A cada santo su dia – this is an old Spanish proverb that means every saint has his/her day.  I live in Mexicali.  On occasion, I see mention of a saint’s day marked on a calendar hanging on the wall of a restaurant or farmacia.  They’re everywhere – the saints, I mean.  People pray to them, celebrate them, and talk about them.  This is probably what led me this summer to reading Luis Alberto Urrea’s La Hija de la Chuparrosa.  It’s so good, I read it twice (once in English, and once in Spanish…  Jaja).

It’s the story behind the saint.  The main character – the Daughter of the Hummingbird – was known all over Northern Mexico as Santa Teresa.  Her real name was Teresa Urrea, and she was a young Sonoran woman believed to have magical healing powers.   I bet the book’s author Luis Alberto Urrea spent very little time researching his subject on Wikipedia.  Urrea grew up in Tijuana learning the legend of Santa Teresa from his extended family.  Teresa Urrea was the first cousin of his great-grandfather.

In my Spanish-language copy, Urrea’s author’s note begins with this statement all in caps: TERESA URREA FUE UN PERSONAJE REAL.  Teresa was a real person.  Luis  describes his twenty-year quest to get the story right. He spent nearly his entire adult life searching out relatives he didn’t know he had.  He spent time with curanderos and curanderas.  He learned about Apache and Yaqui culture.  He spent time in remote deserts under dangerous conditions.  He collaborated with professional historians and Chicano feminists. I mean, this book is t-h-i-c-k.

The story is BEAUTIFUL as it is VIOLENT.   Growing up under the tutelage of an old smoking, drinking curandera named Huila, Teresa learned to gather and administer medicinal herbs to remedy the pain and suffering of her people. Teresa became famous for her magic touch.   With a little saliva and the right herbs, she could help the lame to walk and the blind to see.   Soon desperate, dying, mis-shapen pilgrims came from far and away to see the young girl who could cure them by holding their hands and looking into their eyes.  Her people – the poor and the oppressed – shouted slogans such as “Viva La Santa de Cabora.” It’s like she became a living saint.

This, the Mexican government didn’t like.  Although Teresa preached love and compassion, political leaders saw her as a threat to their authority.   Ironically, wherever Teresa went violence soon followed.  The Mexican army was ordered to crush any vestige of a rebellion.  Detachments of Mexican soldiers were sent in to burn churches and destroy villages. For the safety of her family and her people, Teresa fled north to Arizona.

I can’t wait to share this book with a woman I know from Coachella Valley.  She grew up in the fields before becoming a nurse.  Feliz – that’s her name – is pura Chicana.  On occasion, she will visit my classroom to share her knowledge of another  great Chicana symbol,  La Virgen Guadalupe.  Won’t this be cool discussion: to compare and contrast?   Like the Virgin, Teresa was hero to the poor and oppressed.  Like the Virgin, Teresa was born of mixed race. Like the Virgin,  Teresa used her special powers to help anyone who asked.

Author Luis Alberto Urrea deserves all the credit that comes his way for this one. On a certain level, he makes Teresa is bigger than life:    "Her shadow could reach all the way across the ranch when she walked, and children rushed to cool their bare feet in the darkness of her passing.”  Her legend lives on in Sonora, Arizona and Chihuahua.  On another level,  it’s the story of a young woman and her family.  This book is as MAGICAL as it is HISTORICAL.  Twenty years of writing isn’t enough.  This one’s forever.

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I'm not writing a book report here, but now consider myself a dedicated fanboy of Luis Urrea.This is about the third or fourth book of his I have read.  Not so long ago, I read Rumbo al Hermoso Norte, the same way, in both English and Spanish.  I posted my reading experience here in this same blog: https://www.planetmexicali.org/2023/01/jays-hard-hearted-women-post-fatalle-into-the-beautiful-north.html

I've been studying Spanish now for a fairly long time.  I'm dissappointed with my progress, but not with my persistance. I believe here in Mexicali they say, Sin prisas, pero sin pausas.  I have more than a few Spanish-language bookshelves here in my house.  I like to read my novels two-at-a-time.  I might read a section/chapter of my English version, and then repeat the same section/chapter in the Spanish version.  Or vice versa. I go through a lot of highlighters. Once I identify words or phrases in Spanish I want to learn, I translate directly onto the page of my English copy.   To the left, I provide a foto of how it looks.  I meet lot of people from Sonora here in Mexicali.  They see me reading at a coffee shop or a gasolinera with all my books, pens and journals spread across a table.  Like the characters in The Hummingbird's Daughter they may be Yaqui or Mayo, deeply passionate about their homeland.  They are happy to share a story behind the story for La Santa de Cabora and the history of the region.  Not only do they know Sonora, but like Teresita, they have lived on the other side. They see me reading a 500-page novel in Spanish, and they assume I must understand everything they are saying.  I DON'T.  THEY TALK SO FAST.   But that doesn't stop me from sharing what I've read. In the case of Teresita, I know how she grew up poor in a house made of sticks and mud, and how she died and came back to life, soon to be heralded as woman of great healing powers and visions.  I mean the conversation goes back and forth. I know how Teresita learned to play the guitar from vaqueros.   Like magic, she could make herself heavy and unmovable like or giant boulder, or she could make herself light like a feather, and just float away.  If the coversation turns toward the beginnings of the Mexican Revoloution, I'm ready.    Here is the cool part:  When I engage in these type of  conversations conversations – poco a poco – I stop translating in my head.   I don't know how it happens or when it happens, but the words begin to flow like water. I feel entirely like a different person. Maybe that' the mystery and power of Teresa Urrea.  I just want to laugh out loud.  I forget I'm a Gringo.  I believe the same goes for the people I'm talking to.