'How about the devil's weed?'
'I've already said that I must protect myself, following the directions of my ally the smoke. And as far as I know, the smoke can do anything. If you want to know about any point in question, the smoke will tell you. And it will give you not only knowledge, but also the means to proceed. It's the most marvellous ally a man could have.'
'Is the smoke the best possible ally for everybody?'
'It's not the same for everybody. Many fear it and won't touch it, or even get close to it. The smoke is like everything else; it wasn't made for all of us.'
'What kind of smoke is it, don Juan?'
'The smoke of diviners!'
There was a noticeable reverence in his voice — a mood I had never detected before.
'I will begin by telling you exactly what my benefactor said to me when he began to teach me about it. Although at that time, like yourself now, I couldn't possibly have understood. «The devil's weed is for those who bid for power. The smoke is for those who want to watch and see.» And in my opinion, the smoke is peerless. Once a man enters into its field, every other power is at his command. It's magnificent! Of course, it takes a lifetime. It takes years alone to become acquainted with its two vital parts: the pipe and the smoke mixture. The pipe was given to me by my benefactor, and after so many years of fondling it, it has become mine. It has grown into my hands. To turn it over to your hands, for instance, will be a real task for me, and a great accomplishment for you — if we succeed! The pipe will feel the strain of being handled by someone else; and if one of us makes a mistake there won't be any way to prevent the pipe from bursting open by its own force, or escaping from our hands to shatter, even if it falls on a pile of straw. If that ever happens, it would mean the end of us both. Particularly of me. The smoke would turn against me in unbelievable ways.'
'How could it turn against you if it's your ally?'
My question seemed to have altered his flow of thoughts. He didn't speak for a long time.
'The difficulty of the ingredients,' he proceeded suddenly, 'makes the smoke mixture one of the most dangerous substances I know. No one can prepare it without being coached. It is deadly poisonous to anyone except the smoke's protege! Pipe and mixture ought to be treated with intimate care. And the man attempting to learn must prepare himself by leading a hard, quiet life. Its effects are so dreadful that only a very strong man can stand the smallest puff. Everything is terrifying and confusing at the outset, but every new puff makes things more precise. And suddenly the world opens up anew! Unimaginable! When this happens the smoke has become one's ally and will resolve any question by allowing one to enter into inconceivable worlds.
'This is the smoke's greatest property, its greatest gift. And it performs its function without hurting in the least. I call the smoke a true ally!'
As usual, we were sitting in front of his house, where the dirt floor is always clean and packed hard; he suddenly got up and went inside the house. After a few moments he returned with a narrow bundle and sat down again.
'This is my pipe,' he said.
He leaned over towards me and showed me a pipe he drew out of a sheath made of green canvas. It was perhaps nine or ten inches long. The stem was made of reddish wood; it was plain, without ornamentation. The bowl also seemed to be made of wood; but it was rather bulky in comparison with the thin stem. It had a sleek finish and was dark grey, almost charcoal.
He held the pipe in front of my face. I thought he was handing it over to me. I stretched out my hand to take it, but he quickly drew it back.
'This pipe was given to me by my benefactor,' he said. 'In turn I will pass it on to you. But first you must get to know it. Every time you come here I will give it to you. Begin by touching it. Hold it very briefly, at first, until you and the pipe get used to each other. Then put it in your pocket, or perhaps inside your shirt. And finally put it to your mouth. All this should be done little by little in a slow, careful way. When the bond has been established [la amistad esta hecha] you will smoke from it. If you follow my advice and don't rash, the smoke may become your preferred ally too.'
He handed me the pipe, but without letting go of it. I stretched my right arm towards it.
'Withboth hands,' he said.
I touched the pipe with both hands for a very brief moment. He did not extend it to me all the way so that I could grasp it, but only far enough for me to touch it. Then he pulled it back.
'The first step is to like the pipe. That takes time!'
'Can the pipe dislike me?'
'No. The pipe cannot dislike you, but you must learn to like it so that when the time of smoking comes for you, the pipe will help you to be unafraid.'
'What do you smoke, don Juan?'
'This!'
He opened his collar and exposed to view a small bag he kept under his shirt, which hung from his neck like a medallion. He brought it out, untied it, and very carefully poured some of its contents into the palm of his hand.
As far as I could tell, the mixture looked like finely shredded tea leaves, varying in colour from dark brown to light green, with a few specks of bright yellow.
He returned the mixture to the bag, closed the bag, tied it with a leather string, and put it under his shirt again.
'What kind of mixture is it?'
'There are lots of things in it. To get all the ingredients is a very difficult undertaking. One must travel afar. The little mushrooms | los honguitos] needed to prepare the mixture grow only at certain times of the year, and only in certain places.'
'Do you have a different mixture for each type of aid you need?'
'No! There is only one smoke, and there is no other like it.'
He pointed to the bag hanging against his chest, and lifted the pipe which was resting between his legs.
'These two are one! One cannot go without the other. This pipe and the secret of this mixture belonged to my benefactor. They were handed down to him in the same way my benefactor gave them to me. The mixture, although difficult to prepare, is replenishable. Its secret lies in its ingredients, and in the way they are treated and mixed. The pipe, on the other hand, is a lifetime affair. It must be looked after with infinite care. It is hardy and strong, but it should never be struck or knocked about. It should be handled with dry hands, never when the hands are sweaty, and should be used only when one is alone. And no one, absolutely no one, should ever see it, unless you mean to give it to somebody. That is what my benefactor taught me, and that is the way I have dealt with the pipe all my life.'
'What would happen if you should lose or break the pipe?'
He shook his head, very slowly, and looked at me.
'I would die!'
'Are all the sorcerers' pipes like yours?'
'Not all of them have pipes like mine. But I know some men who do.'
'Can you yourself make a pipe like this one, don Juan?' I insisted. 'Suppose you did not have it, how could you give me one if you wanted to do so?'
'If I didn't have the pipe, I could not, nor would I, want to give one. I would give you something else instead.'
He seemed to be somehow cross at me. He placed his pipe very carefully inside the sheath, which must have been lined with a soft material because the pipe, which fitted tightly, slid in very smoothly. He went inside the house to put his pipe away.
'Are you angry at me, don Juan?' I asked when he returned. He seemed surprised at my question.
'No! I'm never angry at anybody! No human being can do anything important enough for that. You get angry at people when you feel that their acts are important. I don't feel that way any longer.'
The specific time to replant the 'shoot', as don Juan called the root, was not set, although it was supposed
