Entry #18

Adan,

Father Leoncio, Father Alvarelo, and myself have come up with a rather hansom curriculum for the children's return. We even discussed how to best handle the question of Carmen's absences, and the health – waning as it was – before that. All of us grew quite sombre thinking about Carmen, especially myself. I believe Father Alvarelo shifted the subject after this in order to avoid my tears. He is a considerate man, he and Father Leoncio – in his own way – and I am lucky to stay with such capable men of the church. We blocked out a week just on holidays, comparing ours and theirs, and decided to end such a segment with a large celebration! The children would be assigned Catholic and Tairona holidays that they would then need to portray. From there, the ideas kept coming. Learning more songs, trading our traditions, our languages and most importantly we decided to start having after-curriculum discussions. I would reserve a small portion of my class time to allow the children to ask me questions, and I would do my best to answer each one.

So, energized from these meetings, I was able to remove myself from the mission. I suppose the only dampener was upon leaving the library after each session, we would hear rousing yelling, laughing, and raucous from mess. I remember on one such day the noise was particularly laden with curses, oaths against God, and we could hear plates breaking. Father Alvarelo, impatient with such disturbance, broke off from us.

“Victor!” Father Leoncio attempted to stop him, but Father Alvarelo was already too far ahead. We hastened to catch up with him, barely reaching his heels by the time he had thrown the door to the mess hall open. Not all of the soldiers were present, but most of them were there, sucking down bottles of wine, dropping food on the floor for their dogs, and crowning the table was Lope. He had a Tairona girl in his lap as he perched on the edge of the table. Our arrival had apparently been distraction enough, and the girl looked up at us, panting and tousled.

“Lope Romero, what is the meaning of this?” Father Alvarelo boomed. “You would behave - ”

“Be careful, Father,” Lope sneered. “You're speaking to a captain these days, remember?”

“You are no captain, Lope. You are in charge of your unit your captain returns, but that does not make you -”

“What? In charge?” Lope stood, shoving the girl to the floor, and advancing on Father Alvarelo. “Gabriel said it best. You are men of God, not of War. Did he tell you about that humiliating day? Perhaps you do not understand how man's protocol works, Father Alvarelo.” Lope was toe-to-toe with Father Alvarelo, who was much shorter than he, but Father Alvarelo did not stir. He held his ground like a modern David turning his nose up to the Goliath before him. I only wished Father Alvarelo had a sling...

“But until the captain returns,” Lope continue through a grit-toothed smile. “Yes. I am in charge.”

“Enough!” I could smell the wine on his breath, and I could sense Father Alvarelo losing his patience again. His fists were balling, and I did not trust him to hold his own against a man like Lope. “Gentlemen, please - ”

“Stay out of it, you dog,” Lope snapped at me, and I bit my lip. How could he?

Father Leoncio stepped forward. He was just as big as Lope, and his years reflected far more experience. “You will stand down, soldier,” Father Leoncio said evenly. “You may be captain of your men, but you are not in charge of this mission. You will behave better, or I will have you sleep with the dogs in the rain outside. Not even the Tairona will take you in, I will see to that.”

Lope flinched, and recovered from such a wince with a tittering, cold smirk. “That so, Father? What charity you show.”

“Calm yourselves, or leave.”

“But you need us, Father!” Lope whimpered, and his men roared with laughter. “You neeeeed us!”

“I need soldiers, not boys,” Father Leoncio spat, and Lope lunged at him, but Father Leoncio did not falter. Lope chuckled, and backed away to rejoin his pack.

“And I need a drink. What say you, men?”

Father Alvarelo made a step to cut Lope off, but Father Leoncio caught his arm, and pulled him from the mess. I quickly retrieved the girl, and shoo'ed her away down the hall, hissing for her to avoid these men for the rest of the week until they had forgotten her. She took off weeping, and it took everything not to do the same.

“He is not worth it,” Father Leoncio whispered as he guided Father Alvarelo away, but he was shaken off.

“They are out of control,” Father Alvarelo snapped, and folded his hands together in his sleeves as he sulked down the hall. Father Leoncio sighed to see him leave so angrily, but then fixated his attention on me.

“Avoid Lope if you can, Hermana. I have known the boy for years, but never seen him like this. Power can do much to a boy, even make him think he is an untouchable, indomitable man. Until Captain Gonzalo returns, do not cross him.”

“Yes, Father...” I watched him go, and tried to refocus. I needed to concentrate on my class, and let me tell you, Adan, when I saw those children the next morning I completely forgot about Lope and his abusive party. They were so excited about returning, and they each brought me gifts. A brother and sister brought me a rolled up blanket their mother had made on her loom, and others brought me a decorated gourd. Others offered me flat bread and fruits and flowers from the jungle. I set aside a little pouch of coca to give to Pepita later.

The class went so well after we had a quiet moment to remember Carmen. I swept my tears away just after our prayer concluded. Could not have them see me in such a state, could I? This was supposed to be a happy day, after all! We even had a surprise visit from Father Alvarelo! Of course, I had planned this, but I think I feigned my surprise adequately. The children leaped from their seats and tackled the priest to the ground, embracing and kissing him. He eventually made his way back to his feet, and we started class. We had song, and stories, and we had language study, and at the very end, Father Alvarelo and I poured them water, and passed around the bread and fruit they had been so sweet to bring in. They asked us questions about the Lord, about Spain, and sometimes about silly things.

“Where is Carmen?” A tiny voice came from the back. We all looked to the source, a little boy kicking his feet nervously in one of the pews.

“She is with God, my dear,” I said, smiling for him to see.

“I heard she went into the jungle,” said another student, and I cleared my throat.

“That is very true, but Father Alvarelo and I and Father Leoncio have not seen or heard from her since. We can only say she is with God now. That He is taking care of her as best he can.”

“Was she sick? She looked sick.” Another voice chimed in.

“She was sick,” I answered, but my voice suddenly hitched. Father Alvarelo took my hand, and held is tightly in his.

“Class is dismissed. We will meet again tomorrow. Please, practice your Spanish and your songs. We have a busy week this week.”

Once the children had filed out, I was approached by a little boy. The same that had asked the question. I had never seen him before. He must have been too young some months ago to attend class with his brothers and sisters, but now here he was. He had shaggy dark hair, but I could still see a big pair of brown eyes peering up at me through the bangs. I knelt to meet him, and he wrapped his arms around my neck in a soft embrace.

He was spoke in Tairona, still too shy to attempt Spanish. “Mama Gondu wanted me to give you this, but I was too scared during school.” He leaned back, and pulled a golden pendant from his pocket. It hung from a long thread. The material felt like the same threads used to construct the loomed blanket I had on the organ's seat behind me. The image was like that of a butterfly, and before I could make out any other details, the boy hugged me again.

“He said to wear it for protection. That he sends his love.”

I returned the boy's embrace, and nodded. “And send him ours. Go catch up with your brothers and sisters now.” The boy smiled, and took off from the classroom. I shivered and tilted back. Father Alvarelo kneeled and caught me in his arms. He held me very close, and bowed his chin to the top of my head. “Oh, Victor, I miss her so much. I miss Carmen.” I wept and he told me he knew, he knew, and he would not cease praying for her safe delivery. Whether that was back to the mission or to God's hands Himself, he would keep his prayer strong. Still, I could not help but believe Carmen was still alive in the jungle the children traveled to return home.