The Power of Silence (12 page)

The
impression I had, upon seeing all three of them together, was that don Juan was
in disguise. The military image came to me that don Juan was the commanding
officer of a clandestine operation, an officer who, no matter how hard he
tried, could not hide his years of command.

I also had
the feeling that they must all have been around the same age, although don Juan
looked much older than the other two, yet seemed infinitely stronger.

"I
think you already know that Carlos is by far the biggest indulger I have ever
met," don Juan told them with a most serious expression. "Bigger even
than our benefactor. I assure you that if there is someone who takes indulging
seriously, this is the man."

I laughed,
but no one else did. The two men observed me with a strange glint in their
eyes. "For sure you'll make a memorable trio," don Juan continued.
"The oldest and most knowledgeable, the most dangerous and powerful, and
the most self-indulgent."

They still
did not laugh. They scrutinized me until I became self-conscious. Then Vicente
broke the silence.

"I
don't know why you brought him inside the house," he said in a dry,
cutting tone. "He's of little use to us. Put him out in the
backyard."

"And
tie him," Silvio Manuel added.

Don Juan
turned to me. "Come on," he said in a soft voice and pointed with a quick
sideways movement of his head to the back of the house.

It was more
than obvious that the two men did not like me. I did not know what to say. I
was definitely angry and hurt, but those feelings were somehow deflected by my
state of heightened awareness.

We walked
into the backyard. Don Juan casually picked up a leather rope and twirled it
around my neck with tremendous speed. His movements were so fast and so nimble
that an instant later, before I could realize what was happening, I was tied at
the neck, like a dog, to one of the two cinder-block columns supporting the
heavy roof over the back porch.

Don Juan
shook his head from side to side in a gesture of resignation or disbelief and
went back into the house as I began to yell at him to untie me. The rope was so
tight around my neck it prevented me from screaming as loud as I would have
liked.

I could not
believe what was taking place. Containing my anger, I tried to undo the knot at
my neck. It was so compact that the leather strands seemed glued together. I
hurt my nails trying to pull them apart.

I had an
attack of uncontrollable wrath and growled like an impotent animal. Then I
grabbed the rope, twisted it around my forearms, and bracing my feet against
the cinder-block column, pulled. But the leather was too tough for the strength
of my muscles. I felt humiliated and scared. Fear brought me a moment of
sobriety. I knew I had let don Juan's false aura of reasonableness deceive me.
I assessed my situation as objectively as I could and saw no way to escape
except by cutting the leather rope. I frantically began to rub it against the
sharp corner of the cinder-block column. I thought that if I could rip the rope
before any of the men came to the back, I had a chance to run to my car and
take off, never to return.

I puffed
and sweated and rubbed the rope until I had nearly worn it through. Then I
braced one foot against the column, wrapped the rope around my forearms again,
and pulled it desperately until it snapped, throwing me back into the house.

As I crashed
backward through the open door, don Juan, Vicente, and Silvio Manuel were
standing in the middle of the room, applauding.

"What
a dramatic reentry," Vicente said, helping me up. "You fooled me. I
didn't think you were capable of such explosions."

Don Juan
came to me and snapped the knot open, freeing my neck from the piece of rope
around it.

I was
shaking with fear, exertion, and anger. In a faltering voice, I asked don Juan
why he was tormenting me like this. The three of them laughed and at that moment
seemed the farthest thing from threatening.

"We
wanted to test you and find out what sort of a man you really are," don
Juan said.

He led me
to one of the couches and politely offered me a seat. Vicente and Silvio Manuel
sat in the armchairs, don Juan sat facing me on the other couch.

I laughed
nervously but was no longer apprehensive about my situation, nor about don Juan
and his friends. All three regarded me with frank curiosity. Vicente could not
stop smiling, although he seemed to be trying desperately to appear serious.
Silvio Manuel shook his head rhythmically as he stared at me. His eyes were
unfocused but fixed on me.

"We
tied you down," don Juan went on, "because we wanted to know whether
you are sweet or patient or ruthless or cunning. We found out you are none of
those things. Rather you're a king-sized indulger, just as I had said.

"If
you hadn't indulged in being violent, you would certainly have noticed that the
formidable knot in the rope around your neck was a fake. It snaps. Vicente designed
that knot to fool his friends."

"You
tore the rope violently. You're certainly not sweet," Silvio Manuel said.

They were
all quiet for a moment, then began to laugh.

"You're
neither ruthless nor cunning," don Juan went on. "If you were, you
would easily have snapped open both knots and run away with a valuable leather
rope. You're not patient either. If you were, you would have whined and cried
until you realized that there was a pair of clippers by the wall with which you
could have cut the rope in two seconds and saved yourself all the agony and
exertion.

"You
can't be taught, then, to be violent or obtuse. You already are that. But you
can learn to be ruthless, cunning, patient, and sweet."

Don Juan
explained to me that ruthlessness, cunning, patience, and sweetness were the
essence of stalking. They were the basics that with all their ramifications had
to be taught in careful, meticulous steps.

He was
definitely addressing me, but he talked looking at Vicente and Silvio Manuel,
who listened with utmost attention and shook their heads in agreement from time
to time.

He stressed
repeatedly that teaching stalking was one of the most difficult things
sorcerers did. And he insisted that no matter what they themselves did to teach
me stalking, and no matter what I believed to the contrary, it was
impeccability which dictated their acts.

"Rest
assured we know what we're doing. Our benefactor, the nagual Julian, saw to
it," don Juan said, and all three of them broke into such uproarious
laughter that I felt quite uncomfortable. I did not know what to think.

Don Juan
reiterated that a very important point to consider was that, to an onlooker,
the behavior of sorcerers might appear malicious, when in reality their
behavior was always impeccable.

"How
can you tell the difference, if you're at the receiving end?" I asked.

"Malicious
acts are performed by people for personal gain," he said. "Sorcerers,
though, have an ulterior purpose for their acts, which has nothing to do with
personal gain. The fact that they enjoy their acts does not count as gain.
Rather, it is a condition of their character. The average man acts only if
there is the chance for profit. Warriors say they act not for profit but for
the spirit."

I thought
about it. Acting without considering gain was truly an alien concept. I had
been reared to invest and to hope for some kind of reward for everything I did.

Don Juan
must have taken my silence and thoughtfulness as skepticism. He laughed and
looked at his two companions.

"Take
the four of us, as an example," he went on. "You, yourself, believe
that you're investing in this situation and eventually you are going to profit
from it. If you get angry with us, or if we disappoint you, you may resort to
malicious acts to get even with us. We, on the contrary, have no thought of
personal gain. Our acts are dictated by impeccability - we can't be angry or
disillusioned with you."

Don Juan
smiled and told me that from the moment we had met at the bus depot that day,
everything he had done to me, although it might not have seemed so, was
dictated by impeccability. He explained that he needed to get me into an
unguarded position to help me enter heightened awareness. It was to that end
that he had told me my fly was open.

"It
was a way of jolting you," he said with a grin. "We are crude
Indians, so all our jolts are somehow primitive. The more sophisticated the
warrior, the greater his finesse and elaboration of his jolts. But I have to
admit we got a big kick out of our crudeness, especially when we tied you at
the neck like a dog."

The three
of them grinned and then laughed quietly as if there was someone else inside
the house whom they did not want to disturb.

In a very
low voice don Juan said that because I was in a state of heightened awareness,
I could understand more readily what he was going to tell me about the two
masteries: stalking and intent. He called them the crowning glory of sorcerers
old and new, the very thing sorcerers were concerned with today, just as
sorcerers had been thousands of years before. He asserted that stalking was the
beginning, and that before anything could be attempted on the warrior's path,
warriors must learn to stalk; next they must learn to intend, and only then
could they move their assemblage point at will.

I knew
exactly what he was talking about. I knew, without knowing how, what moving the
assemblage point could accomplish. But I did not have the words to explain what
I knew. I tried repeatedly to voice my knowledge to them. They laughed at my
failures and coaxed me to try again.

"How
would you like it if I articulate it for you?" don Juan asked. "I
might be able to find the very words you want to use but can't."

From his
look, I decided he was seriously asking my permission. I found the situation so
incongruous that I began to laugh.

Don Juan,
displaying great patience, asked me again, and I got another attack of
laughter. Their look of surprise and concern told me my reaction was
incomprehensible to them. Don Juan got up and announced that I was too tired
and it was time for me to return to the world of ordinary affairs.

"Wait,
wait," I pleaded. "I am all right. I just find it funny that you
should be asking me to give you permission."

"I
have to ask your permission," don Juan said, "because you're the only
one who can allow the words pent up inside you to be tapped. I think I made the
mistake of assuming you understand more than you do. Words are tremendously
powerful and important and are the magical property of whoever has them.

"Sorcerers
have a rule of thumb: they say that the deeper the assemblage point moves, the
greater the feeling that one has knowledge and no words to explain it.
Sometimes the assemblage point of average persons can move without a known
cause and without their being aware of it, except that they become tongue-tied,
confused, and evasive."

Vicente
interrupted and suggested I stay with them a while longer. Don Juan agreed and
turned to face me.

"The
very first principle of stalking is that a warrior stalks himself," he
said. "He stalks himself ruthlessly, cunningly, patiently, and
sweetly."

I wanted to
laugh, but he did not give me time. Very succinctly he defined stalking as the
art
of using behavior in novel ways for specific purposes. He said that normal
human behavior in the world of everyday life was routine. Any behavior that
broke from routine caused an unusual effect on our total being. That unusual
effect was what sorcerers sought, because it was cumulative.

He
explained that the sorcerer seers of ancient times, through their
seeing
,
had first noticed that unusual behavior produced a tremor in the assemblage
point. They soon discovered that if unusual behavior was practiced
systematically and directed wisely, it eventually forced the assemblage point
to move.

"The
real challenge for those sorcerer seers," don Juan went on, "was
finding a system of behavior that was neither petty nor capricious, but that
combined the morality and the sense of beauty which differentiates sorcerer
seers from plain witches."

He stopped
talking, and they all looked at me as if searching for signs of fatigue in my
eyes or face.

"Anyone
who succeeds in moving his assemblage point to a new position is a
sorcerer," don Juan continued. "And from that new position, he can do
all kinds of good and bad things to his fellow men. Being a sorcerer,
therefore, can be like being a cobbler or a baker. The quest of sorcerer seers
is to go beyond that stand. And to do that, they need morality and
beauty."

He said
that for sorcerers stalking was the foundation on which everything else they
did was built.

"Some
sorcerers object to the term stalking," he went on, "but the name
came about because it entails surreptitious behavior.

"It's
also called the art of stealth, but that term is equally unfortunate. We
ourselves, because of our nonmilitant temperament, call it the art of
controlled folly. You can call it anything you wish. We, however, will continue
with the term stalking since it's so easy to say stalker and, as my benefactor
used to say, so awkward to say controlled folly maker."