He went inside the house and brought out one of the burlap bundles. He sat down and opened it. I noticed it was the male plant. I also noticed there was only one piece of root. He took the piece that was left from the original set of two and held it in front of my face.
'This is your first portion,' he said. 'I give it to you. I have cut it myself for you. I have measured it as my own; now I give it to you.'
For an instant, the thought that I would have to chew it like a carrot crossed my mind, but he placed it inside a small, white, cotton bag.
He walked to the back of the house. He sat there on the floor with his legs crossed, and with a round mano began to mash the root inside the bag. He worked it over a flat slab which served as a mortar. From time to time he washed the two stones, and kept the water in a small, flat, wooden dugout basin.
As he pounded he sang an unintelligible chant, very softly and monotonously. When he had mashed the root into a soft pulp inside the bag, he placed it in the wooden basin. He again placed the slab mortar and the pestle into the basin, filled it with water, and then carried it to a sort of rectangular pig's trough set against the back fence.
He said the root had to soak all night, and had to be left outside the house so it would catch the night air (el sereno). 'If tomorrow is a sunny, hot day, it will be an excellent omen,' he said.
Thursday, 7 September was a very clear and hot day. Don Juan seemed very pleased with the good omen and repeated several tunes that the devil's weed had probably liked me. The root had soaked all night, and about 10:00 a.m. we walked to the back of the house. He took the basin out of the trough, placed it on the ground, and sat next to it. He took the bag and rubbed it on the bottom of the basin. He held it a few inches above the water and squeezed its contents, then dropped the bag into the water. He repeated the same sequence three more times, then discarded the bag, tossing it into the trough, and left the basin in the hot sun.
We came back to it two hours later. He brought with him a medium-size kettle with boiling, yellowish water. He tipped the basin very carefully and emptied the top water, preserving the thick silt that had accumulated on the bottom. He poured the boiling water on the silt and left the basin in the sun again.
This sequence was repeated three times at intervals of more than an hour. Finally he poured out most of the water from the basin, tipped it to an angle to catch the late afternoon sun, and left it.
When we returned hours later, it was dark. On the bottom of the basin there was a layer of gummy substance. It resembled a batch of half-cooked starch, whitish or light grey. There was perhaps a full teaspoon of it. He took the basin inside the house, and while he put some water on to boil. I picked out pieces of dirt the wind had blown into the silt. He laughed at me.
'That little dirt won't hurt anybody.'
When the water was boiling he poured about a cup of it into the basin. It was the same yellowish water he had used before. It dissolved the silt, making a sort of milky substance.
'What kind of water is that, don Juan?'
'Water of fruits and flowers from the canyon.'
He emptied the contents of the basin into an old clay mug that looked like a flowerpot. It was still very hot, so he blew on to it to cool it. He took a sip and handed me the mug.
'Drink now!' he said.
I took it automatically, and without deliberation drank all the water. It tasted somewhat bitter, although the bitterness was hardly noticeable. What was very outstanding was the pungent odour of the water. It smelled like cockroaches.
Almost immediately I began to sweat. I got very warm, and blood rushed to my ears. I saw a red spot in front of my eyes, and the muscles of my stomach began to contract in painful cramps. After a while, even though I felt no more pain, I began to get cold and perspiration literally soaked me.
Don Juan asked me if I saw blackness or black spots in front of my eyes. I told him I was seeing everything in red.
My teeth were chattering because of an uncontrollable nervousness that came to me in waves, as if radiating out from the middle of my chest.
Then he asked me if I was afraid. His questions seemed meaningless to me. I told him that I was obviously afraid, but he asked me again if I was afraid of her. I did not understand what he meant and I said yes. He laughed and said that I was not really afraid. He asked if I still saw red. All I was seeing was a huge red spot in front of my eyes.
I felt better after a while. Gradually the nervous spasms disappeared, leaving only an aching, pleasant tiredness and an intense desire to sleep. I couldn't keep my eyes open, although I could still hear don Juan's voice. I fell asleep. But the sensation of my being submerged in a deep red persisted all night. I even had dreams in red.
I woke up on Saturday about 3:00 p.m. I had slept almost two days. I had a mild headache and an upset stomach, and very sharp, intermittent pains in my intestines. Except for that, everything else was like an ordinary waking. I found don Juan sitting in front of his house dozing. He smiled at me.
'Everything went fine the other night,' he said. 'You saw red and that's all that is important.'
'What would have happened if I had not seen red?'
'You would have seen black, and that is a bad sign.'
'Why is it bad?'
'When a man sees black it means he is not made for the devil's weed, and he vomits his entrails out, all green and black.'
'Would he die?'
'I don't think anyone would die, but he would be sick for a long time.'
'What happens to those who see red?'
'They do not vomit, and the root gives them an effect of pleasure, which means they are strong and of violent nature — something that the weed likes. That is the way she entices. The only bad point is that men end up as slaves to the devil's weed in return for the power she gives them. But those are matters over which we have no control. Man lives only to learn. And if he learns it is because that is the nature of his lot, for good or bad.'
'What shall I do next, don Juan?'
'Next you must plant a shoot [brote] that I have cut from the other half of the first portion of root. You took half of it the other night, and now the other half must be put into the ground. It has to grow and seed before you can undertake the real task of taming the plant.'
'How will I tame her?'
'The devil's weed is tamed through the root. Step by step, you must learn the secrets of each portion of the root. You must intake them in order to learn the secrets and conquer the power.'
'Are the different portions prepared in the same way you did the first one?'
'No, each portion is different.'
'What are the specific effects of each portion?'
'I already said, each teaches a different form of power. What you took the other night is nothing yet. Anyone can do that. But only the brujo can take the deeper portions. I can't tell you what they do because I don't know yet whether she will take you. We must wait.'
'When will you tell me, then?'
'Whenever your plant has grown and seeded.'
'If the first portion can be taken by anyone, what is it used for?'
'In a diluted form it is good for all the matters of manhood, old people who have lost their vigour, or young men who are seeking adventures, or even women who want passion.'
'You said the root is used for power only, but I see it's used for other matters besides power. Am I correct?'
He looked at me for a very long time, with a steadfast gaze that embarrassed me. I felt my question had made him angry, but I couldn't understand why.
'The weed is used only for power,' he finally said in a dry, stern tone. 'The man who wants his vigour back, the young people who seek to endure fatigue and hunger, the man who wants to kill another man, a woman who wants to be in heat — they all desire power. And the weed will give it to them! Do you feel you like her?' he asked
