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Doña María had married the widowed Tzib when he was sixty-five and<br />
she was fifteen, over the objections of both families. But now, decades later,<br />
she was the family member who watched over Don Elijio most closely.<br />
Before Chinda died, the two women had made a pact: they would care for<br />
each other’s husbands in the event one of them died.<br />
So it was Doña María who lovingly laundered the clothing Chinda had<br />
made Don Elijio before she had died. She stopped by twice a week to pick<br />
up and drop off his laundry, bringing along treats of tamales and sweet<br />
buns. In return, Don Elijio helped support her and Manuel.<br />
After she folded the laundry and swept the floor, she sat down to chat.<br />
Her husband, who never left the house, had a cold. Don Elijio immediately<br />
set about filling her apron <strong>with</strong> Contribo, Duck Flower, vine, instructing her<br />
how to prepare a special sun tea for the elderly.<br />
“Everybody has a cold right now,” said Doña Rosa. “<strong>My</strong> husband and<br />
my daughters are at home right now, sniffling and sneezing.”<br />
“These are natural things,” said Don Elijio.<br />
I concurred. “God willing, we never find a cure for the cold,” I said,<br />
“because it is a way the body has of cleansing itself regularly. If we take it<br />
away, more serious diseases will follow.”<br />
“It’s good for all that gunk to come out of the body,” threw in Don<br />
Elijio.<br />
Doña Maria left for home, making a joke about her jealous husband in<br />
his hammock. A few days later, Doña Rosa and I left together, worried<br />
about how Don Elijio would fare alone. Not that he was entirely alone.<br />
Angel, Isabel, and their eleven children were always around. Of all his<br />
grandchildren, Angel was the one who took the most responsibility for his<br />
grandfather.<br />
Still, it was a tough few weeks for Don Elijio. The making of the<br />
documentary was well timed. The film crew and I met up in San Ignacio<br />
and headed out for San Antonio, where we found the old H’men in rare<br />
form, ready to be a star.<br />
I remember how he asked me to comb his hair and help him dress in<br />
something appropriate. He was relaxed, charming, and powerful on camera,<br />
as if he had done it a thousand times before.<br />
When the revivalists pulled up stakes, his patients—as he had predicted<br />
—came back one by one, sheepish looks on their faces. Even one of the