1982 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1982 Yearbook
Description
THE MIRACLE OF
JUAN GARCIA
BY
EDA P. HOFMANN
Pensively Juan rocked back on his
heels and watched the ant. It was
pushing a speck of food to its hole
lying a few inches in front of his sandals. He spat in front of it and waited
to see whether it would go through
the wet clay or around it. The sun
spilling over the mountain would
soon penetrate his thick serape and
take the night chill from his shoulders. And then the gringo doctor
would be here.
Inside the little hut he could hear his
son rolling feverishly on the cot. A
grown man he was, of twenty-six, but
the fever had made him as helpless
as an infant. "It was good I sent for
doctor," Juan mused, watching the
ant edge her way around the wet circle. "Too bad he is a norteameri-
cano. But they say he is good." He
closed his eyes and dozed off as the
sun became warmer.
He woke at his nephew's shout. "We
are coming, Tio," the lad called as
his burro shuffled around the twist in
the path. Juan looked past him to the
young blonde doctor hunched in the
saddle, holding his little black bag in
front of him. He pushed himself upright and slapped the dust from his
trousers. Before he was finished the
young stranger had dismounted,
nodded a hurried "Buenos dias" and
disappeared inside the shack.
Juan wanted to follow him, but it
would be more dignified to wait outside and let his old lady assist. He
could hear the staccato of the doctor's questions and the patient replies
ofLupe. The boy was twenty-six, unmarried, and helped his father in
their carpenter shop. He had become
ill five days ago, but in this season,
with all the dust, many people complained of sore throats and coughs. It
was yesterday when Lupe finally
suggested to Juan that he send for
the doctor. The boy had not eaten
for two days and was burning with
fever. Now, there was silence from
within, interrupted by a low moan
from the patient, and, finally, the
doctor's reassuring, "He will be
much better tomorrow at this time.
But he must not work for the next
three days, even though he feels better. I will leave these pills and some
medicine . . "
It was not long before the doctor
emerged, assuring Juan that his son
would be well soon. "And, as long as
I am here, Old One, why don't I
examine you to see if the dust has
settled in your throat too?"
Juan shuffled to his feet slowly and
surveyed the mountain range that
embraced his little pueblo before he
smiled, his strong white teeth contrasted vividly with his work-worn
brown face. "Gracias, doctor," he
answered, "but I am strong and well
and do not need your gringo medicine. A man my age should not need
your help for many years."
The young doctor nodded in agreement. After a short pause he asked
politely, "Your son is twenty-six, Old
One, how many years do you have?"
Juan answered simply, "Twenty-
nine. "
The blue eyes widened in disbelief
and the shoulders raised in a questioning shrug as the doctor asked,
"How can that be possible when
your son is twenty-six and your old
woman is sixty?"
Juan replied, "Five years ago the
curandero came to our pueblo and
made all the men younger. Before he
came, Lupe was three years younger
than me. Since I was cured, I am
thirty-one years younger than
Lupe!"
"That, indeed, is a good trick,"said
the gringo doctor gravely. "And it is
a part of medicine I do not know
much about. Perhaps, Juan Garcia,
if you told me what the curandero
did, I could make your son well without any charge." The bargain was
made. But Juan told this story not to
save a few pesos, but because he
sensed the gringo doctor was simpa-
tico.
"Five years ago a stranger came to
our pueblito. It was the market day
three days before the Conco de
Mayo. Even in our little town the
streets were filled with people visiting and buying firecrackers and
treats for the fiesta. Still, a stranger
is noticed. At first he walked up and
down the street, examining all the
little shops. We thought he wanted
to buy something he could not find.
Finally he set up a little shop of his
own. We were all surprised because
he was a stranger, and one does not
buy things from a stranger."
The two men were seated side by
side, their backs resting against the
warm adobe wall of the little shack
Now the gringo leaned forward and
asked Juan, "What did he sell you to
make you young again?"
"That was strange," mused Juan,
"because he did not have any fruit or
vegetables to sell, no sweets or toys.
He just had one big piece of paper
that he unrolled and hammered up
above his table. It was some picture.
The first one showed an old Indian
with hair as white as the snows of the
warrior mountain, Popocatepetl.
Then there was a picture of the
stranger giving the White Haired
One a drink from a big black pot that
cooked over a fire. The last picture
showed the White Haired One again
— but this time his hair was long and
black, and his face no longer looked
like a rutted mountain road grooved
by the rains. It looked young and
fresh, like the face of a man when he
sees his novia on their wedding day."
"And then?" urged the doctor.
"Why, at first, we pretended not
to notice," chuckled Juan. "All
morning we passed by the stranger
and did not speak or seem to see him.
But at midday, Jorge had a few copi-
tas of tequila to celebrate the birth of
his third grandson. Or maybe to celebrate the fact that his daughter finally married the father of three grandsons. The tequila warmed his cold
blood and made him think young
thoughts again. He was the first to
ask the stranger the meaning of his
pictures. The stranger told Jorge he
would explain if Jorge brought two
more friends. The pictures contained
magic, and the magic would not
work for only one person. The more
people Jorge got, the stranger said,
the more powerful the magic would
be.
"That evening those of us who had
made some pesos at the market met
at the cantina to celebrate with tequila and beer. Jorge was bragging
that he was the only man macho
enough to speak to the stranger
about his magic. What magic? We
wanted to know! Oh, he would not
tell us. He just kept smiling and
122
JUAN GARCIA
BY
EDA P. HOFMANN
Pensively Juan rocked back on his
heels and watched the ant. It was
pushing a speck of food to its hole
lying a few inches in front of his sandals. He spat in front of it and waited
to see whether it would go through
the wet clay or around it. The sun
spilling over the mountain would
soon penetrate his thick serape and
take the night chill from his shoulders. And then the gringo doctor
would be here.
Inside the little hut he could hear his
son rolling feverishly on the cot. A
grown man he was, of twenty-six, but
the fever had made him as helpless
as an infant. "It was good I sent for
doctor," Juan mused, watching the
ant edge her way around the wet circle. "Too bad he is a norteameri-
cano. But they say he is good." He
closed his eyes and dozed off as the
sun became warmer.
He woke at his nephew's shout. "We
are coming, Tio," the lad called as
his burro shuffled around the twist in
the path. Juan looked past him to the
young blonde doctor hunched in the
saddle, holding his little black bag in
front of him. He pushed himself upright and slapped the dust from his
trousers. Before he was finished the
young stranger had dismounted,
nodded a hurried "Buenos dias" and
disappeared inside the shack.
Juan wanted to follow him, but it
would be more dignified to wait outside and let his old lady assist. He
could hear the staccato of the doctor's questions and the patient replies
ofLupe. The boy was twenty-six, unmarried, and helped his father in
their carpenter shop. He had become
ill five days ago, but in this season,
with all the dust, many people complained of sore throats and coughs. It
was yesterday when Lupe finally
suggested to Juan that he send for
the doctor. The boy had not eaten
for two days and was burning with
fever. Now, there was silence from
within, interrupted by a low moan
from the patient, and, finally, the
doctor's reassuring, "He will be
much better tomorrow at this time.
But he must not work for the next
three days, even though he feels better. I will leave these pills and some
medicine . . "
It was not long before the doctor
emerged, assuring Juan that his son
would be well soon. "And, as long as
I am here, Old One, why don't I
examine you to see if the dust has
settled in your throat too?"
Juan shuffled to his feet slowly and
surveyed the mountain range that
embraced his little pueblo before he
smiled, his strong white teeth contrasted vividly with his work-worn
brown face. "Gracias, doctor," he
answered, "but I am strong and well
and do not need your gringo medicine. A man my age should not need
your help for many years."
The young doctor nodded in agreement. After a short pause he asked
politely, "Your son is twenty-six, Old
One, how many years do you have?"
Juan answered simply, "Twenty-
nine. "
The blue eyes widened in disbelief
and the shoulders raised in a questioning shrug as the doctor asked,
"How can that be possible when
your son is twenty-six and your old
woman is sixty?"
Juan replied, "Five years ago the
curandero came to our pueblo and
made all the men younger. Before he
came, Lupe was three years younger
than me. Since I was cured, I am
thirty-one years younger than
Lupe!"
"That, indeed, is a good trick,"said
the gringo doctor gravely. "And it is
a part of medicine I do not know
much about. Perhaps, Juan Garcia,
if you told me what the curandero
did, I could make your son well without any charge." The bargain was
made. But Juan told this story not to
save a few pesos, but because he
sensed the gringo doctor was simpa-
tico.
"Five years ago a stranger came to
our pueblito. It was the market day
three days before the Conco de
Mayo. Even in our little town the
streets were filled with people visiting and buying firecrackers and
treats for the fiesta. Still, a stranger
is noticed. At first he walked up and
down the street, examining all the
little shops. We thought he wanted
to buy something he could not find.
Finally he set up a little shop of his
own. We were all surprised because
he was a stranger, and one does not
buy things from a stranger."
The two men were seated side by
side, their backs resting against the
warm adobe wall of the little shack
Now the gringo leaned forward and
asked Juan, "What did he sell you to
make you young again?"
"That was strange," mused Juan,
"because he did not have any fruit or
vegetables to sell, no sweets or toys.
He just had one big piece of paper
that he unrolled and hammered up
above his table. It was some picture.
The first one showed an old Indian
with hair as white as the snows of the
warrior mountain, Popocatepetl.
Then there was a picture of the
stranger giving the White Haired
One a drink from a big black pot that
cooked over a fire. The last picture
showed the White Haired One again
— but this time his hair was long and
black, and his face no longer looked
like a rutted mountain road grooved
by the rains. It looked young and
fresh, like the face of a man when he
sees his novia on their wedding day."
"And then?" urged the doctor.
"Why, at first, we pretended not
to notice," chuckled Juan. "All
morning we passed by the stranger
and did not speak or seem to see him.
But at midday, Jorge had a few copi-
tas of tequila to celebrate the birth of
his third grandson. Or maybe to celebrate the fact that his daughter finally married the father of three grandsons. The tequila warmed his cold
blood and made him think young
thoughts again. He was the first to
ask the stranger the meaning of his
pictures. The stranger told Jorge he
would explain if Jorge brought two
more friends. The pictures contained
magic, and the magic would not
work for only one person. The more
people Jorge got, the stranger said,
the more powerful the magic would
be.
"That evening those of us who had
made some pesos at the market met
at the cantina to celebrate with tequila and beer. Jorge was bragging
that he was the only man macho
enough to speak to the stranger
about his magic. What magic? We
wanted to know! Oh, he would not
tell us. He just kept smiling and
122
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7097