I stepped out of my tent and knelt next to the snake. I felt a wild power coursing through my blood. My mother always burned snakes’ heads: a message to the spirits, to the sorcerers that wanted to do harm. “You must burn the snake’s head in the fire now,” I told him. He looked at me with accepting eyes. No judgment, no questions. He just did it. “The snake is burning violet,” he whispered. “A cold violet.” “I want to know about you,” I said. My body was trembling. I cupped my hands before the fire. I didn’t know what I meant by that. It had something to do with the chicha and the snake’s
...more
