Entry #9

Dear Adan,

The last couple months of teaching these children have changed my life, Adan! Teaching them our traditions and our language, while they in turn taught us their own. Through no planning of our own, whenever there was mass, we started meeting with our classmates early on weekend mornings. The whole class was usually there, especially the nervous children chosen as altar boys for a given ceremony, and the rest of the students who had been recruited to Carmen’s choir.

Is my robe right?

Do you think I will trip?

These herbs are stinky.

I just do not want to make a mistake!

And of course my answers:

Your robe is fine. Let me just fix this little collar here.

Of course you will not trip. Would you like me to fold the hem up a little?

They can be stinky, but try not to hold your nose at the altar.

You will be fine, my little dear. Think of it like class. I will be right there, and if you forget something, just stick your tongue out at me.

The children were wonderful each time. A few mistakes here and there, but nothing embarrassing for them, and nothing certainly punishable. The mornings could not be going any smoother. In two months, I had not heard any books fall of their shelves, I had not heard any noises in the night. I suppose the only thing still off in all of this was Carmen. Her moods were so peculiar. She was always scratching at her back, and eventually she was complaining at how sore it was. In the last week, she began to sit hunched at her organ in hopes of alleviating a bizarre pressure at the small of her back. She insisted this was from traveling back and forth to the village.

One particular morning, we were sharing bread, tea, and juice with a small group of our pupils. They were reciting songs while Carmen would play at the organ. I was watching carefully. Carmen had been snapping all morning. The pain in her back was keeping her awake, and when she did sleep she tossed, and grunted, and turned on the agonizing axis of her spine. She had become a pickier eater, regurgitating after particularly heavy meals, therefore she only consumed small portions. Her face was thin, the black sacks under her eyes were growing, and her nerves had been shorn to a frayed point. I often accompanied her, especially when she was around the children, due to these sudden moods.

“No!” Carmen suddenly snapped, slamming the keys in one violent stroke. “No! That is wrong! The words are wrong. Has nothing sunk in since you’ve been here? Or do you just see our lessons as time to braid your hair, and avoid your own chores, hm!?”

The children were taken aback, one set to crying into his robe.

“Carmen!” I came between her and the children. “These are just children-”

“They are nettlesome little brats who can never remember anything I teach them. Maybe if you taught them?”

“Carmen, stop it. You know that’s not true. Children, head to the church. Nani, please take Kuzhi to wash his face.” The students shuffled out, and I closed the door behind them to turn on Carmen. Her elbow was playing a constant note as it was pinned down on a key. She was rubbing her forehead into her palm, shaking her head. “Carmen. What has come over you?”

“Just tired.”

“You have barely slept, and when you have, it has been poorly. You are hardly eating, you are constantly in complaints of your back. If I have to drag you to the doctor after Mass today, Lord help me, I will if it means I have my old Hermana Carmen back!”

Carmen sighed. Her hands fell into her lap, she had completely deflated. “Nieve, you are right.”

“I only yell because I am concerned. You are not well.”

“I know, I know. We will go together after Mass. I am sorry.”

“Carmen, I am not the one you need apologize to.”

“Then I will find the children before Mass and offer my apologies to them. I should not have snapped so terribly at them.”

“Come then, we will go to the rectory and see if we can find them.”

She began to sob.

I took a seat beside her, and put my arms around her shoulders. They felt skinny, the round crests of them now bony edges underneath her linen habit.

“You will be well in no time. Dr. Gil is very thorough.” I kissed the crown of her head, and she dragged her fingers under her eyes to clear away her tears. “Come,” I helped her to her feet, “or we shall be late!”

Father Alvarelo intercepting us upon entering the rectory. “Carmen,” he said, “what has happened?”

“I would rather explain myself to the children, Father. They are the ones I have snapped at, not at you.”

“But you are here under mine and Leoncio’s order. I would appreciate an explanation!”

I stepped in. “I will gladly explain, Father. Carmen would like to apologize to the children.”

Father Alvarelo stalked past Carmen. Never had I seen him so angry. Considering the subjects of Carmen’s tantrum, however, I cannot say I was too surprised. Father Alvarelo adored the Tairona people, no doubt his love their children was limitless. I followed him outside, he was waiting for me with his arms crossed.

“This is not just today. This is yesterday, the week before that, and the week before that. What is happening?”

“I am not so sure, Father,” I confessed. “We have agreed that she will see the doctor after Mass today. She feels awful for the things she said, and is already making her peace with the children.”

“See that she repairs. If I see little progress after this visitor to Basilio, I will be forced to reconsider her stay here.”

“Father, she is sick - !”

“And yelling at the children. You understand my position, I hope.”

I sighed. “Of course, Father Alvarelo. I will be sure to keep you informed.”

“See that you do,” he snapped, and stormed back into the church, leaving me alone with the morning. I turned to watch the Tairona and the Spanish soldiers making their way into the church. As one particular motley of military men entered, I could not help but more closely recognize one of them. The soldier who had staked a claim with Pepita. Sometimes, when running a few errands here and there about the mission - helping the Tairona servants helped me improve my knowledge of their language - I would spy them together. Slipping off into the jungle, fighting behind the infirmary, the circumstances were endless. He met my gaze, and I turned away to head back into the church instead.

The morning Mass was underway. Seeing my children walk up the aisle with the deacons and priests fills me with pride. I sit in the front row, just off to the right. They can always see me, and they always smile. These days, they are more comfortable with the service. When they begin to sing they bring tears to my eyes. The choir sings with angelic voices, reciting Alleluia in a way that always transports me in prayer. I wonder if anyone else in the church is as touched by these moments as I.

The service continued. Communion was given after a rousing sermon given by Father Alvarelo. He had most of the congregation laughing, and his smile was unquestionable. Perhaps Carmen’s gesture to the children had calmed him. We all stood at the end to sing once more. Carmen had learned one of the childrens’ songs, which was always played after the service. The children enjoyed singing it, and would often sway and bump hips as they recited it. Once the song was finished, though, the last note continued unstopped. There was a crash of notes, disharmonious and ugly. My gaze shot to Carmen’s position. She was slumped against the organ.

“Carmen!” I cried, and pushed from my seat. I thought a bird could not have flown as quick as me. I cleared the space between the front pew and organ in a matter of moments. Father Leoncio was to his feet, but it was Father Alvarelo who reached her side the same moment I did.

Carmen moaned. “Nieve? I am sorry, I cannot remember the music…”

“Enough of that,” Father Alvarelo whispered, and nodded to me. We both brought her to her feet, draping her arms over our shoulders.

“Nieve - !”

Her mouth dropped, and she vomited down the front of her habit. Chunks slopped onto the nave floor. The stink was so acrid and the sound of her gutteral grunts so garbled and strangled I thought I might lose my breakfast too.

“Dear God,” I heard Father Alvarelo breathe. “To Doctor Gil. Hurry. We cannot waste another moment.”

“I cannot remember the music,” Carmen moaned loudly, regurgitating again as her head lolled forward. “I have forgotten the words…”