gue with Julio. Julio's face became red. He turned from time to time to the large group of Yaqui Indians congregated in front of the More and made signs of despair or frustration by moving his hands or contorting his face in a grimace. Seemingly as a final resort, he demanded a cash deposit. That precipitated another long argument about what constituted a damaged record. Julio Mured with authority that any broken record had to be paid for in full, as if it were new. The storekeeper became angrier and began to pull out his extension cords. He seemed bent upon unhooking the record player and canceling the party. He made it clear to his clients congregated in front of the More that he had tried his best to come to terms with Julio. For a moment it seemed that the party was going to fail before it had started. lilas, the old Yaqui Indian in whose house I was staying, made some derogatory comments in a loud voice about the Yiiquis' sad state of affairs that they could not even celebrate their most revered religious festivity, the day of the Virgin of Guadalupe. I wanted to intervene and offer my help, but Bias stopped me. He said that if I were to make the cash deposit, the storekeeper himself would smash the records. "He's worse than anybody, " he said. "Let him pay the deposit. He bleeds us, so why shouldn't he pay?" After a long discussion in which, strangely enough, everyone present was in favor of Julio, the storekeeper hit upon terms which were mutually agreeable. He did not pay a cash deposit but accepted responsibility for the records and the record player. Julio's motorcycle left a trail of dust as he headed for some of the more remote houses in the locality. Bias said that he was trying to get to his customers before they came to the store and spent all their money buying booze. As he was saying this a group of Indians emerged from behind the store. Bias looked at them and began to laugh and so did everyone else there. Bias told me that those Indians were Julio's customers and had been hiding behind the store waiting for him to leave. The party began early. The storekeeper's daughter put a record on the turntable and brought the arm down; there was a terrible loud screech and a high-pitched buzz and then came a blasting sound of a trumpet and some guitars. The party consisted of playing the records at full volume. There were four young Mexican men who danced with the storekeeper's two daughters and three other young Mexican women. The Yaquis did not dance; they watched with apparent delight every movement the dancers made. They seemed to be enjoying themselves just watching and gulping down cheap tequila. I bought individual drinks for everybody I knew. I wanted to avoid any feelings of resentment. I circulated among the numerous Indians and talked to them and then offered them drinks. My pattern of behavior worked until they realized I was not drinking at all. That seemed to annoy everyone at once. It was as if collectively they had discovered that I did not belong there. The Indians became very gruff and gave me sly looks. The Mexicans, who were as drunk as the Indians, also realized at the same time that I had not danced; and that appeared to offend them even more. They became very aggressive. One of them forcibly took me by the arm and dragged me closer to the record player; another served me a full cup of tequila and wanted me to drink it all in one gulp and prove that I was a "macho." I tried to stall them and laughed idiotically as if I were actually enjoying the situation. I said that I would like to dance first and then drink. One of the young men called out the name of a song. The girl in charge of the record player began to search in the pile of records. She seemed to be a little tipsy, although none of the women had openly been drinking, and had trouble fitting a record on the turntable. A young man said that the record she had selected was not a twist; she fumbled with the pile, trying to find the suitable one, and everybody closed in around her and left me. That gave me time to run behind the store, away from the lighted area, and out of sight. I stood about thirty yards away in the darkness of some bushes trying to decide what to do. I was tired. I felt it was time to get in my car and go back home. I began to walk to Bias's house, where my car was parked. I figured that if I drove slowly no one would notice that I was leaving. The people in charge of the record player were apparently still looking for the record - all I could hear was the highpitched buzzing of the loudspeaker - but then came the blasting sound of a twist. I laughed out loud, thinking that they had probably turned to where I had been and found out that I had disappeared. I saw some dark silhouettes of people walking in the opposite direction, going towards the store. We passed each other and they mumbled, "Buenas noches." I recognized them and spoke to them. I told them that it was a great party. Before I came to a sharp bend in the road I encountered two other people, whom I did not recognize, but I greeted them anyway. The blasting sound of the record player was almost as loud there on the road as it was in front of the store. It was a dark starless night, but the glare from the store lights allowed me to have a fairly good visual perception of my surroundings. Bias's house was very near and I accelerated my pace. I noticed then the dark shape of a person, sitting or perhaps squatting to my left, at the bend of the road. I thought for an instant that it might have been one of the people from the party who had left before I had. The person seemed to be defecating on the side of the road. That seemed odd. People in the community went into the thick bushes to perform their bodily functions. I thought that whoever it was in front of me must have been drunk. I came to the bend and said, "Buenas noches." The person answered me with an eerie, gruff, inhuman howl. The hair on my body literally stood on end. For a second I was paralyzed. Then I began to walk fast. I took a quick glance. I saw that the dark silhouette had stood up halfway; it was a woman. She was stooped over, leaning forward; she walked in that position for a few yards and then she hopped. I began to run, while the woman hopped like a bird by my side, keeping up with my speed. By the time I arrived at Bias's house she was cutting in front of me and we had almost touched. I leaped across a small dry ditch in front of the house and crashed through the flimsy door. Bias was already in the house and seemed unconcerned with my story. "They pulled a good one on you, " he said reassuringly. "The Indians take delight in teasing foreigners." My experience had been so unnerving that the next day I drove to don Juan's house instead of going home as I had planned to do. Don Juan returned in the late afternoon. I did not give him time to say anything but blurted out the whole story, including Bias's commentary. Don Juan's face became somber. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but I thought he was worried. "Don't put so much stock in what Bias told you, " he said in a serious tone. "He knows nothing of the struggles between sorcerers. "You should have known that it was something serious the moment you noticed that the shadow was to your left. You shouldn't have run either." "What was I supposed to do? Stand there?" "Right. When a warrior encounters his opponent and the opponent is not an ordinary human being, he must make his stand. That is the only thing that makes him invulnerable." "What are you saying, don Juan?" "I'm saying that you have had your third encounter with your worthy opponent. She's following you around, waiting for a moment of weakness on your part. She almost bagged you this time." I felt a surge of anxiety and accused him of putting me in unnecessary danger. I complained that the game he was playing with me was cruel. "It would be cruel if this would have happened to an average man, " he said. "But the instant one begins to live like a warrior, one is no longer ordinary. Besides, I didn't find you a worthy opponent because I want to play with you, or tease you, or annoy you. A worthy opponent might spur you on; under the influence of an opponent like 'la Catalina' you may have to make use of everything I have taught you. You don't have any other alternative." We were quiet for a while. His words had aroused a tremendous apprehension in me. He then wanted me to imitate as close as possible the cry I had heard after I had said "Buenas noches." I attempted to reproduce the sound and came up with some weird howling that scared me. Don Juan must have found my rendition funny; he laughed almost uncontrollably. Afterwards he asked me to reconstruct the total sequence; the distance I ran, the distance the woman was from me at the time I encountered her, the distance she was from me at the time I reached the house, and the place where she had begun hopping. "No fat Indian woman could hop that way, " he said after assessing all those variables. "They could not even run that far." He made me hop. I could not cover more than four feet each time, and if I were correct in my perception, the woman had hopped at least ten feet with each leap. "Of course, you know that from now on you must be on the lookout, " he said in a tone of great urgency. "She will try to tap you on your left shoulder during a moment when you are unaware and weak." "What should I do? "I asked. "It is meaningless to complain, " he said. "What's important from this point on is the strategy of your life." I could not concentrate at all on what he was saying. I took notes automatically. After a long silence he asked if I had any pain behind my ears or in the nape of my neck. I said no, and he told me that if I had experienced an uncomfortable sensation in either of those two areas it would have meant that I had been clumsy and that "la Catalina" had injured me. "Everything you did that night was clumsy, " he said. "First of all, you went to the party to kill time, as though there is any time to kill. That weakened you." "You mean I shouldn't go to parties?" "No, I don't mean that. You may go any place you wish, but if you do, you must assume the full responsibility for that act. A warrior lives his life strategically. He would attend a party or a reunion like that only if his strategy calls for it. That means, of course, that he would be in total control and would perform all the acts that he deems necessary." He looked at me fixedly and smiled, then covered his face and chuckled softly. "You are in a terrible bind, " he said. "Your opponent is on your trail and for the first time in your life you cannot afford to act helter-skelter. This time you will have to learn a totally different doing, the doing of strategy. Think of it this way. If you survive the onslaughts of 'la Catalina' you will have to thank her someday for having forced you to change your doing." "What a terrible way of putting it!" I exclaimed. "What if I don't survive?" "A warrior never indulges in thoughts like that, " he said. "When he has to act with his fellow men, a warrior follows the doing of strategy, and in that doing there are no victories or defeats. In that doing there are only actions." I asked him what the doing of strategy entailed. "It entails that one is not at the mercy of people, " he replied. "At that party, for instance, you were a clown, not because it served your purposes to be a clown, but because you placed yourself at the mercy of those people. You never had any control and thus you had to run away from them." "What should I have done?" "Not go there at all, or else go there to perform a specific act. "After horsing around with the Mexicans you were weak and 'la Catalina' used that opportunity. So she placed herself in the road to wait for you. "Your body knew that something was out of place, though, and yet you spoke to her. That was terrible. You must not utter a single word to your opponent during one of those encounters. Then you turned your back to her. That was even worse. Then you ran away from her, and that was the worst thing you could have done! Apparently she is clumsy. A sorcerer that is worth his salt would have mowed you down right then, the instant you turned your back and ran away. "So far your only defense is to stay put and do your dance." "What dance are you talking about?" I asked. He said that the "rabbit thumping" he had taught me was the first movement of the dance that a warrior groomed and enlarged throughout his life, and then executed in his last stand on earth. I had a moment of strange sobriety and a series of thoughts occurred to me. On one level it was clear that what had taken place between me and "la Catalina" the first time I had confronted her was real. "La Catalina" was real, and I could not discard the possibility that she was actually following me. On the other level I could not understand how she was following me, and this gave rise to the faint suspicion that don Juan might be tricking me, and that he himself was somehow producing the weird effects I had witnessed. Don Juan suddenly looked at the sky and told me that there was still time to go and check the sorceress. He reassured me that we were running very little danger, because we were only going to drive by her house. "You must confirm her shape, " don Juan said. "Then there won't be any doubts left in your mind, one way or the other." My hands began to sweat profusely and I had to dry them repeatedly with a towel. We got in my car and don Juan directed me to the main highway and then to a wide unpaved road. I drove in the center of it; heavy trucks and tractors had carved deep trenches and my car was too low to go on either the left or the right side of the road. We went slowly amid a thick cloud of dust. The coarse gravel which was used to level the road had lumped with dirt during the rains, and chunks of dry mud rocks bounced against the metal underside of my car, making loud explosive sounds. Don Juan told me to slow down as we were coming to a small bridge. There were four Indians sitting there and they waved at us. I was not sure whether or not I knew them. We passed the bridge and the road curved gently. "That's the woman's house, " don Juan whispered to me as he pointed with his eyes to a white house with a high bamboo fence all around it. He told me to make a U-turn and stop in the middle of the road and wait to see if the woman became suspicious enough to show her face. We stayed there perhaps ten minutes. I thought it was an interminable time. Don Juan did not say a word. He sat motionless, looking at the house. "There she is, " he said, and his body gave a sudden jump. I saw the dark foreboding silhouette of a woman standing inside the house, looking through the open door. The room was dark and that only accentuated the darkness of the woman's silhouette. After a few minutes the woman stepped out of the darkness of the room and stood in the doorway and watched us. We looked at her for a moment and then don Juan told me to drive on. I was speechless. I could have sworn that she was the woman I had seen hopping by the road in the darkness. About half an hour later, when we had turned onto the paved highway, don Juan spoke to me. "What do you say?" he asked. "Did you recognize the shape?" I hesitated for a long time before answering. I was afraid of the commitment entailed in saying yes. I carefully worded my reply and said that I thought it had been too dark to be completely sure. He laughed and tapped me gently on my head. "She was the one, wasn't she?" he asked. He did not give me time to reply. He put a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence and whispered in my ear that it was meaningless to say anything, and that in order to survive "la Catalina's" onslaughts I had to make use of everything he had taught me. PART TWO THE SORCERER'S RING OF POWER In May of 1971, 1 paid don Juan the last visit of my apprenticeship. I went to see him on that occasion in the same spirit I had gone to see him during the ten years of our association; that is to say, I was once again seeking the amenity of his company. His friend don Genaro, a Mazatec Indian sorcerer, was with him. I had seen both of them during my previous visit six months earlier. I was considering whether or not to ask them if they had been together all that time, when don Genaro explained that he liked the northern desert so much that he had returned just in time to see me. Both of them laughed as if they knew a secret. "I came back just for you, " don Genaro said. "That's true, " don Juan echoed. I reminded don Genaro that the last time I had been there, his attempts to help me to "stop the world" had been disastrous for me. That was my friendly way of letting him know that I was afraid of him. He laughed uncontrollably, shaking his body and kicking his legs like a child. Don Juan avoided looking at me and also laughed. "You're not going to try to help me any more, are you, don Genaro?" I asked. My question threw both of them into spasms of laughter. Don Genaro rolled on the ground, laughing, then lay on his stomach and began to swim on the floor. When I saw him doing that I knew I was lost. At that moment my body somehow became aware that I had arrived at the end. I did not know what that end was. My personal tendency to dramatization and my previous experience with don Genaro made me believe that it might be the end of my life. During my last visit to them, don Genaro had attempted to push me to the brink of "stopping the world." His efforts had been so bizarre and direct that don Juan himself had had to tell me to leave. Don Genaro's demonstrations of "power" were so extraordinary and so baffling that they forced me to a total reevaluation of myself. I went home, reviewed the notes that I had taken in the very beginning of my apprenticeship, and a whole new feeling mysteriously set in on me, although I had not been fully aware of it until I saw don Genaro swimming on the floor. The act of swimming on the floor, which was congruous with other strange and bewildering acts he had performed in front of my very eyes, started as he was lying face down. He was first laughing so hard that his body shook as in a convulsion, then he began kicking, and finally the movement of his legs became coordinated with a paddling movement of his arms, and don Genaro started to slide on the ground as if he were lying on a board fitted with ball bearings. He changed directions various times and covered the entire area of the front of don Juan's house, maneuvering around me and don Juan. Don Genaro had clowned in front of me before, and every time he had done it don Juan had asserted that I had been on the brink of "seeing." My failure to "see" was a result of my insistence on trying to explain every one of don Genaro's actions from a rational point of view. This time I was on guard and when he began to swim I did not attempt to explain or understand the event. I simply watched him. Yet I could not avoid the sensation of being dumbfounded. He was actually sliding on his stomach and chest. My eyes began to cross as I watched him. I felt a surge of apprehension. I was convinced that if I did not explain what was happening I would "see," and that thought filled me with an extraordinary anxiety. My nervous anticipation was so great that in some way I was back at the same point, locked once more in some rational endeavor. Don Juan must have been watching me. He suddenly tapped me; I automatically turned to face him, and for an instant I took my eyes away from don Genaro. When I looked at him again he was standing by me with his head slightly tilted and his chin almost resting on my right shoulder. I had a delayed startled reaction. I looked at him for a second and then I jumped back. His expression of feigned surprise was so comical that I laughed hysterically. I could not help being aware, however, that my laughter was unusual. My body shook with nervous spasms originating from the middle part of my stomach. Don Genaro put his hand on my stomach and the convulsion-like ripples ceased. "This little Carlos is always so exaggerated!" he exclaimed as if he were a fastidious man. Then he added, imitating don Juan's voice and mannerisms, "Don't you know that a warrior never laughs that way?" His caricature of don Juan was so perfect that I laughed even harder. Then both of them left together and were gone for over two hours, until about midday. When they returned they sat in the area in front of don Juan's house. They did not say a word. They seemed to be sleepy, tired, almost absent-minded. They stayed motionless for a long time, yet they seemed to be so comfortable and relaxed. Don Juan's mouth was slightly opened, as if he were really asleep, but his hands were clasped over his lap and his thumbs moved rhythmically. I fretted and changed sitting positions for a while, then I began to feel a soothing placidity. I must have fallen asleep. Don Juan's chuckle woke me up. I opened my eyes. Both of them were staring at me. "If you don't talk, you fall asleep, " don Juan said, laughing. "I'm afraid I do, " I said. Don Genaro lay on his back and began to kick his legs in the air. I thought for a moment that he was going to start his disturbing clowning again, but he went back right away to his cross-legged sitting position. "There is something you ought to be aware of by now, " don Juan said. "I call it the cubic centimeter of chance. All of us, whether or not we are warriors, have a cubic centimeter of chance that pops out in front of our eyes from time to time. The difference between an average man and a warrior is that the warrior is aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert, deliberately waiting, so that when his cubic centimeter pops out he has the necessary speed, the prowess to pick it up. "Chance, good luck, personal power, or whatever you may call it, is a peculiar state of affairs. It is like a very small stick that comes out in front of us and invites us to pluck it. Usually we are too busy, or too preoccupied, or just too stupid and lazy to realize that that is our cubic centimeter of luck. A warrior, on the other hand, is always alert and tight and has the spring, the gumption necessary to grab it." "Is your life very tight?" don Genaro asked me abruptly. "I think it is, " I said with conviction. "Do you think that you can pluck your cubic centimeter of luck?" don Juan asked me with a tone of incredulity. "I believe I do that all the time, " I said. "I think you are only alert about things you know, " don Juan said. "Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I do believe that nowadays I am more aware than at any other time in my life, " I said and really meant it. Don Genaro nodded his head in approval. "Yes, " he said softly, 'as if talking to himself. "Little Carlos is really tight, and absolutely alert." I felt that they were humoring me. I thought that perhaps my assertion about my alleged condition of tightness may have annoyed them. "I didn't mean to brag, " I said. Don Genaro arched his eyebrows and enlarged his nostrils. He glanced at my notebook and pretended to be writing. "I think Carlos is tighter than ever, " don Juan said to don Genaro. "Maybe he's too tight, " don Genaro snapped. "He may very well be, " don Juan conceded. I did not know what to interject at that point so I remained quiet. "Do you remember the time when I jammed your car?" don Juan asked casually. His question was abrupt and unrelated to what we had been talking about. He was referring to a time when I could not start the engine of my car until he said I could. I remarked that no one could forget such an event. "That was nothing, " don Juan asserted in a factual tone. "Nothing at all. True, Genaro?" "True, " don Genaro said indifferently. "What do you mean?" I said in a tone of protest. "What you did that day was something truly beyond my comprehension." "That's not saying much, " don Genaro retorted. They both laughed loudly and then don Juan patted me on the back. "Genaro can do something much better than jamming your car, " he went on. "True, Genaro?" "True, " don Genaro replied, puckering up his lips like a child. "What can he do?" I asked, trying to sound unruffled. "Genaro can take your whole car away!" don Juan exclaimed in a booming voice; and then he added in the same tone, "True, Genaro?" "True!" don Genaro retorted in the loudest human tone I had ever heard. I jumped involuntarily. My body was convulsed by three or four nervous spasms. "What do you mean, he can take my whole car away?" I asked. "What did I mean, Genaro?" don Juan asked. "You meant that I can get into his car, turn the motor on, and drive away, " don Genaro replied with unconvincing seriousness. "Take the car away, Genaro, " don Juan urged him in a joking tone. "It's done!" don Genaro said, frowning and looking at me askew. I noticed that as he frowned his eyebrows rippled, making the look in his eyes mischievous and penetrating. "All right!" don Juan said calmly. "Let's go down there and examine the car." "Yes!" don Genaro echoed. "Let's go down there and examine the car." They stood up, very slowly. For an instant I did not know what to do, but don Juan signaled me to stand up. We began walking up the small hill in front of don Juan's house. Both of them flanked me, don Juan to my right and don Genaro to my left. They were perhaps six or seven feet ahead of me, always within my full field of vision. "Let's examine the car, " don Genaro said again. Don Juan moved his hands as if he were spinning an invisible thread; don Genaro did likewise and repeated, "Let's examine the car." They walked with a sort of bounce. Their steps were longer than usual, and their hands moved as though they were whipping or batting some invisible objects in front of them. I had never seen don Juan clowning like that and felt almost embarrassed to look at him. We reached the top and I looked down to the area at the foot of the hill, some fifty yards away, where I had parked my car. My stomach contracted with a jolt. The car was not there! I ran down the hill. My car was not anywhere in sight. I experienced a moment of great confusion. I was disoriented. My car had been parked there since I had arrived early in the morning. Perhaps half an hour before, I had come down to get a new pad of writing paper. At that time I had thought of leaving the windows open because of the excessive heat, but the number of mosquitoes and other flying insects that abounded in the area had made me change my mind, and I had left the car locked as usual. I looked all around again. I refused to believe that my car was gone. I walked to the edge of the cleared area. Don Juan and don Genaro joined me and stood by me, doing exactly what I was doing, peering into the distance to see if the car was somewhere in sight. I had a moment of euphoria that gave way to a disconcerting sense of annoyance. They seemed to have noticed it and began to walk around me, moving their hands as if they were rolling dough in them. "What do you think happened to the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked in a meek tone. "I drove it away, " don Genaro said and made the most astounding motion of shifting gears and steering. He bent his legs as though he were sitting, and remained in that position for a few moments, obviously sustained only by the muscles of his legs; then he shifted his weight to his right leg and stretched his left foot to mimic the action on the clutch. He made the sound of a motor with his lips; and finally, to top everything, he pretended to have hit a bump in the road and bobbed up and down, giving me the complete sensation of an inept driver that bounces without letting go of the steering wheel. Don Genaro's pantomime was stupendous. Don Juan laughed until he was out of breath. I wanted to join them in their mirth but I was unable to relax. I felt threatened and ill at ease. An anxiety that had no precedence in my life possessed me. I felt I was burning up inside and began kicking small rocks on the ground and ended up hurling them with an unconscious and unpredictable fury. It was as if the wrath was actually outside of myself and had suddenly enveloped me. Then the feeling of annoyance left me, as mysteriously as it had hit me. I took a deep breath and felt better. I did not dare to look at don Juan. My display of anger embarrassed me, but at the same time I wanted to laugh. Don Juan came to my side and patted me on the back. Don Genaro put his arm on my shoulder. "It's all right!" don Genaro said. "Indulge yourself. Punch yourself in the nose and bleed. Then you can get a rock and knock your teeth out. It'll feel good! And if that doesn't help, "| you can mash your balls with the same rock on that big boulder over there." Don Juan giggled. I told them that I was ashamed of myself for having behaved so poorly. I did not know what had gotten into me. Don Juan said that he was sure I knew exactly what was going on, that I was pretending not to know, and that it was the act of pretending that made me angry. Don Genaro was unusually comforting; he patted my back repeatedly. "It happens to all of us, " don Juan said. "What do you mean by that, don Juan?" don Genaro asked, imitating my voice, mocking my habit of asking don Juan questions. Don Juan said some absurd things like "When the world is upside down we are right side up, but when the world is right side up we are upside down. Now when the world and we are right side up, we think we are upside down. . . ." He went on and on, talking gibberish while don Genaro mimicked my taking notes. He wrote on an invisible pad, enlarging his nostrils as he moved his hand, keeping his eyes wide open and fixed on don Juan. Don Genaro had caught on to my efforts to write without looking at my pad in order to avoid altering the natural flow of conversation. His portrayal was genuinely hilarious. I suddenly felt very at ease, happy. Their laughter was soothing. For a moment I let go and had a belly laugh. But then my mind entered into a new state of apprehension, confusion, and annoyance. I thought that whatever was taking place there was impossible; in fact, it was inconceivable according to the logical order by which I am accustomed to judge the world at hand. Yet, as the perceiver, I perceived that my car was not there. The thought occurred to me, as it always had happened when don Juan had confronted me with inexplicable phenomena, that I was being tricked by ordinary means. My mind had always, under stress, involuntarily and consistently repeated the same construct. I began to consider how many confederates don Juan and don Genaro would have needed in order to lift my car and remove it from where I had parked it. I was absolutely sure that I had compulsively locked the doors; the handbrake was on; it was in gear; and the steering wheel was locked. In order to move it they would have had to lift it up bodily. That task would have required a labor force that I was convinced neither of them could have brought together. Another possibility was that someone in agreement with them had broken into my car, wired it, and driven it away. To do that would have required a specialized knowledge that was beyond their means. The only other possible explanation was that perhaps they were mesmerizing me. Their movements were so novel to me and so suspicious that I entered into a spin of rationalizations. I thought that if they were hypnotizing me I was then in a state of altered consciousness. In my experience with don Juan I had noticed that in such states one is incapable of keeping a consistent mental record of the passage of time. There had never been an enduring order, in matters of passage of time, in all the states of nonordinary reality I had experienced, and my conclusion was that if I kept myself alert a moment would come when I would lose my order of sequential time. As if, for example, I were looking at a mountain at a given moment, and then in my next moment of awareness I found myself looking at a valley in the opposite direction, but without remembering having turned around. I felt that if something of that nature would happen to me I could then explain what was taking place with my car as, perhaps, a case of hypnosis. I decided that the only thing I could do was to watch every detail with excruciating thoroughness. "Where's my car?" I asked, addressing both of them. "Where's the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked with a look of utmost seriousness. Don Genaro began turning over small rocks and looking underneath them. He worked feverishly over the whole flat area where I had parked my car. He actually turned over every rock. At times he would pretend to get angry and I would hurl the rock into the bushes. Don Juan seemed to enjoy the scene beyond words. He giggled and chuckled and was almost oblivious to my presence. Don Genaro had just finished hurling a rock in a display of sham frustration when he came upon a good-sized boulder, the only large and heavy rock in the parking area. He attempted to turn it over but it was too heavy and too deeply imbedded in the ground. He struggled and puffed until he was perspiring. Then he sat on the rock and called don Juan to help him. Don Juan turned to me with a beaming smile and said, "Come on, let's give Genaro a hand." "What's he doing?" I asked. "He's looking for your car, " don Juan said in a casual and factual tone. "For heaven's sake! How can he find it under the rocks?" I protested. "For heaven's sake, why not?" don Genaro retorted and both of them roared with laughter. We could not budge the rock. Don Juan suggested that we go to the house and look for a thick piece of wood to use as a lever. On our way to the house I told them that their acts were absurd and that whatever they were doing to me was unnecessary. Don Genaro peered at me. "Genaro is a very thorough man, " don Juan said with a serious expression. He's as thorough and meticulous as you are. You yourself said that you never leave a stone unturned. He's doing the same." Don Genaro patted me on the shoulder and said that don Juan was absolutely right and that, in fact, he wanted to be like me. He looked at me with an insane glint and opened his nostrils. Don Juan clapped his hands and threw his hat to the ground. After a long search around the house for a thick piece of wood, don Genaro found a long and fairly thick tree trunk, a part of a house beam. He put it across his shoulders and we started back to the place where my car had been. As we were going up the small hill and were about to reach a bend in the trail from where I would see the flat parking area, I had a sudden insight. It occurred to me that I was going to find my car before they did, but when I looked down, there was no car at the foot of the hill. Don Juan and don Genaro must have understood what I had had in mind and ran after me, laughing uproariously. Once we got to the bottom of the hill they immediately went to work. I watched them for a few moments. Their acts were incomprehensible. They were not pretending that they were working, they were actually immersed in the task of turning over a boulder to see if my car was underneath. That was too much for me and I joined them. They puffed and yelled and don Genaro howled like a coyote. They were soaked in perspiration. I noticed how terribly strong their bodies were, especially don Juan's. Next to them I was a flabby young man. Very soon I was also perspiring copiously. Finally we succeeded in turning over the boulder and don Genaro examined the dirt underneath the rock with the most maddening patience and thoroughness. "No. It isn't here, " he announced. That statement brought both of them down to the ground with laughter. I laughed nervously. Don Juan seemed to have true spasms of pain and covered his face and lay down as his body shook with laughter. "In which direction do we go now?" don Genaro asked after a long rest. Don Juan pointed with a nod of his head. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To look for your car!" don Juan said and did not crack a smile. They again flanked me as we walked into the brush. We had only covered a few yards when don Genaro signaled us to stop. He tiptoed to a round bush a few steps away, looked in the inside branches for a few moments, and said that the car was not there. We kept on walking for a while and then don Genaro made a gesture with his hand to be quiet. He arched his back as he stood on his toes and extended his arms over his head. His fingers were contracted like a claw. From where I stood, don Genaro's body had the shape of a letter S. He maintained that position for an instant and then virtually plunged headfirst on a long twig with dry leaves. He carefully lifted it up and examined it and again remarked that the car was not there. As we walked into the deep chaparral he looked behind bushes and climbed small paloverde trees to look into their foliage, only to conclude that the car was not there either. Meanwhile I kept a most meticulous mental record of everything I touched or saw. My sequential and orderly view of the world around me was as continuous as it had always been. I touched rocks, bushes, trees. I shifted my view from the foreground to the background by looking out of one eye and then out of the other. By all calculations I was walking in the chaparral as I had done scores of times during my ordinary life. Next don Genaro lay down on his stomach and asked us to do likewise. He rested his chin on his clasped hands. Don Juan did the same. Both of them stared at a series of small protuberances on the ground that looked like minute hills. Suddenly don Genaro made a sweeping movement with his right hand and clasped something. He hurriedly stood up and so did don Juan. Don Genaro held his clasped hand in front of us and signaled us to come closer and look. Then he slowly began to open his hand. When it was half open a big black object flew away. The motion was so sudden and the flying object was so big that I jumped back and nearly lost my balance. Don Juan propped me up. "That wasn't the car, " don Genaro complained. "It was a goddamn fly. Sorry!" Both of them scrutinized me. They were standing in front of me and were not looking directly at me but out of the corners of their eyes. It was a prolonged look. "It was a fly, wasn't it?" don Genaro asked me. "I think so, " I said. "Don't think, " don Juan ordered me imperiously. "What did you see?" "I saw something as big as a crow flying out of his hand," I said. My statement was congruous with what I had perceived and was not intended as a joke, but they took it as perhaps the most hilarious statement that anyone had made that day. Both of them jumped up and down and laughed until they choked. "I think Carlos has had enough, " don Juan said. His