Chapter 3: Revised

Wow! It sure has been a while, hasn't it? A lot has been happening on this end. There is a small part of me that wishes I still had to do those "What I Did On My Summer Break" essays. You know, like, back in school before you started dissecting owl pellets and shit? Well, on my summer break, I lost my job, and then the boyfriend hit a rough patch, and then my boyfriend became my husband, and I got into culinary school. Now, how about those owl pellets?

Okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty in the capital city here. You aren't here to read up on my personal life, I'm not here to write about personal breakthroughs. I have an LJ for that, a nice, quiet secluded LJ. I'm here to keep this whole novel gravy train going.

So, here is the third chapter of the revise Anchoress draft. Having pulled through the storm, the sisters are now ready to set foot in Santa Marta. We'll be saying farewell to Elias (for now!) and moving right along. A lot of my experiences in Nassau have been translated to the chapter.


Not only my impression of the Bahamas, but also a little church I found there. The church you will be seeing in this chapter was inspired by a church my husband and I went to in Nassau. So many details - big and small - struck me upon setting foot in this church, but what really struck me was the heat, and the fact that I think only one person was on duty in the church. I wanted to put the silence, the heat, and the solitude of this tiny character into this chapter.


Also, I felt that Nieve's first visual encounter with the Tairona was very rushed and minute in the first draft, so as she travels through the port, there is more detail and attention given to what should essentially be - if this were a film - "extras". Recently, I've been watching a lot of Kiruosawa. There are so many things that define him, but for me his work with extras and background motleys/groups/crowds is as intricate and essential to detail as the rest of his techniques and the performances he gets from his casts. I wanted to apply that to Nieve and Carmen's journey through the port to the church.

PS!
If you want to learn more about the Tairona and the "Heart of the World" that is Santa Marta, check this blog out. It's really spectacular!

3

Adan!

We have arrived in one piece; we are in the port of Santa Marta. I must have been so obnoxious this morning. I ran to Carmen’s cabin as soon as I was dressed and barged my way in. My, was she surprised by how tightly I embraced her!

“You are much stronger than my brothers,” she gasped, “for such a little thing.”

“Carmen, we are here. Here! Can you believe this?”

“Be still, Sister; you are far too loud!”

“We must go on deck—hurry! Hurry!”

“Yes, yes. Go on without me, Nieve.” Carmen laughed, she shooed me away. “I will be there when I have finished packing!”

My feet had developed their own impulses. They took off, Adan, carrying me with them. I raced through the galley and climbed the stairs two at a time as I headed for the deck. The ship was not rocking as violently, the stairs were not as slick, and even if they all were, my progress would go unaffected. I was a different creature today, I felt as though I were a child once again.

On deck, the passengers were gathered along the edge of the ship. They gasped and cooed, a mixture of relief and exuberance upon finally catching sight of the port. Such a sun soaked destination had been teasing us as it stayed hidden behind the horizon for months. Behind the gathered crowd, the crew bustled about to prepare the ship for docking once more. Their feet slapped across the deck in a hurried rhythm, and whistled commands pierced between the low deck and highest rigging. The last time the ship was this crowded and active, Adan, we were leaving the Spanish port for Santa Marta. Now we were there!

The smell of the day’s previous storm was in the air, wet and refreshing. The storm had dented the humidity. The sun warmly cuddled the back of my neck through my habit, but such heat was cut significantly by a cool wind. The port was bathed in a welcoming light; it was so appealing, why, it took clenching my hands around the parapet to keep from leaping into the turquoise water to reach the white shore. Beyond the bustling, noisy port was the verdant, exotic rainforest, and looming in the distance of them were mountains, all draped in a cloudy shawls.

Adan, this was no longer a dream induced by the rocking in my cabin; my eyes were open, the texture of the boat was truly beneath my fingertips, I could feel the breeze on my cheeks. I was awake, Adan, and in a matter of moments, we would be anchored and bound to this place.

The plank hit the deck, and I was off like a shooting star, only this time, I was dragging Carmen with me. She held her coif close to her head, her skirts billowed behind her like a sail—can you imagine your sister, Adan, bearing such speed? But I did that morning, and I was not about to let up. Not even as Elias called to us. Carmen looked back at him over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.

“Hermana Nieve, you are possessed. Slow down!”

I turned, marched backward, much to her chagrin, as I spoke excitedly: “This is remarkable. Carmen!” Carmen latched onto my shoulders, and guided me around the fishermen, soldiers, and tradesmen I threatened to bump into the water. “We are halfway around the world. The world! In your whole life, Carmen, did you ever think you would be here?”

“Nieve, please, look where you are going.”

I spun around and through some unknown grace managed to skip over a length of rope that was coiled next some of the local fishermen. Their skin was the color of the earth, like the field beyond our house. We used to look at stars there, Adan, and when it rained the earth around the blades of yellow and green short grass would turn that rich brown. Some boasted gold, one had a thin golden band in his ear, the other wore a dented gold ring on his thumb. The other was in a dark blue gathered hat, he was smoking out of some sort of old reed, as were the others. They snickered playfully, one of them waved at us, and I returned the hail delightedly.

Carmen rolled her eyes and we linked arms. “If I do not keep a hold of you, my suddenly sprightly Sister, I am afraid you will take off into the very jungle.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps it is for the best, then. I will try to contain myself.”

There were quick, heavy footsteps behind us. Elias had caught up to us. He looked so different today than he did yesterday. His hair was smoothed back from his forehead, gathered in a shorn black ribbon. He was shaved, and appeared much more official in a jerkin and doublet. His sword was notched at his side, and he relaxed his hand across the hilt. He finally stopped, leaned further onto the pommel of his sword, and smiled.

“What do you think of it all, Hermanas?”

I could only smile.

We three entered the busy port. Oh, Adan—you would have loved it here! There was so much food. There was conch cooked in hot oil with plantains, and I could smell coconut milk in almost every dish we passed. Sizzling fish and the smell of split oranges hissing in the fire under them. Women were selling long strands of ceramic beads and golden jewelry, and there were men holding up woodcarvings of creatures and masks. Others offered us pink- and cream-colored shells, and still others unfurled loom woven tapestries along their arms to blow brightly in the wind. They drew so close to us, all trying to sell their goods; Carmen blushed and pressed on quickly with me in tow.

She pulled out a copy of the charge we had received from our church back in Spain. “Where are we heading again?”

“You could not have forgotten how to read on our trip,” I teased, and she pinched my side as she set to reading.

“We are to meet at the Santa Marta Cathedral, close to the dock. A missionary will be there.” Carmen fanned herself with the letter. Her face was bright red, and there was an uneven line of perspiration that had soaked through her coif. Not even some minutes off the boat and already Carmen was feeling the heat! “We should find him quickly. Get out of this sun.”

“This way, I think I see a church up ahead,” Elias said, and we journeyed further through the port until we found the modest cathedral Elias had indicated moments ago. The walls were tall and white; the painted windows narrow. A bell was tolling the hour above our heads. Beautiful, low tones bellowed across the bustling port. Carmen pushed open the heavy front door; so distracted was I, she had to catch me by the wrist and pull me after her while Elias held the door. I just could not help myself—I wanted to stay outside, despite the hot morning.

The wooden door sighed shut behind our heels. Inside, we could see just how detailed those painted windows were. One panel boasted a serene Virgin Mary painted in deep blues, pure whites, and strong reds. Her face was glowing with sunlight; she looked charming. What a sight… to see her smiling so benevolently on us from the still glass. I felt as if she were welcoming me. Carmen and I crossed ourselves and knelt in the nave beneath the feet of a tall, wood-carved savior while Elias watched on quietly.

Carmen prayed for us both. “Dear Lord, we give thanks for our swift and safe delivery; bless us with your guidance, your strength, and your kindness.”

We said, “Amen,” together and stood after making the sign of the cross again.

“Excuse me.” The meek voice came from behind us; it sounded as if a mouse had uttered the polite interjection. Elias’s hand fell away from his sword’s hilt once we had turned to find a gentle-looking young man standing in the aisle. His smile was hospitable, his cheeks and neck were shiny with a slight sheen of perspiration. He wore a linen tunic with a similar linen stole draped across his left shoulder.

The letter resurfaced from Carmen’s knapsack. She unfolded it with one hand and peered at the man over the edge of the paper. “Do you know where we could find… Father Victor Alvarelo?”

“Oh, you must be the Sisters from the Santa Maria Cloister back in Spain. Seville, yes?”

“Yes.” I smiled, and he returned the expression with a sigh of relief.

“Padre Alvarelo heard from the dock master yesterday that you would be delayed due to the storm. He took lodgings not too far from here. I can take you to him now, if you’ll just follow me.”

Carmen and I nodded. “Thank you,” she said as the somber deacon led us from the cathedral. Outside, Elias faced all three of us with a comforting smile. His stare, however, soon fell directly on the deacon.

“You will be safe in the port?”

“Of course, signor,” the deacon replied politely. “I have lived here through uprisings and peace, and I have navigated both successfully. The hermanas will be safe in my care.”

“Then I am grateful,” Elias bowed his head respectfully, and started to move off. “I need to join my unit, but hermanas,” he came back to us with a quick step, and kiss both of our cheeks, “it was an honor traveling with you. Be safe.”

“Of course, Elias,” we embraced him, and watched him disappear into the currents of the busy crowd.

We were brought into a dimly lit tavern. The room was layered with drifting curtains of smoke. Bizarre and tantalizing smells came out of a bright kitchen. There were soldiers sitting around a game of cards, none of them I recognized from the ship, and all of them were nursing cups of coffee. Patrons were huddled over the bar, muttering with the tender, and there was a cook at the far end of the room, napping, a book folded on his chest while a couple workers manned the kitchen.

Upon our entrance, all eyes were on us, the new strangers shadowing the bright-faced deacon. After they had soaked in our presence, they returned to their affairs—flipping cards on the table, continuing their whispered conversations with the tender… The chef abandoned his book to check on something in the kitchen before returning to continue his nap.

I saw a hand raise. A small smoking reed was pinched between a forefinger and a middle finger. A tall and lean-looking man stood. The deacon gasped in recognition, waved, and gestured us to follow him around patrons and tables.

I had a clear view of the man now. He was young but still older than the deacon escorting us, I think. His skin was darkly tanned, like a farmer‘s skin. A thin beard framed the length of his jaw and climbed up to a head of unruly hair that was somehow tamed by an old, wide-brimmed leather hat. He was wrapped in a loose linen cassock. A stole, much like the deacon’s, was wrapped around his hip, and a wooden rosary looped around his left wrist. He turned from us to stamp out his hand-rolled tobacco and met us with a beaming smile. He removed the hat, held the garment over his heart, and nodded.

“You are the hermanas sent from Spain. My name is Father Victor Alvarelo.” His smile would have been as bright as the candle stationed in the dusty lantern on his table, only his delighted expression never flickered or wavered, and, as such, shone brighter than that little flame. It was as if he could not believe we were standing in front of him. He was so spirited, so pleased to see us.

“I am so happy you have come to us. We have been looking forward to your arrival, and I must confess,” his honey-brown eyes darted away sheepishly, “you could not have come at a better time.”

“We are blessed to be here, Father Alvarelo.” Carmen was beaming, and who could blame her?
He studied our faces, pleased with Carmen’s answer, and his smile seemed to grow upon once he looked into my eyes. “Well, my dear hermanas,” his arms opened with a welcoming wave, “please, sit! Join me.”