El Caldo de Los Años: For Rudolfo Anaya Denise Chávez
I met Rudolfo Anaya in El Año del Caldo. In the Way Back of my Life as a writer. In the before of my declaring myself to the universe. Back there in the murky stew of indecisive living that is called youth. We met in Santa Fe, where I was living and working as an Artist in the Schools. He came from Albuquerque to go over my submission, “Willow Game,” for an anthology called Cuentos Chicanos. I do not remember where I heard about the anthology, or how I decided to submit. Prior to this, I was living in Española and teaching at Northern New Mexico Community College. It was my first teaching job. It had been a big move for this Sureña, more monumental than I could ever have imagined. My uncle, Sammie Chávez, made light of my job—”What are you going to do with those hicks up there?” I would later say to him that it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I first became aware of Bless Me, Última, when it was published by Quinto Sol in 1972. I was a student at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces. I could not believe that a Chicano Nuevo Mexicano had written a book that wasn’t a cookbook or some laborious family history. I had never seen myself or anyone I knew in a book that wasn’t some self-published tome with elementary pen and ink drawings by some sobrino or friend who thought he could draw and was there to help with free artwork. The earth shook metaphorically when I read Bless Me, Última. I said to myself, “I am going to meet this author.” He was a handsome man, that I noted, but also, he was a New Mexican. Uno de Nosotros. He belonged to us, to me, to my land, and to my people. There was a great sense of joy and pride that accompanied knowing Bless Me, Última existed in the world.
Blue Mesa Review | 57
