Doña Severa was particularly proficient at curing “suspensión,” an ailment unknown to gringos and which has no translation. In so many words, the main symptom is constipation as a result of shock. The cause is the big colon of the stomach being suspended out of place. The treatment was delicate, but doña Severa was very adept at manipulating the colon back into place through the rectum.

Doña Severa prepared her own suppositories, too. The pildoras were made from ground Oshá, Yerba Buena, Trementina soap, Piloncillo, all mixed with bile—cow bile, sheep bile, even chicken bile worked. The mixture was rolled like dough, and the pildoras were shaped, the size of a fingertip, then put in the refrigerator to harden. Although this was not Loca’s idea of a fun pastime (but the bedridden do suffer from constipation), she did on one or two occasions succumb to having the pildora applied with the aid of Vaselina and as doña Severa promised, was greatly relieved for it.

“I understand,” Dr. Tolentino told doña Felicia as a way of showing his professional approval one day when they crossed paths in Sofia’s house, one coming in to give Loca her own brand of healing and the other leaving after giving his and both maintaining the practice of praying before they did anything. So it may be said in the end that they did have much in common. There were “doctores invisibles,” as they were called, in doña Felicia’s homeland too, and she never found nothing disturbing about his practice. Likewise, on the islands from which he originated, he had heard of many of doña Felicia’s treatments, although usually with a different variety of local herbs.

Sofia offered the doctor and doña Felicia un café and the two professionals sat down for a bit outside beneath the portal.

“In the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918,” Doctor Tolentino said, thinking how pleasant it was to take a rest, which he rarely did, “as you might remember, doña Felicia, mucha gente died. At least one member in every family. More than half the people of Belen fell from it. Church bells tolled for a new death every hour in Socorro; the carpenters could hardly keep up with the demand for coffins …”

“No, I don’t remember, Doctor,” doña Felicia said, but despite his sad recollection, she was enjoying a good feeling too, sitting on Sofi’s porch, watching a roadrunner make its way down to the acequia, and thinking how long it had been since she herself had taken a load off her feet.

“¡A poco!” the doctor teased her. For surely, if he remembered, she too, most certainly must recall …

“I didn’t live here back then. I’m not a native either, like you, remember, mon ami?” doña Felicia reminded him.