At this point, the sequence ofevents, as I remember it, becomes blurry. I don't know what happened next.Perhaps I fell asleep and wasn't aware of it, or perhaps the pressure MarianoAureliano exerted on my back was so great that I passed out.  

When I came to my senses again, Iwas lying on a mat on the floor.  

I opened my eyes and instantlybecame conscious of the intense brightness around me. There seemed to besunlight in the room.  

I blinked repeatedly, wonderingwhether there was something wrong with my eyes. I couldn't focus them.  

"Mr. Aureliano," Icalled out. "There seems to be something wrong with my eyes."  

I tried to sit up butcouldn't.  

It wasn't Mr. Aureliano or Mr.Flores who was standing by my side: A woman was there.  

She was leaning over me blottingout the brightness, so to speak.  

Her black hair hung loosely downher sides and shoulders: She had a round face and an imposing bust.  

Again I tried to sit up. Shedidn't touch me, yet I knew that somehow she was holding me down.  

"Don't call him Mr.Aureliano," she said. "Or Mariano either. That's very disrespectfulof you:  

"Call him nagual, and whenyou talk about him, call him the nagual Mariano Aureliano. He likes his fullname." Her voice was melodious. I liked her.  

I felt feisty. I wanted to askher why all the nonsense about being disrespectful. I had heard Delia and allthe other women call him the most ridiculous pet names and fuss over him as ifhe were their favorite doll.  

He certainly had enjoyed everyminute of it.  

But I couldn't remember when andwhere I had witnessed that.  

"Do you understand?"the woman asked.  

I wanted to say yes, but I didn'thave a voice. I tried, to no avail, to open my mouth and say something.  

When she insisted on knowing if Ihad understood, all I could do was nod.  

She offered me her hand to helpme up. Before she touched me I was up, as if my desire to rise had supersededthe actual contact with her hand and had pulled me into a sitting positionbefore she did.  

Astonished by this occurrence, Iwanted to ask her about it, but I could barely keep myself upright. And as fortalking, words simply refused to come out of my mouth.  

She stroked my hair repeatedly. Obviously,she was thoroughly aware of my plight. She smiled kindly and said, "You'redreaming."  

I didn't hear her say that, but Iknew that her words had moved directly from her mind into mine.  

She nodded and told me that,indeed, I could hear her thoughts and that she could hear mine. She assured methat she was like a figment of my imagination, yet she could act with me orupon me.  

"Pay attention!" shecommanded me. "I'm not moving my lips, and yet I am talking to you. Do thesame."  

Her mouth didn't move at all.Wondering whether I could feel a movement in her lips when she silentlyenunciated her words, I wanted to press my fingers against her mouth.  

She was actually verygood-looking but menacing. She reached for my hand and pressed it against hersmiling lips. I didn't feel a thing.  

"How can I talk without mylips?" I thought.  

"You have a hole betweenyour legs," she said directly into my mind. "Focus your attention onit. The pussy talks."

That remark hit a funny chord inme. I laughed so hard I lost my breath and blacked out again.  

The woman shook me awake.  

I was still on the same mat onthe floor, but I was propped up with a thick cushion behind my back.  

I blinked and shuddered, thendrew a long breath and looked at her: She was sitting on the floor besideme.  

"I'm not given tofainting," I said and surprised myself by being able to utter thewords.  

The sound of my own voice was soreassuring that I laughed out loud and repeated the same sentence severaltimes.  

"I know, I know," sheappeased me. "Don't worry, you're not quite awake anyway. I am Clara. Wehave already met at Esperanza's."  

I should have protested or askedher what she meant. Instead, without doubting for an instant, I accepted that Iwas still asleep and that we had met at Esperanza's.  

Memories, foggy thoughts, visionsof people, of places, began to emerge slowly.

A clear thought popped into mymind: I had dreamt once that I met her. It was a dream. Thus, I never hadthought about it in terms of real events. The moment I hooked onto thatrealization, I remembered Clara.  

"Of course, we've met,"I said triumphantly. "But we met in a dream, so you are not real. I mustbe dreaming now, therefore I can remember you."  

I sighed, content that it couldall be explained so easily, and relaxed against the thick pillow.  

Another clear memory of a dreampopped into my mind. I couldn't recall exactly when I had dreamt this dream,but I remembered it as clearly as if the event had actually taken place: In it,Delia had introduced me to Clara.  

Delia had described Clara as themost gregarious of the women dreamers. "She actually has friends who adoreher," Delia had confided in me.  

The Clara of that dream was quitetall, strong, and rotund.  

She had observed me insistentlyas one observes a member of an unknown species, with careful eyes and nervoussmiles.  

And yet, in spite of herdemanding scrutiny, I had liked her immensely. Her eyes were speculating andsmiling and green. What I remembered best about her intense watchfulness wasthat she had looked at me with the unblinking stare of a cat.  

"I know this is just adream, Clara," I repeated, as if I needed to reassure myself.  

"No. This is not just adream, it's a special dream," Clara contradicted me forcefully:  

"You're wrong to entertainsuch thoughts. Thoughts have power: Be watchful of them."  

"You're not real,Clara," I insisted, in a strained, high-pitched voice. "You're adream. That's why I can't remember you when I am awake."  

My stubborn persistence madeClara chuckle. "You have never tried to remember me," she finallyexplained. "There was no point in it, no reason for it.  

"We women are excruciatinglypractical. Our great flaw or our great asset."

I was about to ask her what thepractical aspect of remembering her now was, when she anticipated myquestion.  

"Since I am in front of you,you need to remember me. And you do." She bent lower and, fixing me withher catlike stare, added, "And you won't forget me anymore.  

"The sorcerers who reared metold me that women need two of anything in order to solidify it. Two sights ofsomething, two readings, two frights, etc.

"You and I have now mettwice. Now I am solid and real."  

To prove how real she was, shepushed up the sleeves of her blouse and flexed her biceps. "Touchthem," she urged me.  

Giggling, I did. She indeed hadhard, powerfully defined muscles. They felt as real as anything. She also mademe touch the muscles of her thigh and calf.

"If this is a specialdream," I said cautiously, what do I do in this dream?"  

"Anything your heartdesires," she said. "You're doing fine so far.  

"I cannot guide you, though,for I am not your dreaming teacher. I am simply a fat witch who actually takescare of the other witches.  

"It was my partner, Delia,who delivered you into the sorcerers' world, just like a midwife.  

"But she was not the one whofirst found you. Florinda did."  

"Who is Florinda?" Igiggled uncontrollably. "And when did she find me?"  

"Florinda is anotherwitch," Clara said matter-of-factly, then began to giggle too. "Youmet her.  

"She's the one who took youinto her dream in Esperanza's house. Do you remember the picnic?"  

"Ah," I sighedappreciatively. "You mean the tall woman with the husky voice?" Aradiance filled me. I had always admired tall women.  

"The tall woman with thehusky voice," Clara confirmed:  

"She found you a couple ofyears ago at a party you attended with your boyfriend; a plush dinner inHouston, Texas, at the house of an oilman."  

"What would a witch be doingat a party in an oilman's house?" I asked.

Then the full impact of her claimhit me.  

I was dumbstruck. Although Ididn't remember seeing Florinda, I certainly did recall the party.  

I had gone with a friend who flewin his private jet from Los Angeles just to attend that party and flew back thenext day. I was his translator. There had been several Mexican businessmen atthat party who didn't speak English.  

"Jesus!" I exclaimedunder my breath. "What a weird turn of events!"  

In great detail I described theparty to Clara. It was the first time I had been to Texas. Like somestar-struck movie fan, I ogled the men, not because they were handsome butbecause they looked so outlandish to me in their Stetson hats, pastel-coloredsuits, and cowboy boots. The oilman had hired entertainers. They had staged avariety show, worthy of Las Vegas, in a nightclub grotto built especially forthe occasion. It throbbed with loud music and strobe lights. And the food hadbeen superb.  

"But why would Florindaattend such a party?" I asked.  

"The world of sorcerers isthe strangest thing there is," Clara said by way of an answer.  

She jumped up, like an acrobat,from a sitting position to a standing one, without using her arms.  

She paced about the room, backand forth in front of my mat. She looked formidable in her full, dark skirt,her cowboy denim jacket- colorfully embroidered in the back- and her sturdycowboy boots. An Australian hat, pulled low over her brow as if to protect herfrom the noonday sun, added the last touch to her eccentric, outlandishappearance.  

"How do you like myoutfit?" she asked, pausing in front of me. Her face was radiant.  

"It's great," I gushed.She certainly had the flair, the confidence to carry off any kind of outfit."It's really cool."  

She kneeled beside me on the matand in a confidential whisper said, "Delia is green with envy.  

"We are always incompetition to see who comes up with the nuttiest getup. It has to be crazywithout being stupid."  

She was silent for a moment, andher eyes watched me, considering. "You're welcome to compete," sheoffered. "Do you want to join us in our game?"  

I nodded emphatically, and shespelled out the rules for me.  

"Originality, practicality,low price, and no self-importance," she rattled off.  

Then she rose again and twirled afew more times around the room.  

Laughing, she collapsed beside meand said, "Florinda thinks I should encourage you to participate. She saysthat in that party, she found out that you had a touch for thoroughly practicaloutfits."  

She could barely finish thesentence: She was overcome by a great burst of giggles.  

"Did Florinda talk to methere?" I asked and gazed at her slyly, wondering whether she would tellme what I had omitted from my account; information that I wasn't going tovolunteer.  

Clara shook her head then gave mea distracted smile, meant to deflect further questions about the party.  

"How did Delia happen to beat the baptism in Nogales, Arizona?" I asked, shifting the conversation tothe events of the other party.  

"Florinda sent herthere," Clara admitted, tucking all her loose hair into her Australianhat. "She crashed the party by telling everyone that she had come withyou."  

"Wait a minute!" Iinterrupted her. "This is no dream. What are you trying to do tome?"  

"I'm trying to instructyou," Clara insisted, without altering her air of indifference.  

Her tone was even, almost casual.She didn't seem to be interested in the effect her words were having on me. Yetshe watched me carefully as she added, "This is a dream, and we arecertainly talking in your dream, because I am also dreaming your dream."  

That her outlandish statementswere enough to appease me was proof that I was dreaming.  

My mind became calm, sleepy, andcapable of accepting the situation.  

I heard myself speak, a voicedetached from my volition. "There is no way Florinda could have knownabout my driving to Nogales," I said. "My girlfriend's invitation wasaccepted on the spur of the moment."

"I knew that this would beincomprehensible to you," Clara sighed.

Then, looking into my eyes andweighing her words carefully, she declared, "Florinda is your mother morethan any mother you ever had."  

I found her statementpreposterous, but I couldn't say a word.

"Florinda feels you,"Clara continued. She had a devilish glint in her eyes as she added, "Thereis a homing device she uses. She knows wherever you are."  

"What homing device?" Iasked, my mind suddenly completely in control. The thought that someone mightknow at all times what I was up to filled me with dread.  

"Her feelings for you are ahoming device," Clara said with beautiful simplicity and in a tone so softand harmonious that it made my apprehension vanish.  

"What feelings for me,Clara?"  

"Who knows, child?" shesaid wistfully. She drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and restedher chin on her knees. "I've never had a daughter like this."  

My mood changed abruptly fromamusement back to apprehension. In the rational, thought-out manner that was mystyle, I began to worry about the subtle implications of Clara'sstatement.  

And it was precisely my rationaldeliberations that again turned on my doubts.

This couldn't possibly be adream. I was awake: My concentration was too keen for me to be otherwise.  

Sliding down the cushion proppedagainst my back, I half closed my eyes.  

I kept watching Clara through mylashes, wondering whether she would slowly fade away as people and scenes fadeaway in dreams.  

She didn't. I felt momentarilyreassured that I was awake and so was Clara.

"No, we're not awake,"she contradicted me, again intruding into my thoughts.  

"I can speak," I saidby way of validating my state of total consciousness.  

"Big deal!" shecackled. "Now I am going to do something that will wake you up, so thatyou can continue the conversation while you are really awake." Sheenunciated the last word with great care, drawing it out in an exaggeratedfashion.  

"Wait. Wait, Clara," Ipleaded. "Give me time to adjust to all his." I preferred myuncertainty to what she might do to me.  

Impervious to my pleading, Clararose and reached for the pitcher of water standing on a low table nearby.  

Still giggling, she hovered overme, holding the pitcher over my head.  

I tried to roll to the side, butI was not able to do so. My body wouldn't obey me; it seemed to be glued to themat.  

Before she actually poured thewater over me, I felt a cold, soft sprinkle on my face.  

The coldness rather than thewetness produced a most peculiar sensation. It first blurred Clara's facelooming over me the way ripples distort the surface of water.  

Then the coldness centered itselfon my stomach and pulled me inward, like a sleeve that's pulled insideout.  

My last thought was that I wasgoing to drown in a pitcher of water. Bubbles upon bubbles of darkness spun mearound until everything went black.  

When I came to myself again, Iwas no longer lying on the mat on the floor but on the couch in the livingroom.  

Two women were standing at thefoot of the couch, staring at me with wide, curious eyes.  

Florinda, the tall, white-hairedwoman with the husky voice, was sitting beside me, humming an old lullaby- orso it seemed to me- and caressing my hair, my face, my arms, with greattenderness.  

Her touch and the sound of hervoice held me down.  

I just lay there, my unblinkingeyes fixed on hers, certain I was having one of my vivid dreams, which alwaysbegan as dreams and ended up as nightmares.

Florinda was speaking to me. Shewas telling me to look into her eyes.  

Her words moved soundlessly, likethe wings of butterflies.  

But whatever I saw in her eyesfilled me with a familiar feeling- the irrational, abject terror I experiencedin my nightmares.  

I jumped up and bolted straightfor the door. It was the automatic, animal's reaction I had always had in anightmare.  

"Don't be frightened, mydarling," the tall woman said, coming after me. "Relax.  

"We are all here to helpyou. There is no need to be so upset. You'll hurt your little body bysubjecting it to unnecessary fright."

I had stopped by the door, notbecause she had persuaded me to stay but because I couldn't open the damnthing.  

Frantically, I pulled and pushedthe door. It didn't budge.  

The tall woman was just behindme.  

My trembling increased. I shookso hard that my body ached, and my heart beat so loudly and erratically I knewit would burst through my chest.  

"Nagual!" the tallwoman called out, turning her head over her shoulder. "You'd better dosomething. She's going to die of fright."

I didn't see to whom she wastalking, but in my wild search for an escape, I saw a second door at the otherend of the room.  

I was certain I had enough energyleft in me to make a dash for it, but my legs gave in on me.  

As if life had already abandonedmy body, I sank to the floor. My last breath escaped from me.  

The woman's long arms swoopeddown on me like a great eagle's wings. She held me, put her mouth to mine, andbreathed air into me.  

Slowly, my body relaxed: Myheartbeat returned to normal.  

I was filled with a strange peacethat quickly turned into a wild excitement.

It wasn't fear that filled mewith wildness but her breath. It was hot: It scorched my throat, my lungs, mystomach, my groin; moving all the way to my hands and my feet.  

In a flash, I knew that the womanwas exactly like me only taller, as tall as I would have liked to be.  

I felt such love for her that Idid something outlandish: I kissed her passionately.  

I felt her lips widen into asmile. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "This little rat kissedme," she said, turning to the others.

"I'm dreaming!" Iexclaimed, and they all laughed with childlike abandon.  

At first I couldn't help butlaugh, too. Within moments, however, I was my usual self- embarrassed after oneof my impulsive acts and angry at having been caught.  

The tall woman embraced me."I'm Florinda," she said, and she lifted me up and cradled me in herarms as if I were a baby:  

"You and I are thesame," she went on. "You're as petite as I would have liked to be. It'sa great disadvantage to be tall. No one can ever cradle you. I'm fiveten."  

"I'm five two," Iconfessed, and we both laughed because we understood each other to perfection.I was short on the second inch but always rounded it up. I was certain Florindawas closer to five eleven but rounded it down to ten.  

I kissed her cheeks and her eyes.I loved her with a love that was incomprehensible to me: It was a feelinguntainted by doubt or dread or expectation: It was the love one feels indreams.  

Seemingly in complete agreementwith me, Florinda chuckled softly.  

The elusive light in her eyes,the ghostly whiteness of her hair, was like some forgotten memory.  

I felt as if I had known her fromthe day I was born.  

It occurred to me that childrenwho liked their mothers must be lost children. Filial love coupled withadmiration for the mother's physical being must result in a sense of totallove, like the love I felt for this tall, mysterious woman.  

She put me down. "This isCarmela," she said, turning me toward a beautiful, dark-eyed, dark-hairedwoman. Her features delicate, and her skin was flawless: She had the smooth,creamy pallor of someone who stays much indoors.  

"I only take moonbaths," she whispered in my ear as she embraced me. "You ought to dothe same. You're too fair to be out in the sun: You're ruining yourskin."  

It was her voice, more thananything else, that I recognized. She was the same woman who had asked me allthose direct, personal questions at the picnic.

I remembered her in a sittingposition: she had seemed small and frail. To my surprise, she was three or fourinches taller than I. Her powerful, muscular body made me feel insignificant incomparison.  

With her arm draped around myshoulder, Florinda guided me toward the second woman who had been standingbeside the couch when I awoke.  

She was muscular and tall but notas tall as Florinda. She wasn't conventionally beautiful- her features were toostrong for that- yet there was something striking, thoroughly attractive abouther, including the faint shadow of fine hair on her upper lip, which she

obviously didn't bother to wax orbleach. I sensed a tremendous force in her, an agitation that was completelyunder control yet still there.  

"This is Zoila,"Florinda said to me.  

Zoila made no motion to eithershake my hand or to embrace me.  

Carmela laughed and spoke forZoila: "I'm very happy to see you again."  

Zoila's mouth curved in theloveliest of smiles, showing white, large, even teeth. As her long, slenderhand, glinting with jeweled rings, brushed my cheek, I realized she was the onewhose face had been hidden under a mass of scraggly hair. She was the one whohad sewn the Belgian lace around the canvas cloth we had sat on during thepicnic.  

The three women surrounded me andmade me sit on the couch.  

"The first time we met you,you were dreaming," Florinda said. "So we really didn't have time tointeract.  

"This time, however, you'reawake, so tell us about yourself."  

I was about to interrupt her andsay that this was a dream and that during the picnic, whether asleep or awake,I had told them everything worth knowing about myself.  

"No, no. You're wrong,"Florinda said, as if I had spoken my thoughts out loud. "You're completelyawake now.  

"And what we want to know iswhat you've done since our last meeting. Tell us specifically aboutIsidoreBaltazar."  

"You mean this is not adream?" I asked timidly.  

"No. This is not adream," she assured me. "You were dreaming a few minutes ago, butthis is different."  

"I don't see thedifference."  

"That's because you're agood dreamer," she explained. "Your nightmares are real: You saidthat yourself."  

My whole body tensed up; andthen, as though it knew that it couldn't withstand another attack of fright, itgave up. My body abandoned itself to the moment.  

I repeated to them what I hadalready told and retold Mariano Aureliano and Mr. Flores earlier.  

This time, however, I remembereddetails I had altogether overlooked before such as the two sides ofIsidoreBaltazar's face; the two simultaneous moods he showed that were plainlyrevealed in his eyes.  

The left one was sinister,menacing: The right one was friendly, open.

"He's a dangerous man,"I maintained, carried away by my observations. "He has a peculiar power tomove events in whatever direction he pleases, while he remains outside,watching you quirm."  

The women were enthralled by whatI was saying.  

Florinda signaled me tocontinue.  

"What makes people sovulnerable to his charm is that he is a generous man," I went on."And generosity is perhaps the only virtue that none of us can resist,because we are dispossessed, [* dispossessed- physically or spirituallyhomeless or deprived of security] regardless of our background."  

Realizing what I had said, Istopped abruptly and gazed at them, aghast.

"I don't know what has comeupon me," I muttered in an attempt to apologize. "I truly don't knowwhy I said that when I haven't thought about IsidoreBaltazar in those termsmyself.  

"It's not me talking. I'mnot even capable of making those kinds of judgments."  

Florinda said, "Never mind,child, where you get these thoughts. Obviously you're plugging into the sourceitself.  

"Everybody does that- plugsinto the source itself- but it takes a sorcerer to be aware of it."  

I didn't understand what she wastrying to tell me. I restated that I had no intention of shooting off my bigmouth.  

Florinda giggled and regarded mefor a few moments thoughtfully. "Act as if you were in a dream.  

"Be daring and don'tapologize," she said.  

I felt stupid, incapable ofanalyzing what I felt.  

Florinda nodded, as if inagreement, then turned to her companions and said, "Tell her aboutus."  

Carmela cleared her throat andwithout looking at me said, "The three of us and Delia make a unit. Wedeal with the daily world."  

I hung on her every word, but Ididn't understand her at all.  

"We're the unit ofsorceresses who deal with people," Carmela clarified:  

"There is another unit offour women who don't deal with people at all."  

She took my hand in hers andexamined my palm- as if she were to read my fortune- then closed it gently intoa fist and added, "You're just like us in general. That is, you can dealwith people.  

"And you're like Florinda inparticular."  

Again she paused, and with adreamy look on her face she repeated what Clara had already told me.  

"It was Florinda who foundyou," she said. "Therefore, while you remain in the world ofsorcerers, you belong to her.  

"She'll guide you and lookafter you."  

Her tone carried such a greatcertainty that it threw me into genuine worry.

"I don't belong toanyone," I said. "And I don't need anyone to look after me." Myvoice was strained, unnatural, uncertain.

Silently, the women watched me,bemused smiles on their faces.  

"Do you think I needguidance?" I asked defiantly, gazing from one to the other.  

Their eyes were half closed,their lips parted in those same contemplative smiles. The imperceptible nods oftheir chins clearly indicated that they were waiting for me to finish what Ihad to say.  

"I think I do very well inlife on my own," I finished lamely.

"Do you remember what youdid at the party where I found you?" Florinda asked me.  

As I stared at her in amazement,Carmela whispered in my ear, "Don't worry, you can always find a way toexplain anything."  

Florinda waved a finger at me,not in the slightest disturbed.  

Panic crept over me at thethought that they might know that I had walked naked in that party in front ofdozens of people.  

Until that moment, I had been, ifnot proud of my outlandish behavior, at least acceptant of it. To my way ofthinking, what I did at that party was a manifestation of my spontaneouspersonality.  

First, I had taken a longhorseback ride with the host, in my evening gown without a saddle, to show him-after he dared me and bet I couldn't do it- that I was as good on horseback asany cowboy. I had an uncle in Venezuela who had a stud farm, and I had been ona horse since I was a toddler.  

Upon winning the bet, dizzy fromthe exertion and alcohol, I took a plunge in his giant pool- in the nude.  

"I was there by the poolwhen you went in naked," Florinda said, obviously privy to myrecollection. "You brushed me with your naked buttocks.  

"You shocked everyone,including me. I liked your daringing. Above all, I liked that you walked nakedall the way from the other side of the pool just to brush against me.  

"I took that as anindication that the spirit was pointing you out to me."  

"It can't be true," Imumbled. "If you had been at that party, I would have remembered you.You're too tall and striking-looking to be overlooked."  

It wasn't meant as a compliment:I wanted to convince myself that I was being tricked, manipulated.  

"I liked the fact that youwere killing yourself just to show off," Florinda went on:  

"You were a clown, eager todraw attention to yourself at any cost, especially when you jumped on a tableand danced for a moment, shaking your buttocks shamelessly, while the hostyelled his head off."  

Instead of embarrassing me, herremarks filled me with an incredible sense of ease and delight.  

I felt liberated. The secret wasout, the secret I had never dared to admit, that I was a show-off who would doanything to get attention.  

A new mood overtook me,definitely more humble, less defensive.  

I feared, however, that such amood wouldn't last. I knew that any insights and realizations I had arrived atin dreams had never survived.  

But perhaps Florinda was rightand this was no dream, and my new frame of mind would endure.  

Seemingly cognizant of mythoughts, the three women nodded emphatically.

Instead of feeling encouraged bytheir agreement, it only revived my uncertainties.  

As I had feared, my insightfulmood was short-lived. Within moments I was burning with doubts; and I wanted arespite.  

"Where is Delia?" Iasked.  

"She's in Oaxaca,"Florinda said, then added pointedly, "She was here just to greetyou."  

I had thought that if I changedthe subject, I would get a respite and have a chance to recuperate mystrength.  

Now I was facing something I hadno resources to deal with.  

I couldn't accuse Florindaoutright- as I would normally have done with anybody- of telling lies in orderto manipulate me.  

I couldn't tell her that Isuspected they had made me groggy and had taken me from room to room while Iwas unconscious.  

"What you say is reallypreposterous, Florinda," I chided. "I can't believe that you expectme to take you seriously."  

Chewing the inside of my lip, Istared at her long and hard. "I know that Delia is hiding in one of therooms."  

Florinda's eyes seemed to tell meshe understood my quandary.  

"You have no other optionexcept to take me seriously," she said. Though her tone was mild, it wasfinal.  

I turned to the other two women,hoping for some kind of an answer, anything that would ease my growingapprehension.  

"If someone else guides you,it's actually very easy to dream," Carmela confided:  

"The only drawback is thatthat someone else has to be a nagual."

"I've been hearing all alongabout a nagual," I said. "What is a nagual?  

"A nagual is a sorcerer ofgreat power who can lead other sorcerers through and out of the darkness,"Carmela explained:  

"But the nagual himself toldyou all that a while ago. Don't you remember?"  

Florinda interceded as my bodycontorted in an effort to remember. "Events we live in everyday life areeasy to recall. We have plenty of practice in doing that.  

"But events lived in dreamsare another story. We have to struggle very hard to bring them back, simplybecause the body stores them in different places.  

"With women who don't haveyour somnambulist brain," she pointed out, "dreaming instructionsbegin by making them draw a map of their bodies- a painstaking job that revealswhere the visions of dreams are stored in their bodies."  

"How do you draw this map,Florinda?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

"By systematically tappingevery inch of your body," she said:

"But I can't tell you more.I'm your mother, not your dreaming teacher. Now, she recommends a small woodenmallet for the actual tapping. And she also recommends to tap only the legs andhips. Very rarely, the body stores those memories in the chest or belly. What'sstored in the chest, back, and belly are the memories of everyday life. Butthat's another matter.  

"All that concerns you nowis that remembering dreams has to do with physical pressure on the specificspot where that vision is stored.  

"For instance, if you pushyour vagina by putting pressure on your clitoris, you'll remember what MarianoAureliano told you," she finished with a kind of simple cheerfulness.  

I stared at her aghast, thenburst into nervous, fitful giggles. I wasn't going to push anything.  

Florinda laughed, too, gleefully,seemingly enjoying my embarrassment. "If you won't do it," shethreatened, "then I will simply have Carmela do it for you."  

I turned to Carmela. With a halfsmile about to break into a laugh, she assured me that indeed she would push myvagina for me.  

"There is no need to!"I cried out in dismay. "I remember everything!"  

And indeed I did. And not onlywhat Mariano Aureliano had said but also other events.  

"Is Mr. Aureliano..."

"Clara told you to call himthe nagual Mariano Aureliano," Carmela cut me off in midsentence.  

"Dreams are doors into theunknown," Florinda said, stroking my head:

"Naguals lead by means ofdreams. And the act of dreaming with purpose is the art of sorcerers. The nagualMariano Aureliano has helped you to get into dreams that all of usdreamed."  

I blinked repeatedly. I shook myhead, then fell back against the cushions of the couch, shocked by theabsurdity of all I was remembering.  

I remembered that I had dreamedof them a year ago in Sonora, a dream that had lasted, I thought, forever.  

In that dream, I met Clara,Nelida, and Hermelinda; the other team, the dreamers. They told me that theleader of that team was Zuleica but that I couldn't dream of her yet.  

As the memory of that dreambecame clear in my mind, it also became clear that among those women no one wasmore, and no one was less than the other.

That one woman in each group wasthe leader was in no way a matter of power, of prestige, or of accomplishment;but simply a matter of efficiency.  

I didn't know why, but I wasconvinced that all that mattered to them was the deep affection they had foreach other.  

In that dream everyone had saidto me that Zuleica was my dreaming teacher. That was all I could remember.  

Just as Clara had told me, Ineeded to see them or dream of them one more time in order to solidify myknowledge of them. As it was, they were but disembodied memories.  

I vaguely heard Florinda say thatafter a few more tries I would fare much better in shifting from my memory ofdreams, to the dream I was dreaming, and then to the normal state ofawakeness.  

I heard Florinda giggle, but Iwas no longer in the room.  

I was outside, walking across thechaparral. I walked slowly along an invisible path, a little uneasy, for therewas no light, no moon, no stars in the sky.

Pulled by some invisible force, Istepped into a large room.  

It was dark inside except for thelines of light crisscrossing from wall to wall over the faces of the peoplesitting in two circles- an inner and an outer circle.  

The light got bright and thenbecame dim, as if someone in the circle were playing with the electric switch,turning it on and off.  

I recognized Mariano Aurelianoand IsidoreBaltazar sitting, back to back, in the middle of the innercircle.  

It wasn't so much that Irecognized their faces but rather their energy. It wasn't that their energy wasbrighter than or different from anyone else's.

There was simply more of it. Itwas massive. It was one splendid, great lump of inexhaustible brilliance.  

The room shone white. There was avividness to things, a hardness to every edge and corner.  

There was such a clarity in thatroom that everything stood out separately, by itself, especially those lines oflight that were tied to the people sitting in the circle- or that emanated fromthem.  

The people were all connected bylines of light, and they looked as if they were the suspension points of agiant spider web. They all communicated wordlessly, through the light.  

I was pulled to that silent,electric tension until I, too, was a point in that web of luminosity.  

I was stretched out on the couch;my head resting in Florinda's lap. "What's going to happen?" I asked,looking up at her.  

She didn't answer; neither didCarmela or Zoila, who were sitting by her with their eyes closed.  

I repeated my question severaltimes, but all I heard was the gentle breathing of the three women.  

I was certain they were asleep,yet I felt their quiet, keen eyes on me.

The darkness and the silencemoved about the house like something alive, bringing with them an icy wind andthe scent of the desert.