Copal, Copal
by Stephen Myer
part 1
On the desolate plains of Montecito, my brother lay suffering from a gruesome disease. The oozing abscesses on his swollen flesh had long since turned purple. After weeks — perhaps months, I can’t remember — of whiskey and prayer, he asked me to hitch his mule to the buckboard and ride to the telegraph office, which did not exist, hoping God had sent words of healing or redemption.
“Of course, Copal. I’m here to help.”
I ignored his request. The degenerate deserved to die in squalor. Instead, I spent those hours in the shed, finding relief from the weight of my brother’s suffering in the arms of his wife.
“No answer has yet arrived from heaven,” I said upon my false return. “I’ll ride again tomorrow if you wish. There’s bound to be good news.”
“Don’t bother, Teofilo. I have a better idea,” he said, then drifted off into fitful sleep.
Marisol and I sat drinking pulque in the kitchen. Her arms rested on the table. I placed my hands over hers.
“He’s not long for this world, Mari. I don’t feel responsible. Neither should you. He paid the price for the way he lived. Now, it’s you I am concerned about.”
“If that is so, show him kindness. I was taught to deny immoral men like him, but my heart would not listen.”
Copal called us into his bedroom. He insisted that we take him to the church in the village of El Sueño to seek the help of the Virgin, who would intercede on his behalf.
“El Sueño? I’ve not heard of that place,” I said.
“Maybe fifty kilometers south.”
“Desert rats have more sense than to face the peril of these scorching plains, brother.”
“I must go.” His tumid eyelids drooped as they battled fatigue. “My condition is getting worse,” he said as Marisol dabbed his head with a towel soaked in cool well water. “The Virgin listens to all men in need of healing.”
“Isn’t that what a wife is for, Copal? Be reasonable. The Virgin is an it, not a who. We’ll never get there alive in this heat. Show some pity for us, if not for yourself.”
Copal gestured for Marisol to hold his blistered hand, which she did.
“Would you deny me hope, dear wife?”
“No, husband, never.”
“What about you, Teo?” growled Copal as if I were the devil, coaxing him to surrender. “You forgot the good times when we rode together. The wild adventures of our youth. Those were the days, eh, brother? Admit it. The same shit runs through our veins.”
Marisol gasped. “No, mi amor, your blood is no different from that of all men.”
Her defense of Copal seemed borne of a mysterious affection I could not fathom.
“Cuñada,” I said, “please go to the kitchen and fetch more drink. My throat is dry.”
She exited the room, her hips swaying like tall grass caught between shifting winds.
“Marisol is right, Copal. Only one of us is sick. It’s not in the blood, but in one’s nature.”
“Believe what you want, philosopher. I accept my punishment, and you will accept yours. But, how long must it last?” Pink spittle crept down his chin as he slobbered into a bowl next to a stained pillow. “I put my hope in you and my wife, yet received nothing in return.”
“I’m not offended by your ingratitude, because I expect it, but don’t blame Marisol. The woman is half your age and exists to keep you alive. Not once has she complained, nor have I heard you thank her.”
“And for this, you despise me, Teo? You find odd what you do not understand. It is called love, the emotion from which all actions arise.”
“You are mad. And, as for El Sueño, that idea must have sprung from a fever dream.”
He smirked. “If I die on the way, you will have my Marisol. Eh, cabrón?”
“I don’t much like your remark, Copal. Just say the word, and I’ll leave. I came to help while you heal. If I’m not wanted—”
“Have my words upset you?”
“I’m not upset. This sickness has twisted your mind. How can you have faith in an idol when the cure lies in your own strength?”
“¿Mi fuerza? If I had any, I’d leap off this bed and—”
“Give me ten lashings of brotherly love?”
He grabbed an empty whiskey bottle and flung it at me, his aim as wild as his temper. The glass shattered against the wall.
“Easy, brother. Don’t waste your energy denying the truth.”
“¡Silencio! Everything depends on God, who has cruelly refused to consider my plight.” His voice softened, almost contrite. “Or, maybe He has considered and found me unworthy of grace. Still, I deserve an answer, one way or another. What do you think, Teo?”
“God is no less cruel than any man, Copal. You have forgotten that He stared at His reflection when He created us.”
“That is why I must seek the Golden Virgin. She will be my conduit to the Almighty.”
“Now it’s a Golden Virgin? The Almighty is no more an alchemist than you are.”
Copal flipped his hand as if to dismiss the levity of my words. “Don’t brush me away. How many men have you killed and how many women have you ruined? You filled an orphanage with your transgressions. It’s not hard to see why you remain unforgiven.”
Marisol returned with my drink, then dutifully picked the glass shards off the floor and placed them in a basket. Copal’s hand touched his lips and let a kiss fly off his fingers.
“Come to me, Mari,” he said. “Behind every beautiful dream lurks a nightmare. When one wound closes, another one opens. My brother thinks I do not deserve mercy and should remain here to die. I only ask that you not forsake me when I am gone.”
“Don’t speak like that, husband. We will take Copal to El Sueño, won’t we, Teo?”
I swallowed the pulque and nodded, wanting to please the almond-eyed woman.
“You will get well, Copal,” she said, “and come back to me.”
“You mean, come back for you.”
Copal pointed to a hunting knife hanging on the wall like a crucifix. I handed him the weapon. He removed the blade from its sheath and stroked the jagged edge, cutting his thumb, letting the blood run down the shaft. I caught Marisol as she swooned.
“Here, brother. Does my blood smell different from yours?”
* * *
I readied the buckboard and harnessed the mule for our journey to El Sueño, but Copal surprised us at the last minute.
“We will walk. Like flagellants who do penance by the wrath of their own hands, the sun shall be our whips. Then God will see that I am serious.”
Copal’s decree seemed more a crucible of my devotion rather than a pledge to the Almighty. I showed kindness, quietly dismissing his ravings, refraining from gutting him with the knife right there on his bed.
“What of sustenance?” I asked. “Food, water...”
“We’ll follow the riverbank. There we can bathe and drink. Cactus will nourish us until we reach El Sueño.”
“All right. I must be no less crazy than you,” I said, confident he had sealed his fate.
Much of the way, Marisol supported her husband with strong, firm legs that no longer served Copal’s pleasure. Deprived of her husband’s flesh, she sought comfort in mine, offering herself freely, matching my desire. But her otherwise fealty to that monster troubled me.
After days of slogging southward in the pulsing heat, what was left of my brother’s mind fractured.
“Oh, dutiful pallbearer,” wailed Copal as he slid down his wife’s back, falling to his knees on the dusty road, “I can’t go on.”
He pulled the knife out of the sheath strapped to his tender leg and held the blade against his throat.
“No, Copal! El Sueño is almost in sight,” said Marisol. “We are so close to the Virgin. It would be foolish to abandon our quest.”
He lowered the blade, believing the lie she cleverly shrouded in hope, for our destination lay far in the distance.
Copal, listless and grotesque, barely clung to life as we pressed on beneath the unrelenting sun, our footsteps measured in inches. Thirst and hunger nearly routed us before we reached the main road running alongside a bone-dry river. I snatched my brother’s knife from its sheath.
“Teo, what are you doing?” said Marisol, her almond eyes distended from fear.
“Over there. Both of you!”
“Why have you waited until now to kill us, brother? You see, Marisol. I told you he wants me dead.”
“Copal, you idiot. The plants.”
I cut into the cactus, and we sank our teeth into the prickly pear fruit. Copal scowled and looked askance at me the entire time as if convinced I planned to murder him on a full stomach.
“Listen! You hear that, Teo? Cactus wren. Hand me my blade. We will feast tonight.”
I returned the knife. “Put it back in its sheath. It’s bad luck to cross an omen.”
Footsteps grew louder. Around the bend came an unexpected herd of men.
Copyright © 2025 by Stephen Myer
