The Return of the Lobo

Don Malvino is a curious old man. He lives by himself, not anywhere near the town but in an old house that seems to be darker than he is, way out on a hill that looks down on the road. Why he should live on the hill, by himself, no one knows. You can see him most of the time sitting under a tree, looking down as people walk or ride by, just sitting in an old chair.

It is usually considered a good thing to have friends, but don Malvino is curiously solitary. He is known to be very resourceful, and has a way of getting what he wants. He is a tall and thin old man with what look to be scars on his cheeks, and he hasn’t ever worked as far as anyone can tell. It is said that he has a deal with old spirits who protect and warn him, and while he isn’t a frequent church-goer, he does make it a point of going one or two times a year. For some reason he always makes it to Ash Wednesday. He has never been see on Christmas or Easter, although he does make it to the Feast Day of San Gorgonio. It seems he has an affinity for spirits, but everyone respects his privacy.  He does have crosses around his hut, after all, so he is considered a spiritual man, although he seems to prefer what the spirits tell him, and not what Father Sánchez does in mass.

It is curious, but there is no one better for forecasting he weather.  He can usually tell if a storm is approaching, sometimes a week in advance, and he has been known to warn people that hail might accompany the downpour. He is also very good with diagnosing the ailments of animals. In a small pueblito such as this one everyone has animals, whether they be chickens or marranitos or codornices, cows and goats and even a turtle or two. It is said that doña Jimena even raises snakes, because of the snakeskin boots and belts and little decorations she sells from time to time, but no one has ever bothered to go to her house to see if she does indeed raise them. Curiously, the dogs for some reason prefer to keep their distance when he is in town.

For a small town in which there is no television or radio and in which people live by simple rituals, minor events can assume big proportions. For example, from time to time animals have a way of disappearing. It doesn’t help that the pueblo of Noguerra is out in the middle of nowhere, in a hilly area of northwest New Mexico, far from the big cities. The pueblito has maybe 15 families in all, and a few old Indians or Mexican farmhands who come in from time to time to spend to help with the harvest and who collect their pay in a few meager sacks of corn or beans before they move on. There are transients who pass through, both the well-dressed kind as well as the poor one. The latter are usually poor mexicanos, finding itinerant trails and looking for seasonal crop work, and the latter are, at times, ranchers looking for investment opportunities, or drill operators who have heard that there might be oil or minerals waiting to be exploited, or once in a blue moon, one or two artists who have heard about the serene beauty of this part of the state and wish to find inspiration where it is lacking in the big cities. The townspeople are very hospitable but, curiously, these artists are never allowed to set up their easels on don Malvino’s hill.

Most people live modestly, growing corn when they can, working in Los Pueblos fifty miles away when they can’t, a place that is nothing like a pueblo but is instead a big city with asphalt streets and two and factories, with a railroad line that passes through and more cars than anyone can see in a year out in Noguerra. It is also a curious place, because it makes people feel different, makes some of them feel a little ashamed of themselves and wish instead that they could change their clothes and change the way they speak and maybe replace the old teeth that have been missing, and maybe people would look at them in the funny way they do. At night there is still movimiento in this small town, and it is curious, but you don’t see hardly any animals. People ride on cars, some on buses, maybe some on bicycles, but almost no one on the back of a rickety old truck that sputters each time it stops, sending smoke signals that can be read from one hill to the next. It is out of pure necessity that people move out there, pura necesidad. They need to work in the tool factory, or maybe out on the work crews that build new roads, or maybe on construction crews that put up houses that don’t look anything like the humble little brick and adobe buildings in Noguerra. It is a way of getting through the lean times, and lately, the lean times are lasting longer than ever.

But back to what I was saying. At times, animals disappear, and in a place as poor as Noguerra, it is easy to imagine that this is due to the fact that someone took liberties. Animals are smart, after all, and they know better than to leave home on their own. They might want to explore a little, that is understandable, and to peck here or there, in doña Graciela’s tomato patch, or behind don Tomás’ feed lot where he keeps bags of feed, but most of the time, they don’t go far, and they are easy to find. It is said that a coyote or two will wander in out of the desert, but most of the time there is plenty of warning, for almost everyone has a dog, and while they may be no match for a clever coyote, they can be counted on to bark without stopping when they smell that a strange animal or person is around. People can tell, and when they bark, the owner will always step outside and make sure the chickens, pigs and goats are secure in their pens.

But sometimes a burro has a way of getting lost, especially don Perico’s burro, who in reality is named Moisés but is called Perico because of his penchant for talking on and on as he walks with his burro. And everyone knows that burros are very smart animals, despite their name. They have the patience of, well, burros, and they work like, well, burros. This one is named Alegría, for some reason that escapes understanding, since no one has been able to make it through one of don Perico’s interminable and tangles stories that tread one way and then another, and that end up leaving you sleepy, unable to remember the point of the whole story anyway.

So, Alegría it is, and from time to time, say, two or three times a week, don Perico will wander from house to house, knocking on doors and announcing to the weary families that “No hay Alegría”, or, “No se halla Alegría”, which can be translated as “There is no happiness”. Now, you might possibly be tempted to view this as a tired joke told by a doddering old man, but the way he says it, with a look of earnest suffering, with a drooping lip and eyes on the verge of tears, couldn’t possibly be interpreted at anything other than face value.

And everyone always asks him the same thing. Where were you today, don Perico? Did you go by the old Sycamore tree? Were you looking for wild cactus again? Were you checking your rabbit traps out by the hills again? Did you go to church and maybe forget to tie Alegría up? (It is well known that don Perico likes to take naps in the early afternoon in the little church, because it is cool and quiet in the old adobe building, and because the benches are as familiar to him as the furniture he has at home, but a little less rickety, a little smoother, and a little less dusty.)

People are patient with don Perico, because that is the way people are in general in Noguerra, a place that might be thought to have few other generalities. And what happens is the same. Don Perico will look in one direction then another while shuffling his feet (he invariably refuses to come inside, not because he is a rude man, but precisely because his sense of courtesy dictates that a dusty man should respect cleanliness, and that the only public place where he should step in should be the feed lot or the little supply store or, of course, the church), and he mumbles about how he was here and there, and he didn’t pay attention, and walked home, and he thought that Alegría was with him, but when he arrived home the burro wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Now, who would steal a burro in this small pueblito? Ni pensarlo! What people do, however, is to offer don Perico a little food, which he never refuses, for invariably, he always manages to visit during the evening hours when people are settling down for their dinner, and it has become such a custom that most families know to expect him at least once a month. But don Perico is a courteous man, he never makes it a point of visiting a house two times in a row, he cycles through the fifteen houses that are clustered together, so as not to be a burden.

It is, of course, known that the burro has a penchant for old cactus, and that the cactus is particularly abundant around the hill where don Pepe lives. So, it is only a matter of finishing their dinner before either the head of the house or one of the older teenage sons will accompany don Perico as they head to the hills, holding a lantern because you never know if a snake might be around, and a good thing that they take one or two dogs with them on the trip to bark a warning if this is the case, and they circle around in the shadows calling out until the find the burro, who for all the world must have a penchant for cactus spines for the cactus around this area has to be among the spiniest of all the cactus in New Mexico.

But we were talking about don Malvino’s acumen and his special affinity for animals, weren’t we? Well, it just so happened that one night, after don Perico had made his visit to the next house on his weekly schedule, and after having enjoyed two bowls of beans with beef, seasoned with chiles and accompanied by a few tortillas, that the obligatory trip to the cactus patch was made. It was taken as a virtual certainty that Alegría would be found there, and in the meantime, don Perico talked incessantly about his favorite topic, about how he used to hunt with his brothers when he was a child, and about how his grandfather used to talk about the lobos that were so abundant back then, and about how they were hunted when cattle drivers used to pass through this area on their way to slaughter and market. It seemed the times had been much more romantic back then, although he knew enough not to trust the cattle drivers or the ranchers who had little sympathy for the old communities, much less for the Indians who used to be such a proud people.

And they couldn’t find Alegría that night! They called and called, and they shone the light of the lantern around the entire patch, and the smaller patches around that area, but they didn’t find the burro. It was such a novelty because it represented a change almost as drastic as if the rooster failed to crow. They took don Perico to his modest little hut and put him to sleep, waiting for the next day to decide what to do.

That next day they still couldn’t find Alegría, and don Perico as a result was becoming less talkative than he normally was. The men took to using his real name, Moisés, as a way of recognizing the transformation and giving him comfort. No te preocupes, don Moisés, no es serio, por allí ha de estar. The little ones were confused. Who was Moisés? There was only don Perico, now for the first time that anyone could remember actually entering into someone’s house, and he wasn’t talking and telling stories about the old lobo hiding among the big rocks, or the cattle ranchers and their droves of cattle that trampled everything in their path, he was sniffling silently, unable to make eye contact.

Could an old lobo have come back and made off with the burro? Or worse yet, some stranger, some desperate man who hadn’t bothered to come into the pueblito but had found Alegría in the cactus patch and decided to take the animal? The animal, after all, was known to be very sensible despite the fame attributed to his species, and could not have wandered off. How far could he go in one day?

It was decided that they should go visit don Malvino up on his hill, which was the natural step to take if it weren’t for the fact that it was rumored that he was an old cuervo, and who had something of the sinister in him. Most people would not visit him in his perch on the old cerrito, and if they say him under his tree, looking down at the pueblito, they were content to look away and continue on with their normal activities. Don Malvino, after all, had a very steady gaze.

So, a few men decided to join don Perico, and they walked up the hill, following the faint trail and winding trail they had seen him take as he climbed up. There were trees here and there, and little alcoves that seemed as if they could harbor dens of animals, and tall grass here and there, swaying in the wind. It was a somber journey, and for once, the men were forced to admit they would have enjoyed hearing don Perico’s tales of yesterday that had been repeated so often they were as threadbare as his sandals. don Malvino was waiting for them as they arrived.

Amigos, ¿qué se les ofrece? He greeted them. He looked from one man to the next, and it seemed as if there was a collective flinch. Don Perico couldn’t hardly gather the courage to look him in the eye, and just mumbled quietly while one of the men, don Cirilo, explained the reason for their visit.

Don Malvino, forgive us for bothering you, we hope you are well as we get ready for another summer. We could certainly have used more rain, is that not so? But we can’t complain, we are doing the best that we can, and for now, and most of us have finished planting. Don Malvino, forgive us, but we are missing a burro. I mean, an animal, don Perico’s animal, who likes to eat cactus down by the side of your hill, and who we can usually find there, but except that yesterday he went missing, and we hope that maybe, since you are able to watch over us, that you might have seen him. For you see everything, no es así?

He couldn’t have felt more tongue-tied than we he went to ask for his wife doña Teresa’s hand almost thirty years ago. And the thing was, the don Malvino didn’t seem to react. All he did was stare steadily, without wavering, into don Cirilo’s face, then he turned quietly to don Perico, who never once had met his gaze, and was unable to do so now, limiting himself to a quiet assent with his head. Why don Malvino stared people never knew. It was unsettling, and when he made his weekly trip into town, few people bothered to chat with him, preferring to look off to the side and to move the brim of their hat down.

Así que se trata de un animal perdido. Un burro. Bueno. Déjenme ver.

And he turned around and walked into his little house, the rickety house that seemed to be held up with little else other than a spell and rope, and that most town residents had marveled had never seemed to sustain any damage during the heavy seasonal winds or dust storms or pounding rains that hit from time to time during the year. It was very dark inside, and he left the door open when he walked inside. Two or three of the men who accompanied don Cirilo could have sworn that they saw five or six pairs of glowing eyes inside, but were unable to determine to what animal they might have belonged. Something rattled inside, and then don Malvino stepped out.

Vengan conmigo.

And the party of six men, seven including don Malvino if he could indeed be grouped among the men and not as wizard, walked up slowly to the highest point of the hill. There were other hills in the area, but this one was the tallest, and it offered the best vantage point to survey the area. The sky seemed very clear up here, being less obscured by dust that seemed to form a layer down below although, in truth, it wasn’t it very tall hill. It just seemed tall.

Don Malvino took his time and looked in one direction then the other. He held what the men could have sworn was an eagle’s feather in one hand, and he brought up his arm and looked steadily at this feather. Then he mumbled, and called out to what seemed to be “quirinoah”, calling out, in a language that they couldn’t understand, but they were sure was a language, “quirinoah shoala kitupu, sorolia quirinoah jo jo rin”. Whether this could be considered an exact transcription of what he said or only an approximation, no one can say. All they knew was that they seemed to feel, at least for a moment, as if a shadow passed overhead, and what might have been an eagle’s call. They were very quiet, hoping to hear it again, but don Malvino just looked off to the southeast, to another smaller hill about a mile away, and grunted.

Por allá, mis amigos, por allá, busquen el animal. Y que tengan serenidad. No teman, el verano pronto pasa. Cuiden a sus hijos, y si ven un lobo, no lo toquen, me avisan primero. Que tengan serenidad.

And with that he turn away, and walked back to the tree that stood next to his hut. It was a very tall oak, unusual, but also very sturdy. The men all gave thanks to his retreating back, and they hurried down the hill. It wasn’t until they had reached the bottom that they remarked how unusual it was that Don Malvino seemed to have no dogs, and that none of their dogs had climbed the hill with them. As a matter of fact, the dogs seemed to avoid don Pepe when he traveled into the pueblito, and that was what made him seem more eerie than ever. Someone who scared even the dogs!

Well, the part hurried over to the hill and before they knew it, they found old Alegría, who had apparently found another patch of cactus. But he also seemed a little unsettled, and it was readily apparent that he was scared. Don Perico immediately noticed that his burro had been bitten on one of his ears. It was still intact, but there had been blood, and the bit had left indentations that looked to be those of a dog, but with fangs and a wider jaw than any dog that they knew lived in the area.

And Alegría never went back to the patch of cactus that stood at the foot of don Malvino’s hill. This altered the ritual of life in this small town, and for a town that depended on rituals because there was little else, this was a big change. It was not nearly enough, however, to prepare them for the arrival of the lobo that winter.

OGRomero © 2013
(Copyrighted by OGRomero, 2013)