after a pause.
'I feel a strange vigour,' I said, and it was true. I had noticed it on awakening and I felt it then. It was a very peculiar sensation of discomfort, or frustration; my whole body moved and stretched with unusual lightness and strength. My arms and legs itched. My shoulders seemed to swell; the muscles of my back and neck made me feel like pushing, or rubbing, against trees. I felt I could demolish a wall by ramming it.
We did not speak any more. We sat on the porch for a while,
I noticed that don Juan was falling asleep; he nodded a couple of times, then he simply stretched his legs, lay on the door with his hands behind his head, and went to sleep. I got up and went to the back of the house where I burned up my extra physical energy by clearing away the debris; I remembered his mentioning that he would like me to help him clean up at the back of his house.
Later, when he woke up and came to the back, I was more relaxed.
We sat down to eat, and in the course of the meal he asked me three times how I felt. Since this was a rarity I finally asked, 'Why do you worry about how I feel, don Juan? Do you expect me to have a bad reaction from drinking the juice?'
He laughed. I thought he was acting like a mischievous boy who has set up a prank and checks from time to time for the results. Still laughing, he said:
'You don't look sick. A while ago you even talked rough to me.'
'I did not, don Juan,' I protested. 'I don't ever recall talking to you like that.' I was very serious on that point because I did not remember that I had ever felt annoyed with him.
'You came out in her defence,' he said.
'In whose defence?'
'You were defending the devil's weed. You sounded like a lover already.'
I was going to protest even more vigorously about it, but I stopped myself.
'I really did not realize I was defending her.'
'Of course you did not. You don't even remember what you said, do you?'
'No, I don't. I must admit it.'
'You see. The devil's weed is like that. She sneaks up on you like a woman. You are not even aware of it. All you care about is that she makes you feel good and powerful: the muscles swelling with vigour, the fists itching, the soles of the feet burning to run somebody down. When a man knows her he really becomes full of cravings. My benefactor used to say that the devil's weed keeps men who want power, and gets rid of those who can't handle it. But power was more common then; it was sought more avidly. My benefactor was a powerful man, and according to what he told me, his benefactor, in turn, was even more given to the pursuit of power. But in those days there was good reason to be powerful.'
'Do you think there is no reason for power nowadays?'
'Power is all right for you now. You are young. You are not an Indian. Perhaps the devil's weed would be in good hands. You seem to have liked it. It made you feel strong. I felt all that myself. And yet I didn't like it.'
'Can you tell me why, don Juan?'
'I don't like its power! There is no use for it any more. In other times, like those my benefactor told me about, there was reason to seek power. Men performed phenomenal deeds, were admired for their strength and feared and respected for their knowledge. My benefactor told me stories of truly phenomenal deeds that were performed long, long ago. But now we, the Indians, do not seek that power any more. Nowadays, the Indians use the weed to rub themselves. They use the leaves and flowers for other matters; they even say it cures their boils. But they do not seek its power, a power that acts like a magnet, more potent and more dangerous to handle as the root goes deeper into the ground. When one arrives to a depth of four yards — and they say some people have — one finds the seat of permanent power, power without end. Very few humans have done this in the past, and nobody has done it today. I'm telling you, the power of the devil's weed is no longer needed by us, the Indians. Little by little, I think we have lost interest, and now power does not matter any more. I myself do not seek it, and yet at one time, when I was your age, I too felt its swelling inside me. I felt the way you did today, only five hundred times more strongly. I killed a man with a single blow of my arm. I could toss boulders, huge boulders not even twenty men could budge. Once I jumped so high I chopped the top leaves off the highest trees. But it was all for nothing! All I did was frighten the Indians — only the Indians. The rest who knew nothing about it did not believe it.
They saw either a crazy Indian, or something moving at the top of the trees.'
We were silent for a long time. I needed to say something.
'It was different when there were people in the world,' he proceeded, 'people who knew a man could become a mountain lion, or a bird, or that a man could simply fly. So I don't use the devil's weed any more. For what? To frighten the Indians? [.?Para que??Para asustar a los indios?
And I saw him sad, and a deep empathy filled me. I wanted to say something to him, even if it was a platitude.
'Perhaps, don Juan, that is the fate of all men who want to know.'
'Perhaps,' he said quietly.
I didn't see don Juan sitting on his porch as I drove in. I thought it was strange. I called to him out loud and his daughter-in-law came out of the house.
'He's inside,' she said.
I found he had dislocated his ankle several weeks before. He had made his own cast by soaking strips of cloth in a mush made with cactus and powdered bone. The strips, wrapped tightly around his ankle, had dried into a light, streamlined cast. It had the hardness of plaster, but not its bulkiness.
'How did it happen?' I asked.
His daughter-in-law, a Mexican woman from Yucatan, who was tending him, answered me.
'It was an accident! He fell and nearly broke his foot!'
Don Juan laughed and waited until the woman had left the house before answering.
'Accident, my eye! I have an enemy nearby. A woman. «La Catalina!» She pushed me during a moment of weakness and I fell.'
'Why did she do that?'
'She wanted to kill me, that's why.'
'Was she here with you?'
'Yes!' 'Why did you let her in?'
'I didn't. She flew in.'
'I beg your pardon!'
'She is a blackbird [chanate]. And so effective at that. I was caught by surprise. She has been trying to finish me off for a long while. This time she got real close.'
'Did you say she is a blackbird? I mean, is she a bird?'
'There you go again with your questions. She is a blackbird! The same way I'm a crow. Am I a man or a bird? I'm a man who knows how to become a bird. But going back to «la Catalina», she is a fiendish witch! Her intent to kill me is so strong that I can hardly fight her off. The blackbird came all the way into my house and I couldn't stop it.'
'Can you become a bird, don Juan?'
'Yes! But that's something we'll take up later.'
'Why does she want to kill you?'
'Oh, there's an old problem between us. It got out of hand and now it looks as if I will have to finish her off before she finishes me.'
'Are you going to use witchcraft?' I asked with great expectations.
'Don't be silly. No witchcraft would ever work on her. I have other plans! I'll tell you about them some day.'
'Can your ally protect you from her?'
'No! The little smoke only tells me what to do. Then I must protect myself.'
'How about Mescalito? Can he protect you from her?'
'No! Mescalito is a teacher, not a power to be used for personal reasons.'
