Entry #26

Adan,

“Above all else; avoid Lope. Do not go near the barn. Do not let him see you, and do not let me see you near him. Not again, not after last night.”

Gabriel watched me over the tails of steam wagging slowly back and forth from our cups of coffee (and tea, respectfully). The morning was leaking in through the window just over his shoulder. We were alone in the mess. By now, wherever we went, the soldiers usually went in the opposite direction. In the midst of our modest breakfast we had seen a couple soldiers enter, see us, and promptly leave. Those who have little problem with us are different; they are the ones who cannot glare at us. They can only look away. What are they ashamed of? That they cannot stay with us for fear of suffering at the hands of their “cohorts”? This seems logical, but I am trying not to think about it.

I am trying to drink my tea. Just a little tea, just a moment of peace, even if the drink is much too hot, the fruit is nice and cool and this seems an even trade.

As for Father Leoncio’s advice, avoiding Lope was no difficult feat, in that Lope was avoiding everyone else. He had burrowed into the darkest corner of his makeshift cell in the barn. I know this mostly from Doctor Gil’s report. Doctor Gil says that for the past few days Lope has refused his meals, and he drinks from the trough in his pin. When he is waking he is screaming, mumbling, tearing at the worms under his skin. Already he has nearly broken Doctor Gil’s arm when the doctor made an attempt to treat the pulsing, pussing warbles.

“When he tears the worms out, they are not fully removed. They rot in his flesh, and he is suffering from infection. It is poisoning him.”

I find it hard to express any remorse. I merely project a sullen expression in an effort to remain neutral, but I cannot deny that that bleak, dark little part of me wants him gone. I find that Doctor Gil is in a similar place. We both have made vows that nearly mirror one another, but even he is finding it difficult to adhere to his code.

“Though let the creature rot then, if he wishes it,” I heard him curse once. He was cradling an already swelling bruise on his jaw.

There were only a few soldiers that offered their services in guarding Lope. The others were fiercely loyal, therefore unnerved and restless at Lope’s incarceration. Sometimes, they would meet in mess to eat, but only truly spoke in the hallways or courtyard of the mission. Why they avoided their barracks, I do not know. Such a place seems ideal for such hushed and harsh conversations. Then again, they have mentioned hearing noises. They have complained to Leoncio before concerning sounds outside their quarters, but no culprit visible. Perhaps this is why they mention something. I think if there was something tangible there, they would have dispatched it by now. Still, I doubt this disturbance is the root of their suddenly very hostile attitudes.

You think I am so dramatic, Adan? I was coming back from mess, and turned the corner en route to my room. There, clustered and with their heads low as a sickly crow, were a group of soldiers in the midst of heated, whispered conversation. I only heard Lope’s name before they stopped to fixate me with icy glares. I felt myself shrink in my habit. I felt like a frightened turtle, only to find my shell was black and white linens. I quickly passed them, my footsteps a seeming and awkward blur. Even as I left them, they still drove their cruel stares into the back of my neck. What they were discussing, Adan, I cannot truly say. I can only assume a wicked intention was at the heart of their dialogue. Their narrowed eyes seemed a solid black against their white backgrounds. Their whole person was bristling, hands flexed at the ready around their dagger (or sword) hilts. I fear not just for myself, but Leoncio as well. Were they planning on freeing Lope?

“Your suspicions are correct,” Elias told me when he was coming off his shift in the barn. He was smoking a pipe, patting the leaves down with his thumb before flicking away the ash. “They are planning something. They were afraid to act, but the longer the Captain is gone, the more bold they become. I think if they want to do something, they will do it soon. Be on your guard, Hermana. Honestly, you should not even be here.”

I remember shaking my head, and I remember mistaking pride for stubbornness. “I will not leave Leoncio, I will not leave the Tairona. Alvarelo will be back. You will see. Things will change.”

He snickered, and tapped out the contents of his spent pipe. “Will? Hermana. Things have changed. I suggest you start formulating a second plan,” he did not glance back, only hooked his thumbs to his belt as he left me by Doctor Gil’s garden, “just in case.”

It has been three days, and there is no sign of Father Alvarelo. Not even a messenger has come to us. The soldiers have gone back to celebrating, pestering what servants remain, and bothering Doctor Gil for drugs which they are outright refused. I have gone to bed again early in hopes that I will hear Father Alvarelo’s return in the courtyard.

Instead, I was visited by Father Leoncio. He was knocking rapidly, and I answered the door with squinting eyes and a tired voice.

“Father?”

“One of the Tairona is giving birth. They have requested I be there.”

“What? Why? They despise us.”

“Is is the parent’s wish. I want you to come.”

“They want you, Father, not I.”

“The parents wish me, but it is Mama Gondu who wishes you.”

I was silent, and my hands tensed around the robe I was clutching about my shoulders. “Mama Gondu?”

“There are horses waiting for us at the bottom of the hill that the Tairon have supplied. I would rather Lope not know we are leaving. Prepare yourself, please, I will fetch you again soon.”