There was a man who had sex with many women. When his wife confronted him about his behavior as she did every Sunday he would smirk and say that one endowed as he was had the natural right to share his talent with as many of the world as he could. His wife longed to answer that in her opinion he stood about 40th percentile in the ranking of his endowment, but to say so would imply experience she denied, even to the confessor, so she stayed silent.
When they had been married five years she took a trumpet flower from a tree that grew in her neighbor's yard and she cut it up fine and she put it in the food she served her husband. One had to be careful. Too much could kill. Too little would have no effect.
It took only a week for the women of the town to start their jeering. At first they would call derogations from the shelter of upper windows, but by the end of the week even the children in their dark uniforms ran screeching after him without knowing why. Even at the mill where he worked he was no longer given the responsibilities that over the years he had won. He took to drinking sugar alcohol in the mornings to numb the insults of the day, and his outcast status was complete.
In the year that followed the man became so degraded that he could no longer work, and the woman found herself without food or shoes for her children. She could beg at the entrance to the shrine, as so many did. She could set her children to begging. Or she could restore her husband's strength by ceasing her long poisoning. It seemed to her that while revenge was sweet, food might be preferable, not to mention some sex when she so desired. She left the trumpet flower alone.
A week passed and their was no change in her poor feeble husband. A month. The wife went to the curandera and asked how she could reverse the effect of the trumpet flower.
``He was poisoned too long. There is no way,'' the curandera said.