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His mother
wailed again. Nighttime darkness continued to descend, and the wind stayed its
brutal course at Father’s funeral. Mother Juana hadn’t noticed the spirit of a
man cloaked in light beside Gabriél. He wasn’t Gabriél’s father. He was more
than a man; he was everything that Father was and more. Through the corner of
his eyes, Gabriél saw the white-bearded old man. In many ways, in many forms,
I will come. The words were close as heartbeats and breath. He knew if he
turned and looked directly at him, the man would disappear. The light was
intense, like rays of the sun. The old man had something to say.
Suddenly,
unclean sounds went into Gabriél’s ears and chest—crackling and squealing voices
rising from under the earth and into his body, trying to block out the
lingering presence of the old man and his words. Like a god, the white-bearded
man lifted his right hand, fingers spread. The noise went up from the ground
into his palm, a mighty hand with powerful magic.
Gabriél’s mind
became silent as a windless autumn night, magic making him still inside, just
like he was when in his bedroom reading alone. The old man was strong and made
what was bad cease. Even as the underworld racket stopped, the graveyard winds
kept up their awful screams.
The quiet of the
man and the moment wrapped strong and warm arms around Gabriél. Invisibility
stood guard around the old man. Mother could not see him. No one could see him.
He was there only for Gabriél. He bent down beside Gabriél and touched his
shoulder. A crystal clear calm made the shrieking wind and the crying women and
the priest’s strange prayers seem far, far away.
Mother’s red
hair blew in the wind like it was on fire. It didn’t scare Gabriél because of
the old man, his warm and solid hands steady on Gabriél’s shoulders. His kind
eyes said he was ten thousand times ten-thousand-years old. His mother’s red
hair and shrieking prayers no longer scared him.
Then the old man
spoke, and through Gabriél’s mind sent a message, LISTEN... WHEN THE DAY GOES
AWAY AND THE NIGHT COMES, REMEMBER I AM HERE. He touched Gabriél’s heart.
LISTEN.
Gabriél’s
mother abruptly glanced down at him. He looked into her eyes and knew she
hadn’t heard the old man, but she had a squint in her eyes. Her eyes glowed
red, and the old man’s hands did not move from Gabriél’s shoulders.
Big branches
from the cottonwoods cast long moon shadows over the grave. Now they looked
like skinny people scratching at each other, cloaking the old man. The wind
picked up its screeching.
Gabriél’s heart
pounded like stampeding horses.
Mother squeezed
his hand. His fingers tangled together, tips burning with pain. Then she looked
away and wailed more loudly than ever.
The old man continued,
TELL NO ONE ABOUT ME. I WILL HELP YOU AS A BOY. I WILL HELP YOU AS A MAN.
LISTEN. The old man motioned again to Gabriél’s heart and then touched between
Gabriél’s eyes, the brow point.
The old man
stopped and looked up.
Gabriél caught
his mother’s gaze.
She’d seen the
old man, pointed at him, and screeched like the evil winds.
Blistering dust
and grit blinded Gabriél. He pulled his hand away from his mother and rubbed
his eyes and tried to clear them, but when he looked again, squinting, he saw
that the light of the old man had vanished.
His mother was
wrapped in a cloud of dust. Out of the cloud came a coyote, foam curling from
its mouth. It howled, and an instant later legions of dust devils took over the
landscape and swallowed it in clouds of dust, trash, and tumbleweeds.
Mother
reappeared beside him and picked him up. She screeched with a million hateful
voices. His heart beat rapidly, fluttered like a flock of sparrows flying away.
Catching his breath was hard.
“The night plays
tricks,” his mother seethed, her breath hot and rank.
The winds
suddenly ceased. Brown and gray clouds gave way to blackness that closed in and
covered the full moon. Spirits of children rose out of their graves. They
pointed at Gabriél and his mother. Their hands and fingers grew and reached to
grab him, take him away under the earth.
Mother swept her
black shawl over Gabriél. She whispered, “I will protect you, mijo.”
They escaped into the jet-black night.
Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D., is a psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico, crafting visionary thrillers energized with trickster mischief and natural magic.
https://www.pauldeblassieiii.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pdeblassieiii
https://twitter.com/pdeblassieiii
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56373593-goddess-of-everything
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