Entry #27

Dearest Adan,

Elias met us with the horses at the bottom of the hill. He led them to us, and while we mounted, he spoke briefly with Father Leoncio.

“Return soon.”

“You will fair fine on your own, Elias?” Father Leoncio inquired firmly, his demand was for an honest answer, not just out of concern for Elias, but the mission he had just sworn to us he would protect.

“I have some Tairona from the village,” he gestured behind him, “and there are still men who will not stand with Lope. Doctor Gil has also managed to sedate Lope... crazy bastard.”

“We will be back, keep an eye open for Father Alvarelo, and if he is not back in the morning organize a messenger to fetch him. He should not be gone this long.” Father Leoncio wheeled his horse around, and took off through the village, my horse followed him. I clutched the reigns tightly, I had never traveled at this speed, but I was too intimidated to demand that the Father slow down. We plowed through the jungle, and left our horses at the bridge. A Tairona was waiting for us, he was waving for us to hurry. I recognized him as the pregnant woman's first son. We followed him quickly, and the village enveloped us. Some were minding their own business, carrying about their own chores, but those close to the woman – now screaming and prostrate in her hut – were gathered around her. A mama was with her, cradling the baby's head and calling for her to push the child out. Father Leoncio knelt beside her, and she fastened her hand around his, and gripped tightly.

The two began to pray together, her body was shaking from the exertion of every fiber she possessed. In her other hand she held a necklace, a golden Tairona pendant dangled from the chain next to a cross. I thought I would join them, but the woman – who had once been so friendly and playful in the kitchen – waved me away violently, screaming to get me away!

“Get her out! Get her out of my home!”

I was snagged by the shoulders before Father Leoncio or I could act upon her requests. I was too terrified to truly move anyway. I had never been treated so hatefully. I was pulled from the hut and was turned to face Mama Gondu himself. He watched me silently, unsure of what to do, his face a mask of thought and calculation. I had tears in my eyes, they burned and disoriented my view of him, making him fuzzy and dream like in my eyes, but no less of a godsend. I lunged for him, I embraced him, and I lay my head on his chest. He seemed taken aback, not sure how to respond. His body was tense, but in a matter of moments he relaxed and drew his arms around me.

“Young Sister,” he sighed and stroked the back of my head soothingly. I withdrew, and wiped my tears away. When I spoke, there was little power left in my voice, almost as if I were ready to expire.

“You wanted to see me?” I inquired softly.

“Yes.” He replied, and followed my gaze. It had traveled back into the hut where the woman was now screaming, her prayers ended by her howls and throes of what I could only guess an indescribable pain.

“Will she make it? Will the baby make it?”

“I cannot say.” He extended his arms toward his hut where I had my fitful dream at the hands of coca and his own interrogations. “Follow me,” he turned on his heel and made his way to the thatched hut. I made no attempt to stray or resist his request. Maybe if I could speak to him, the relations between the mission and the Tairon would be reinforced again. As it stood now, such a relationship was strained and hanging by the thinnest thread. I made my way to the hut.

Inside, there was already a fire burning. No large conflagration to speak of, just a small fire crackling and trailing thick tendrils of smoke through the opening in the hut's roof. There was prepared coca again, I could smell it in the air. Mama Gondu gestured for me to join him at his side. He began chewing coca, and he indicated it to me with a nod. He knew how hard this had to have been, I knew my distaste for the stuff was written over every inch of his face. I still began to chew the coca over in my mouth, pressing it around my gums and against my cheeks much like he and the others did.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Have you been having dreams, Hermana Nieve?”

“... Yes. Terrible ones.”

“Your vision had us in the woods. Have you visited the woods in any other visions since then, Hermana Nieve?”

I answered again, tentatively. “Yes.”

“They frighten you... the woods, Hermana Nieve, why is that?”

I shifted my weight, I looked away from him. “I was lost in the woods as a child. I was very frightened.” A man flashed across my memory, he was dark and stood at the edge of a clearing. He was beckoning me, Adan. “I kept calling for my brother,” and the man he moved closer, “and I kept looking for our friends,” and the man held his hand out to me, “but they were gone,” and there were autumn leaves where I once stood.

“I kept screaming for help,” even as he whispered in my ears, “and I kept searching for some way out of the forest,” even though he held onto me. “I tore my dress that day, a pretty one my mother had made,” on dexterous branches and pinning roots, “and there was mud all over my shoes,” that to this day are probably still in the woods. “A neighbor found me,” it was him all along, “I do not know how I never saw his face,” because his hand had been over my eyes, “until then. He led me home, and watched me go. I was so mad at my brother, I did not speak to him long after that.”

Mama Gondu watched me wring my hands, and watched the tears fill my eyes only to flood down my cheeks.

“I miss him. More than anything, I want him here.” I watched the mama now, neglecting to wipe away my tears. “Why did you ask me this?”

“Your vision of the woods

“Mama Gondu,” came a voice by the hut, and I knew just by his shadow pouring over me, that Father Leoncio had arrived. “The mama needs you.”

“Is it bad?” Mama Gondu asked, his voice choked.

“No, Gondu.” There was the sound of a baby's cry filling the air. Mewling and howling into the night, all I could think about was the day you were born Adan.

Father Leoncio took a place beside me. His legs crossed in front of him, drawing his robe around his knees until the material was slightly taught. He began to pack his pipe, and leaned toward the fire to suck some of the flame into the bowl of it. He exhaled ribbons of smoke, and offered me a puff. I declined, sniffing instead and looking away to hide my face.

“How are you?”

“I am terrible,” I laughed bitterly through my tears.

“Has Mama Gondu helped you?”

“I am not sure,” I shook my head, and eyed the smoking pipe. “Perhaps I will have some.”

He exchanged a glance with his smoke, and then held the burnt offering out to me. I began to puff on the tobacco, and sighed plumes in the midst of a hacking, horrible cough. “How is the baby? And mother?”

“Both are well.”

“A boy or a girl?”

“A boy, Hermana.”

“He sounds like my brother when he was born.”

“Yes. Adan, was it? Your mother superior mentioned that you wrote to him often.”

“I write to him when I can,” I said around a mouthful of smoke, handing him his pipe. He took the trinket back, and kissed the smoking clay mouth. He exhaled through his nostrils while he listened to me. “I remember when he was born... he was sparkling, bloody, and so still in the midwife's arms. My mother was so frightened, because at first he did not move. So still. The midwife struck him across his rump. Would not be the first nor the last time he received such a hit – he was a true, little troublemaker. He started crying and pawing the air. He was alive, and I knew he was the most important treasure of my life.”

“What happened to him?” He shifted into a much more comfortable position, one that could lean him close to the fire which he held his hands out to. His hands wove back and forth around each other, until he was satisfied with the attained warmth. “Is he away?”

“He is dead, Father Leoncio,” to which the Father was deeply taken back. All this time he must have thought you alive, Adan. I cannot blame him, or anyone else for that matter. I write to you every day, Adan. I write to you that you might hear me, that you might forgive me. “It was all my fault.”

Father Leoncio said nothing, he only looked at me, waiting for me to continue. I did so haltingly, and clasped my hands tightly together in my lap. Your story is so old to me. I relive it so many times in a given month. Would I instill such a horrid vision in Father Leoncio's head as life had done to me?

“We were fighting at the top of the stairs and... I pushed him. I did not think I pushed him so hard, but when mother found him on the landing, his had was turned around, and I should have known better in any case. He was staring right back up at me. I supposed you could say that is why I entered the church. I was ashamed after that. I locked myself in my room, I only came out for church, but rarely for food. My parents were never the same after the incident either. We just all grew apart rather than together. I have been atoning for this ever since then.”

For the moment we were both very silent with one another. Outside, the baby was crying, the Tairona were celebrating, and we could hear this in a mixture of laughter and bawling tears. Within the hut though, there was a stillness. We were almost afraid to breathe, he and I. The hut was warm, the fire was popping and prattling on with the wood feeding it. A consuming conversation of heat, smoke, and embers. Father Leoncio slowly reached for me. His arm went around my shoulders and he pulled me close. I had never seen the Father express any sort of tenderness before. I did not resist the kind embrace, the first one I had known in quite some time. My arms swept around him, and I sobbed into his robe, eyes clenched shut and teeth grit against the pain of my own memories for you, Adan. I peered up at Father Leoncio, and he smoothed away my tears and my hair from my face.

“We should go.” He smiled to see me nod and make my own attempt at a grin.

“I am foolish...”

“You are not, nor are you lost. You still walk a path, an honest and faithful path. Do not mistake this: just because you have not reached the end of your journey, does not mean you have lost your way.” I burst into tears, he held me close, I could feel his heart beat against my cheek. “I will pray for your safe delivery, Hermana Nieve,” he leaned my head forward, and the kiss he gave to my brow burned like a blessing.