Mama G stared at a point on the wall behind me and began to chant, still holding my hand under the water. I didn’t recognize the language—in the year she’d lived with us, I’d never heard her use anything even remotely similar. It certainly wasn’t Spanish. It was more glottal, less melodic. Lots of "ah" vowels and "tl" combinations. I’d never heard it before. I thought I recognized the name Quetzalcóatl—the serpent god of the Aztlaner religion—but I couldn’t be sure.