El Viejo had gotten used to the hallucinations he'd been having over the last few months. They were so consistent that he knew when they'd occur, but he still didn't understand why. He refused to think that he was losing his mind, but he was worried he'd just learn to accept it. This he would not do.
However, he had his suspicions.
Every morning he'd wake up before sunrise, walk across the dark yard between the house and his shop and check on the fresh pinto beans that had been slowly cooking overnight. Then he'd begin grinding wheat flour from the bags of grain he'd harvested from his field, turning the wooden handle that rotated the grinding stone as the sun rose on another day.
This was his normal ritual, and he rarely hallucinated during those times.
The rest of the day could be filled with hallucinations that came and went, and he was both comforted and alarmed by them. If he was taking a break outside behind the shop, the chickens and dogs in the yard all appeared to be chicks and puppies, and his wife would appear to be 50 years younger. While he worked, his customers would look and sound like children. The visions came and went, yet by the end of each day, they stopped and everything appeared normal.
He'd even gone to see the town Doctor under the pretense of feeling poorly, hoping for some insight. He was pronounced as healthy as a mule, given some vitamins with a smile and a pat on the shoulder and sent home.
On a quiet Sunday morning, with his shop closed and his wife gone to do some shopping in town, he sat in the shade of a tree on on the far edge of his wheat field and brooded about his situation. He'd not told his wife about the hallucinations for fear she'd worry about his mental state. He wanted to tell her, but he also wanted to be sure about the cause before he did.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was about why these visions kept happening. At the same time, his certainty was more worrying than the visions themselves. He rolled the facts over and over in his head and considered everything he knew. The answer was so shattering, he forced himself to say it out loud:
"Es el trigo. Estoy cultivando trigo que me hace ver cosas, alucinar. Dios mio, es el trigo! Que voy a hacer?!?
(Translation: "It's the wheat. I'm growing wheat that is causing me to see things, to hallucinate. My Lord, it's the wheat! What will I do?!?")
He was now certain the flour he ground in his mill that was causing him to hallucinate. There was no other explanation for it, and he used his El Viejo wisdom to figure it out by listing the reasons in his head:
1. He never had the visions in the mornings before he began his work.
2. The visions happened only on the days that he ground the wheat grain into flour in his shed, which caused flour dust to build up in the air that he was breathing.
3. Soon after grinding the wheat into flour, he would start to have the hallucinations that his wife, animals and customers appeared to be far younger that they actually were.
4. Later in the day, the visions stopped and he was back to normal, which meant the flour effects had worn off.
Once he was convinced that it was the flour, he began to have many other worries. Was it just the flour dust, or was he causing his wife and his customers problems when they ate his tortillas? Was the flour toxic, or could it cause serious illness? Why didn't the flour dust cause the problem years ago, as opposed to just the last few months? What made the wheat he grew do such unusual things to him? Did the ranchero who gave him the original seeds so many years ago know about it too?
He knew one thing for sure. He had to find out why the wheat he'd grown for decades was now creating a problem for him and if there was anything he could do about it.
He sat under the tree for hours, thinking about his situation. When he'd finally decided what to do, he went back into the house and waited for his wife to return.
The next morning he followed his normal routine. When it came time for him to mill some grain, he did two new things: he opened the shed's window to allow more air flow that would keep the dust to a minimum, and he wore a bandana tied tightly across his face to filter out any floating dust. Then he set to work, furiously milling the wheat grain into a fine white flour.
He kept the bandana on his face while he brought the flour into his shop's kitchen and mixed in the ingredients that turned it into dough. Only after he was done making the dough, opened the windows and made several dozen fresh tortillas did he remove the bandana. Then he went about his usual chores to get ready for his lunch customers.
He did NOT hallucinate that day!!
He followed the same morning procedures for the next two days and the hallucinations did not return. Once he felt the answer had been found, he went back to his regular activities on the fourth day and the visions returned. Now he KNEW what was causing the visions, but he was more concerned than ever.
Was his tortilla flour dangerous?
He decided to have the wheat grain and milled flour analyzed to find out if they contained any bad or dangerous elements, and the results would help him to figure out what to do next. It was a risk because if the wheat or flour was found to be bad, his thriving burrito shop... his entire livelihood... would be lost. He knew in his heart it was the only way to make sure he wasn't harming anyone.
Using his new precautions, he milled some freshly harvested wheat into flour and placed it in an airtight container, doing the same with a handful of grain. The next day he told his wife he needed to go into town to look at some new restaurant equipment, which she'd been trying to get him to do for months. He made a small sign that read 'Closed until tomorrow, please come back!' and taped it to the inside window of the shop door. The he got into his old truck and slowly drove into town.
His plan was simple. Since there were many small working farms in the valley, the local co-op had a lab where all kinds of tests were done on agricultural products to ensure they were safe and grown in a manner that was approved for human consumption. He knew the lab technicians well, as they were all from the valley and many had stood in line for his burritos.
As he drove, he practiced his cover story to make sure he sounded concerned but not worried, just another farmer with a problem to solve. He'd noticed his tortillas had a slightly different flavor lately, nothing serious but... different. Was it the way he was fertilizing his field (organically, of course)? Was he milling the grain too soon or too long after harvesting? Could it be the lard causing the flavor change? Was he cooking the tortillas at the right temperature?
He would explain that after all, he was just a viejo and didn't know about all of these things. He just wanted to make sure his customers were happy with his burritos.
He pulled into the co-op parking lot, stopped his truck and sat there, talking to God.
"Mi Señor... Me pregunto por qué me has peusto a esta prueba? (My Lord... I wonder why you've put me to this test?) No te he exaltado y alabado siempre? (Haven't I always exalted and praised you?) No estas seguro de mi lealtad y fe? (Are you unsure of my loyalty and faith?) He hecho algo en mi vida que hace que me crees esta dificultad? (Have I done something in my life that causes you to create this difficulty for me?) Solo peudo esperar que mi honestidad e integridad sean dignas de su aprobacion. (I can only hope that my honesty and integrity are worthy of your approval.)"
After a few minutes he felt comfortable with his story, got out of his truck and went inside the co-op lab with his containers of grain and flour.
(To be continued...)
Lead image, Gracias de Google Images; Tower of Power video, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube.
Love you son
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