Finally, we reached the most magnificent cavern of all, and Aaron doused the torch because he didn't need it anymore. The walls themselves were glowing, giving off a strange light as bright as moonlight on snow. It was hot and humid here; my clothes stuck to my body, and yet it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. The air hung motionless, smelling like mint and eucalyptus and cinnamon wrapped together in a rich earthy peat. Miss Leticia would have liked this place.
Aaron spoke in a whisper, but here the softest voice sounded loud. "Abuelo says God needed a cauldron to brew up creation, and here it is. We call this cavern EI Caldero de Vida―the Cauldron of Life. After He was done, God might have cast the cauldron aside, but it's never entirely empty."
We walked forward into the cavern. The floor was covered with moss greener than the grass in the valley. I couldn't imagine anything green growing down here, about a mile down, and yet it did.
"Take off your shoes," Aaron said.
As I remembered from my days in Sunday school, that's what Moses had to do when he approached the Burning Bush. "Why?" I asked. "Is this holy ground?"
Aaron shrugged. "Maybe." Then he smiled. "But I just like the feel of the moss on my feet." He was right about that. Once I took off my shoes, it felt like I was walking on plush green velvet.
"Abuelo believes the earth itself is a living thing, and this is where its soul lives." Looking at this place, I could see why the old man felt that way.
"Do you believe that?" I asked.
Aaron thought about the question and, rather than answering, said, "Abuelo is sometimes very crazy, and sometimes very wise. It's hard to figure out which is which."
We stepped forward across the massive domed cavern. In the very center, hanging from the ceiling, was a single stalactite, tapering down from the roof and coming to a pinpoint about ten feet above the floor. It was glistening wet, and I got a shiver, because it reminded me of something, and I didn't know what. I stopped walking, but Aaron gently took my elbow and urged me forward.
I slowly approached the great glistening stalactite. The only sound now was the squelch of my feet against the soft moss and a rhythmic drip of water. Suddenly it occurred to me what the stalactite reminded me of.
An uvula. That strange dangle of skin at the back of your throat.
Beneath it was a stone formation growing from the cavern floor. It looked like a pedestal widening into a basin, like a bird-bath just a foot or so wide, full of water. Moisture had collected on the stalactite, and every five seconds or so a single drop of water fell from the tip into the basin, with a delicate plink. The sound was like the faintest, highest note struck on a xylophone.
There was a mist across the surface of that little pool of water. The closer I got, the more I could feel its heat.
Plink.
"Mineral water," Aaron said. "Just what your face needs. It'll open those pores and get rid of that acne."
"You think so?"
"Oh," said Aaron, "I know so."
Plink.
Then he put his finger in and swirled it around. "It's just right," he said. "Body temperature." The steam cleared away as he stirred, and colors played in the water like the aurora borealis―the northern lights captured in a shallow stone bowl. When he took his finger out, he wiped the water beneath one of his eyes, and then the other, as if it were invisible war paint. Then he licked his fingertip.
Plink.
The surface of the water was glassy, and for a strange instant I had the impression that someone was in there looking out at me, until I realized that it was my own reflection. I was just as horrible as ever. There was mustard on my lip from our lunch, and smudges of dirt from touching my face after touching the cavern walls. It was the longest I'd ever been able to see my own reflection, because this water did not cloud.
Plink.
"Go on," Aaron whispered, standing right behind me now. Then he brought his lips as close to my ear as he could without actually touching it and whispered, "Your face is dirty. Wash it off."
Plink.
Between one drop of water and the next, I dipped both my hands deep into the pool and splashed the water onto my face. Once. Twice. Three times.
It burned. Not like the heat of water, not like the heat of flames, but a different kind of heat that soaked in through my pores, like fine needles penetrating so deep I could feel it all the way to the tips of my toes.
I opened my eyes, thinking they would sting, but they didn't. And when I looked at my hands, the water had already dried up, absorbed into the dryness of my skin.
"There," said Aaron. "All your skin needed was a good deep cleaning. No more acne for you."
The shimmering lights were gone from the pool, and it had misted over again. Another drop plunged from the pointy tip of the stalactite into the stone bowl.
Plink.
"Come on, Cara," Aaron said. "Let's go home."
16
Unveiling
It was already dusk when we emerged from the caverns, and by the time we made it back down into the valley, the sun was long gone from the sky.
There was a celebration at Abuelo's mansion when we got back. The entire population of De León was there. This time they weren't scattered around the mansion as I'd seen them before. Tonight, everyone was in that great room at the top of the stairs.
Musicians played, and people danced. Harmony was the first to hurry to me, and she gave me a bone-crunching hug.
"It's so good to finally see you," she said.
"What do you mean?" I asked her. "I just saw you yesterday."
"Let me take you to Abuelo," she said. "I know he'll want to see you right away."
We weaved through the dancing couples. The band played a melody that was a strange cross between classical and swing. I had never heard that piece of music before, and wondered if it had been written by one of the citizens in the town.
I looked around for Aaron, but he had already dissolved into the crowd behind me, and then, as we moved through the couples spinning one another to the music, there was Abuelo, on his settee.
Next to him was an intravenous stand, and a plastic bag of clear fluid dripped down a narrow tube that went into the vein on his left arm.
I had seen this before, on my own grandfather, when he was dying in the hospital. However, this old man seemed in the best of health. Truth be told, he seemed more radiant than any other time I'd seen him.
"What's the matter, Abuelo?" I asked. "Are you sick?"
He found this amusing, and turned to a woman beside him who was not quite as old as he. They shared a look and a chuckle. It irritated me that I couldn't be in on their little joke.
"I am, as you say, fit as a fiddle. Even fitter, for a fiddle will break its strings, whereas I will not."
He saw me looking at the intravenous bag.
"Oh, this thing. It's just a little pick-me-up. My annual beauty treatment." He and everyone within listening distance laughed.
He called to the musicians to stop playing, and they did almost instantly. The dancing couples turned around to see what was happening, and as Abuelo stood, they cleared the floor.