Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

There was no evidence and no case, only accusations, he said, repeating
what the police had told him.
“My heart is ripped out and still bleeding, Rosita. She might as well
have stuck a knife through it,” he said angrily, trembling from the gripping
memory of such betrayal.
“Feel sorry for her, Don Elijio, because she will have to pay a high price
for this sin,” I said.
He nodded with such sadness in his eyes, as if her fate were the real
tragedy. “Oh yes. She will die a painful, miserable death. Like one who is
set out on a hilltop and tied to a tree, only to be eaten by the birds, piece by
piece, until her hands rot off.”
As if this tirade and confession had restored his fighting spirit, he said,
almost defiantly, “I’ve been thinking, though. She really did nothing to me.
I’m still here, neither more nor less. I have my dripping faucet of money
going. It may never be a flowing creek, but it’s a constant drip.” With that,
he folded his arms. “She hurt herself much more than she did me. God will
punish her. I put revenge in his hands and commend her destiny to God.”
As much as he longed to put this tragedy behind him, I could see he was
still terribly upset. He kept muttering about feeling stupid and naive, as if he
were a schoolboy who had learned nothing from ninety-two years of living.
Could such a man be fooled by this evil woman? he asked, without needing
a response.
“Don’t blame yourself for being a loving man. She was the one who
made a big mistake, not you,” I kept trying to soothe him. “We are naive
and trusting, but that’s what makes us good doctors. It allows us to care
deeply about other people’s troubles. God made us that way, papá, and most
of the time we do all right.”
He was disturbed by the policeman’s advice to put a lock on his door to
keep out thieves. How could he do this—a lonely, old healer who opened
his heart and home daily to strangers who wanted much more from him
than his collected belongings?
But he did as the officer instructed, tacking up a metal bolt lock on a
flimsy door that was made out of old scrap plank lumber. When we left the
next morning to gather medicine, Panti bolted the lock and handed the key
to Angel, who promised to guard it until we returned.