“Yes, I know—” He blinked a moment, uncertain who’d been trying to cast a spell on whom. “It’s not for me, it’s my friend. Please.” He stepped aside and gestured her into the room. She gave a quick, determined nod—this, she could do.
Pulling the strap of a canvas bag off her shoulder, she went straight to the bed and knelt. She surveyed the sick man in a businesslike manner, touching both his wrists, his throat. Using her thumbs to gently open his eyes.
“His name is Juanito,” Ricardo said worriedly. He tried to trust her.
Juanito’s lips worked, but he may or may not have been aware of what was happening. Lucinda drew back the blanket, exposing his too-thin frame, the worn cotton shirt hanging too loosely over it, and
watched the rise and fall of his chest.
“I need hot water,” she said to Imelda, who lingered at the doorway. The matron rushed to the kitchen. The curandera drew out a series of items from her bag—many items. It had not seemed so full, hiding its bulk well. A copper bowl, a clay cup, a handful of kindling for a fire, a bundle of sage, a series of pouches that smelled like a garden.
“Can you help him?” Ricardo asked, too eagerly.
Lucinda stood, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him into the hallway. Softly she said, “He is at the end of his time. I can make him more comfortable, that is all.”
Ricardo rubbed his eyes. Even now, he had hoped. After all this time, he still hoped.
“You must have known this,” she said, frowning. “You must have seen this before, you who stand on the threshold of death at every moment.”
“How would you know that? What do you see, when you look at me?”
“I see a shadow.” Her brow furrowed. “Who are you? Where exactly do you come from?”
“I’m not sure you really want those answers.”
Scowling, she turned back to Juanito. In moments the room was filled with wisps of burning sage. Imelda arrived with a kettle of water, just finished boiling, and set it on a side table in the room. Lucinda worked over it with quick, deft hands, reaching past her round belly to take pinches out of little bags, add them to the cup, fill it with water. Whispering words over it. Ricardo had no idea what she spoke, what any of the substances were. But Juanito drank down the liquid as he hadn’t consumed anything in days. His breath stopped rattling quite so much.
“There, breathe, my friend,” Lucinda said, stroking back Juanito’s hair. When he seemed like he slept, she rounded her shoulders, put a hand on the small of her back, and sighed. Gave Ricardo another hard look.
“You could save him,” she said.
“Would that really be saving? No.”
“Well, isn’t that something?” She worked to stand, leaning on the bed, hefting her weight upright. Ricardo was too late to help her and contritely looked at his feet while she settled into a chair in a corner and drew some knitting from her bag. Ricardo sat in his usual chair at the bedside.
They waited. Always the waiting. Maybe Juanito would hold on for another day. Maybe he would pass while Ricardo slept out the daylight hours. He hoped not; he wanted to be there. To witness.
“Ricardo. You still haven’t eaten,” the soft voice came from the bed.
“I told you not to worry about me.”
Grumbling, Juanito settled back against the pillow.
“This way, this way . . .” Imelda’s voice carried down the hallway. Two sets of footsteps approached, and then a man in a black cassock, wooden cross hung prominently around his neck, appeared in the doorway.
Ricardo leapt from the chair, hands clenched. “We did not call for a priest!”
Eyes wide, the priest stepped back, straight into Imelda, who pleaded, “But señor, your friend, I only thought—”
“You!” The priest had managed to get a look at the room, past Ricardo, who was trying to block his way while avoiding coming close to that cross. Ricardo looked at where the priest pointed angrily—at Lucinda.
“Yes, me!” she said, grinning. “How are you, padre?”
“Señora Imelda, I can’t be in the same room with that woman.”
“But Father, this man is very ill, and you know Santa Lucinda knows better than anyone how to comfort the sick—”
“She isn’t a saint!” the priest declared.