either of those two areas it would have meant that I had been clumsy and
that "la Catalina" had injured me. "Everything you did that night was
clumsy, " he said. "First of all, you went to the party to kill time, as
though there is any time to kill. That weakened you." "You mean I shouldn't
go to parties?" "No, I don't mean that. You may go any place you wish, but
if you do, you must assume the full responsibility for that act. A warrior
lives his life strategically. He would attend a party or a reunion like that
only if his strategy calls for it. That means, of course, that he would be
in total control and would perform all the acts that he deems necessary." He
looked at me fixedly and smiled, then covered his face and chuckled softly.
"You are in a terrible bind, " he said. "Your opponent is on your trail
and for the first time in your life you cannot afford to act helter-skelter.
This time you will have to learn a totally different doing, the doing of
strategy. Think of it this way. If you survive the onslaughts of 'la
Catalina' you will have to thank her someday for having forced you to change
your doing."
"What a terrible way of putting it!" I exclaimed. "What if I don't
survive?"
"A warrior never indulges in thoughts like that, " he said.
"When he has to act with his fellow men, a warrior follows the doing of
strategy, and in that doing there are no victories or defeats. In that doing
there are only actions."
I asked him what the doing of strategy entailed. "It entails that one
is not at the mercy of people, " he replied. "At that party, for instance,
you were a clown, not because it served your purposes to be a clown, but
because you placed yourself at the mercy of those people. You never had any
control and thus you had to run away from them."
"What should I have done?"
"Not go there at all, or else go there to perform a specific act.
"After horsing around with the Mexicans you were weak and 'la Catalina'
used that opportunity. So she placed herself in the road to wait for you.
"Your body knew that something was out of place, though, and yet you
spoke to her. That was terrible. You must not utter a single word to your
opponent during one of those encounters. Then you turned your back to her.
That was even worse. Then you ran away from her, and that was the worst
thing you could have done! Apparently she is clumsy. A sorcerer that is
worth his salt would have mowed you down right then, the instant you turned
your back and ran away.
"So far your only defense is to stay put and do your dance."
"What dance are you talking about?" I asked.
He said that the "rabbit thumping" he had taught me was the first
movement of the dance that a warrior groomed and enlarged throughout his
life, and then executed in his last stand on earth.
I had a moment of strange sobriety and a series of thoughts occurred to
me. On one level it was clear that what had taken place between me and "la
Catalina" the first time I had confronted her was real. "La Catalina" was
real, and I could not discard the possibility that she was actually
following me. On the other level I could not understand how she was
following me, and this gave rise to the faint suspicion that don Juan might
be tricking me, and that he himself was somehow producing the weird effects
I had witnessed. Don Juan suddenly looked at the sky and told me that there
was still time to go and check the sorceress. He reassured me that we were
running very little danger, because we were only going to drive by her
house. "You must confirm her shape, " don Juan said. "Then there won't be
any doubts left in your mind, one way or the other."
My hands began to sweat profusely and I had to dry them repeatedly with
a towel. We got in my car and don Juan directed me to the main highway and
then to a wide unpaved road. I drove in the center of it; heavy trucks and
tractors had carved deep trenches and my car was too low to go on either the
left or the right side of the road. We went slowly amid a thick cloud of
dust. The coarse gravel which was used to level the road had lumped with
dirt during the rains, and chunks of dry mud rocks bounced against the metal
underside of my car, making loud explosive sounds.
Don Juan told me to slow down as we were coming to a small bridge.
There were four Indians sitting there and they waved at us. I was not sure
whether or not I knew them. We passed the bridge and the road curved gently.
"That's the woman's house, " don Juan whispered to me as he pointed
with his eyes to a white house with a high bamboo fence all around it. He
told me to make a U-turn and stop in the middle of the road and wait to see
if the woman became suspicious enough to show her face.
We stayed there perhaps ten minutes. I thought it was an interminable
time. Don Juan did not say a word. He sat motionless, looking at the house.
"There she is, " he said, and his body gave a sudden jump. I saw the dark
foreboding silhouette of a woman standing inside the house, looking through
the open door. The room was dark and that only accentuated the darkness of
the woman's silhouette.
After a few minutes the woman stepped out of the darkness of the room
and stood in the doorway and watched us. We looked at her for a moment and
then don Juan told me to drive on. I was speechless. I could have sworn that
she was the woman I had seen hopping by the road in the darkness. About half
an hour later, when we had turned onto the paved highway, don Juan spoke to
me.
"What do you say?" he asked. "Did you recognize the shape?"
I hesitated for a long time before answering. I was afraid of the
commitment entailed in saying yes. I carefully worded my reply and said that
I thought it had been too dark to be completely sure.
He laughed and tapped me gently on my head.
"She was the one, wasn't she?" he asked.
He did not give me time to reply. He put a finger to his mouth in a
gesture of silence and whispered in my ear that it was meaningless to say
anything, and that in order to survive "la Catalina's" onslaughts I had to
make use of everything he had taught me.
PART TWO
THE SORCERER'S RING OF POWER
In May of 1971, 1 paid don Juan the last visit of my apprenticeship. I
went to see him on that occasion in the same spirit I had gone to see him
during the ten years of our association; that is to say, I was once again
seeking the amenity of his company. His friend don Genaro, a Mazatec Indian
sorcerer, was with him. I had seen both of them during my previous visit six
months earlier. I was considering whether or not to ask them if they had
been together all that time, when don Genaro explained that he liked the
northern desert so much that he had returned just in time to see me. Both of
them laughed as if they knew a secret.
"I came back just for you, " don Genaro said.
"That's true, " don Juan echoed.
I reminded don Genaro that the last time I had been there, his attempts
to help me to "stop the world" had been disastrous for me. That was my
friendly way of letting him know that I was afraid of him. He laughed
uncontrollably, shaking his body and kicking his legs like a child. Don Juan
avoided looking at me and also laughed. "You're not going to try to help me
any more, are you, don
Genaro?" I asked.
My question threw both of them into spasms of laughter. Don Genaro
rolled on the ground, laughing, then lay on his stomach and began to swim on
the floor. When I saw him doing that I knew I was lost. At that moment my
body somehow became aware that I had arrived at the end. I did not know what
that end was. My personal tendency to dramatization and my previous
experience with don Genaro made me believe that it might be the end of my
life. During my last visit to them, don Genaro had attempted to push me to
the brink of "stopping the world." His efforts had been so bizarre and
direct that don Juan himself had had to tell me to leave. Don Genaro's
demonstrations of "power" were so extraordinary and so baffling that they
forced me to a total reevaluation of myself. I went home, reviewed the notes
that I had taken in the very beginning of my apprenticeship, and a whole new
feeling mysteriously set in on me, although I had not been fully aware of it
until I saw don Genaro swimming on the floor.
The act of swimming on the floor, which was congruous with other
strange and bewildering acts he had performed in front of my very eyes,
started as he was lying face down. He was first laughing so hard that his
body shook as in a convulsion, then he began kicking, and finally the
movement of his legs became coordinated with a paddling movement of his
arms, and don Genaro started to slide on the ground as if he were lying on a
board fitted with ball bearings. He changed directions various times and
covered the entire area of the front of don Juan's house, maneuvering around
me and don Juan.
Don Genaro had clowned in front of me before, and every time he had
done it don Juan had asserted that I had been on the brink of "seeing." My
failure to "see" was a result of my insistence on trying to explain every
one of don Genaro's actions from a rational point of view. This time I was
on guard and when he began to swim I did not attempt to explain or
understand the event. I simply watched him. Yet I could not avoid the
sensation of being dumbfounded. He was actually sliding on his stomach and
chest. My eyes began to cross as I watched him. I felt a surge of
apprehension. I was convinced that if I did not explain what was happening I
would "see," and that thought filled me with an extraordinary anxiety. My
nervous anticipation was so great that in some way I was back at the same
point, locked once more in some rational endeavor. Don Juan must have been
watching me. He suddenly tapped me; I automatically turned to face him, and
for an instant I took my eyes away from don Genaro. When I looked at him
again he was standing by me with his head slightly tilted and his chin
almost resting on my right shoulder. I had a delayed startled reaction. I
looked at him for a second and then I jumped back. His expression of feigned
surprise was so comical that I laughed hysterically. I could not help being
aware, however, that my laughter was unusual. My body shook with nervous
spasms originating from the middle part of my stomach. Don Genaro put his
hand on my stomach and the convulsion-like ripples ceased.
"This little Carlos is always so exaggerated!" he exclaimed as if he
were a fastidious man. Then he added, imitating don Juan's voice and
mannerisms, "Don't you know that a warrior never laughs that way?" His
caricature of don Juan was so perfect that I laughed even harder.
Then both of them left together and were gone for over two hours, until
about midday. When they returned they sat in the area in front of don Juan's
house. They did not say a word. They seemed to be sleepy, tired, almost
absent-minded. They stayed motionless for a long time, yet they seemed to be
so comfortable and relaxed. Don Juan's mouth was slightly opened, as if he
were really asleep, but his hands were clasped over his lap and his thumbs
moved rhythmically. I fretted and changed sitting positions for a while,
then I began to feel a soothing placidity. I must have fallen asleep. Don
Juan's chuckle woke me up. I opened my eyes. Both of them were staring at
me.
"If you don't talk, you fall asleep, " don Juan said, laughing.
"I'm afraid I do, " I said.
Don Genaro lay on his back and began to kick his legs in the air. I
thought for a moment that he was going to start his disturbing clowning
again, but he went back right away to his cross-legged sitting position.
"There is something you ought to be aware of by now, " don Juan said.
"I call it the cubic centimeter of chance. All of us, whether or not we are
warriors, have a cubic centimeter of chance that pops out in front of our
eyes from time to time. The difference between an average man and a warrior
is that the warrior is aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert,
deliberately waiting, so that when his cubic centimeter pops out he has the
necessary speed, the prowess to pick it up.
"Chance, good luck, personal power, or whatever you may call it, is a
peculiar state of affairs. It is like a very small stick that comes out in
front of us and invites us to pluck it. Usually we are too busy, or too
preoccupied, or just too stupid and lazy to realize that that is our cubic
centimeter of luck. A warrior, on the other hand, is always alert and tight
and has the spring, the gumption necessary to grab it."
"Is your life very tight?" don Genaro asked me abruptly.
"I think it is, " I said with conviction.
"Do you think that you can pluck your cubic centimeter of luck?" don
Juan asked me with a tone of incredulity. "I believe I do that all the time,
" I said.
"I think you are only alert about things you know, " don Juan said.
"Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I do believe that nowadays I am more
aware than at any other time in my life, " I said and really meant it. Don
Genaro nodded his head in approval. "Yes, " he said softly, 'as if talking
to himself. "Little Carlos is really tight, and absolutely alert."
I felt that they were humoring me. I thought that perhaps my assertion
about my alleged condition of tightness may have annoyed them.
"I didn't mean to brag, " I said.
Don Genaro arched his eyebrows and enlarged his nostrils.
He glanced at my notebook and pretended to be writing.
"I think Carlos is tighter than ever, " don Juan said to don Genaro.
"Maybe he's too tight, " don Genaro snapped.
"He may very well be, " don Juan conceded.
I did not know what to interject at that point so I remained quiet.
"Do you remember the time when I jammed your car?" don Juan asked
casually.
His question was abrupt and unrelated to what we had been talking
about. He was referring to a time when I could not start the engine of my
car until he said I could. I remarked that no one could forget such an
event. "That was nothing, " don Juan asserted in a factual tone.
"Nothing at all. True, Genaro?"
"True, " don Genaro said indifferently.
"What do you mean?" I said in a tone of protest. "What you did that day
was something truly beyond my comprehension."
"That's not saying much, " don Genaro retorted.
They both laughed loudly and then don Juan patted me on the back.
"Genaro can do something much better than jamming your car, " he went
on. "True, Genaro?"
"True, " don Genaro replied, puckering up his lips like a child.
"What can he do?" I asked, trying to sound unruffled.
"Genaro can take your whole car away!" don Juan exclaimed in a booming
voice; and then he added in the same tone, "True, Genaro?"
"True!" don Genaro retorted in the loudest human tone I had ever heard.
I jumped involuntarily. My body was convulsed by three or four nervous
spasms.
"What do you mean, he can take my whole car away?" I asked.
"What did I mean, Genaro?" don Juan asked.
"You meant that I can get into his car, turn the motor on, and drive
away, " don Genaro replied with unconvincing seriousness.
"Take the car away, Genaro, " don Juan urged him in a joking tone.
"It's done!" don Genaro said, frowning and looking at me askew. I
noticed that as he frowned his eyebrows rippled, making the look in his eyes
mischievous and penetrating.
"All right!" don Juan said calmly. "Let's go down there and examine the
car."
"Yes!" don Genaro echoed. "Let's go down there and examine the car."
They stood up, very slowly. For an instant I did not know what to do,
but don Juan signaled me to stand up. We began walking up the small hill in
front of don Juan's house. Both of them flanked me, don Juan to my right and
don Genaro to my left. They were perhaps six or seven feet ahead of me,
always within my full field of vision.
"Let's examine the car, " don Genaro said again.
Don Juan moved his hands as if he were spinning an invisible thread;
don Genaro did likewise and repeated, "Let's examine the car." They walked
with a sort of bounce. Their steps were longer than usual, and their hands
moved as though they were whipping or batting some invisible objects in
front of them. I had never seen don Juan clowning like that and felt almost
embarrassed to look at him.
We reached the top and I looked down to the area at the foot of the
hill, some fifty yards away, where I had parked my car. My stomach
contracted with a jolt. The car was not there! I ran down the hill. My car
was not anywhere in sight. I experienced a moment of great confusion. I was
disoriented. My car had been parked there since I had arrived early in the
morning. Perhaps half an hour before, I had come down to get a new pad of
writing paper. At that time I had thought of leaving the windows open
because of the excessive heat, but the number of mosquitoes and other flying
insects that abounded in the area had made me change my mind, and I had left
the car
locked as usual.
I looked all around again. I refused to believe that my car was gone. I
walked to the edge of the cleared area. Don Juan and don Genaro joined me
and stood by me, doing exactly what I was doing, peering into the distance
to see if the car was somewhere in sight. I had a moment of euphoria that
gave way to a disconcerting sense of annoyance. They seemed to have noticed
it and began to walk around me, moving their hands as if they were rolling
dough in them.
"What do you think happened to the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked in a
meek tone.
"I drove it away, " don Genaro said and made the most astounding motion
of shifting gears and steering. He bent his legs as though he were sitting,
and remained in that position for a few moments, obviously sustained only by
the muscles of his legs; then he shifted his weight to his right leg and
stretched his left foot to mimic the action on the clutch. He made the sound
of a motor with his lips; and finally, to top everything, he pretended to
have hit a bump in the road and bobbed up and down, giving me the complete
sensation of an inept driver that bounces without letting go of the steering
wheel.
Don Genaro's pantomime was stupendous. Don Juan laughed until he was
out of breath. I wanted to join them in their mirth but I was unable to
relax. I felt threatened and ill at ease. An anxiety that had no precedence
in my life possessed me. I felt I was burning up inside and began kicking
small rocks on the ground and ended up hurling them with an unconscious and
unpredictable fury. It was as if the wrath was actually outside of myself
and had suddenly enveloped me.
Then the feeling of annoyance left me, as mysteriously as it had hit
me. I took a deep breath and felt better. I did not dare to look at don
Juan. My display of anger embarrassed me, but at the same time I wanted to
laugh. Don Juan came to my side and patted me on the back. Don Genaro put
his arm on my shoulder.
"It's all right!" don Genaro said. "Indulge yourself. Punch yourself in
the nose and bleed. Then you can get a rock and knock your teeth out. It'll
feel good! And if that doesn't help, "| you can mash your balls with the
same rock on that big boulder over there." Don Juan giggled. I told them
that I was ashamed of myself for having behaved so poorly. I did not know
what had gotten into me. Don Juan said that he was sure I knew exactly what
was going on, that I was pretending not to know, and that it was the act of
pretending that made me angry.
Don Genaro was unusually comforting; he patted my back repeatedly.
"It happens to all of us, " don Juan said.
"What do you mean by that, don Juan?" don Genaro asked, imitating my
voice, mocking my habit of asking don Juan questions.
Don Juan said some absurd things like "When the world is upside down we
are right side up, but when the world is right side up we are upside down.
Now when the world and we are right side up, we think we are upside down. .
. ." He went on and on, talking gibberish while don Genaro mimicked my
taking notes. He wrote on an invisible pad, enlarging his nostrils as he
moved his hand, keeping his eyes wide open and fixed on don Juan. Don Genaro
had caught on to my efforts
to write without looking at my pad in order to avoid altering the
natural flow of conversation. His portrayal was genuinely hilarious.
I suddenly felt very at ease, happy. Their laughter was soothing. For a
moment I let go and had a belly laugh. But then my mind entered into a new
state of apprehension, confusion, and annoyance. I thought that whatever was
taking place there was impossible; in fact, it was inconceivable according
to the logical order by which I am accustomed to judge the world at hand.
Yet, as the perceiver, I perceived that my car was not there. The thought
occurred to me, as it always had happened when don Juan had confronted me
with inexplicable phenomena, that I was being tricked by ordinary means. My
mind had always, under stress, involuntarily and consistently repeated the
same construct. I began to consider how many confederates don Juan and don
Genaro would have needed in order to lift my car and remove it from where I
had parked it. I was absolutely sure that I had compulsively locked the
doors; the handbrake was on; it was in gear; and the steering wheel was
locked. In order to move it they would have had to lift it up bodily. That
task would have required a labor force that I was convinced neither of them
could have brought together. Another possibility was that someone in
agreement with them had broken into my car, wired it, and driven it away. To
do that would have required a specialized knowledge that was beyond their
means. The only other possible explanation was that perhaps they were
mesmerizing me. Their movements were so novel to me and so suspicious that I
entered into a spin of rationalizations. I thought that if they were
hypnotizing me I was then in a state of altered consciousness.
In my experience with don Juan I had noticed that in such states one is
incapable of keeping a consistent mental record of the passage of time.
There had never been an enduring order, in matters of passage of time, in
all the states of nonordinary reality I had experienced, and my conclusion
was that if I kept myself alert a moment would come when I would lose my
order of sequential time. As if, for example, I were looking at a mountain
at a given moment, and then in my next moment of awareness I found myself
looking at a valley in the opposite direction, but without remembering
having turned around. I felt that if something of that nature would happen
to me I could then explain what was taking place with my car as, perhaps, a
case of hypnosis. I decided that the only thing I could do was to watch
every detail with excruciating thoroughness.
"Where's my car?" I asked, addressing both of them.
"Where's the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked with a look of utmost
seriousness.
Don Genaro began turning over small rocks and looking underneath them.
He worked feverishly over the whole flat area where I had parked my car. He
actually turned over every rock. At times he would pretend to get angry and
I would hurl the rock into the bushes.
Don Juan seemed to enjoy the scene beyond words. He giggled and
chuckled and was almost oblivious to my presence.
Don Genaro had just finished hurling a rock in a display of sham
frustration when he came upon a good-sized boulder, the only large and heavy
rock in the parking area. He attempted to turn it over but it was too heavy
and too deeply imbedded in the ground. He struggled and puffed until he was
perspiring. Then he sat on the rock and called don Juan to help him. Don
Juan turned to me with a beaming smile and said, "Come on, let's give Genaro
a hand."
"What's he doing?" I asked.
"He's looking for your car, " don Juan said in a casual and factual
tone.
"For heaven's sake! How can he find it under the rocks?" I protested.
"For heaven's sake, why not?" don Genaro retorted and both of them
roared with laughter.
We could not budge the rock. Don Juan suggested that we go to the house
and look for a thick piece of wood to use as a lever.
On our way to the house I told them that their acts were absurd and
that whatever they were doing to me was unnecessary.
Don Genaro peered at me. "Genaro is a very thorough man, " don Juan
said with a serious expression. He's as thorough and meticulous as you are.
You yourself said that you never leave a stone unturned. He's doing the
same." Don Genaro patted me on the shoulder and said that don
Juan was absolutely right and that, in fact, he wanted to be like me.
He looked at me with an insane glint and opened his nostrils.
Don Juan clapped his hands and threw his hat to the ground. After a
long search around the house for a thick piece of wood, don Genaro found a
long and fairly thick tree trunk, a part of a house beam. He put it across
his shoulders and we started back to the place where my car had been.
As we were going up the small hill and were about to reach a bend in
the trail from where I would see the flat parking area, I had a sudden
insight. It occurred to me that I was going to find my car before they did,
but when I looked down, there was no car at the foot of the hill. Don Juan
and don Genaro must have understood what I had had in mind and ran after me,
laughing uproariously.
Once we got to the bottom of the hill they immediately went to work. I
watched them for a few moments. Their acts were incomprehensible. They were
not pretending that they were working, they were actually immersed in the
task of turning over a boulder to see if my car was underneath. That was too
much for me and I joined them. They puffed and yelled and don Genaro howled
like a coyote. They were soaked in perspiration. I noticed how terribly
strong their bodies were, especially don Juan's. Next to them I was a flabby
young man.
Very soon I was also perspiring copiously. Finally we succeeded in
turning over the boulder and don Genaro examined the dirt underneath the
rock with the most maddening patience and thoroughness.
"No. It isn't here, " he announced.
That statement brought both of them down to the ground with laughter. I
laughed nervously. Don Juan seemed to have true spasms of pain and covered
his face and lay down as his body shook with laughter. "In which direction
do we go now?" don Genaro asked after a long rest. Don Juan pointed with a
nod of his head.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To look for your car!" don Juan said and did not crack a smile.
They again flanked me as we walked into the brush. We had only covered
a few yards when don Genaro signaled us to stop. He tiptoed to a round bush
a few steps away, looked in the inside branches for a few moments, and said
that the car was not there.
We kept on walking for a while and then don Genaro made a gesture with
his hand to be quiet. He arched his back as he stood on his toes and
extended his arms over his head. His fingers were contracted like a claw.
From where I stood, don Genaro's body had the shape of a letter S. He
maintained that position for an instant and then virtually plunged headfirst
on a long twig with dry leaves. He carefully lifted it up and examined it
and again remarked that the car was not there.
As we walked into the deep chaparral he looked behind bushes and
climbed small paloverde trees to look into their foliage, only to conclude
that the car was not there either.
Meanwhile I kept a most meticulous mental record of everything I
touched or saw. My sequential and orderly view of the world around me was as
continuous as it had always been. I touched rocks, bushes, trees. I shifted
my view from the foreground to the background by looking out of one eye and
then out of the other. By all calculations I was walking in the chaparral as
I had done scores of times during my ordinary life.
Next don Genaro lay down on his stomach and asked us to do likewise. He
rested his chin on his clasped hands. Don Juan did the same. Both of them
stared at a series of small protuberances on the ground that looked like
minute hills. Suddenly don Genaro made a sweeping movement with his right
hand and clasped something. He hurriedly stood up and so did don Juan. Don
Genaro held his clasped hand in front of us and signaled us to come closer
and look. Then he slowly began to open his hand. When it was half open a big
black object flew away. The motion was so sudden and the flying object was
so big that I jumped back and nearly lost my balance. Don Juan propped me
up.
"That wasn't the car, " don Genaro complained. "It was a goddamn fly.
Sorry!" Both of them scrutinized me. They were standing in front of me and
were not looking directly at me but out of the corners of their eyes. It was
a prolonged look.
"It was a fly, wasn't it?" don Genaro asked me.
"I think so, " I said.
"Don't think, " don Juan ordered me imperiously. "What did you see?"
"I saw something as big as a crow flying out of his hand," I said.
My statement was congruous with what I had perceived and was not
intended as a joke, but they took it as perhaps the most hilarious statement
that anyone had made that day. Both of them jumped up and down and laughed
until they choked. "I think Carlos has had enough, " don Juan said. His
voice sounded hoarse from laughing.
Don Genaro said that he was about to find my car, that the feeling was
getting hotter and hotter. Don Juan said we were in a rugged area and that
to find the car there was not a desirable thing. Don Genaro took off his hat
and rearranged the strap with a piece of string from his pouch, then he
attached his woolen belt to a yellow tassel affixed to the brim of the hat.
"I'm making a kite out of my hat, " he said to me.
I watched him and I knew that he was joking. I had always considered
myself to be an expert on kites. When I was a child I used to make the most
complex kites and I knew that the brim of the straw hat was too brittle to
resist the wind. The hat's crown, on the other hand, was too deep and the
wind would circulate inside it, making it impossible to lift the hat off the
ground.
"You don't think it'll fly, do you?" don Juan asked me.
"I know it won't, " I said.
Don Genaro was unconcerned and finished attaching a long string to his
kite-hat. It was a windy day and don Genaro ran downhill as don Juan held
his hat, then don Genaro pulled the string and the damn thing actually flew.
"Look, look at the kite!" don Genaro yelled. It bobbed a couple of
times but it remained in the air.
"Don't take your eyes off of the kite, " don Juan said firmly. For a
moment I felt dizzy. Looking at the kite, I had had a complete recollection
of another time; it was as if I were flying a kite myself, as I used to,
when it was windy in the hills of my home town.
For a brief moment the recollection engulfed me and I lost my awareness
of the passage of time.
I heard don Genaro yelling something and I saw the hat bobbing up and
down and then falling to the ground, where my car was. It all took place
with such speed that I did not have a clear picture of what had happened. I
became dizzy and absent-minded. My mind held on to a very confusing image. I
either saw don Genaro's hat turning into my car, or I saw the hat falling
over on top of the car. I wanted to believe the latter, that don Genaro had
used his hat to point at my car. Not that it really mattered, one thing was
as awesome as the other, but just the same my mind hooked on that arbitrary
detail in order to keep my original mental balance. "Don't fight it, " I
heard don Juan saying. I felt that something inside me was about to surface.
Thoughts and images came in uncontrollable waves as if I were falling
asleep. I stared at the car dumbfounded. It was sitting on a rocky flat area
about a hundred feet away. It actually looked as if someone had just placed
it there. I ran towards it and began to examine it.
"Goddammit!" don Juan exclaimed. "Don't stare at the car. Stop the
world!"
Then as in a dream I heard him yelling, "Genaro's hat! Genaro's hat!"
I looked at them. They were staring at me directly. Their eyes were
piercing. I felt a pain in my stomach. I had an instantaneous headache and
got ill. Don Juan and don Genaro looked at me curiously. I sat by the car
for a while and then, quite automatically, I unlocked the door and let don
Genaro get in the back seat. Don Juan followed him and sat next to him. I
thought that was strange because he usually sat in the front seat. I drove
my car to don Juan's house in a sort of haze. I was not myself at all. My
stomach was very upset, and the feeling of nausea demolished all my
sobriety. I drove mechanically.
I heard don Juan and don Genaro in the back seat laughing and giggling
like children. I heard don Juan asking me, "Are we getting closer?" It was
at that point that I took deliberate notice of the road. We were actually
very close to his house. "We're about to get there, " I muttered. They
howled with laughter. They clapped their hands and slapped their thighs.
When we arrived at the house I automatically jumped out of the car and
opened the door for them. Don Genaro stepped out first and congratulated me
for what he said was the nicest and smoothest ride he had ever taken in his
life. Don Juan said the same. I did not pay much attention to them. I locked
my car and barely made it to the house. I heard don Juan and don Genaro
roaring with laughter before I fell asleep. The next day as soon as I woke
up I began asking don Juan questions. He was cutting firewood in the back of
his house, but don Genaro was nowhere in sight. He said that there was
nothing to talk about. I pointed out that I had succeeded in remaining aloof
and had observed don Genaro's "swimming on the floor" without wanting or
demanding any explanation whatsoever, but my restraint had not helped me to
understand what was taking place. Then, after the disappearance of the car,
I became automatically locked in seeking a logical explanation, but that did
not help me either. I told don Juan that my insistence on finding
explanations was not something that I had arbitrarily devised myself, just
to be difficult, but was something so deeply ingrained in me that it
overruled every other consideration. "It's like a disease, " I said.
"There are no diseases, " don Juan replied calmly. "There is only
indulging. And you indulge yourself in trying to explain everything.
Explanations are no longer necessary in your case."
I insisted that I could function only under conditions of order and
understanding. I reminded him that I had drastically changed my personality
during the time of our association, and that the condition that had made
that change possible was that I had been capable of explaining to myself the
reasons for that change.
Don Juan laughed softly. He did not speak for a long time.
"You are very clever, " he finally said. "You go back to where you have
always been. This time you are finished though. You have no place to go back
to. I will not explain anything to you any more. Whatever Genaro did to you
yesterday he did it to your body, so let your body decide what's what."
Don Juan's tone was friendly but unusually detached and that made me
feel an overwhelming loneliness. I expressed my feelings of sadness. He
smiled. His fingers gently clasped the top of my hand. "We both are beings
who are going to die, " he said softly. "There is no more time for what we
used to do. Now you must employ all the not-doing I have taught you and stop
the world."
He clasped my hand again. His touch was firm and friendly; it was like
a reassurance that he was concerned and had affection for me, and at the
same time it gave me the impression of an unwavering purpose. "This is my
gesture for you, " he said, holding the grip he had on my hand for an
instant. "Now you must go by yourself into those friendly mountains." He
pointed with his chin to the distant range of mountains towards the
southeast. He said that I had to remain there until my body told me to quit
and then return to his house. He let me know that he did not want me to say
anything or to wait any longer by shoving me gently in the direction of my
car. "What am I supposed to do there?" I asked. He did not answer but looked
at me, shaking his head.
"No more of that, " he finally said. Then he pointed his finger to the
southeast.
"Go there, " he said cuttingly. I drove south and then east, following
the roads I had always taken when driving with don Juan. I parked my car
around the place where the dirt road ended and then I hiked on a familiar
trail until I reached a high plateau. I had no idea what to do there. I
began to meander, looking for a resting place. Suddenly I became aware of a
small area to my left. It seemed that the chemical composition of the soil
was different on that spot, yet when I focused my eyes on it there was
nothing visible that would account for the difference. I stood a few feet
away and tried to "feel" as don Juan had always recommended I should do. I
stayed motionless for perhaps an hour. My thoughts began to diminish by
degrees until I was no longer talking to myself. I then had a sensation of
annoyance. The feeling seemed to be confined to my stomach and was more
acute when I faced the spot in question. I was repulsed by it and felt
compelled to move away from it. I began scanning the area with crossed eyes
and after a short walk I came upon a large flat rock. I stopped in front of
it. There was nothing in particular about the rock that attracted me. I did
not detect any specific color or any shine on it, and yet I liked it. My
body felt good. I experienced a sensation of physical comfort and sat down
for a while.
I meandered in the high plateau and the surrounding mountains all day
without knowing what to do or what to expect. I came back to the flat rock
at dusk. I knew that if I spent the night there I would be safe. The next
day I ventured farther east into the high mountains. By late afternoon I
came to another even higher plateau.
I thought I had been there before. I looked around to orient myself but
I could not recognize any of the surrounding peaks. After carefully
selecting a suitable place I sat down to rest at the edge of a barren rocky
area. I felt very warm and peaceful there. I tried to pour out some food
from my gourd, but it was empty. I drank some water. It was warm and stale.
I thought that I had nothing else to do but to return to don Juan's house
and began to wonder whether or not I should start on my way back right away.
I lay down on my stomach and rested my head on my arm. I felt uneasy and
changed positions various times until I found myself facing the west.
The sun was already low. My eyes were tired. I looked down at the
ground and caught sight of a large black beetle. It came out from behind a
small rock, pushing a ball of dung twice its size. I followed its movements
for a long time. The insect seemed unconcerned with my presence and kept on
pushing its load over rocks, roots, depressions, and protuberances on the
ground. For all I knew, the beetle was not aware that I was there. The
thought occurred to me that I could not possibly be sure that the insect was
not aware of me; that thought triggered a series of rational evaluations
about the nature of the insect's world as opposed to mine. The beetle and I
were in the same world and obviously the world was not the same for both of
us. I became immersed in watching it and marveled at the gigantic strength
it needed to carry its load over rocks and down crevices.
I observed the insect for a long time and then I became aware of the
silence around me. Only the wind hissed between the branches and leaves of
the chaparral. I looked up, turned to my left in a quick and involuntary
fashion, and caught a glimpse of a faint shadow or a flicker on a rock a few
feet away. At first I paid no attention to it but then I realized that that
flicker had been to my left. I turned again suddenly and was able to clearly
perceive a shadow on the rock. I had the weird sensation that the shadow
instantly slid down to the ground and the soil absorbed it as a blotter
dries an ink blotch. A chill ran down my back. The thought crossed my mind
that death was watching me and the beetle. I looked for the insect again but
I could not find it. I thought that it must have arrived at its destination
and then had dropped its load into a hole in the ground. I put my face
against a smooth rock.
The beetle emerged from a deep hole and stopped a few inches away from
my face. It seemed to look at me and for a moment I felt that it became
aware of my presence, perhaps as I was aware of the presence of my death. I
experienced a shiver. The beetle and I were not that different after all.
Death, like a shadow, was stalking both of us from behind the boulder.
I had an extraordinary moment of elation. The beetle and I were on a par.
Neither of us was better than the other.
Our death made us equal. My elation and joy were so overwhelming that I
began to weep. Don Juan was right. He had always been right. I was living in
a most mysterious world and, like everyone else, I was a most mysterious
being, and yet I was no more important than a beetle. I wiped my eyes and as
I rubbed them with the back of my hand I saw a man, or something which had
the shape of a man. It was to my right about fifty yards away. I sat up
straight and strained to see. The sun was almost on the horizon and its
yellowish glow prevented me from getting a clear view. I heard a peculiar
roar at that moment. It was like the sound of a distant jet plane. As I
focused my attention on it, the roar increased to a prolonged sharp metallic
whizzing and then it softened until it was a mesmerizing, melodious sound.
The melody was like the vibration of an electrical current. The image that
came to my mind was that two electrified spheres were coming together, or
two square blocks of electrified metal were rubbing against each other and
then coming to rest with a thump when they were perfectly leveled with each
other. I again strained to see if I could distinguish the person that seemed
to be hiding from me, but I could only detect a dark shape against the
bushes. I shielded my eyes by placing my hands above them. The brilliancy of
the sunlight changed at that moment and then I realized that what I was
seeing was only an optical illusion, a play of shadows and foliage.
I moved my eyes away and I saw a coyote calmly trotting across the
field. The coyote was around the spot where I thought I had seen the man. It
moved about fifty yards in a southerly direction and then it stopped,
turned, and began walking towards me. I yelled a couple of times to scare it
away, but it kept on coming. I had a moment of apprehension. I thought that
it might be rabid and I even considered gathering some rocks to defend
myself in case of an attack. When the animal was ten to fifteen feet away I
noticed that it was, not agitated in any way; on the contrary, it seemed
calm and unafraid. It slowed down its gait, coming to a halt barely four or
five feet from me. We looked at each other, and then the coyote came even
closer. Its brown eyes were friendly and clear. I sat down on the rocks and
the coyote stood almost touching me. I was dumbfounded. I had never seen a
wild coyote that close, and the only thing that occurred to me at that
moment was to talk to it. I began as one would talk to a friendly dog. And
then I thought that the coyote "talked" back to me. I had the absolute
certainty that it had said something. I felt confused but I did not have
time to ponder upon my feelings, because the coyote "talked" again. It was
not that the animal was voicing words the way I am accustomed to hearing
words being voiced by human beings, it was rather a "feeling" that it was
talking. But it was not like a feeling that one has when a pet seems to
communicate with its master either. The coyote actually said something; it
relayed a thought and that communication came out in something quite similar
that "la Catalina" had injured me. "Everything you did that night was
clumsy, " he said. "First of all, you went to the party to kill time, as
though there is any time to kill. That weakened you." "You mean I shouldn't
go to parties?" "No, I don't mean that. You may go any place you wish, but
if you do, you must assume the full responsibility for that act. A warrior
lives his life strategically. He would attend a party or a reunion like that
only if his strategy calls for it. That means, of course, that he would be
in total control and would perform all the acts that he deems necessary." He
looked at me fixedly and smiled, then covered his face and chuckled softly.
"You are in a terrible bind, " he said. "Your opponent is on your trail
and for the first time in your life you cannot afford to act helter-skelter.
This time you will have to learn a totally different doing, the doing of
strategy. Think of it this way. If you survive the onslaughts of 'la
Catalina' you will have to thank her someday for having forced you to change
your doing."
"What a terrible way of putting it!" I exclaimed. "What if I don't
survive?"
"A warrior never indulges in thoughts like that, " he said.
"When he has to act with his fellow men, a warrior follows the doing of
strategy, and in that doing there are no victories or defeats. In that doing
there are only actions."
I asked him what the doing of strategy entailed. "It entails that one
is not at the mercy of people, " he replied. "At that party, for instance,
you were a clown, not because it served your purposes to be a clown, but
because you placed yourself at the mercy of those people. You never had any
control and thus you had to run away from them."
"What should I have done?"
"Not go there at all, or else go there to perform a specific act.
"After horsing around with the Mexicans you were weak and 'la Catalina'
used that opportunity. So she placed herself in the road to wait for you.
"Your body knew that something was out of place, though, and yet you
spoke to her. That was terrible. You must not utter a single word to your
opponent during one of those encounters. Then you turned your back to her.
That was even worse. Then you ran away from her, and that was the worst
thing you could have done! Apparently she is clumsy. A sorcerer that is
worth his salt would have mowed you down right then, the instant you turned
your back and ran away.
"So far your only defense is to stay put and do your dance."
"What dance are you talking about?" I asked.
He said that the "rabbit thumping" he had taught me was the first
movement of the dance that a warrior groomed and enlarged throughout his
life, and then executed in his last stand on earth.
I had a moment of strange sobriety and a series of thoughts occurred to
me. On one level it was clear that what had taken place between me and "la
Catalina" the first time I had confronted her was real. "La Catalina" was
real, and I could not discard the possibility that she was actually
following me. On the other level I could not understand how she was
following me, and this gave rise to the faint suspicion that don Juan might
be tricking me, and that he himself was somehow producing the weird effects
I had witnessed. Don Juan suddenly looked at the sky and told me that there
was still time to go and check the sorceress. He reassured me that we were
running very little danger, because we were only going to drive by her
house. "You must confirm her shape, " don Juan said. "Then there won't be
any doubts left in your mind, one way or the other."
My hands began to sweat profusely and I had to dry them repeatedly with
a towel. We got in my car and don Juan directed me to the main highway and
then to a wide unpaved road. I drove in the center of it; heavy trucks and
tractors had carved deep trenches and my car was too low to go on either the
left or the right side of the road. We went slowly amid a thick cloud of
dust. The coarse gravel which was used to level the road had lumped with
dirt during the rains, and chunks of dry mud rocks bounced against the metal
underside of my car, making loud explosive sounds.
Don Juan told me to slow down as we were coming to a small bridge.
There were four Indians sitting there and they waved at us. I was not sure
whether or not I knew them. We passed the bridge and the road curved gently.
"That's the woman's house, " don Juan whispered to me as he pointed
with his eyes to a white house with a high bamboo fence all around it. He
told me to make a U-turn and stop in the middle of the road and wait to see
if the woman became suspicious enough to show her face.
We stayed there perhaps ten minutes. I thought it was an interminable
time. Don Juan did not say a word. He sat motionless, looking at the house.
"There she is, " he said, and his body gave a sudden jump. I saw the dark
foreboding silhouette of a woman standing inside the house, looking through
the open door. The room was dark and that only accentuated the darkness of
the woman's silhouette.
After a few minutes the woman stepped out of the darkness of the room
and stood in the doorway and watched us. We looked at her for a moment and
then don Juan told me to drive on. I was speechless. I could have sworn that
she was the woman I had seen hopping by the road in the darkness. About half
an hour later, when we had turned onto the paved highway, don Juan spoke to
me.
"What do you say?" he asked. "Did you recognize the shape?"
I hesitated for a long time before answering. I was afraid of the
commitment entailed in saying yes. I carefully worded my reply and said that
I thought it had been too dark to be completely sure.
He laughed and tapped me gently on my head.
"She was the one, wasn't she?" he asked.
He did not give me time to reply. He put a finger to his mouth in a
gesture of silence and whispered in my ear that it was meaningless to say
anything, and that in order to survive "la Catalina's" onslaughts I had to
make use of everything he had taught me.
PART TWO
THE SORCERER'S RING OF POWER
In May of 1971, 1 paid don Juan the last visit of my apprenticeship. I
went to see him on that occasion in the same spirit I had gone to see him
during the ten years of our association; that is to say, I was once again
seeking the amenity of his company. His friend don Genaro, a Mazatec Indian
sorcerer, was with him. I had seen both of them during my previous visit six
months earlier. I was considering whether or not to ask them if they had
been together all that time, when don Genaro explained that he liked the
northern desert so much that he had returned just in time to see me. Both of
them laughed as if they knew a secret.
"I came back just for you, " don Genaro said.
"That's true, " don Juan echoed.
I reminded don Genaro that the last time I had been there, his attempts
to help me to "stop the world" had been disastrous for me. That was my
friendly way of letting him know that I was afraid of him. He laughed
uncontrollably, shaking his body and kicking his legs like a child. Don Juan
avoided looking at me and also laughed. "You're not going to try to help me
any more, are you, don
Genaro?" I asked.
My question threw both of them into spasms of laughter. Don Genaro
rolled on the ground, laughing, then lay on his stomach and began to swim on
the floor. When I saw him doing that I knew I was lost. At that moment my
body somehow became aware that I had arrived at the end. I did not know what
that end was. My personal tendency to dramatization and my previous
experience with don Genaro made me believe that it might be the end of my
life. During my last visit to them, don Genaro had attempted to push me to
the brink of "stopping the world." His efforts had been so bizarre and
direct that don Juan himself had had to tell me to leave. Don Genaro's
demonstrations of "power" were so extraordinary and so baffling that they
forced me to a total reevaluation of myself. I went home, reviewed the notes
that I had taken in the very beginning of my apprenticeship, and a whole new
feeling mysteriously set in on me, although I had not been fully aware of it
until I saw don Genaro swimming on the floor.
The act of swimming on the floor, which was congruous with other
strange and bewildering acts he had performed in front of my very eyes,
started as he was lying face down. He was first laughing so hard that his
body shook as in a convulsion, then he began kicking, and finally the
movement of his legs became coordinated with a paddling movement of his
arms, and don Genaro started to slide on the ground as if he were lying on a
board fitted with ball bearings. He changed directions various times and
covered the entire area of the front of don Juan's house, maneuvering around
me and don Juan.
Don Genaro had clowned in front of me before, and every time he had
done it don Juan had asserted that I had been on the brink of "seeing." My
failure to "see" was a result of my insistence on trying to explain every
one of don Genaro's actions from a rational point of view. This time I was
on guard and when he began to swim I did not attempt to explain or
understand the event. I simply watched him. Yet I could not avoid the
sensation of being dumbfounded. He was actually sliding on his stomach and
chest. My eyes began to cross as I watched him. I felt a surge of
apprehension. I was convinced that if I did not explain what was happening I
would "see," and that thought filled me with an extraordinary anxiety. My
nervous anticipation was so great that in some way I was back at the same
point, locked once more in some rational endeavor. Don Juan must have been
watching me. He suddenly tapped me; I automatically turned to face him, and
for an instant I took my eyes away from don Genaro. When I looked at him
again he was standing by me with his head slightly tilted and his chin
almost resting on my right shoulder. I had a delayed startled reaction. I
looked at him for a second and then I jumped back. His expression of feigned
surprise was so comical that I laughed hysterically. I could not help being
aware, however, that my laughter was unusual. My body shook with nervous
spasms originating from the middle part of my stomach. Don Genaro put his
hand on my stomach and the convulsion-like ripples ceased.
"This little Carlos is always so exaggerated!" he exclaimed as if he
were a fastidious man. Then he added, imitating don Juan's voice and
mannerisms, "Don't you know that a warrior never laughs that way?" His
caricature of don Juan was so perfect that I laughed even harder.
Then both of them left together and were gone for over two hours, until
about midday. When they returned they sat in the area in front of don Juan's
house. They did not say a word. They seemed to be sleepy, tired, almost
absent-minded. They stayed motionless for a long time, yet they seemed to be
so comfortable and relaxed. Don Juan's mouth was slightly opened, as if he
were really asleep, but his hands were clasped over his lap and his thumbs
moved rhythmically. I fretted and changed sitting positions for a while,
then I began to feel a soothing placidity. I must have fallen asleep. Don
Juan's chuckle woke me up. I opened my eyes. Both of them were staring at
me.
"If you don't talk, you fall asleep, " don Juan said, laughing.
"I'm afraid I do, " I said.
Don Genaro lay on his back and began to kick his legs in the air. I
thought for a moment that he was going to start his disturbing clowning
again, but he went back right away to his cross-legged sitting position.
"There is something you ought to be aware of by now, " don Juan said.
"I call it the cubic centimeter of chance. All of us, whether or not we are
warriors, have a cubic centimeter of chance that pops out in front of our
eyes from time to time. The difference between an average man and a warrior
is that the warrior is aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert,
deliberately waiting, so that when his cubic centimeter pops out he has the
necessary speed, the prowess to pick it up.
"Chance, good luck, personal power, or whatever you may call it, is a
peculiar state of affairs. It is like a very small stick that comes out in
front of us and invites us to pluck it. Usually we are too busy, or too
preoccupied, or just too stupid and lazy to realize that that is our cubic
centimeter of luck. A warrior, on the other hand, is always alert and tight
and has the spring, the gumption necessary to grab it."
"Is your life very tight?" don Genaro asked me abruptly.
"I think it is, " I said with conviction.
"Do you think that you can pluck your cubic centimeter of luck?" don
Juan asked me with a tone of incredulity. "I believe I do that all the time,
" I said.
"I think you are only alert about things you know, " don Juan said.
"Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I do believe that nowadays I am more
aware than at any other time in my life, " I said and really meant it. Don
Genaro nodded his head in approval. "Yes, " he said softly, 'as if talking
to himself. "Little Carlos is really tight, and absolutely alert."
I felt that they were humoring me. I thought that perhaps my assertion
about my alleged condition of tightness may have annoyed them.
"I didn't mean to brag, " I said.
Don Genaro arched his eyebrows and enlarged his nostrils.
He glanced at my notebook and pretended to be writing.
"I think Carlos is tighter than ever, " don Juan said to don Genaro.
"Maybe he's too tight, " don Genaro snapped.
"He may very well be, " don Juan conceded.
I did not know what to interject at that point so I remained quiet.
"Do you remember the time when I jammed your car?" don Juan asked
casually.
His question was abrupt and unrelated to what we had been talking
about. He was referring to a time when I could not start the engine of my
car until he said I could. I remarked that no one could forget such an
event. "That was nothing, " don Juan asserted in a factual tone.
"Nothing at all. True, Genaro?"
"True, " don Genaro said indifferently.
"What do you mean?" I said in a tone of protest. "What you did that day
was something truly beyond my comprehension."
"That's not saying much, " don Genaro retorted.
They both laughed loudly and then don Juan patted me on the back.
"Genaro can do something much better than jamming your car, " he went
on. "True, Genaro?"
"True, " don Genaro replied, puckering up his lips like a child.
"What can he do?" I asked, trying to sound unruffled.
"Genaro can take your whole car away!" don Juan exclaimed in a booming
voice; and then he added in the same tone, "True, Genaro?"
"True!" don Genaro retorted in the loudest human tone I had ever heard.
I jumped involuntarily. My body was convulsed by three or four nervous
spasms.
"What do you mean, he can take my whole car away?" I asked.
"What did I mean, Genaro?" don Juan asked.
"You meant that I can get into his car, turn the motor on, and drive
away, " don Genaro replied with unconvincing seriousness.
"Take the car away, Genaro, " don Juan urged him in a joking tone.
"It's done!" don Genaro said, frowning and looking at me askew. I
noticed that as he frowned his eyebrows rippled, making the look in his eyes
mischievous and penetrating.
"All right!" don Juan said calmly. "Let's go down there and examine the
car."
"Yes!" don Genaro echoed. "Let's go down there and examine the car."
They stood up, very slowly. For an instant I did not know what to do,
but don Juan signaled me to stand up. We began walking up the small hill in
front of don Juan's house. Both of them flanked me, don Juan to my right and
don Genaro to my left. They were perhaps six or seven feet ahead of me,
always within my full field of vision.
"Let's examine the car, " don Genaro said again.
Don Juan moved his hands as if he were spinning an invisible thread;
don Genaro did likewise and repeated, "Let's examine the car." They walked
with a sort of bounce. Their steps were longer than usual, and their hands
moved as though they were whipping or batting some invisible objects in
front of them. I had never seen don Juan clowning like that and felt almost
embarrassed to look at him.
We reached the top and I looked down to the area at the foot of the
hill, some fifty yards away, where I had parked my car. My stomach
contracted with a jolt. The car was not there! I ran down the hill. My car
was not anywhere in sight. I experienced a moment of great confusion. I was
disoriented. My car had been parked there since I had arrived early in the
morning. Perhaps half an hour before, I had come down to get a new pad of
writing paper. At that time I had thought of leaving the windows open
because of the excessive heat, but the number of mosquitoes and other flying
insects that abounded in the area had made me change my mind, and I had left
the car
locked as usual.
I looked all around again. I refused to believe that my car was gone. I
walked to the edge of the cleared area. Don Juan and don Genaro joined me
and stood by me, doing exactly what I was doing, peering into the distance
to see if the car was somewhere in sight. I had a moment of euphoria that
gave way to a disconcerting sense of annoyance. They seemed to have noticed
it and began to walk around me, moving their hands as if they were rolling
dough in them.
"What do you think happened to the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked in a
meek tone.
"I drove it away, " don Genaro said and made the most astounding motion
of shifting gears and steering. He bent his legs as though he were sitting,
and remained in that position for a few moments, obviously sustained only by
the muscles of his legs; then he shifted his weight to his right leg and
stretched his left foot to mimic the action on the clutch. He made the sound
of a motor with his lips; and finally, to top everything, he pretended to
have hit a bump in the road and bobbed up and down, giving me the complete
sensation of an inept driver that bounces without letting go of the steering
wheel.
Don Genaro's pantomime was stupendous. Don Juan laughed until he was
out of breath. I wanted to join them in their mirth but I was unable to
relax. I felt threatened and ill at ease. An anxiety that had no precedence
in my life possessed me. I felt I was burning up inside and began kicking
small rocks on the ground and ended up hurling them with an unconscious and
unpredictable fury. It was as if the wrath was actually outside of myself
and had suddenly enveloped me.
Then the feeling of annoyance left me, as mysteriously as it had hit
me. I took a deep breath and felt better. I did not dare to look at don
Juan. My display of anger embarrassed me, but at the same time I wanted to
laugh. Don Juan came to my side and patted me on the back. Don Genaro put
his arm on my shoulder.
"It's all right!" don Genaro said. "Indulge yourself. Punch yourself in
the nose and bleed. Then you can get a rock and knock your teeth out. It'll
feel good! And if that doesn't help, "| you can mash your balls with the
same rock on that big boulder over there." Don Juan giggled. I told them
that I was ashamed of myself for having behaved so poorly. I did not know
what had gotten into me. Don Juan said that he was sure I knew exactly what
was going on, that I was pretending not to know, and that it was the act of
pretending that made me angry.
Don Genaro was unusually comforting; he patted my back repeatedly.
"It happens to all of us, " don Juan said.
"What do you mean by that, don Juan?" don Genaro asked, imitating my
voice, mocking my habit of asking don Juan questions.
Don Juan said some absurd things like "When the world is upside down we
are right side up, but when the world is right side up we are upside down.
Now when the world and we are right side up, we think we are upside down. .
. ." He went on and on, talking gibberish while don Genaro mimicked my
taking notes. He wrote on an invisible pad, enlarging his nostrils as he
moved his hand, keeping his eyes wide open and fixed on don Juan. Don Genaro
had caught on to my efforts
to write without looking at my pad in order to avoid altering the
natural flow of conversation. His portrayal was genuinely hilarious.
I suddenly felt very at ease, happy. Their laughter was soothing. For a
moment I let go and had a belly laugh. But then my mind entered into a new
state of apprehension, confusion, and annoyance. I thought that whatever was
taking place there was impossible; in fact, it was inconceivable according
to the logical order by which I am accustomed to judge the world at hand.
Yet, as the perceiver, I perceived that my car was not there. The thought
occurred to me, as it always had happened when don Juan had confronted me
with inexplicable phenomena, that I was being tricked by ordinary means. My
mind had always, under stress, involuntarily and consistently repeated the
same construct. I began to consider how many confederates don Juan and don
Genaro would have needed in order to lift my car and remove it from where I
had parked it. I was absolutely sure that I had compulsively locked the
doors; the handbrake was on; it was in gear; and the steering wheel was
locked. In order to move it they would have had to lift it up bodily. That
task would have required a labor force that I was convinced neither of them
could have brought together. Another possibility was that someone in
agreement with them had broken into my car, wired it, and driven it away. To
do that would have required a specialized knowledge that was beyond their
means. The only other possible explanation was that perhaps they were
mesmerizing me. Their movements were so novel to me and so suspicious that I
entered into a spin of rationalizations. I thought that if they were
hypnotizing me I was then in a state of altered consciousness.
In my experience with don Juan I had noticed that in such states one is
incapable of keeping a consistent mental record of the passage of time.
There had never been an enduring order, in matters of passage of time, in
all the states of nonordinary reality I had experienced, and my conclusion
was that if I kept myself alert a moment would come when I would lose my
order of sequential time. As if, for example, I were looking at a mountain
at a given moment, and then in my next moment of awareness I found myself
looking at a valley in the opposite direction, but without remembering
having turned around. I felt that if something of that nature would happen
to me I could then explain what was taking place with my car as, perhaps, a
case of hypnosis. I decided that the only thing I could do was to watch
every detail with excruciating thoroughness.
"Where's my car?" I asked, addressing both of them.
"Where's the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked with a look of utmost
seriousness.
Don Genaro began turning over small rocks and looking underneath them.
He worked feverishly over the whole flat area where I had parked my car. He
actually turned over every rock. At times he would pretend to get angry and
I would hurl the rock into the bushes.
Don Juan seemed to enjoy the scene beyond words. He giggled and
chuckled and was almost oblivious to my presence.
Don Genaro had just finished hurling a rock in a display of sham
frustration when he came upon a good-sized boulder, the only large and heavy
rock in the parking area. He attempted to turn it over but it was too heavy
and too deeply imbedded in the ground. He struggled and puffed until he was
perspiring. Then he sat on the rock and called don Juan to help him. Don
Juan turned to me with a beaming smile and said, "Come on, let's give Genaro
a hand."
"What's he doing?" I asked.
"He's looking for your car, " don Juan said in a casual and factual
tone.
"For heaven's sake! How can he find it under the rocks?" I protested.
"For heaven's sake, why not?" don Genaro retorted and both of them
roared with laughter.
We could not budge the rock. Don Juan suggested that we go to the house
and look for a thick piece of wood to use as a lever.
On our way to the house I told them that their acts were absurd and
that whatever they were doing to me was unnecessary.
Don Genaro peered at me. "Genaro is a very thorough man, " don Juan
said with a serious expression. He's as thorough and meticulous as you are.
You yourself said that you never leave a stone unturned. He's doing the
same." Don Genaro patted me on the shoulder and said that don
Juan was absolutely right and that, in fact, he wanted to be like me.
He looked at me with an insane glint and opened his nostrils.
Don Juan clapped his hands and threw his hat to the ground. After a
long search around the house for a thick piece of wood, don Genaro found a
long and fairly thick tree trunk, a part of a house beam. He put it across
his shoulders and we started back to the place where my car had been.
As we were going up the small hill and were about to reach a bend in
the trail from where I would see the flat parking area, I had a sudden
insight. It occurred to me that I was going to find my car before they did,
but when I looked down, there was no car at the foot of the hill. Don Juan
and don Genaro must have understood what I had had in mind and ran after me,
laughing uproariously.
Once we got to the bottom of the hill they immediately went to work. I
watched them for a few moments. Their acts were incomprehensible. They were
not pretending that they were working, they were actually immersed in the
task of turning over a boulder to see if my car was underneath. That was too
much for me and I joined them. They puffed and yelled and don Genaro howled
like a coyote. They were soaked in perspiration. I noticed how terribly
strong their bodies were, especially don Juan's. Next to them I was a flabby
young man.
Very soon I was also perspiring copiously. Finally we succeeded in
turning over the boulder and don Genaro examined the dirt underneath the
rock with the most maddening patience and thoroughness.
"No. It isn't here, " he announced.
That statement brought both of them down to the ground with laughter. I
laughed nervously. Don Juan seemed to have true spasms of pain and covered
his face and lay down as his body shook with laughter. "In which direction
do we go now?" don Genaro asked after a long rest. Don Juan pointed with a
nod of his head.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To look for your car!" don Juan said and did not crack a smile.
They again flanked me as we walked into the brush. We had only covered
a few yards when don Genaro signaled us to stop. He tiptoed to a round bush
a few steps away, looked in the inside branches for a few moments, and said
that the car was not there.
We kept on walking for a while and then don Genaro made a gesture with
his hand to be quiet. He arched his back as he stood on his toes and
extended his arms over his head. His fingers were contracted like a claw.
From where I stood, don Genaro's body had the shape of a letter S. He
maintained that position for an instant and then virtually plunged headfirst
on a long twig with dry leaves. He carefully lifted it up and examined it
and again remarked that the car was not there.
As we walked into the deep chaparral he looked behind bushes and
climbed small paloverde trees to look into their foliage, only to conclude
that the car was not there either.
Meanwhile I kept a most meticulous mental record of everything I
touched or saw. My sequential and orderly view of the world around me was as
continuous as it had always been. I touched rocks, bushes, trees. I shifted
my view from the foreground to the background by looking out of one eye and
then out of the other. By all calculations I was walking in the chaparral as
I had done scores of times during my ordinary life.
Next don Genaro lay down on his stomach and asked us to do likewise. He
rested his chin on his clasped hands. Don Juan did the same. Both of them
stared at a series of small protuberances on the ground that looked like
minute hills. Suddenly don Genaro made a sweeping movement with his right
hand and clasped something. He hurriedly stood up and so did don Juan. Don
Genaro held his clasped hand in front of us and signaled us to come closer
and look. Then he slowly began to open his hand. When it was half open a big
black object flew away. The motion was so sudden and the flying object was
so big that I jumped back and nearly lost my balance. Don Juan propped me
up.
"That wasn't the car, " don Genaro complained. "It was a goddamn fly.
Sorry!" Both of them scrutinized me. They were standing in front of me and
were not looking directly at me but out of the corners of their eyes. It was
a prolonged look.
"It was a fly, wasn't it?" don Genaro asked me.
"I think so, " I said.
"Don't think, " don Juan ordered me imperiously. "What did you see?"
"I saw something as big as a crow flying out of his hand," I said.
My statement was congruous with what I had perceived and was not
intended as a joke, but they took it as perhaps the most hilarious statement
that anyone had made that day. Both of them jumped up and down and laughed
until they choked. "I think Carlos has had enough, " don Juan said. His
voice sounded hoarse from laughing.
Don Genaro said that he was about to find my car, that the feeling was
getting hotter and hotter. Don Juan said we were in a rugged area and that
to find the car there was not a desirable thing. Don Genaro took off his hat
and rearranged the strap with a piece of string from his pouch, then he
attached his woolen belt to a yellow tassel affixed to the brim of the hat.
"I'm making a kite out of my hat, " he said to me.
I watched him and I knew that he was joking. I had always considered
myself to be an expert on kites. When I was a child I used to make the most
complex kites and I knew that the brim of the straw hat was too brittle to
resist the wind. The hat's crown, on the other hand, was too deep and the
wind would circulate inside it, making it impossible to lift the hat off the
ground.
"You don't think it'll fly, do you?" don Juan asked me.
"I know it won't, " I said.
Don Genaro was unconcerned and finished attaching a long string to his
kite-hat. It was a windy day and don Genaro ran downhill as don Juan held
his hat, then don Genaro pulled the string and the damn thing actually flew.
"Look, look at the kite!" don Genaro yelled. It bobbed a couple of
times but it remained in the air.
"Don't take your eyes off of the kite, " don Juan said firmly. For a
moment I felt dizzy. Looking at the kite, I had had a complete recollection
of another time; it was as if I were flying a kite myself, as I used to,
when it was windy in the hills of my home town.
For a brief moment the recollection engulfed me and I lost my awareness
of the passage of time.
I heard don Genaro yelling something and I saw the hat bobbing up and
down and then falling to the ground, where my car was. It all took place
with such speed that I did not have a clear picture of what had happened. I
became dizzy and absent-minded. My mind held on to a very confusing image. I
either saw don Genaro's hat turning into my car, or I saw the hat falling
over on top of the car. I wanted to believe the latter, that don Genaro had
used his hat to point at my car. Not that it really mattered, one thing was
as awesome as the other, but just the same my mind hooked on that arbitrary
detail in order to keep my original mental balance. "Don't fight it, " I
heard don Juan saying. I felt that something inside me was about to surface.
Thoughts and images came in uncontrollable waves as if I were falling
asleep. I stared at the car dumbfounded. It was sitting on a rocky flat area
about a hundred feet away. It actually looked as if someone had just placed
it there. I ran towards it and began to examine it.
"Goddammit!" don Juan exclaimed. "Don't stare at the car. Stop the
world!"
Then as in a dream I heard him yelling, "Genaro's hat! Genaro's hat!"
I looked at them. They were staring at me directly. Their eyes were
piercing. I felt a pain in my stomach. I had an instantaneous headache and
got ill. Don Juan and don Genaro looked at me curiously. I sat by the car
for a while and then, quite automatically, I unlocked the door and let don
Genaro get in the back seat. Don Juan followed him and sat next to him. I
thought that was strange because he usually sat in the front seat. I drove
my car to don Juan's house in a sort of haze. I was not myself at all. My
stomach was very upset, and the feeling of nausea demolished all my
sobriety. I drove mechanically.
I heard don Juan and don Genaro in the back seat laughing and giggling
like children. I heard don Juan asking me, "Are we getting closer?" It was
at that point that I took deliberate notice of the road. We were actually
very close to his house. "We're about to get there, " I muttered. They
howled with laughter. They clapped their hands and slapped their thighs.
When we arrived at the house I automatically jumped out of the car and
opened the door for them. Don Genaro stepped out first and congratulated me
for what he said was the nicest and smoothest ride he had ever taken in his
life. Don Juan said the same. I did not pay much attention to them. I locked
my car and barely made it to the house. I heard don Juan and don Genaro
roaring with laughter before I fell asleep. The next day as soon as I woke
up I began asking don Juan questions. He was cutting firewood in the back of
his house, but don Genaro was nowhere in sight. He said that there was
nothing to talk about. I pointed out that I had succeeded in remaining aloof
and had observed don Genaro's "swimming on the floor" without wanting or
demanding any explanation whatsoever, but my restraint had not helped me to
understand what was taking place. Then, after the disappearance of the car,
I became automatically locked in seeking a logical explanation, but that did
not help me either. I told don Juan that my insistence on finding
explanations was not something that I had arbitrarily devised myself, just
to be difficult, but was something so deeply ingrained in me that it
overruled every other consideration. "It's like a disease, " I said.
"There are no diseases, " don Juan replied calmly. "There is only
indulging. And you indulge yourself in trying to explain everything.
Explanations are no longer necessary in your case."
I insisted that I could function only under conditions of order and
understanding. I reminded him that I had drastically changed my personality
during the time of our association, and that the condition that had made
that change possible was that I had been capable of explaining to myself the
reasons for that change.
Don Juan laughed softly. He did not speak for a long time.
"You are very clever, " he finally said. "You go back to where you have
always been. This time you are finished though. You have no place to go back
to. I will not explain anything to you any more. Whatever Genaro did to you
yesterday he did it to your body, so let your body decide what's what."
Don Juan's tone was friendly but unusually detached and that made me
feel an overwhelming loneliness. I expressed my feelings of sadness. He
smiled. His fingers gently clasped the top of my hand. "We both are beings
who are going to die, " he said softly. "There is no more time for what we
used to do. Now you must employ all the not-doing I have taught you and stop
the world."
He clasped my hand again. His touch was firm and friendly; it was like
a reassurance that he was concerned and had affection for me, and at the
same time it gave me the impression of an unwavering purpose. "This is my
gesture for you, " he said, holding the grip he had on my hand for an
instant. "Now you must go by yourself into those friendly mountains." He
pointed with his chin to the distant range of mountains towards the
southeast. He said that I had to remain there until my body told me to quit
and then return to his house. He let me know that he did not want me to say
anything or to wait any longer by shoving me gently in the direction of my
car. "What am I supposed to do there?" I asked. He did not answer but looked
at me, shaking his head.
"No more of that, " he finally said. Then he pointed his finger to the
southeast.
"Go there, " he said cuttingly. I drove south and then east, following
the roads I had always taken when driving with don Juan. I parked my car
around the place where the dirt road ended and then I hiked on a familiar
trail until I reached a high plateau. I had no idea what to do there. I
began to meander, looking for a resting place. Suddenly I became aware of a
small area to my left. It seemed that the chemical composition of the soil
was different on that spot, yet when I focused my eyes on it there was
nothing visible that would account for the difference. I stood a few feet
away and tried to "feel" as don Juan had always recommended I should do. I
stayed motionless for perhaps an hour. My thoughts began to diminish by
degrees until I was no longer talking to myself. I then had a sensation of
annoyance. The feeling seemed to be confined to my stomach and was more
acute when I faced the spot in question. I was repulsed by it and felt
compelled to move away from it. I began scanning the area with crossed eyes
and after a short walk I came upon a large flat rock. I stopped in front of
it. There was nothing in particular about the rock that attracted me. I did
not detect any specific color or any shine on it, and yet I liked it. My
body felt good. I experienced a sensation of physical comfort and sat down
for a while.
I meandered in the high plateau and the surrounding mountains all day
without knowing what to do or what to expect. I came back to the flat rock
at dusk. I knew that if I spent the night there I would be safe. The next
day I ventured farther east into the high mountains. By late afternoon I
came to another even higher plateau.
I thought I had been there before. I looked around to orient myself but
I could not recognize any of the surrounding peaks. After carefully
selecting a suitable place I sat down to rest at the edge of a barren rocky
area. I felt very warm and peaceful there. I tried to pour out some food
from my gourd, but it was empty. I drank some water. It was warm and stale.
I thought that I had nothing else to do but to return to don Juan's house
and began to wonder whether or not I should start on my way back right away.
I lay down on my stomach and rested my head on my arm. I felt uneasy and
changed positions various times until I found myself facing the west.
The sun was already low. My eyes were tired. I looked down at the
ground and caught sight of a large black beetle. It came out from behind a
small rock, pushing a ball of dung twice its size. I followed its movements
for a long time. The insect seemed unconcerned with my presence and kept on
pushing its load over rocks, roots, depressions, and protuberances on the
ground. For all I knew, the beetle was not aware that I was there. The
thought occurred to me that I could not possibly be sure that the insect was
not aware of me; that thought triggered a series of rational evaluations
about the nature of the insect's world as opposed to mine. The beetle and I
were in the same world and obviously the world was not the same for both of
us. I became immersed in watching it and marveled at the gigantic strength
it needed to carry its load over rocks and down crevices.
I observed the insect for a long time and then I became aware of the
silence around me. Only the wind hissed between the branches and leaves of
the chaparral. I looked up, turned to my left in a quick and involuntary
fashion, and caught a glimpse of a faint shadow or a flicker on a rock a few
feet away. At first I paid no attention to it but then I realized that that
flicker had been to my left. I turned again suddenly and was able to clearly
perceive a shadow on the rock. I had the weird sensation that the shadow
instantly slid down to the ground and the soil absorbed it as a blotter
dries an ink blotch. A chill ran down my back. The thought crossed my mind
that death was watching me and the beetle. I looked for the insect again but
I could not find it. I thought that it must have arrived at its destination
and then had dropped its load into a hole in the ground. I put my face
against a smooth rock.
The beetle emerged from a deep hole and stopped a few inches away from
my face. It seemed to look at me and for a moment I felt that it became
aware of my presence, perhaps as I was aware of the presence of my death. I
experienced a shiver. The beetle and I were not that different after all.
Death, like a shadow, was stalking both of us from behind the boulder.
I had an extraordinary moment of elation. The beetle and I were on a par.
Neither of us was better than the other.
Our death made us equal. My elation and joy were so overwhelming that I
began to weep. Don Juan was right. He had always been right. I was living in
a most mysterious world and, like everyone else, I was a most mysterious
being, and yet I was no more important than a beetle. I wiped my eyes and as
I rubbed them with the back of my hand I saw a man, or something which had
the shape of a man. It was to my right about fifty yards away. I sat up
straight and strained to see. The sun was almost on the horizon and its
yellowish glow prevented me from getting a clear view. I heard a peculiar
roar at that moment. It was like the sound of a distant jet plane. As I
focused my attention on it, the roar increased to a prolonged sharp metallic
whizzing and then it softened until it was a mesmerizing, melodious sound.
The melody was like the vibration of an electrical current. The image that
came to my mind was that two electrified spheres were coming together, or
two square blocks of electrified metal were rubbing against each other and
then coming to rest with a thump when they were perfectly leveled with each
other. I again strained to see if I could distinguish the person that seemed
to be hiding from me, but I could only detect a dark shape against the
bushes. I shielded my eyes by placing my hands above them. The brilliancy of
the sunlight changed at that moment and then I realized that what I was
seeing was only an optical illusion, a play of shadows and foliage.
I moved my eyes away and I saw a coyote calmly trotting across the
field. The coyote was around the spot where I thought I had seen the man. It
moved about fifty yards in a southerly direction and then it stopped,
turned, and began walking towards me. I yelled a couple of times to scare it
away, but it kept on coming. I had a moment of apprehension. I thought that
it might be rabid and I even considered gathering some rocks to defend
myself in case of an attack. When the animal was ten to fifteen feet away I
noticed that it was, not agitated in any way; on the contrary, it seemed
calm and unafraid. It slowed down its gait, coming to a halt barely four or
five feet from me. We looked at each other, and then the coyote came even
closer. Its brown eyes were friendly and clear. I sat down on the rocks and
the coyote stood almost touching me. I was dumbfounded. I had never seen a
wild coyote that close, and the only thing that occurred to me at that
moment was to talk to it. I began as one would talk to a friendly dog. And
then I thought that the coyote "talked" back to me. I had the absolute
certainty that it had said something. I felt confused but I did not have
time to ponder upon my feelings, because the coyote "talked" again. It was
not that the animal was voicing words the way I am accustomed to hearing
words being voiced by human beings, it was rather a "feeling" that it was
talking. But it was not like a feeling that one has when a pet seems to
communicate with its master either. The coyote actually said something; it
relayed a thought and that communication came out in something quite similar