'No. He appears in any form to those who know him only a little, but to those who know him well, he is always constant.'
'How is he constant?'
'He appears to them sometimes as a man, like us, or as a light.'
'Does Mescalito ever change his permanent form with those who know him well?'
'Not to my knowledge.'
Don Juan and I started on a trip late in the afternoon of Saturday 23 June. He said we were going to look for honguitos (mushrooms) in the state of Chihuahua. He said it was going to be a long, hard trip. He was right. We arrived in a little mining town in northern Chihuahua at 10:00 p.m. on Wednesday 27 June. We walked from the place I had parked the car at the outskirts of town, to the house of his friends, a Tarahumara Indian and his wife. We slept there.
The next morning the man woke us up around five. He brought us gruel and beans. He sat and talked to don Juan while we ate, but he said nothing concerning our trip.
After breakfast the man put water into my canteen, and two sweet-rolls into my knapsack. Don Juan handed me the canteen, fixed the knapsack with a cord over his shoulders, thanked the man for his courtesies, and, turning to me, said, 'It is time to go.'
We walked on the dirt road for about a mile. From there we cut through the fields and in two hours we were at the foot of the hills south of town. We climbed the gentle slopes in a southwesterly direction. When we reached the steeper inclines, don Juan changed directions and we followed a high valley to the east. Despite his advanced age, don Juan kept up a pace so incredibly fast that by midday I was completely exhausted. We sat down and he opened the bread sack.
'You can eat all of it, if you want,' he said.
'How about you?'
'I am not hungry, and we won't need this food later on.'
I was very tired and hungry and took him up on his offer. I felt this was a good time to talk about the purpose of our trip, and quite casually I asked, 'Do you think we are going to stay here for a long time?'
'We are here to gather some Mescalito. We will stay until tomorrow.'
'Where is Mescalito?'
'All around us.'
Cacti of many species were growing in profusion all through the area, but I could not distinguish peyote among them.
We started to hike again and by three o'clock we came to a long, narrow valley with steep side hills. I felt strangely excited at the idea of finding peyote, which I had never seen in its natural environment. We entered the valley and must have walked about four hundred feet when suddenly I spotted three unmistakable peyote plants. They were in a cluster a few inches above the ground in front of me, to the left of the path. They looked like round, pulpy, green roses. I ran towards them, pointing them out to don Juan.
He ignored me and deliberately kept his back turned as he walked away. I knew I had done the wrong thing, and for the rest of the afternoon we walked in silence, moving slowly on the flat valley floor, which was covered with small, sharp-edged rocks. We moved among the cacti, disturbing crowds of lizards and at times a solitary bird. And I passed scores of peyote plants without saying a word.
At six o'clock we were at the bottom of the mountains that marked the end of the valley. We climbed to a ledge. Don Juan dropped his sack and sat down.
I was hungry again, but we had no food left; I suggested that we pick up the Mescalito and head back for town. He looked annoyed and made a smacking sound with his lips. He said we were going to spend the night there.
We sat quietly. There was a rock wall to the left, and to the right was the valley we had just crossed. It extended for quite a distance and seemed to be wider than, and not so flat as, I had thought. Viewed from the spot where I sat, it was full of small hills and protuberances.
'Tomorrow we will start walking back,' don Juan said with— out looking at me, and pointing to the valley. 'We will work our way back and pick him as we cross the field. That is, we will pick him only when he is in our way. He will find us and not the other way around. He will find us — if he wants to.'
Don Juan rested his back against the rock wall and, with his head turned to his side, continued talking as though another person were there besides myself. 'One more thing. Only I can pick him. You will perhaps carry the bag, or walk ahead of me — I don't know yet. But tomorrow you will not point at him as you did today!'
'I am sorry, don Juan.'
'It is all right. You didn't know.'
'Did your benefactor teach you all this about Mescalito?'
'No! Nobody has taught me about him. It was the protector himself who was my teacher.'
'Then Mescalito is like a person to whom you can talk?'
'No, he isn't.'
'How does he teach, then?'
He remained silent for a while.
'Remember the time when you played with him? You understood what he meant, didn't you?'
'I did!'
'That is the way he teaches. You did not know it then, but if you had paid attention to him, he would have talked to you.'
'When?'
'When you saw him for the first time.'
He seemed to be very annoyed by my questioning. I told him I had to ask all these questions because I wanted to find out all I could.
'Don't ask meV He smiled maliciously. 'Ask him. The next time you see him, ask him everything you want to know.'
'Then Mescalito is like a person you can talk…'
He did not let me finish. He turned away, picked up the canteen, stepped down from the ledge, and disappeared around the rock. I did not want to be alone there, and even though he had not asked me to go along, I followed him. We walked for about five hundred feet to a small creek. He washed his hands and face end filled up the canteen. He swished water around in his mouth, but did not drink it. I scooped up some water in my hands and drank, but he stopped me and said it was unnecessary to drink.
He handed me the canteen and started to walk back to the ledge. When we got there we sat again facing the valley with our backs to the rock wall. I asked if we could build a fire. He reacted as if it was inconceivable to ask such a thing. He said that for that night we were Mescalito's guests and he was going to keep us warm.
It was already dusk. Don Juan pulled two thin, cotton blankets from his sack, threw one into my lap, and sat cross— legged with the other one over his shoulders. Below us the valley was dark, with its edges already diffused in the evening mist.
Don Juan sat motionless facing the peyote field. A steady wind blew on my face.
'The twilight is the crack between the worlds,' he said softly, without turning to me.
I didn't ask what he meant. My eyes became tired. Suddenly I felt elated; I had a strange, overpowering desire to weep!
I lay on my stomach; the rock floor was hard and uncomfortable, and I had to change my position every few minutes. Finally I sat up and crossed my legs, putting the blanket over my shoulders. To my amazement this position was supremely comfortable, and I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I heard don Juan talking to me. It was very dark. I could not see him well. I did not understand what he said, but I followed him when he started to go down from the ledge. We moved carefully, or at least I did, because of the darkness. We stopped at the bottom of the rock wall. Don Juan sat down and signalled me to sit at his left. He opened up his shirt and took out a leather sack, which he opened and placed on the ground in front of him. It contained a number of dried peyote buttons.
After a long pause he picked up one of the buttons. He held it in his right hand, rubbing it several times between the thumb and the first finger as he chanted softly. Suddenly he let out a tremendous cry.
