Synopsis: “Anacleto Morones” is a short story by the Mexican writer Juan Rulfo, published in 1953 in the book El llano en llamas. Lucas Lucatero is at his ranch when, in the midst of heat and dust, he sees a group of devout women arriving from Amula. The unwelcome visitors come with the purpose of convincing him to return with them to the town to give testimony about the life and deeds of Anacleto Morones, whom they regard as a saint capable of performing miracles. However, they run up against Lucatero’s reluctance, for he holds a very different opinion of the man who was once his father-in-law.
Anacleto Morones
Juan Rulfo
(Full story)
Old women, daughters of evil! I saw them coming all together, in a procession. Dressed in black, sweating like mules under the sheer rays of the sun. I saw them from far off, raising dust as if they were a mule train. Their faces made ashen by dust. Black, all of them. They came on the road from Amula, singing between their prayers, in the heat, with their huge, blackened escapularios onto which the sweat from their faces fell in great drops.
I saw them coming and I hid. I knew what they were doing there and who they were looking for. That’s why I hastened to hide at the very back of the corral, running with my pants in my hand.
But they came in anyway and confronted me. They said: “¡Ave María Purísima!”
I was squatting on a stone, not doing anything, just sitting there with my pants down around my ankles, so they could see the way I was and wouldn’t come any closer. But they just said: “¡Ave María Purísima!” And gradually they came nearer still.
Old Indian women! They should be ashamed of themselves! They crossed themselves and came right up to me, all together, in a tight herd, dripping sweat and with their hair smeared across their faces as if it had been drizzling on them.
“We came to see you, Lucas Lucatero. We came from Amula, just to see you. Not too far from here we were told you were home; but we didn’t think you would be this far inside; not in this place and doing this. We thought you might be feeding the chickens, which is why we came in. We came to see you.”
Those old women! Old and ugly like donkey manure.
“Tell me what you want,” I said to them while I buttoned my pants and they covered their eyes so they wouldn’t see.
“We’re on a mission. We’ve looked for you in Santo Santiago and in Santa Inés, but we were told you no longer lived there, you had moved to this ranch. And we’ve come here. We’re from Amula.”
I already knew where they were from and who they were; I could have even recited their names, but I pretended not to know.
“So yes, Lucas Lucatero, we’ve finally found you, thank God.”
I invited them to move into the hallway and I brought some chairs so they could sit. I asked them if they were hungry or if they wanted at the very least a mug of water to wet their whistles.
They sat down, drying their sweat with their escapularios.
“No, thanks,” they said. “We didn’t come to bother you. We’re here with a message for you. You know me, don’t you, Lucas Lucatero?” one of them asked me.
“A bit,” I replied. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere. Are you, by any chance, Pancha Fregoso, who let herself be carried off by Homobono Ramos?”
“I am, yes, but no one carried me off. Those were only evil rumors. The two of us got lost looking for berries. I’m a member of the congregation and I would never have allowed…”
“What, Pancha?”
“Ah, you think evil thoughts, Lucas. You still like to go around accusing people of crimes. But since you do indeed know me, I want to take this opportunity to let you know why we came.”
“You don’t even want a mug of water?” I asked them again.
“Don’t put yourself out. But since you insist so much, we won’t disappoint you.”
I brought them a mug of myrtle water, which they drank. I then brought them another and they drank that one, too. Then I brought them a mug of river water. They left it alone, waiting, for some later time, because, according to them, they would be very thirsty when their digestion started.
Ten women, seated in a row, with their black dresses filthy with mud. Ponciano’s daughters, Emiliano’s, Crescenciano’s, Toribio the tavern keeper’s, and Anastasio the barber’s.
Old rags! Not even one of them passable. All of them over fifty. Withered like dried, faded big flowers. Not a single one worth considering.
“And what are you looking for around here?”
“We came to see you.”
“Well you’ve seen me. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’ve come a long way. To this hidden place. With no address or anyone to vouch for you. It took us quite a lot of effort to find you and only after a lot of inquiries.”
“I’m not hiding. I live here happily, without people bothering me. What’s your mission, if one may know?” I asked.
“Well, it’s like this . . . But don’t bother giving us anything to eat. We already ate at La Torcacita’s house. We were all fed there. So listen carefully. Sit down here in front of us so we can see you and so you can hear us.”
I couldn’t relax. I wanted to go back to the corral. I could hear the hens clucking and it made me want to gather the eggs before the rabbits ate them.
“I’m going to get the eggs,” I told them.
“Really, we’ve already eaten. Don’t put yourself out for us.”
“There are two wild rabbits out there who eat my eggs. I’ll be right back.” And I went to the corral.
I was thinking of not coming back. Slip out the door to the hills and leave that row of gray-haired old women stuck there.
I glanced at the pile of stones I had piled up in the corner and saw the shape of a grave. So I started to scatter them, throwing the stones in every direction, making one mess here and another one there. They were river stones, smooth, and I could fling them way far. Evil old women! They had made me work. I don’t know why they decided to come.
I interrupted the task and went back.
I gave them the eggs as a gift.
“Did you kill the rabbits? We saw you flinging rocks at them. We’ll keep the eggs awhile. You shouldn’t have bothered.”
“They may hatch if you put them next to your breasts, better leave them out.”
“Ah, you’re still you, Lucas Lucatero. Ever the sweet-talker. As if we were that hot.”
“That I don’t know anything about. But it’s hot outside around here.”
What I wanted was to get them to leave. Put them on another tack while I tried to find a way to throw them out of my house so they wouldn’t want to come back. But I couldn’t come up with anything.
I knew they had been looking for me since January, since just after Anacleto Morones disappeared. More than one person let me know that the old women from Amula Congregation were looking for me. They were the only ones who could have any interest in Anacleto Morones.
And now I had them here.
I could continue making conversation with them or wasting their time until night came and they had to leave. They wouldn’t have risked spending it in my house.
Because there was a period of time when that’s what it was all about: when Ponciano’s daughter said that they wanted to finish their business quickly and go back to Amula early. That’s when I made them see that they shouldn’t worry about that, that even if they stayed on the floor there was room and enough extra straw mats for all of them. All of them said they wouldn’t think of it, because what would people think when they found out they had spent the night alone in my house and with me in it. They wouldn’t think of it.
The thing, then, was to stretch out the conversation until night fell, making them give up the idea buzzing in their heads.
I asked one of them:
“And what does your husband say?”
“I don’t have a husband, Lucas. Don’t you remember I was your girlfriend? I waited and waited for you and I kept on waiting. Then I found out you had gotten married. At that point nobody wanted me anymore.”
“And what about me? What happened is that I had other things to do that keep me very busy; but there’s still time.”
“But you’re married, Lucas, and to the Santo Niño’s daughter no less. Why get me all excited again? I’d just about forgotten you.”
“But me no. What was your name again?”
“Nieves . . . My name is still Nieves. Nieves García. And don’t make me cry, Lucas Lucatero. Just remembering how sweetly smooth your promises were makes me mad.”
“Nieves . . . Nieves. Of course I remember you. As if anyone could forget you . . . You had such smooth skin. I remember. I still feel you here in my arms. Very smooth. Soft. The smell of the dress in which you came over to see me, it smelled like camphor. And you would snuggle up close to me. You pressed so hard against me I could feel you in my bones. I remember.”
“Stop saying those things, Lucas. Yesterday I went to confession and now you’re stirring up evil thoughts and throwing sin on top of me.”
“I remember kissing you on the backs of your knees. And you would say not there because it tickled. Do you still have dimples on the backs of your knees?”
“Better stop talking, Lucas Lucatero. God won’t forgive you for what you did with me. You’ll pay dearly.”
“Did I do something wrong with you? Did I treat you badly?”
“I had to get rid of it. And don’t make me say that here in front of people. But just so you know: I had to get rid of it. It was something like a piece of jerky. And why was I going to want it, if its father was nothing more than a jerk?”
“So that’s what happened? I didn’t know that. Don’t you all want a bit more myrtle water? It won’t take me long to make it. Just wait a bit.”
And so I went again back to the corral to cut myrtle. I loitered there as long as I could while that woman’s bad mood lessened.
When I came back, she had already left.
“She left?”
“Yes, she left. You made her cry.”
“I only wanted to talk to her, just to pass the time. Have you noticed how late the rains are? In Amula it must have rained already, no?”
“Yes, there was a rainstorm the day before yesterday.”
“There’s no doubt that’s a good spot. It rains a lot and people live well. Here not even a hint of clouds. Is Rogaciano still the mayor?”
“Yes, still.”
“Rogaciano is a good man.”
“No. He’s evil.”
“Maybe you’re right. And what can you tell me about Edelmiro, does he still have his pharmacy closed?”
“Edelmiro died. He did well in dying, though I shouldn’t say that; but he was another evil man. He was one of the people who sullied the Niño Anacleto’s reputation. He accused him of taking advantage of people and being a sorcerer and a swindler. He used to say that all over. But people didn’t pay any attention to him and God punished him. He died of rabies like a dog.”
“God willing he’s in Hell.”
“And may the devil not tire of piling firewood on him.”
“And let the same thing happen to Lirio López, the judge, who took Edelmiro’s side and sent the Santo Niño to jail.”
Now they were doing the talking. I let them say everything they wanted. As long as they left me alone, everything would be fine. But suddenly they decided to ask me:
“Do you want to come with us?”
“Where?”
“To Amula. That’s why we came. To bring you back.”
For a moment I wanted to go back to the corral. Leave through the door to the mountains and disappear. Old hags!
“And what the heck am I going to do in Amula?”
“We want you to accompany us in our prayers. We have begun, all the members of the congregation of Niño Anacleto, a novena to ask that he be canonized. You are his son-in-law and we need you to give testimony. The priest charged us to bring someone who was close to him and who knew him a while back, before he became famous through his miracles. And who better than you, who lived at his side and can say better than anyone the charitable works he performed. That’s why we need you, to accompany us in this campaign.”
Old rags! Should have said it before.
“I can’t go,” I told them. “I don’t have anyone to take care of my house.”
“Two girls will stay behind to do that, we anticipated that. Besides, your wife is here.”
“I don’t have a wife anymore.”
“So what happened to her? Niño Anacleto’s daughter?”
“She left. I threw her out.”
“But that can’t be, Lucas Lucatero. The poor girl must be suffering. She was so good. And so young. And beautiful. Where did you send her, Lucas? We’ll be satisfied if at least you put her in the convent of the Repentant Women.”
“I didn’t put her anywhere. I threw her out. And I’m sure she’s not with the Repentant Women; she liked to carouse and to kick up her heels. She must be on the same tack, undoing pants.”
“We don’t believe you, Lucas, not even a little bit do we believe you. She’s probably around here, shut up in some room of this very house saying her prayers. You were always quite a liar and even a false witness. Remember, Lucas, the poor daughters of Hermelindo, who had to go to El Grullo because people would whistle the song ‘The Pigeons’ every time they would show their faces on the street, and only because you made up some gossip. No one can believe anything you say, Lucas Lucatero.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to go to Amula.”
“First you confess and then everything will be all right. When was the last time you confessed?”
“Uh! about fifteen years ago. Since the Cristeros were about to shoot me. They put a rifle in my back and made me kneel before the priest and I said things there I had never even done. I even confessed to things I might do in the future.”
“If it weren’t because you’re the Santo Niño’s son-in-law, we wouldn’t have come looking for you, let alone ask you for anything. You’ve always been a real devil, Lucas Lucatero.”
“Not for anything was I Anacleto Morones’s helper. He was the devil incarnate.”
“Don’t blaspheme.”
“It’s just that you didn’t know him.”
“We knew him as a saint.”
“But not as a santero.”
“What are you saying, Lucas?”
“You don’t know that; but he used to sell saints before. In the fairs. At the church doors. And I would carry his pack for him.
“There we went, the two of us, one after another, from one town to another. He in front and I carrying the pack with the novenas of San Panteón, of San Ambrosio, and of San Pascual, which weighed at least thirty pounds.
“One day we ran into some pilgrims. Anacleto was on his knees on top of an ant colony, showing how if you bite your tongue, the ants won’t sting you. That’s when the pilgrims passed by. They saw him. They stopped to see that curious scene. They asked: ‘How can you be on top of the ant colony without being stung?’
“Then he crossed his arms and started to say he had just arrived from Rome, from where he was bringing a message and was carrying a splinter of wood from the Holy Cross where Christ was crucified.
“They lifted him up in their arms. They took him as far as Amula on a litter. And there was the apotheosis; people prostrated themselves before him and asked him for miracles.
“That was the beginning. All I could do was watch with my mouth open, watching him fool the masses of pilgrims coming to see him.”
“You’re a big talker and even worse, you’re a blasphemer. Who were you before you knew him? A swineherd. And he made you rich. He gave you what you have. And not even then do you speak well of him. Ungrateful soul.”
“As to that, I thank him for ending my hunger, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was the real devil. He still is, wherever he is.”
“He’s in Heaven. Among the angels. That’s where he is, even if you can’t stand it.”
“I knew he was in jail.”
“That was a long time ago. He escaped from there. He disappeared without leaving a trace. Now he’s in Heaven in body and soul. And from there he blesses us. Girls: kneel! Let us pray ‘We’re penitents, Lord,’ so the Santo Niño can intercede for us.”
And those old women knelt, kissing at every Our Father the escapulario where the portrait of Anacleto Morones was embroidered.
It was three in the afternoon.
I took advantage of the time to get into the kitchen and eat some bean tacos. When I came back, only five women were left.
“What’s become of the others?” I asked.
And Pancha, brushing aside the four hairs she had in her mustache, said to me:
“They left. They don’t want anything to do with you.”
“All the better. Fewer donkeys, more corn. Would you like more myrtle water?”
One of them, Filomena, who had been quiet the whole time and whose bad reputation gave her the nickname of “La Muerta,” the Dead One, was leaning on one of my flowerpots, and with her finger in her mouth, threw up all the myrtle water she had swallowed, mixed with pieces of chicharrón and huamúchile grains:
“I don’t even want your myrtle water, you blasphemous thing. I don’t want anything from you.”
And she put the egg I had given her on the chair:
“I don’t even want your eggs! I better leave.”
Now only four were left.
“I feel like puking, too,” Pancha said to me. “But I won’t. We have to take you to Amula no matter what.
“You’re the only one who can bear faith to the Santo Niño’s saintliness. He shall soften your soul. We’ve already placed his image in the church and it wouldn’t be fair to throw it onto the street because of you.”
“Look for someone else. I don’t want anything to do with all of this.”
“You were almost his child. You inherited the fruit of his saintliness. He put his eyes on you in order to live in perpetuity. He gave you his daughter.”
“Yes, but when I got her, she was already perpetuated.”
“For God’s sake, the things you say, Lucas Lucatero.”
“That’s the way it was, when he gave her to me, she had already been loaded for at least four months.”
“But smelling of sainthood.”
“Smelling of nothing but pestilence. She liked showing her belly to whoever was in front of her, only so they could see it was made of flesh. She would show them her swollen belly, purple from the swelling of the child it carried inside. And they would laugh. They found it funny. It was shameless. That was Anacleto Morones’s daughter.”
“Impure thing. You shouldn’t say those things. We’ll give you an escapulario as a gift so you can chase the devil out.”
“…She left with one of them. Supposedly he loved her. He only said to her: ‘I’ll take a risk and be the father of your child.’ And she left with him.”
“She was the issue of the Santo Niño. A girl. And you got her as a gift. You were the owner of that treasure born from saintliness.”
“Nonsense!”
“What are you saying?”
“Inside Anacleto Morones’s daughter was the child of Anacleto Morones.”
“You made that up to accuse him of evil things. You’ve always been a liar.”
“Really? And what can you tell me about all the rest. He left this part of the world without virgins, always pretending to be looking for a maiden to watch over his sleep.”
“He did that out of purity. So he wouldn’t sully himself with sin. He wanted to surround himself with innocence so as not to stain his soul.”
“That’s what you think because he never called you.”
“He did call me,” said one known as Melquiades. “I watched over his sleep.”
“And what happened?”
“Nothing. Only his miraculous hands wrapped themselves around me in that hour when one begins to feel the cold. I thanked him for his body’s warmth; but nothing else.”
“It’s because you were old. He liked the tender girls; for their bones to break, to hear them crack as if they were peanut shells.”
“You’re a condemned atheist, Lucas Lucatero. One of the worst.”
Now it was “La Huérfana” talking, the Orphan, the eternal crier. The oldest of all of them. She had tears in her eyes and her hand was shaking:
“I’m an orphan and he relieved me of my orphanhood; I was able to find my father and mother in him. He spent the night caressing me to lessen my sorrow.”
And she shed tears.
“Then there’s no reason to cry,” I said to her.
“It’s just that my parents are dead. And they have left me alone. When you’re an orphan at this age, it’s so difficult to find support. The only happy night I ever spent was with Niño Anacleto, in his consoling arms. And now you speak badly of him.”
“He was a saint.”
“A good man of good will.”
“We were hoping you would continue his work. You inherited everything.”
“I inherited a bag full of vices of all the devils. A crazy woman. Not as old as you; but pretty crazy. It’s a good thing she left. I opened the door for her myself.”
“Heretic! You invent pure heresy.”
At that point, only two old women were left. The others had left one after another, making the sign of the cross over me and furious and promising to come back with exorcisms.
“You can’t deny the Niño Anacleto was a miracle worker,” said Anastasio’s daughter. “You just can’t deny that.”
“Leaving women pregnant is no miracle. That was his forte.”
“He cured my husband of syphilis.”
“I didn’t know you had a husband. Aren’t you Anastasio the barber’s daughter? Tacho’s daughter is single, as far as I know.”
“I’m single, but I have a husband. It’s one thing to be a señorita and another to be single. You know that. I’m not a señorita, but I’m single.”
“Doing such things at your age, Micaela.”
“I had to do it. What was I getting out of life as a señorita? I’m a woman. And we’re born to give what is given to us.”
“You’re using the same words as Anacleto Morones.”
“Yes, he advised me to do it to get rid of my liver problems. And I got together with someone. Being fifty and a virgin is a sin.”
“That’s what Anacleto Morones told you.”
“That’s what he told me, yes. But we’ve come for something else; so you can come with us and certify he was a saint.”
“And why not me?”
“You haven’t performed any miracles. He cured my husband. I can testify to it. Have you cured anyone of syphilis?”
“No, nor do I know anything about it.”
“It’s something similar to gangrene. He got purple and his body was full of chilblains. He couldn’t sleep. He said everything looked red as if he were looking through the doorway of Hell. And then he felt a burning that made him wince from the pain. So we went to see the Niño Anacleto and he cured him. He burned him with a flaming reed and rubbed his own saliva on the wounds, and, lo and behold, all his suffering was gone. Tell me if that wasn’t a miracle.”
“He must have had measles. I, too, was cured of that with saliva when I was little.”
“Just as I said it before. You’re a damn atheist.”
“At least I have the consolation that Anacleto Morones was worse than me.”
“He treated you as if you were his son. And now you dare . . . All right, I’d better not listen to you anymore. I’m leaving. Are you staying, Pancha?” “I’ll stay awhile longer. I’ll fight the last battle alone.”
“Listen, Francisca, now that all the others are gone, you’ll stay and sleep with me, right?”
“God forbid. What would people think? What I want is to convince you.”
“So let’s convince each other. After all, what can you lose? You’re already very old, to the point that nobody will take care of you, or do you the favor.”
“But then come people talking in whispers. Then they think evil thoughts.”
“Let them think what they want. Who cares! Your name is Pancha anyway.”
“All right, I’ll stay with you; but just until sunrise. And only if you promise me we’ll go to Amula together, so I can tell everyone I spent the night begging you and begging you. If not, what can I say?”
“All right. But first cut off those hairs you have in your mustache. I’ll bring you the scissors.”
“You’re making fun of me, Lucas Lucatero. You spend your life looking for people’s defects. Leave my mustache alone. That way they won’t suspect anything.”
“All right, as you wish.”
When it was dark, she helped me put the chickens in the coop and gather all the stones I had thrown around the corral, putting them in the corner where they had been before.
She didn’t even suspect that Anacleto Morones was buried there. Nor that he had died the very day he had escaped from jail and come back to demand that I return all his property. When he got here, he said:
“Sell everything and give me the money, because I need to take a trip to El Norte. I’ll write you from there and we’ll do business again together.”
“Why don’t you take your daughter with you?” I told him. “That’s all I have left of everything I had and you say is yours. You even involved me in your dirty tricks.”
“You two will go later, when I tell you where I am. We’ll settle our accounts there.”
“It would be far better if we settled them right now. So we’re even.”
“I don’t feel like playing with you right now,” he said. “Give me what’s mine. How much money do you have saved?”
“I have some, but I’m not going to give it to you. It’s been hell for me with your shameless daughter. You should consider yourself well paid by my supporting her.”
He got angry. He stamped his feet on the floor and was anxious to go…
“Rest in peace, Anacleto Morones!” I said when I buried him, and every time I went to the river to bring stones to throw on top of him: “You won’t get out of here even if you use all your tricks.”
And now Pancha was helping me put the weight of the stones back on top of him, without suspecting that Anacleto was right there underneath and I had done that for fear of him coming out of his grave and coming back to cause trouble for me. As resourceful as he was, I didn’t doubt he could find a way to come back to life and get out of there.
“Throw more stones on it, Pancha. Pile them up in this corner, I don’t like to see my corral full of stones.”
Later she said to me, when dawn had broken:
“You’re a calamity, Lucas Lucatero. You aren’t affectionate in the least. Do you know who was really a loving man?”
“Who?”
“The Niño Anacleto. He really knew how to make love.”
THE END
