That attitude
made me foresee that something important he approached. Mateo remained
in foot, nevertheless the affectionate invitation that I made him so that
he had a seat in one of the rustic banks that furnished my shack.
I have thought what I come to make a lot; I have calculated the
step that I will give, because I don't want to be selfish. the whole, and
not alone world the huicholes, he should enjoy the graces of the “uncle”,
to enjoy their effects and to appreciate it in all their kindness...
- Are you then, willing to...?
-yes, although with my revelation I put in danger the hide.
-no I believe, Mateo San Juan that a real rural teacher sits
down superstitious, such panic and as they experience it the common of
the natives.
-From “uncle” I don't have fears, but of their “nephews.” But,
I repeat, I don't want to be vile; the humanity should be favored with
the virtues of the “uncle”...
-be more explicit, please, it is already enough of preambles.
-when the science –continue Mateo without losing temper - it
puts to their service to the “uncle”, then all the men will have reached,
as us the huicholes, the happiness of living; they will put an end to the
physical pains, it will finish their fatigue, they will be exalted the
passions healthily, at the time that a luminous dream will take them until
the paradise; they will calm its thirst without drinking and its hunger
without eating; their forces will reborn every day and there won't be difficult
company for them... I know that the science of the microscope, of the chemistry
with all their reactions, they would achieve prodigies the day in that
their they put within reach of all the virtues of the “uncle”... Of the
“uncle” that is stimulating of the friendship and of the love, soft narcotic,
wise consultant; that with their help, the men would become better, because
anything would unite them more than the mutual happiness and the complete
understanding. The “uncle” makes tender the heart and light the brain...
-no you follow disappointed –interrupt -, the “uncle” it is not
another thing that the “peyote” truth? (peyote = fruit highest hallucinogenic,
used on ancients rituals)
Mateo San Juan smiled scornful and then he said:
-the “peyote” it has been known for many years of you, their
effects are vulgar, intoxicant, fleeting and certainly more harmful that
beneficent... The “uncle” it is another thing; up to now, if we are not
the huicholes, nobody has proven their extraordinary properties...
-good... How do I make to take me to the “uncle” to the laboratories
of Mexico? Mateo San Juan you solemn round and, separating ttheir poncho,
accent among my hands a small and slight bundle, not bigger than the fist.
-there you have it... Take it, some day all the men will exalt
their excellences, it will end up being dearer than the wealth, as useful
as the bread, as valuable as the love and so wanted as the health. He goes
wrapped in sábila leaves, only that resist their strong emanations.
You don't discover it until the moment in that it will be studied and offer
you that this is made before it lapses one week... Ah, if my compatriots
that I have given it in a stranger's hands, arrive that is they will put
an end to me...! Leave you today, take it to him and don't forget their
friend Mateo San Juan.
-thank you... But how can their compatriots intentions so black
shelter against you, if the “uncle” does he only suggest good thoughts
and noble actions?
The rural teacher said soberly:
-no they would forgive me, because the huicholes looks in him
the brother of the untouchable divinity; you on the other hand, will know
only about their favorable effects and they will simply estimate it as
what is... Take it and take advantage of it well, but leave immediately,
before the time hides to the laboratories all its virtues.
-no I go for the time being to México –inform -; but this
same afternoon my assistant will leave to Colotlán taking to the
“uncle” and by mail registered the he will send Mexico, with my letter
for the Biological Institute, where they examined it and they will thoroughly
study.
-that everything is for well, Mister investigator.
-thank you again, Mateo San Juan. You have carried out a good
action.
That same afternoon, of agreement with that drifted, my assistant,
a mestizo youth of Colotlán, went out with the responsibility of
sending to the “uncle” perfectly assured by the postal road. A little later,
I should leave for the region of the coras, where I would make a fleeting
visit to revise certain doubtful informations... But before I wanted to
say goodbye to the good rural teacher.
I arrived to their shack, a Indian, humble and fearful old woman, was
in the surrounded door of neighbors that they comforted her. When she looked
at me, she said trembling and drowned words:
“It was the “uncle”... yes, it was the “uncle” that doesn't forgive...”
Full with tremendous doubts I penetrated in the shack. There spread
in a palm mat it was my friend Mateo San Juan; its face deformed to blows
and its body milled with a stick gave compassion. He folded their unsightly
face to receive me with a smile:
“The poor women –say - they believe that it was the “uncle”, but they
were those “nephews”, as me feared it to me.”
When I returned to Mexico, my first visit was for the institute of Biology.
there they ignored completely to the “uncle”, supposition that none never
arrived commends postcard of my remission. I made an investigation later
in the mail with results also negative. As following administration, I
wrote a letter to my assistant of Colotlán. I waited the answer
a couple of weeks; when not receiving it, to I urged for telegram. This
last one yes it received answer: the youth, in a heart-stricken missive
and coward begged me dramatically that I never tried again she swims him
“regarding what her considerable letter contracts”, because the test that
had experienced at times of my visit “it was about to be fatal for the
undersigned.”
In flaw my assistant, I wrote to Mateo San Juan. The letter was returned
me without opening up. I insisted and the results went identical to the
first ones.
The last resource was the gentleman cure of Colotlán. To him
I wrote with more trust; I spoke to him with clarity and it urged him that
he sent me again to Hículi Hualula. Few days later I received the
priest's laconic letter: Mateo impressed by people of its town, had “lost
the earth, when being hooked as laborer; the last news that had been had
of him, said that it was in Oklahoma, working as peon of via...”. “And
regarding its responsibility –continue the priest's letter -, I regret
truly not to be able to him to satisfy, because he would bring it harnessed
dysfunctions, scandal and agitations that my ministry, better than causing,
is to prevent. Concerning to their project of a new trip for these latitudes,
I advise him, if I appreciate has to the life, not to attempt it
at least.”
The defeat has been for me unhinge, the restlessness has matured in
mania and this has produced blinding me and the blinding they have taken
the form of alarming facts... I have seen it in dreams, yes, dressed up
with the magnificent braveries that they take the huicholes in their ceremonies
to the Father Sun... It has passed next to me and it has winked my eye;
when I spoke to him for their name, Hículi Hualula has laughed noisy
and hoarsely, while I rushed to my feet spites rush.
The afternoon when that I discovered it directing the traffic of vehicles
in the cruises of the avenues Juárez and Saint John of Letrán,
was magnificent: the unshakable stony face, seasoned with a big kiss of
turquoise, the crazy head with a feather of macaw feathers, the feet with
sandals of gold and their horrible index, made of green meat of nopal and
armed with a fingernail of maguey spike, it pointed out me at the time
that he drained awful curses in huichol for the mouth...
Somebody has told me that who drove me to the Red Cruz he had listened
of me these words: “The “uncle”... it was the “uncle” that doesn't
forgive”, at the same time that my eyes wandered imbecilely then ...What
my will it was null and my altered pulse...
The doctor prescribed bromides drinks, rests and lukewarm bathrooms...
.
TAKEN TEXT OF THE BOOK “EL DIOSERO” FOR FRANCISCO ROJAS GONZÁLEZ
(1905-1951)
WRITER AND PROFESSIONAL OF THE ANTHROPOLOGY. IN MEMORIAN.
[Página
principal] [Donde
vivo] [Y usted que opina?]
[Vinculos]
[Home]
[Where i live]
[what do you think? ]
[Other links]
Sign
My Guestbook 
View
My Guestbook
