Shivering with cold, I wrappedthe blanket tightly around me and sat up.

I was in a strange bed, in astrange room furnished only with the bed and a night table, yet everythingaround me exuded familiarity. However, I couldn't decide why it was all so wellknown to me.  

Perhaps I am still asleep, Ithought. How do I know this isn't a dream?

I sank back into my pillows. Ilay there with my arms behind my head and let the bizarre events I hadwitnessed and lived- half dream, half memory- run through my mind.  

It had all begun, of course, theyear before, when I drove with Delia Flores to the healer's house.  

Delia had claimed that the picnicI had had with everyone there had been a dream. I had laughed at her, anddiscarded her statements as preposterous.

She had been right, though.  

I knew now that the picnic hadbeen a dream.  

Not my dream, but a dream dreamtby others and to which I had been invited; I was a participating guest.  

My mistake all along had been totry doggedly to deny it; to discard it as a fake without knowing what I meantby fake.  

All I succeeded in doing was toblock that event from my mind so completely that I was never aware of it.  

What I needed to do was to acceptthat we have a track for dreams; a groove where only dreams run.  

Had I set up myself to rememberthe dream I had had in Sonora, as nothing else but a dream, I would havesucceeded in retaining the wonder of what had occurred while the dream wasbeing dreamt.  

The more I speculated about it,and about all the things that were happening to me now, the greater mydiscomfort.  

But what surprised me the mostwas that I wasn't really scared of all these people who, although supportive,were a scary bunch by any count.  

And it suddenly dawned on me thatthe reason why I wasn't scared was that I knew them very well. The proof to mewas that they themselves had voiced the strange yet comforting feeling I hadhad: that I was coming home.  

I discarded all these thoughts assoon as I had formulated them, and honestly wondered whether perhaps I wasmentally unbalanced and they had found a way to focus on it and thus enhanceit.  

In a serious, systematic fashionI reviewed the history of my family in an effort to recall everything I mighthave heard about mental illness.  

There was a story of a maternalgreat-uncle who, Bible in hand, would preach at street corners. Then both mygreat-grandfather and my grandfather, at the onset of the First and the SecondWorld Wars, respectively, committed suicide upon realizing that everything waslost to them. One of my grandmothers blew her brains out when she realized thatshe had lost her beauty and sex appeal.  

I liked to believe that I hadinherited my feeling of detachment from being the true granddaughter of allthose nuts. I had always believed that this feeling of detachment gave me mydaring.  

Those morbid thoughts caused mesuch anxiety that I jumped out of bed.  

With nervous, jerky movements Ipulled my body out of the blanket.  

To my utter bafflement I foundmyself bundled in a heavy flannel nightshirt. I had on thick, knee-length woolsocks, mittens, and a cardigan sweater.  

"I must be ill," Imumbled to myself in dismay. "Why else would I be cold with all theseclothes on?" Normally, I slept in the nude, regardless of theclimate.  

Only then did I notice thesunlight in the room: It came through the thick, semi-opaque window.  

I was certain that the lightshining in my eyes had awakened me.  

And I really needed to find thebathroom.  

Worried that the house didn'thave inside plumbing, I stepped toward the sliding door at the other end of theroom, which was open, and sure enough, it was a water closet with a liddedchamber pot in it.  

"Damn it! I can't go to thebathroom in a water closet!" I yelled.

The door opened and Florindawalked in. "It's all right," she said, embracing me. "There's anouthouse. The water closet is a relic from the past."  

"How fortunate it's alreadymorning," I laughed. "No one will ever know that I'm too faintheartedto go to the outhouse in the dark."

Florinda gave me a strange look,then turned her gaze away, and at last said in a whisper, "What makes youthink it's morning?"  

"The sun woke me up a littlewhile ago," I said, moving toward the window.  

Uncomprehendingly, I stared atthe darkness outside.  

Florinda's face brightened. Sheseemed to control herself, but then her shoulders shook with laughter as shepointed to the light bulb in the lamp standing behind the bed. I had mistakenthe bright bulb for the sunlight.  

"What makes you so sureyou're awake?" she asked.  

I turned to look at her and said,"My unbearable urge to go to the bathroom."  

She took me by the arm and said,"Let me take you to the outhouse before you disgrace yourself."  

"I'm not going anywhere untilyou tell me whether I'm awake or dreaming," I yelled.  

"What a temper!"Florinda exclaimed, lowering her head until her forehead touched mine.  

Her eyes were wide. "You'redreaming-awake," she added, enunciating each word carefully.  

In spite of my growingapprehension, I began to laugh.  

The sound of my laughter, whichreverberated around the room like a distant echo, dispelled my anxiety.  

At that moment I was no longerconcerned about whether I was awake or dreaming. All my attention was focusedon reaching the toilet.  

"Where is theouthouse?" I growled.  

"You know where it is,"Florinda said, folding her arms over her chest. "And you'll never reach itin time, unless you will yourself be there.

"But don't bring theouthouse to your bed. That's called lazy dreaming; the surest way to soil yourbed. Go to the outhouse yourself in a flick of an eyelid."  

To my utter horror, I couldn'treach the door when I tried to. My feet lacked the confidence to walk. Slowlyand uncertainly, as if they were unable to decide which way to go, they moved,one foot ahead of the other.  

Resisting to accept that my feetwere no longer under my command, I tried to speed up my movements by lifting,with my hands, one foot after the other.

Florinda didn't seem to care whatwas happening to me.  

Tears of frustration andself-pity welled up in my eyes as I stood rooted to the spot. My lips shapedthe word help, but no sound came out of my mouth.  

What's the matter?" sheasked as she took hold of one of my arms and gently pulled me down to thefloor.  

She removed my heavy wollen socksand examined my feet: She now seemed genuinely concerned.  

I wanted to explain that myinability to move was due to my being emotionally exhausted. But hard as Itried, I couldn't formulate my thoughts into words.  

As I struggled to utter a sound,I noticed that something was wrong with my vision: My eyes were no longer ableto focus.  

Florinda's face remained blurryand fuzzy no matter how hard I squeezed my eyes; regardless of how close Imoved my face to hers.  

"I know what's the matterwith you," Florinda whispered in my ear. "You have to go to theouthouse.  

"Do it! Will yourselfthere!"  

I nodded emphatically. I knewthat I was indeed dreaming-awake, or rather, that I was living in anotherreality that didn't yet fully belong to me, but to which I had access throughthese people.  

Then I felt inexplicably at ease;and suddenly I was in the outhouse, not in a dreamed outhouse but in a realone.  

It took me a long time to test mysurroundings, to make sure this was the real thing. It was.  

Then I was back in the room, butI didn't know how.  

Florinda said somethingflattering about my dreaming capacity.  

I paid little attention to herremarks, for I was distracted by the pile of blankets against the wall. Ihadn't noticed them upon awakening, yet I was certain I had seen thembefore.  

My feeling of ease vanishedquickly as I tried to recall where I had seen those blankets.  

My anguish grew. I didn't knowany longer whether I was still in the same house I had arrived at earlier inthe evening with IsidoreBaltazar or whether I was someplace else.  

"Whose room is this?" Iasked. "And who bundled me up with all these clothes?"  

It terrified me to hear my ownvoice.  

Florinda stroked my hair and in akind, soft voice said that for the time being this was my room; and that shehad bundled me up so I wouldn't get cold.

She explained that the desert isdeceiving; especially at night.  

She regarded me with an enigmaticexpression, as though she were hinting at something else.  

It disturbed me because her wordsgave me no clues about what she might be referring to.  

My thoughts reeled aimlessly. Thekey word, I decided, was desert.  

I hadn't known the witches' placewas in the desert: We had arrived at it in such a roundabout way, I had failedto ascertain where exactly the house was located.  

"Whose house is this,Florinda?" I asked.  

She seemed to be wrestling withsome deep problem, her expression changing from thoughtful to worried severaltimes. "You're home," she finally said, her voice deep withemotion.  

Before I could remind her thatshe hadn't answered my question, she gestured for me to be silent and pointed afinger at the door.  

Something whispered in thedarkness outside. It could have been the wind and the leaves, but I knew it wasneither.  

It was a soothing, familiarsound: It brought back to me the memory of the picnic. In particular, it broughtback Mariano Aureliano's words: "I will blow you, as I blew the others, tothe one person who now holds the myth in his hands."  

The words rang in my ears: Iturned to look, wondering if Mariano Aureliano had perhaps come into the roomand was repeating them out loud this very instant.  

Florinda nodded. She had read mymind. And her eyes, fixed on mine, were forcing me to acknowledge myunderstanding of his claim.  

At the picnic I hadn't given muchthought to his statement. It had simply been too preposterous.  

Now I was so curious to find outwho "the others" really were that I couldn't afford to let the topicof the conversation slip by.  

"IsidoreBaltazar talkedabout some people who work with him," I began cautiously:  

"He said that they had beenentrusted to him and that it was his sacred duty to help them. Are they theones who... blew to him?" I asked hesitantly.  

Florinda nodded her headaffirmatively, a faint smile curling her lips as if she found my reluctance tomention the word blew amusing. "Those are the ones the old nagual blew tothe new nagual: They are women, and they are like you."  

"Like me?" I askeduncertainly.  

I wished I hadn't been soabsorbed with my own puzzling changes of moods and feelings towardIsidoreBaltazar during the trip, and had paid closer attention to all he hadrevealed about his world.  

"In what way are those womenlike me?" I asked and then added, "Do you know them?"  

"I've seen them," shesaid noncommittally.  

"How many women have beenblown to IsidoreBaltazar?" I asked with ill-concealed displeasure; yet themere thought of them was both exciting and alarming.  

Florinda was positively gleefulat my reaction. "A few.

"And they don't resemble youphysically, yet they are like you.  

"What I mean is that theyresemble one another the way my fellow sorceresses and I resemble oneanother," Florinda explained:  

"Weren't you, yourself,surprised at how much alike we looked when you first met us?"  

Acknowledging my nod, she went onto say that what made her and her cohorts so alike- in spite of the obviousphysical differences- was their unbiased commitment to the sorcerers'world.  

"We are drawn together by anaffection that is as yet incomprehensible to you," she said.  

"I bet it is," I statedas cynically as I could.  

Then my curiosity and excitementabout the women who had been blown to IsidoreBaltazar got the better of me."When will I meet them?"  

"When you find them,"Florinda said. Her voice, though low, had an extraordinary force that all butsilenced me for a moment.  

"How can I find them if Idon't know them? It's impossible."  

"Not for a witch," sheremarked casually:  

"As I already said, youdon't resemble them physically, but the glow inside you is as bright as theglow inside them.  

"You will recognize them bythat glow."  

Her eyes were fixed on meintently, as if she could indeed see the glow inside me.  

Her face was grave and her voiceunusually low as she said, "It's the glow of sorcerers."  

I wanted to make some impudentremark, but something in her manner alarmed me. "Can I see thatglow?" I asked.  

"We need the nagual forthat," Florinda said and pointed to the nagual Mariano Aureliano, who wasstanding in the shadowy corner of the room.

I hadn't noticed him at all, butI didn't find his sudden appearance in any way alarming.  

Florinda told him what Iwanted.  

He motioned me to follow him tothe middle of the room. "I'll show you that glow," he said thensquatted and, holding up both hands, gestured for me to get on his back.  

I asked, "We are going for apiggyback ride?"  

I made no effort to conceal mydisappointment. "Aren't you going to show me the glow ofsorcerers?"  

Although I clearly remembered hiswords that true sorcery was not bizarre behavior, rituals, drugs, orincantations, I nevertheless expected a show; some demonstration of his power,such as mixing spells and simples over the fire.  

Ignoring my disillusionment,Mariano Aureliano urged me to put my arms around his neck, lightly so as not tochoke him.  

"Don't you think I am alittle too old to be carried around?" I cautioned him.  

Mariano Aureliano's laughtergurgled up inside him, exploding with outrageous delight.  

In one swift motion he sprang tohis feet. Tucking his arms behind my knees, he shifted me into a comfortableposition and stepped out into the hall, but my head didn't hit the doorframe.  

He walked so fast andeffortlessly I had the distinct sensation of floating down the long darkcorridor.  

Curious, I glanced all around me.However, we moved too fast to catch any but brief glimpses of the house.  

A soft yet persistent scentpermeated everything: a fragrance of orange blossoms and the freshness of coldair.  

Outside, the yard was blurred by mist.All I was able to see was a uniform mass of dark silhouettes. Swirls of fogtransformed every space, revealing and then blotting out strange shapes oftrees and stones.  

We were not at the witches'house. I was sure of that.  

I heard nothing except arhythmical breathing. I couldn't tell if it was the nagual Mariano Aureliano'sbreathing or my own.  

The sound spread all over theyard. It made the leaves tremble, as if a wind were rustling through thebranches. The trembling seeped into my body with every breath I took.  

It made me so dizzy I wrapped myarms tightly around his shoulders lest I lose consciousness. Before I had achance to tell him what I was experiencing, the fog closed in around me, and Ifelt myself dissolve into nothingness.  

"Rest your chin on the topof my head." The nagual Mariano Aureliano's voice came as if from a greatdistance.  

The words jolted me, for I hadquite forgotten that I was riding on his back.

"Whatever you do, don't letgo of me," he added with great urgency as he pushed me up on his back somy head was above his.  

"What could possibly happenif I let go?" I asked in a tone that betrayed my growing apprehension."I would just fall onto the ground, wouldn't I?" My voice had gottenterribly screechy.  

Mariano Aureliano laughed softlybut didn't answer.  

Leisurely, he walked up and downthe extensive yard with light, soft steps, almost in a kind of dance.  

And then, for an instant, I hadthe distinct impression that we rose in the air: We became weightless.  

I felt that we actually traveledthrough the darkness for a fleeting moment, then I felt the solid groundthrough Mariano Aureliano's body.  

Whether the fog had lifted orwhether we were in a different yard, I couldn't determine, but something hadchanged.  

Perhaps it was only the air: Itwas heavier, harder to breathe.  

There was no moon, and the starswere faint, yet the sky shone as if it were lit from some faraway spot. Slowly,as if someone were outlining them in the air, the contours of trees becameclear.  

About five feet away, in front ofa particularly tall and bushy zapote tree, Mariano Aureliano came to an abrupthalt.  

At the foot of that tree stood agroup of people, perhaps twelve or fourteen.

The long leaves, weighed down bythe mist, shadowed their faces.  

A strange green light emanatingfrom the tree made each person unnaturally vivid. Their eyes, their noses,their lips, all of their features gleamed in that green light, yet I could makeout nothing of their faces.  

I didn't recognize any of them. Icouldn't even determine whether they were males or females; they were simplypeople.  

"What are they doing?"I whispered into Mariano Aureliano's ear. Who are they?"  

"Keep your chin on the topof my head," he hissed.  

I pressed my chin firmly againsthis head, fearing that if I pushed too hard my whole face would sink into hisskull.  

Hoping to recognize someone byhis or her voice, I said good evening to them.

Fleeting smiles parted theirlips. Instead of returning my greeting, they averted their faces.  

An odd sound came from amidstthem; a sound that energized them, for they, too, like the tree, began to glow.Not a green light, but a golden brilliance that coalesced and shimmered untilthey all fused into one big golden ball that just hovered there under thetree.  

Then the golden ball dissolvedinto patches of luminosity. Like giant glowworms they appeared and disappearedamong the trees, sowing light and shadow in their passing.  

"Remember that glow,"Mariano Aureliano murmured. His voice echoed in my head. "It's the glow...of the surem."  

A sudden gust of wind scatteredhis words.  

The wind was alive; it glowedagainst the darkness of the sky. It blew with great violence, with a strangeripping sound.  

Then the wind turned against me;I was certain it meant to annihilate me. I cried out in pain as a particulariyicy gust seared my lungs. A coldness spread through my body until I felt myselfgrow stiff.  

Whether it was Mariano Aurelianowho had spoken or the wind self, I couldn't tell. The wind roared in my ears,blotting out everything around me. Then it was inside my lungs. It wriggledlike a living thing, eager to devour every cell in my body.  

I could feel myself collapse, andI knew I was going to die.  

But the roaring stopped.  

The silence was so sudden I heardit. I laughed out loud, thankful that I was still alive.