Serafina's Stories

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  Praise for the Writing of Rudolfo Anaya

  “An extraordinary storyteller.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review

  “One of the nation’s foremost Chicano literary artists.” —The Denver Post

  “[Anaya’s work] is better called not the new multicultural writing, but the new American writing.” —Newsweek

  “One of the best writers in the country.” —El Paso Times

  “The godfather and guru of Chicano literature.” —Tony Hillerman, author of The Blessing Way

  “Poet of the barrio … the most widely read Mexican-American.” —Newsweek

  Alburquerque

  Winner of PEN Center West Award for Fiction

  “Alburquerque is a rich and tempestuous book, full of love and compassion, the complex and exciting skullduggery of politics, and the age-old quest for roots, identity, family … There is a marvelous tapestry of interwoven myth and magic that guides Anaya’s characters’ sensibilities, and is equally important in defining their feel of place. Above all, in this novel is a deep caring for land culture and for the spiritual well-being of people, environment, landscape.” —John Nichols, author of The Milagro Beanfield War: A Novel

  “Alburquerque portrays a quest for knowledge.… [It] is a novel about many cultures intersecting at an urban, power- and politics-filled crossroads, represented by a powerful white businessman, whose mother just happens to be a Jew who has hidden her Jewishness … and a boy from the barrio who fathers a child raised in the barrio but who eventually goes on to a triumphant assertion of his cross-cultural self.” —World Literature Today

  “Alburquerque fulfills two important functions: it restores the missing R to the name of the city, and it shows off Anaya’s powers as a novelist.” —National Public Radio

  “Anaya is at his visionary best in creating magical realist moments that connect people with one another and the earth.” —The Review of Contemporary Fiction

  “Anaya’s prowess shows through on every page.… Thumbs up.” —ABQ Arts

  Tortuga

  Winner of the American Book Award

  “A compelling story of a young man who suffers and learns to make peace with who he is, Tortuga has that touch of magic, of fantastical characters, of dreams as real as sunlight, associated with the best of Chicano literature.” —Roundup Magazine

  “Tortuga is one those rare works that speaks to the human condition across time and space, and it well-deserves to find a new generation of readers.” —Southwest BookViews

  “A highly emotional tale of a young soul who turned from a turtle into a human all in the span of 200 pages.” —Reviewers of Young Adult Literature

  My Land Sings

  Winner of the Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award

  “Rich in traditional Mexican and native American folklore. Every story spins its magic effectively.” —Booklist

  “Haunting. Compelling twists will keep the pages turning.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Anaya champions the reading of a good book or listening to a folktale as an opportunity to insert one’s own experiences into the story and, hence, to nurture the imagination. This appealing volume will add diversity to folklore collections.” —Booklist

  “The wide variety of stories demonstrate a mature understanding of life’s trappings and dangers, but retain a healthy sense of humor about the human predicament.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Serafina’s Stories

  “[Serafina’s] stories are simple but vivid.… There is magic and mystery too.” —Los Angeles Times

  “Anaya’s prose offers … purity. [Serafina’s Stories] will restore to all but the most jaded reader a necessary sense of wonder.” —National Public Radio

  “Like Serafina, Anaya is a powerful storyteller whose cuentos and other writings are a balm for the soul.” —New Mexico Magazine

  “It is not hard to predict that Serafina’s story will be hypnotic and entertain.… With Serafina’s Stories Anaya again reminds us of the importance of maintaining an oral tradition.” —San Antonio Express-News

  “Rudolfo Anaya is both a wise man and a gifted storyteller. Serafina’s Stories [is] a series of engaging tales.” —Santa Fe New Mexican

  “Anaya’s new book is a spellbinding account of a Native American woman who spins tales to enlighten the Spanish governor into setting her people free. Clearly conceived, Serafina’s Stories contains 12 folk tales that are as absorbing as the main plot.” —El Paso Times

  Heart of Aztlan

  “In Heart of Aztlan, a prose writer with the soul of poet, and a dedication to his calling that only the greatest artists ever sustain, is on an important track, the right one, the only one.” —La Confluencia

  “[Heart of Aztlan gives] a vivid sense of Chicano life since World War II.” —World Literature Today

  “Mixed with the Native American legends and Hispanic traditions of this wonderful book are the basic human motivations that touch all cultures. It is a rip-roaring good read.” —Cibola Beacon

  Jalamanta

  “A parable for our time … We are in deep need of simple truths, of rediscovering our ancient teachings, and Jalamanta may provide that opportunity.” —The Washington Post Book World

  Zia Summer

  “A compelling thriller … Though satisfying purely as a mystery, the novel sacrifices none of Anaya’s trademark spirituality—a connectedness to the earth and a deep-seated respect for the traditions of a people and a culture.… Read this multicultural novel for its rich language and full-bodied characters. Anaya is one of our greatest storytellers, and Zia Summer is muy caliente!” —Booklist

  “[Anaya] continues to shine brightest with his trademark alchemy: blending Spanish, Mexican, and Indian cultures to evoke the distinctively fecund spiritual terrain of his part of the Southwest.” —Publishers Weekly

  Rio Grande Fall

  “This is a completely entertaining mystery novel, but Anaya offers two parallel lands of enchantment. One is temporal New Mexico; the other is Nuevo Mexicano, a land of santos, milagros, spirits, visions, and even brujas (witches).” —Booklist

  Shaman Winter

  “Be aware that if you only skate on the surface, you will miss the depth of the story. You have to dive head-first, literally, into the waves of poetic prose to catch a glimpse of the forces that keep our universe together.” —La Voz

  “The fast-paced story line of Shaman Winter is fascinating and absolutely eerie as the master paints a vivid picture of the spirituality of another culture.” —Thrilling Detective

  Jemez Spring

  “Jemez Spring is meant to appeal to readers of conventional mystery novels, but there is nothing conventional about it.… It taps into primal and universal fears and longings but plays them out in a uniquely New Mexican setting. And the master tells his tales with worlds and images so rich and strange that it is almost as if he had invented a language of his own.” —Los Angeles Times

  “Jemez Spring again blends the Spanish, Mexican, and Indian cultures that made the three earlier works in the series such good reads. Anaya is at his best when writing about the people of New Mexico, their traditions and their lives and how they clash with the influx of Anglos.” —San Antonio Express-News

  “Anaya takes the reader beyond detective fiction.… His mysteries fall into the criminal and the spiritual, which makes them both inspiring and electrifying.” —St. Petersburg Times

  “Unique and exciting … Readers thirsty for philosophy and the super
natural will devour this book.” —Daily Camera (Boulder)

  “Anaya, godfather and guru of Chicano literature, proves he’s just as good in the murder mystery field.” —Tony Hillerman, author of The Blessing Way

  Serafina’s Stories

  Rudolfo Anaya

  ONE

  One gray January afternoon in 1680 the Governor of New Mexico stepped out of his residence in the Villa de Santa Fé. He was greeted by a gust of bitter cold wind that swept across the plaza. The Governor shivered and pulled his coat tightly around him.

  “Another miserable day in this miserable kingdom,” he muttered to himself.

  He stood looking across the plaza, the common area surrounded by his residence and the other administrative buildings. The compound was well protected against attacks by Apaches. It could only be entered through guarded gates.

  Outside this heart of the villa lay the homes of the Spanish and Mexican residents of Santa Fé. Today the low-lying adobe huts hugged the earth, sheltering their inhabitants from the January freeze.

  A solitary man leading a burro laden with firewood came through a gate and made his way over the ruts of frozen mud. The man glanced at the Governor, barely nodded a greeting, then disappeared.

  Throughout the villa feathers of thin, blue smoke rose from fireplace chimneys. Women were preparing supper for their families. Those who did not have urgent business outside their homes did not venture into the icy cold.

  The Governor sighed. Such misery. In winter the cold kept the citizens of Santa Fé prisoners in their homes; in the summer they tried to eke out a living from their fields and from the sheep they pastured in the mountains. The Spaniards and the Pueblo Indians who worked for them were good pastores, and flocks of sheep had become a way of life in la Nueva México.

  But recently the threat posed by dissident Pueblo Indians of the Río Grande worried the Governor. He dreaded the thought of the Pueblos turning against the Spanish colony.

  Also, the Governor felt lonely. His wife had died the year before. The climate and the harsh way of life were most difficult for the women. And since there had been no children, the Governor felt adrift.

  He gave up entertaining in his residence. La casa real, as it was called, was a long, single-story adobe building with vigas holding up a roof of latillas and mud. Melting snow soaked through the cracks, making it difficult for the small fireplaces to keep the rooms warm.

  Not even the recent Christmas festivities had brought any relief to the Governor’s mood. He spent his days taking care of his horses, riding in the hills, and, when necessary, leading his soldiers to settle disputes at the Indian pueblos from Isleta to Taos.

  Lately there were more and more rumblings of discontent from the Pueblo Indians. Complaints came in on a daily basis. Rumors of revolution were in the air. The Governor did what he could to keep the peace between the Spanish settlers and the Pueblos, for he was entrusted with the safety of the colony.

  The Governor’s stomach growled. In the kitchen doña Ofelia, his housekeeper, an Indian woman from Picuris, was making supper. The aroma of the corn tortillas filled the house, mingling with the rich fragrances of venison stew and chile that bubbled in pots hung at the huge kitchen fireplace. She would prepare sweet natillas for dessert.

  At the evening meal he allowed himself a glass of wine. He had to conserve his meager store of wine so it would last until the spring caravan of supplies came from New Spain, the land that lay south of the Río Grande.

  The caravans from Chihuahua and Durango were the only connection the New Mexico colony had with Nueva España. Waiting for the spring caravan became a way of life for the denizens of Santa Fé.

  Every year the people eagerly awaited the news the carts pulled by oxen and burros would bring from Mexico City, the once great capital of the Aztecs. Would the Viceroy send the additional troops the Governor had requested? The need for soldiers to protect Santa Fé weighed heavy on the Governor’s mind as he stared across the empty, forlorn plaza.

  That morning a few men had made their way out of the villa into the hills to gather firewood. Those who still had candles made from buffalo tallow might have one burning on the rough wood table where they ate supper. Otherwise the corner fireplace was the only source of light and warmth. During the long nights families sat huddled close to the fire listening to cuentos, the folktales the Spaniards had brought with them from Spain.

  With the ground frozen, there was no work to do in the fields. Even the river was frozen solid, and boys spent long hours carrying blocks of ice home to melt for drinking water. Indian women, those taken as slaves from the Plains, cleaned the brick floors that were constantly tracked with mud. They ground corn and made tortillas. Pots of meat and beans simmered at every fireplace.

  In a corral behind the Governor’s residence a horse whinnied. Thank God only the most trusted natives had horses, the Governor thought. If all the Pueblos had horses, they would be a formidable enemy, and if they had the harquebuses, the Spanish rifles, a rebellion would mean the end of the colony.

  The Governor shivered again. He knew he could not defend Santa Fé against an uprising by the Pueblos if they had horses and firearms. As it was, the constant attacks by the Apaches seemed to grow in number and audacity.

  In 1598 the Spaniards, the Castillos, had come north to settle New Mexico, the tierra adentro. They settled near Española at San Gabriel. There don Juan de Oñate established the first capital, which Governor don Pedro de Peralta moved to Santa Fé in 1610. The Franciscan friars who accompanied the colonists came on a mission, to baptize the natives and teach them the Catholic faith.

  The Españoles and the native Pueblo people learned to share many things, but the gulf between the European and native cultures remained great. Over the years those differences became deep-held animosities. According to Spanish law, the Governor of New Mexico had the right to collect corn and blankets from the natives. And he could force them to work, building churches, roads, and irrigation ditches, and preparing land for farming.

  The Indians complained about the harsh rule of the Castillos. They were paid a pittance, and the work often lasted into their own farming season. The friars also used Pueblo laborers to build mission churches. Thousands of natives had been converted into the Catholic religion. The Governor knew the natives suffered the long winters, but there was little he could do.

  Religion lay at the heart of the animosity between the Spaniards and the natives. The Spaniards were Catholics; the mission of the friars was conversion. But the Pueblo Indians had their own religion. For centuries they had worshipped in the way of their ancestors.

  The Spanish friars branded the Pueblos’ religion paganism, destroyed their religious objects, and forbade them to hold their Kachina dances. The Pueblos resisted. From time to time they struck back, threatening the friars, sometimes killing those in the outlying pueblos. Then the Governor had to ride out with his soldiers and punish those responsible.

  The Spaniards were vastly outnumbered by the Pueblo Indians, so no dissent could be allowed. At the first sign of unrest the Governor would send his soldiers to arrest the dissidents. In this way, the Governor thought, he could assure the safety of his colony.

  The month of January dawned with fresh snow covering the high peaks of the Sierra Madre that towered over the villa. January also brought what the Spaniards feared most: secret plans for an uprising had been discovered. A Pueblo Indian loyal to the Spaniards had warned that a group of natives were preparing for war. He named twelve conspirators.

  The Governor had acted quickly. Three days ago he had sent one of his captains, Cristóbal Anaya, to the northern pueblos to arrest those accused of plotting war. Even as the Governor pondered this recent action, a sentry stationed at the far end the plaza called, informing him that the detail was returning, leading prisoners.

  The sentry’s cry created a stir. A few hardy men left their homes to see the rebel Indians who had been captured. Women whose husbands or sons had gone with
the arrest party were eager to learn if they had returned safely. Wrapped in buffalo robes, the denizens of la Villa Real de la Santa Fé gathered in the dusk to watch as the prisoners were marched into the plaza.

  The twelve Indians walked with hands bound, faces downcast. The soldiers on horseback tugged at the ropes, urging the prisoners to hurry forward. The captives were led through the gate and across the plaza to face the Governor.

  “Your Excellency,” Capitán Anaya shouted. “I wish to report the capture and delivery of twelve prisoners. All of my men have returned safely.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. Women crossed their foreheads. Men nodded their approval.

  “Well done, capitán,” the Governor replied, glancing at the prisoners. A sorry lot. Clothed in buckskin with wool blankets around their shoulders to ward off the cold, they stood in silence. “Lock them up. I will question them after dinner.”

  The soldiers led the Indians to the jail, and those who had gathered to watch sighed with relief. All the soldiers had returned safely; that was what mattered. They would hear the tale of the adventure during supper. People quickly disappeared back into the warmth of their homes.

  Two men with a dead deer strung on a pole between them crossed the plaza; then all was quiet in the dusk of evening.

  The Governor, too, retreated into his residence to eat a quiet dinner, alone. He felt mixed emotions. On the one hand, those plotting insurrection had been caught, but he also knew he would have to deal harshly with them. They had to be taught a lesson, a lesson that would not be lost on others who might conspire to revolt.

  After dinner the Governor summoned his secretary and notary, don Alfonso, and his captains to his office. Don Alfonso was one of the few men in the villa who could write. As Capitán Anaya gave his report the secretary wrote furiously, recording every detail. The twelve accused had been apprehended at six of the northern pueblos. There were loud protests from the prisoners’ families and neighbors, but there had been no armed resistance.