Professor Camacho’s eyes widened. She looked at me as she pulled out her phone to record the conversation. Relief at last. But what did any of it mean?
After an hour, Fernanda curled up into a ball and fell asleep in the dirt. Mrs. Garcia gave Dr. Camacho a quick hello and returned inside after seeing nothing had changed. We walked to the professor’s car in silence. When she knew no one from the house was in earshot, she spoke.
“Your friend is inhabited. I don’t want to use the word possessed. Tell me the beginning of all of this?”
I recounted our séance, telling her that I had called for an old spirit.
“Based on what she has said and what I have seen, I think she is inhabited by Tlazoltéotl. She is a fierce goddess; one I believe to be misunderstood but important. She is known as the goddess of filth. She is the eater of sin and the unclean. However, she also represents fertility after death.”
“Why the black lipstick? Is this goddess a Goth?”
She shook her head and allowed herself a light chuckle. “As the eater of filth her mouth is surrounded by black. Young women would sometimes smear bitumen around their mouths as they approached womanhood. I believe this is why she is wearing the black makeup. She is expressing all the attributes of this goddess. Blood for her fertility, the black is the sin she consumes, the masturbation because she represents female sexuality, and because the earth is where we come from and where we return in a never-ending cycle.”
“Will she be like this forever?”
“The gods of our ancestors were deemed savage and wiped out, much like the people themselves. We know some about them, but much of our knowledge of our ancestors is from the invaders. Their own words are subject to interpretation based upon the remains of their civilization. This goddess must have heard your call and answered. I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to find out. This is a miracle, to hear of the world from one of our own.”
“But why us? People call on spirits all over the world. We are just young women.”
“Why is anyone called to anything? Maybe Fernanda was just more accessible to the goddess. Something symbiotic between the two. Symbiosis is important in nature; nature has thrived on the concept. I would like to see her again, and I’d like you to come along. I’ve got some books you might like on ancient ritual and beliefs. Meet me here tomorrow so I can present a plan to her and her mother.”
We would meet after work the following day. I needed to tell the others about this breakthrough and I wanted them all there. Together, we would show up at Fernanda’s door with the professor.
Thanks to Ana we might be closer to a solution. Fernanda’s house tomorrow at 3.
Dr. Camacho picked me up so we could drive to Fernanda’s together. She wanted to help me save money on gas. I figured it was as good a time as any to tell her about my dreams.
“Do you think the goddess will move to another person after Fernanda?”
She seemed caught off guard by this question.
“I won’t know until we get the full story. Why do you ask?”
I recounted my dreams as vividly as I could, trying to remember each detail. Every time I re-read what I wrote about the dream, a new idea would emerge. I hoped Dr. Camacho could enlighten me.
“Let me ask you this, Lourdes. Would you want her to? Maybe this is a way for her to touch you without reaching all the way inside. Continue to write them down. Perhaps she can be a muse for you.”
A muse. I had become so discouraged I’d stopped writing, but it is true the goddess had reignited something inside of me that lived beyond the work rota at Sonic and helping out with the family. I’d created my own version of the dreams in the context of a bigger world beyond the city limits. With my notebook and pen, I fought not only for Fernanda, but also myself.
“Thank you. For everything.”
Dr. Camacho reached over and patted my hand. “Once I was as young as you and didn’t know how I would find a place in the world. I was the first to graduate in my family. It took some time. A lot of hard work and tears. Being a woman, a Mexican woman, was not easy. My biggest hope is that it has made the way for young women like you to achieve what you want.”
Dr. Camacho parked the car. Her presence and words made me even more determined.
Mrs. Garcia opened the door. Her first reaction was to give us a look of disapproval, until she met my eyes.
“I guess you want to see Fernanda?”
“We are here to help. I brought help.”
“Come in, then. It might do her good to see all of you.” With a tired sigh she moved away from the threshold.
We gathered in the living room. “Mrs. Garcia, I’m Dr. Camacho and I believe Fernanda is trying to communicate something to us, not just to her family and friends, but to the world. I’d like to bring her to my home to do a translation.”
Dr. Camacho turned to Fernanda to speak in Nahuatl. Fernanda’s eyes lit up, then she nodded. Mrs. Garcia looked at the professor like she, too, was possessed.
“So you are saying my daughter is not possessed? What then? Something is talking to her. Like a spirit?”
Before the professor could make this sound scary, I jumped in.
“Yes, that is exactly right. Once we get the message from the spirit, it will leave. Maybe there is some ability in the family you didn’t know about.”
Mrs. Garcia’s eyes widened. “Not that I know of, but maybe on her father’s side. I will call the family. I knew Fernanda was special but . . . ” She trailed off. I
