I’ve never stopped thinking about that woman. As I’ve already said, the incident affected me a great deal. It’s something I’ll never forget, something I’ll always think about and reflect upon. I’ll always have my views on what happened. And I ought to add that my views are the same now as they were then, when it happened: my views haven’t changed. For example, even as a child, I thought there was no way that woman could have been responsible for the accident that caused the ministrant’s death. Not because I felt particularly inclined to defend that woman, or didn’t think she was a she-devil or that she-devils were capable of doing such things. No, the reason I didn’t believe that woman was responsible was that I believed a ministrant’s powers were greater than a she-devil’s. I couldn’t believe a she-devil could follow a ministrant to the plantations with the intention of making an attempt on his life and the ministrant wouldn’t find out and defend himself from whatever trap she laid. With the Maté Jachín, the white tunics they wore, their mysterious songs and all their followers, which was basically the whole island whenever there was danger — I couldn’t believe that, with all that, he couldn’t defend himself against a she-devil, couldn’t use eyes in the back of his head to see her coming, see her following him, scheming to use her evil to make him slip out of the harness or lose his footing and fall to the ground.
Therefore I thought that woman was innocent, though not for one moment did I stop thinking she was a she-devil and therefore dangerous. In fact, I was very afraid of going down her street. When news first reached us that the ministrant had died and that a she-devil was implicated, I immediately thought she must have secretly followed him to the palm tree, waited until he’d climbed to the top, sneaked over, shrieked at the top of her voice, a deafening voice she-devils are capable of producing, and given the man such a fright that he fell from the tree to his death. But I was told later that it didn’t happen like that, that her arts had been darker, more silent. More like when she sent a piece of wood into a child. It was then that I thought it couldn’t have been her.
I am a cristiano, a practising one, and the only reason I haven’t been married to my wife by the church is that in the traditions of the island, marriage is a couple’s final act. First they do everything else, then they get the wedding suit and talk to the Padre about marriage. I continue to believe in Dios, in my faith and in the doctrina. But in spite of all this, and think of me what you will, I don’t believe that woman, the she-devil I’ve been talking about, went to heaven. She didn’t go to heaven, nor is she ever going to go, if indeed it’s true that some chosen ones go there later, rather than immediately after their death. And what I believe is hard to explain and justify. But it’s got nothing to do with her being a she-devil, or my belief that she-devils don’t go to heaven because of their wickedness and night visits. That’s to say, I don’t think she didn’t go to heaven because of what she was. If it were just a matter of what she was, there’d be no doubt in my mind: I’ve never thought for a second that she-devils go to heaven; none of them do, not a single one. The reason I don’t think she went to heaven, wasn’t granted salvation by Dios even though she confessed and received Communion, has to do with the way she died. That woman died having been abandoned by the entire village, having run naked before us, having pleaded for help that didn’t come, having bled profusely. Died out in the open. And no one went to her funeral. When she was alive, she only ate food given to her by her daughters, and only those two daughters and her husband could accept food from her. Food or drink. Practically nobody ever greeted her, nor did she greet anybody, for she knew people were afraid of her and fled from her wherever she went. She was beaten to death and, if nobody tried to save her, it was because they wouldn’t forgive her. And she would have needed the island’s forgiveness in order to go to heaven. Yes, I know Dios forgave her, through the priest, but she didn’t receive our forgiveness and she therefore couldn’t have gone to our heaven. Or she could have gone, but she’d have had to go alone. A woman who dies hated by her people can’t go to heaven. Where would they put her? Not in the same place as us, we who condemned, mistreated and refused to help her, for I can’t see how friendships can be rebuilt after the Final Judgement. And although I believe she would cease to be a she-devil in heaven, the way people acted towards her on the island was not wholly down to her being a she-devil. What I mean is that the island’s attitude towards her cannot solely be explained by her having been a she-devil. Therefore people were not suddenly going to start laughing and joking with her in heaven, going round to her house and eating her food, not after what they’d done to her. And if reconciliation was an impossibility, she couldn’t go to heaven. On one side of heaven you’d have everyone from the island, including the senior ministrant, for there was no doubting he went to heaven, for he was a senior ministrant, and on the other side you’d have her, the she-devil. A she-devil can’t go to the same place as a ministrant. And anyway, if anyone deserves damnation it’s a she-devil. That’s to say, I can’t see how we, everyone else on the island, including the senior ministrant, could be damned so that a she-devil might be saved. So I’ve never believed that woman went to heaven, even though she confessed and received Communion.
I don’t know if I have these convictions and feelings about the she-devil’s salvation, or lack thereof, because of the Padre’s attitude and the way it became engraved on my memory. What I mean is, if I don’t think the woman went to heaven, it’s because of feelings I still have about that day, feelings I’m not always aware of or able to express. Not believing she was granted salvation is my way of suffering for what the Padre failed to do, my way of saying I don’t agree with him or what he did; that despite the fact that he took her confession and gave her Communion, I don’t believe she went to heaven. It could of course be argued that deep down it’s my way of fighting the Misión or the doctrina. The events of that day affected me a lot, so it’s possible that something changed in me beyond my control. I accept this, and I’m conscious that I always thought the situation should have been handled differently, that the Padre should have acted differently. If there was any sinning involved, the only person who suffered from it was the she-devil. And Dios me perdone, but if that woman had been my mother, I’d have preferred it if she hadn’t confessed or received Communion, but had been saved from death. Especially that death. That was no ordinary way to die. The way I see it, the Padre considered only the fact that he had a woman before him who needed confession and Communion; he ignored the fact that she was about to die, and how it was going to happen. I believe, and Dios me perdone again, that the Padre would have done a great deal more by preventing her death. And I know he could have prevented it. And on a personal level, if that woman, that she-devil, had died without confessing and taking Communion, it would have made no difference to me, so long as she hadn’t died the way she did. If it was only a matter of the woman’s spiritual needs then fine, that’s her business, but it wasn’t only that: those events affected everyone. What would the priest have done if the woman had been his sister? Or his brother? Yes, the Padre was a white man, but even white priests have brothers and sisters. What happened on our island that day was a sin committed by many people at once. It should therefore have been resolved in a way that implicated everybody. As I see it, by hearing her confession the Padre left the matter only half resolved. And I refer solely to the confession. When a wicked thing happens in a village, its negative consequences scatter into the air and are left hanging until a ceremony of purification is performed. That’s why I say the Padre only half resolved things. If I’d had the learning of a priest, or if I’d been an adult at the time, I’d have ended up arguing with the Padre. If a man lets his own house burn, or lets the village he lives in burn because of a fire started by his neighbours, I don’t believe that man goes to heaven. I don’t believe such a man can be admitted into heaven.