What a strange night, Adan. My nights have become so strange.
I cannot remember my last peaceful evening. The only one I can really, truly recall in the midst of Carmen’s sickness is a night I spent reading to her before falling asleep in my chair. I remember the stillness of that night, how settling it was, and as the morning rose, so too did Carmen in another feverish fit, chasing away the unmoving, cool night. Those few hours though, they were wonderful. I did not dream, I did not suffer any night terrors, or nightmares. I experienced a neutral, black sleep. No images, pleasant or otherwise, dared come near. I still pray - not only for Carmen’s health - but for another night such as that.
Father Alvarelo and I saddled our horses. I was still a little clumsy, and before I mounted up, Father Adan tightened the belt encircling my beast’s belly. I climbed into the saddle, and followed him down the hill from the mission. There were eyes on us in the village. Where usually conversation carried on, dialogues came to a whispering halt, and gazes upturned to the father and I. Word of my fallen sister was spreading. I could tell. They were afraid, tense, and had a hostile doubt that made them sit up straighter, poised as though they would fight or fly, race or stand their ground.
Such silence followed us into the jungle where the branches swayed in the occasionally sharp wind. The path did not seem as clear as it did the first night Father Alavarelo took me to the village. Our way was furthered clouded as we ascended into the mists of the forest. The foggy maw consumed us and swallowed us further down the path. We went around the bridge this time until it dipped to meet another path. Above the canopy, through the blanket of clouds surrounding us, we heard a rumble in the sky, and the scent of rain was on the wind. I was reminded of the dark storm prowling the horizon before I even arrived in Santa Marta, and a shiver ran down my spine.
The road curved up again, making its way to the other side of the bridge. We rode into camp at a slow walk, the knocks of our horses’ hooves on the ground announced our arrival. The village was silent tonight. On previous visits over the last couple months I had heard the hiss of a woman working on a tall loom, the giggles of children up passed their bed timefollowed by mother chastisement. Men playing games, men holding discussion over fires as the women had their own whispered smiles and stories in front of their huts.
Mama Gondu separated himself from a group gathered outside of a much larger hut. I recognized the hovel. The men would usually gather there for religious deliberation, and sometimes would not emerge for hours. Mama Gondu approached us as the other mamas moved into the hut.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. In the time since my first visit I had learned much more of his language. Deciphering him was easier, though I still would have to occasionally urge Tairona to speak a little slower.
“Of course,” Father Alvarelo and the mama embraced, and the mama in turn took me into his arms.
“I have heard of your trials.”
“Not so much as Carmen’s. She has suffered so much,” I returned his embrace, and he held my shoulders to end this union.
“Your Father Alvarelo is much like a son to me, and you… my little sister Nieve, you are just as cherished. I am afraid, however, that your safety - and ours - has come into question. Myself and the mamas want you to tell us of Carmen’s matter.”
I looked at Father Alvarelo. He offered a slow, encouraging nod. Not that I would refuse the mama, he had been so kind to me, but I was reticent. Only the mama were allowed in those huts. They saw Father Alvarelo as a mama, but me? No matter. I would indulge him, and perhaps it would help if for once I was the one who confessed. Father Alvarelo and I followed Mama Gondu into his hut. A tightly woven cover, the loom pattern beautiful, was bound shut behind us. There was a fire burning in the center. Smoke trailed through the roof’s open shaft, and vented the charred fluff into the air stirring with thunder and the promise of rain.
What I noticed first about this hovel, other than all the attention directed at myself and Father Alvarelo, was the intense heat. I had already started to sweat before I took my seat around a small, smoking gourd. I smelled something heady and floral coming from inside, and yet and edge of sappiness. What were they concocting? In front of us were ceramic cups, all with pointed sticks in them. Mama Gondu took a seat in front of me. He had a mask worn around his neck, the face just barely hanging across his narrow chest. The nodded, and each one of us took turns in dipping the tick in the gourd. I instantly recognized the coca, and stiffened. I had heard it was an aphrodisiac from Pepita, or regularly chewed it. The children also enjoyed doing impressions of Mamas in trance, working their jaw to chew at imaginary coca, while walking stiffly like the living dead.
Father Alvarelo was already chewing, and he looked to me. Another permissive nod, though I was still unsure. I tucked the stick in my mouth, worked the sticky end to my cheek, and pulled off the coca leaves. I began to chew, though the taste was wretched. Father Alvarelo leaned back, crossed his legs together, and let his hands drape over his knees.
“Nieve,” Mama Gondu began. “When did Carmen become sick?”
“A couple months ago.”
“Severely or gradually?”
“Gradually, though in the last week severe.”
“Nieve, has Carmen ever been so sick?”
“No, Mama Gondu. This is new to me.”
I was becoming dizzy.
“How many years have you been in your tribe?”
“I was raised catholic, Mama Gondu. I was a candidate two years ago.”
More coca was taken by the men, and I weakly followed suit.
“Why did you come here?”
“I want to be an anchoress. I want to help people.”
“Why did Carmen come here?”
“We were both assigned. She saw this as her duty. I think she was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“The jungle.”
“What of the jungle?”
“Stranger,” I murmured, my eyes drifted shut and opened slowly. The room was spinning, the faces were all melting, and then the hut began to shrink away from me. I had trouble reacting beyond the natural sweat that had began to blossom across my brow. “The jungle,” I muttered, and suddenly, two hands were around my face, cradling my cheeks.
There was me and the Mask. Mama Gondu’s voice came from behind the grimacing mouth and the sharp colors striping under the slits. I flinched, and tried to pull away.
“Shhh,” came Mama Gondu’s soothing whisper. His thumbs rubbed the arch of my cheek just under my gaze. A relief went through me, and the darkness that surrounded us began to melt away. We were standing in a shallow, clear pool, the jungle reflected and watching us. We were engulfed in mist, every bit of it chilling in contrast with the warm air and the soothing temperature of the pool. “Tell me about the stranger.”
“Carmen sees a man,” I shivered, my mouth was filled with the taste of sap, caked into the corners of my lips, sinking into the thin flesh of my gums.
“Where is Carmen?”
“She is on a path.”
“Is she unafraid?”
“No, she is frightened.”
“Tell me about the man.”
“I do not know, this is not my dream.”
“How did you feel when Carmen told you about the man?”
“So scared. A pit opened in my stomach, and I felt that all of me had been sucked through. My heart felt like a block of ice. I was so frightened, Mama Gondu.”
“What does the man do?”
“He beckons her. His touch is hot. She says it burns her. Blisters swell and burst from her skin. He promises her he can cool her.”
“What does the man do?”
“I do not want to say,” I did not weep, but tears pooled, and then spilled over my cheeks.
“Tell me.”
“Carmen has not gone to him yet. She knows he will take her, and she knows she will never find the path again.” A terror seized me. “Someone is here.”
“Nieve.”
“No, no,” I saw a shadow on the bank. “No, no, no, someone is here!” I shrilled.
“Nieve, no one can harm us here.”
“He is on the shore, he wants me. He wants Carmen.”
“Concentrate, Nieve. Look into my face - ”
“No MORE!”
I wrenched myself free, and fell to my knees in the water. The pool splashed around me, and as the water landed to rejoin the glassy surface, the jungle faded. I was surrounded by blackness again, and then the dim light of the hut. I was on my back, shuddering and breathing deeply. Father Alvarelo pushed past Mama Gondu, and gathered me into his arms.
“Nieve! Nieve! Can you hear me?”
“Air. I need air.”
Father Alvarelo tore out of the hut with me. The rain was falling, and splashed my face. I managed to roll out of Father Alvarelo’s arms. I pushed from him, nearly fell into the soil that had started to soften into mud.
“You tricked me!” I screamed. I had taken so much over the last couple days, I could no longer keep my emotions inside. The coca was not aiding in any self-control. I was furious, I felt - “You used me. You used me, you horrible man.”
“Hermana Nieve!” Father Alvarelo seized me before I could run off into the jungle. “Calm yourself.”
“Keep your hands off of me. You and Mama Gondu, you have abused me. You have used my experience. You never told me what would happen - ”
“Nieve, I was not sure you would let him.”
“Had you been an honest man I would not have cared so much, I could have lasted longer. You lied to me, and such cruelty and thoughtlessness can cripple even the strongest.”
“I am sorry…”
“How can I forgive you?” I attacked him.
“Please, control yourself!” Father Alvarelo caught my wrists tightly.
“How could you?” I screamed, and spat at him.
He shoved me against the tree behind me, came close to me. From head to toe, Father Alvarelo shivered. He cradled my cheeks, and kissed my brow with a trembling mouth. I gasped, rain water pouring down my face, sinking through my clothes, and swimming in the very blood racing beneath my skin.
“I beg of you,” he whispered, “be still.”
He watched me in the falling rain, his eyes filled with tears, the drops from the sky already washed my spittle away. The rain was sobering and cool. I broke into tears, I sobbed and he held me tightly.
“You should have said something. I would have been stronger a little longer. You broke me with your lie.”
“I was afraid as well, Nieve. I should have been honest, and I should have trusted you. Please,” he held the back of my neck, and my head was bowed to his shoulder, “find a way to forgive me.”
We were silent in the storm until Mama Gondu found us. He approached, and drew his arms around us both. His mask hung around his neck once more, and rain wept through the grooves of its colorful features. His true face, however, was gray, dark, and exhausted.
“Stay with us tonight, my Young Brother, and my Young Sister. We will care for your horses, we will feed you in the morning, only you should rest now.”
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Entry #13
Adan
Imagine my shock when I saw Captain Gonzalo standing in the infirmary’s doorway. Pepita was greeting him in… seemingly the only way she knew how. Two large hands moved around her hips, tugging her against him, bringing her parted lips to his own waiting mouth. I cringed, and stepped away from the curtain. I saw them pull away from each other.
“I saw something.”
“Dammit,” I heard Pepita hiss. “I will meet you in the stable. Go.”
The infirmary door shut, and in a matter of moments Pepita had stormed her way over to Carmen’s bedside. She threw back the white curtain, and penetrated my started gaze with her own steely glare.
“Will you not mind your own business, woman?”
I thought about backing down, but balled my fists and stood my ground. “I do not know why you dislike me so much. You have been hateful since I have come here. Since Carmen has come here.”
“You really want to know? I do not trust you, woman. I do not trust you. Just because you wear the black and white does not mean you are not altogether without fault and damage, and yet you look down on me.”
“I never - !”
“Ridiculous. You and her both. You see the devil in all things. Do you see the devil in me, little sister?”
I glowered defiantly at her. “He is a married man, Pepita, and Lope hurts you. I do not see the devil in you or them, I only see someone lost, fooling themselves into thinking such deception and manipulation is love.”
“What do you know, little sister? What do you know of any of it?”
The curtain folded over as she released it and stormed off, slamming the infirmary door behind her. I heard momentary stirring from the usually still and restful patients, and then silence. How long did I stand there? I am not sure, Adan. I stood there for quite a while, so surprised by her outburst. How could she accuse me of judgment? She had judged me rotten upon first seeing me! I will admit, my thoughts of Pepita have been disapproving, but have I ever found her wretched for what she has done? Never.
The next morning, I took my breakfast in the infirmary with Carmen. I fed her, and read to her Bible versus. Pepita and Doctor Gil were busy with other patients, so I set to cleaning Carmen. I had seen the doctor and Pepita do so before. I knew how much water was needed, how much soap, where the brushes were. Carmen was washed head to toe, I scrubbed her skin softly, not wanting to apply too much pressure. I prayed and imagined myself washing away her sickness. I lined her red hair over my arm, and stroked the dull strands until they shined. I coaxed any knots free, and then wrapped her hair in a cloth. I fastened the back of her slip and tuck her back under the covers with the lightest of touches. In all of this time, she had nodded to sleep. I looked up from work to see Pepita standing with her arms crossed. The curtain swayed behind her, trying to settle. She must have just arrived.
“Good morning,” I said hoarsely.
“Will you come with me?”
I eyed her. “You are not going to yell at me again, are you? I do not think I could handle such chastisement again.”
“No, obviously. Just follow me, yes?”
I did as she asked, but only after considering the question, the outcome of following her. There was a wave of brashness, I admit, that accompanied a strange stubbornness I felt toward Pepita. If I were to be initiated, I need to cast off such personal offenses. Maybe Pepita really needed me, maybe she wanted to vent. In any case, I had to weather her storm.
I followed.
She led me back into the mission, and we passed into another off-shooting corridor. She unlocked the door, and showed me a simple and small room with a tiny window overlooking the forest and hill. There was a crucifix above her bed, an armoire off to the side, and a chest at the end of her bed. A few dresses and sandals were scattered about the room. There was a small library, and there were sketches disarrayed on a modest desk.
“This is your room?”
“Yes.”
“It is nice,” I said, merely making conversation.
Pepita shut the door, and hesitated with her hand against it. “I am sorry,” she murmured.
I glanced back. “I should apologize to you. I did judge you, you are right.”
“I do love Lope. He is terrible to me. He is hurtful. But I have lived in a world that has given me nothing but hurt. Why should his be any worse than what I have seen? What I have felt?”
“If he is not hurting you, why do you turn to the Captain?”
“Hermana,” she walked past me and sat on her chest. “Sometimes my body needs a rest. The Captain will make love to me. He is rough, but he is not abusive. I enjoy his touch, I enjoy him inside me, and I… Hermana, you are blushing.”
“The details are simply alarming. Why tell me all of this now?”
“I judged you as well, and perhaps I should not have been so quick to. You have cared for your friend when you could have abandoned her to us. So many patients in there are alone.”
“Why?”
Pepita shrugged. “I am not a wretched girl, and I do not need your pity in matters of Lope. The Captain’s infidelity is his decision, not mine. He has been drawn to me since I met him. This, I cannot help. I have avoided him, but he still has pursued me since I came here a year ago. I make love to him because it gives him some sort of solace. Reminds him he is a man.”
“Does Lope know?”
Pepita was silent, and I winced deeply. Pepita sighed. “He would be furious.” Suddenly, she sat up, she stood, she took me by the shoulders firmly. “If you tell him - ”
I pulled away, disgusted. “I have nothing to say to him!”
“There is no one I can speak to here.”
“The Fathers offer confession.”
“I do not want their godly recommendation. My Heavenly relations are not what they used to be.”
“Pepita,” I ventured, the tense moment between us passed now that we were not referring to Lope. “What has happened to you?”
I watched her gather her sketches on the table. Still lives and portraits of patients I recognized from the infirmary. One was a child asleep in a bed under the third window from the door. That bed has not been occupied since Carmen came to recover there.
“I should get back. I cannot leave Doctor Gil for too long. He falls apart without me there, stupid goat,” she rolled her eyes and chuckled.
When we returned to the courtyard, we found Carmen! She was standing at the wooden gate that separated the mission from the side of the hill. Her steps were staggered, each stride staggered and shaking. Doctor Gil emerged from the infirmary, looking about frantically until he found her. Pepita and I exchanged a look. She took off, running along side of Doctor Gil. They both caught up with Carmen just before her foot could touch the soil. Carmen reacted combatively, and started to fling her arms in an attempt to break free. Her fist connected with Pepita’s neck, and the nurse stumbled away, clutching her throat and coughing. The doctor seized Carmen. He caught her around the wrists from behind and she crumbled, screaming, to the ground.
Her screams became heaving sobs. Doctor Gil gathered her, holding her tightly against him as he cradled her in his arms. He began striding back across the courtyard. Pepita was his shadow once more. He fixed her with a dirty look, the first I had ever seen him express.
“Where were you?” Doctor Gil did not wait for an answer as he ducked back into the infirmary. “No visitors!” He called back, specifically aiming that howl at me I should think. Pepita stopped, and her usually strong features melted into a helplessness.
“I am sorry, Nieve. You should go. Come back later tonight.”
But I would not. I took dinner alone in my room, but I would not eat. I broke down. Carmen and I had been fast friends since our candidacy, and before that we attended mass and holidays with our families in Seville. She was not just my sister by profession, she was like a blood relative, and I was watching her deteriorate, constantly tricking myself into thinking she was improving as she wasted away.
A knock at my door roused me.
“Leave me alone!” I called before I could stop myself.
“Hermana Nieve? It is Father Alvarelo. Please, come to the door.”
I sighed, and looked at the door as if Father Alvarelo had already made his way across my threshold. My fingers dragged under my eyes, clearing away the tears from my cheeks. No doubt my gaze was still red and glimmering, however. My progress to the door was slow as I tried to mend my face, wiping my cheeks and neck free of any and all tears. I opened the door, and Father Alvarelo flinched. My quick clean had done little to improve my appearance.
“Hermana Nieve,” he exhaled, brows knit. “You have been weeping.”
“My days are not as simple as they used to be.”
“I am afraid what I am about to ask will not make them any simpler.”
I took a breath, and offered my best attempt at a smile. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
He smiled too, but not out of relief. He was nervous. “The Mamas in the Tairona Village. They want to see me.”
“Then… I wish you the safest travel, Father.”
“They want to see you too.”
Imagine my shock when I saw Captain Gonzalo standing in the infirmary’s doorway. Pepita was greeting him in… seemingly the only way she knew how. Two large hands moved around her hips, tugging her against him, bringing her parted lips to his own waiting mouth. I cringed, and stepped away from the curtain. I saw them pull away from each other.
“I saw something.”
“Dammit,” I heard Pepita hiss. “I will meet you in the stable. Go.”
The infirmary door shut, and in a matter of moments Pepita had stormed her way over to Carmen’s bedside. She threw back the white curtain, and penetrated my started gaze with her own steely glare.
“Will you not mind your own business, woman?”
I thought about backing down, but balled my fists and stood my ground. “I do not know why you dislike me so much. You have been hateful since I have come here. Since Carmen has come here.”
“You really want to know? I do not trust you, woman. I do not trust you. Just because you wear the black and white does not mean you are not altogether without fault and damage, and yet you look down on me.”
“I never - !”
“Ridiculous. You and her both. You see the devil in all things. Do you see the devil in me, little sister?”
I glowered defiantly at her. “He is a married man, Pepita, and Lope hurts you. I do not see the devil in you or them, I only see someone lost, fooling themselves into thinking such deception and manipulation is love.”
“What do you know, little sister? What do you know of any of it?”
The curtain folded over as she released it and stormed off, slamming the infirmary door behind her. I heard momentary stirring from the usually still and restful patients, and then silence. How long did I stand there? I am not sure, Adan. I stood there for quite a while, so surprised by her outburst. How could she accuse me of judgment? She had judged me rotten upon first seeing me! I will admit, my thoughts of Pepita have been disapproving, but have I ever found her wretched for what she has done? Never.
The next morning, I took my breakfast in the infirmary with Carmen. I fed her, and read to her Bible versus. Pepita and Doctor Gil were busy with other patients, so I set to cleaning Carmen. I had seen the doctor and Pepita do so before. I knew how much water was needed, how much soap, where the brushes were. Carmen was washed head to toe, I scrubbed her skin softly, not wanting to apply too much pressure. I prayed and imagined myself washing away her sickness. I lined her red hair over my arm, and stroked the dull strands until they shined. I coaxed any knots free, and then wrapped her hair in a cloth. I fastened the back of her slip and tuck her back under the covers with the lightest of touches. In all of this time, she had nodded to sleep. I looked up from work to see Pepita standing with her arms crossed. The curtain swayed behind her, trying to settle. She must have just arrived.
“Good morning,” I said hoarsely.
“Will you come with me?”
I eyed her. “You are not going to yell at me again, are you? I do not think I could handle such chastisement again.”
“No, obviously. Just follow me, yes?”
I did as she asked, but only after considering the question, the outcome of following her. There was a wave of brashness, I admit, that accompanied a strange stubbornness I felt toward Pepita. If I were to be initiated, I need to cast off such personal offenses. Maybe Pepita really needed me, maybe she wanted to vent. In any case, I had to weather her storm.
I followed.
She led me back into the mission, and we passed into another off-shooting corridor. She unlocked the door, and showed me a simple and small room with a tiny window overlooking the forest and hill. There was a crucifix above her bed, an armoire off to the side, and a chest at the end of her bed. A few dresses and sandals were scattered about the room. There was a small library, and there were sketches disarrayed on a modest desk.
“This is your room?”
“Yes.”
“It is nice,” I said, merely making conversation.
Pepita shut the door, and hesitated with her hand against it. “I am sorry,” she murmured.
I glanced back. “I should apologize to you. I did judge you, you are right.”
“I do love Lope. He is terrible to me. He is hurtful. But I have lived in a world that has given me nothing but hurt. Why should his be any worse than what I have seen? What I have felt?”
“If he is not hurting you, why do you turn to the Captain?”
“Hermana,” she walked past me and sat on her chest. “Sometimes my body needs a rest. The Captain will make love to me. He is rough, but he is not abusive. I enjoy his touch, I enjoy him inside me, and I… Hermana, you are blushing.”
“The details are simply alarming. Why tell me all of this now?”
“I judged you as well, and perhaps I should not have been so quick to. You have cared for your friend when you could have abandoned her to us. So many patients in there are alone.”
“Why?”
Pepita shrugged. “I am not a wretched girl, and I do not need your pity in matters of Lope. The Captain’s infidelity is his decision, not mine. He has been drawn to me since I met him. This, I cannot help. I have avoided him, but he still has pursued me since I came here a year ago. I make love to him because it gives him some sort of solace. Reminds him he is a man.”
“Does Lope know?”
Pepita was silent, and I winced deeply. Pepita sighed. “He would be furious.” Suddenly, she sat up, she stood, she took me by the shoulders firmly. “If you tell him - ”
I pulled away, disgusted. “I have nothing to say to him!”
“There is no one I can speak to here.”
“The Fathers offer confession.”
“I do not want their godly recommendation. My Heavenly relations are not what they used to be.”
“Pepita,” I ventured, the tense moment between us passed now that we were not referring to Lope. “What has happened to you?”
I watched her gather her sketches on the table. Still lives and portraits of patients I recognized from the infirmary. One was a child asleep in a bed under the third window from the door. That bed has not been occupied since Carmen came to recover there.
“I should get back. I cannot leave Doctor Gil for too long. He falls apart without me there, stupid goat,” she rolled her eyes and chuckled.
When we returned to the courtyard, we found Carmen! She was standing at the wooden gate that separated the mission from the side of the hill. Her steps were staggered, each stride staggered and shaking. Doctor Gil emerged from the infirmary, looking about frantically until he found her. Pepita and I exchanged a look. She took off, running along side of Doctor Gil. They both caught up with Carmen just before her foot could touch the soil. Carmen reacted combatively, and started to fling her arms in an attempt to break free. Her fist connected with Pepita’s neck, and the nurse stumbled away, clutching her throat and coughing. The doctor seized Carmen. He caught her around the wrists from behind and she crumbled, screaming, to the ground.
Her screams became heaving sobs. Doctor Gil gathered her, holding her tightly against him as he cradled her in his arms. He began striding back across the courtyard. Pepita was his shadow once more. He fixed her with a dirty look, the first I had ever seen him express.
“Where were you?” Doctor Gil did not wait for an answer as he ducked back into the infirmary. “No visitors!” He called back, specifically aiming that howl at me I should think. Pepita stopped, and her usually strong features melted into a helplessness.
“I am sorry, Nieve. You should go. Come back later tonight.”
But I would not. I took dinner alone in my room, but I would not eat. I broke down. Carmen and I had been fast friends since our candidacy, and before that we attended mass and holidays with our families in Seville. She was not just my sister by profession, she was like a blood relative, and I was watching her deteriorate, constantly tricking myself into thinking she was improving as she wasted away.
A knock at my door roused me.
“Leave me alone!” I called before I could stop myself.
“Hermana Nieve? It is Father Alvarelo. Please, come to the door.”
I sighed, and looked at the door as if Father Alvarelo had already made his way across my threshold. My fingers dragged under my eyes, clearing away the tears from my cheeks. No doubt my gaze was still red and glimmering, however. My progress to the door was slow as I tried to mend my face, wiping my cheeks and neck free of any and all tears. I opened the door, and Father Alvarelo flinched. My quick clean had done little to improve my appearance.
“Hermana Nieve,” he exhaled, brows knit. “You have been weeping.”
“My days are not as simple as they used to be.”
“I am afraid what I am about to ask will not make them any simpler.”
I took a breath, and offered my best attempt at a smile. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
He smiled too, but not out of relief. He was nervous. “The Mamas in the Tairona Village. They want to see me.”
“Then… I wish you the safest travel, Father.”
“They want to see you too.”
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Entry #12
Adan,
The infirmary is my second room. I do all but sleep in it, this white space with the clean smell and the occasional cough from a patient tucked against the wall, behind thin curtains. Pepita is always scowling unless her the military lover I mentioned earlier visits her. His name is Lope Romero. He is the head of his unit, and absolutely foul to Pepita. He grabs her roughly, he leaves bruises on her skin that match his fingertips. His words are cold even on my ears, and I want nothing to do with him. Pepita still leaves with him almost every night, though some nights she will remain with him behind a curtain, and I can hear him grunt and push and chuckle.
My class has shrunk, Adan. Many of the children have stopped coming. I wonder if word is spreading through the Tairona village. Why should any of them be so troubled? Carmen was only sick, infected, an ailment Doctor Gil was more than able to mend. Why, just in the last few days color has returned to Carmen’s cheeks, and the three wounds on her back have diminished. Every thing will be fine, and there is no need to fool ourselves into such a fretful state.
Adan, I speak of foolishness, and yet I practice it. Even in the same breath that I have told you we should not worry ourselves so sick, I am fearful. Carmen’s sickness was so sudden and so unexpected. I am still shaken to my core. Sure, she is showing improvement, but I am not sure she has completely recovered.
Let me explain.
The other morning I was helping her eat her breakfast. She was eating slowly. Her sleep had not been completely serene the prior night. When I hear her thrashing under her covers, mumbling through lips that move faster than my feet could ever run, gripping tightly into her sheets, I am at her side, and I lay my hand on her forehead.
And she stops, weeps, and sleeps.
She shifted her food experimentally in her mouth, her jaw a rotating grind that hesitated with each passing thought. What was on her mind? A smile, and she shook her head, matching my bewildered gaze with her probing one.
“You have been so good to me.”
“How else could I be?”
“I am so sorry. I have been difficult.”
“You do not need to apologize.” I thought of the night she spat on me, the mornings her voices were hoarse and layered with groaning and hisses.
“I have been dreaming…”
“You have been fitful in your sleep, this is true. Is there anything I can do?”
“Would you listen to a lost soul like this?”
“You are not lost, Carmen. What makes you say this?”
“In my dreams there is a man. He is very dark, I can barely see him. He comes to me in the jungle. The leaves are so cool around us, and the breeze is warm and summery, but the night is as black as he.”
I leaned forward, I took her hand.
“In my dreams, this man. This man, he touches me. He… kisses me.” Tears bubble in her eyes and stroke crystal, wet beads down her cheeks. “He promises me so much, and his touch is like ten candles touching my waist. My neck. My breasts.” She tugs her slip so tightly around her that the edges of it are drawn taught into her skin, pinching the flesh red and white.
“I am burning. His touch is burning me. Blistering my skin. He tells me I am already his. He tells me the jungle is cool and sweet, that I will find relief with him there.”
“Carmen,” I finally manage to catch my breath. “Do you go?”
“No. No, Nieve, I do not dare. For I would not come back.”
I leave her shortly after this. I have not eaten since breakfast, and the sun is started to creep away from the window over Carmen’s head. I move to my room first to switch into a different habit, to rinse my face. Water streams along my features and sputters back into bowl beneath me. The surface begins to calm, but the whole mass in the bowl is see-sawing back and forth from when my hands disturbed it.
Upon leaving, I hear something that takes me back to my first day in the mission. Surprisingly, the sounds of argument and human disagreement is pleasing to me considering what the last few nights, no, the last few weeks, have brought to me. I recognize the arguers. The rarely seen Captain Gonzalo and the equally secretive Father Leoncio, who always locks himself away in his study after dinner. I make my way slowly down the hall toward Father Leoncio’s door, but stop a ways of and lean my shoulder on the wall.
“I read Lope’s report,” says Captain Gonzalo, that grind always nestled at the back of hit throat. “This Hermana Carmen, this sickness. You have indicated the workers have been sick as well before her? These are poor conditions for my men.”
“The seasons change, and as they do, we are prone to fall ill.”
“Carmen - ”
“Hermana Carmen’s circumstance is atypical, but unrelated to the temperament of your men, as well as their health. I only say this because her sickness has not spread to the doctor, nor to his assistant. I suspect if such an occurrence had transpired, Lope would be the first to know.”
A heavy silence. I can see Father Leoncio now. His gaze is even and set into the Captain’s reddening face. The Captain’s impatience finally gives away.
“I am here with my wife for Christmas mass. Should anything occur. Anything that could endanger her, anything that could endanger my men, I will take my leave to the bishop in Mexico himself. I will have this place sacked, and my men relocated. Sickness. Waning food. Consistent disrepair. It is amazing your congregation - ”
“My congregation, Captain,” Father Leoncio for once spoils his own tempered impatience, and I hear his voice take on a coldness I could never imagine, even in a man like Leoncio, “is best left out of this argument, for your own good.”
“Hmph.” I can hear Captain Gonzalo gather his things, and duck against a door set into a deep wooden frame. “Good day, Father. Until Christmas.”
Footsteps, spurs chiming dully on Gonzalo’s heels, and the footsteps growing louder. Captain Gonzalo passes me, does not see me, and continues stiffly down the hall.
“If only his timing were as keen as yours, Hermana Nieve. You seem to find these fights with a preternatural punctuality.”
I tilted my head out. Father Leoncio was lighting a pipe outside of his study, and sighing smoke through his nose and lips. “I am sorry, Father.”
“His timing is horrible. He is right; we are in constant need of repair - hence the workers - and our food has been difficult to manage as our little town under the hill grows. Carmen’s affliction has taxed us all, and he… Forget it,” Father Leoncio cracked his neck as I stepped out from my little hiding place. “How is she?”
“She has dreams, Father. Terrible dreams. I think,” and I could not believe I was saying this, “the devil has been set upon her.”
Father Leoncio paused in his inhale, and scowled. “That is a bold accusation.”
“I only go by her stories and her actions. She is not herself, and she will admit to this as well. I am no longer worried for her body, Father, but for her soul.”
“She will mend,” Father Leoncio barked, “and she will be playing our music again soon enough.”
Perhaps, considering the argument he had just experienced, it was best for me to agree, even if I did not fully believe him to be correct in any of this. “Yes, Father.”
That night, I was startled from my sleep when I felt something brush my shoulder. I sat bolt upright from my bed, nearly slamming my head into Father Alvarelo’s nose. He put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, and reached tentatively for me.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he chuckled, and despite all of the madness and stress I had been feeling, I too managed a smile.
“No. No, of course not. I have been pushed to very edge, I am afraid. Sorry if I - ”
“Please. I should not have snuck up on you. I never figured you such a light sleeper.”
“I did not used to be. They used to ring the bell three extra tolls back at our cloister, just to wake me up.” We shared a laugh, weak as my joke was, I think we were both looking for a chance to smile again.
“Is she doing better?”
“Much,” I said, though I was not sure even I could believe this fully, something told me I was not alone. Father Alvarelo lowered his eyes, but then found my gaze in the dark again and smiled for me.
“I left you some tea and biscuits on your night stand,” he nodded just past my shoulder, and sure enough there was my night treat. “You missed dinner, I figured you would be hungry.”
“Oh, I am starving, Father Alvarelo. Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
Father Alvarelo left me. I swung my legs slowly over the lip of the bed, and split one of the biscuits. I thought I tucked the first half away in one bite, and my mouth was soon dry and packed with dough. I ignored my hunger momentarily to pace my meal, and recovered with a few sips of tea. When I saw a dark shape, much bigger than Father Alvarelo, standing in the doorway beyond my white curtain… I froze.
The infirmary is my second room. I do all but sleep in it, this white space with the clean smell and the occasional cough from a patient tucked against the wall, behind thin curtains. Pepita is always scowling unless her the military lover I mentioned earlier visits her. His name is Lope Romero. He is the head of his unit, and absolutely foul to Pepita. He grabs her roughly, he leaves bruises on her skin that match his fingertips. His words are cold even on my ears, and I want nothing to do with him. Pepita still leaves with him almost every night, though some nights she will remain with him behind a curtain, and I can hear him grunt and push and chuckle.
My class has shrunk, Adan. Many of the children have stopped coming. I wonder if word is spreading through the Tairona village. Why should any of them be so troubled? Carmen was only sick, infected, an ailment Doctor Gil was more than able to mend. Why, just in the last few days color has returned to Carmen’s cheeks, and the three wounds on her back have diminished. Every thing will be fine, and there is no need to fool ourselves into such a fretful state.
Adan, I speak of foolishness, and yet I practice it. Even in the same breath that I have told you we should not worry ourselves so sick, I am fearful. Carmen’s sickness was so sudden and so unexpected. I am still shaken to my core. Sure, she is showing improvement, but I am not sure she has completely recovered.
Let me explain.
The other morning I was helping her eat her breakfast. She was eating slowly. Her sleep had not been completely serene the prior night. When I hear her thrashing under her covers, mumbling through lips that move faster than my feet could ever run, gripping tightly into her sheets, I am at her side, and I lay my hand on her forehead.
And she stops, weeps, and sleeps.
She shifted her food experimentally in her mouth, her jaw a rotating grind that hesitated with each passing thought. What was on her mind? A smile, and she shook her head, matching my bewildered gaze with her probing one.
“You have been so good to me.”
“How else could I be?”
“I am so sorry. I have been difficult.”
“You do not need to apologize.” I thought of the night she spat on me, the mornings her voices were hoarse and layered with groaning and hisses.
“I have been dreaming…”
“You have been fitful in your sleep, this is true. Is there anything I can do?”
“Would you listen to a lost soul like this?”
“You are not lost, Carmen. What makes you say this?”
“In my dreams there is a man. He is very dark, I can barely see him. He comes to me in the jungle. The leaves are so cool around us, and the breeze is warm and summery, but the night is as black as he.”
I leaned forward, I took her hand.
“In my dreams, this man. This man, he touches me. He… kisses me.” Tears bubble in her eyes and stroke crystal, wet beads down her cheeks. “He promises me so much, and his touch is like ten candles touching my waist. My neck. My breasts.” She tugs her slip so tightly around her that the edges of it are drawn taught into her skin, pinching the flesh red and white.
“I am burning. His touch is burning me. Blistering my skin. He tells me I am already his. He tells me the jungle is cool and sweet, that I will find relief with him there.”
“Carmen,” I finally manage to catch my breath. “Do you go?”
“No. No, Nieve, I do not dare. For I would not come back.”
I leave her shortly after this. I have not eaten since breakfast, and the sun is started to creep away from the window over Carmen’s head. I move to my room first to switch into a different habit, to rinse my face. Water streams along my features and sputters back into bowl beneath me. The surface begins to calm, but the whole mass in the bowl is see-sawing back and forth from when my hands disturbed it.
Upon leaving, I hear something that takes me back to my first day in the mission. Surprisingly, the sounds of argument and human disagreement is pleasing to me considering what the last few nights, no, the last few weeks, have brought to me. I recognize the arguers. The rarely seen Captain Gonzalo and the equally secretive Father Leoncio, who always locks himself away in his study after dinner. I make my way slowly down the hall toward Father Leoncio’s door, but stop a ways of and lean my shoulder on the wall.
“I read Lope’s report,” says Captain Gonzalo, that grind always nestled at the back of hit throat. “This Hermana Carmen, this sickness. You have indicated the workers have been sick as well before her? These are poor conditions for my men.”
“The seasons change, and as they do, we are prone to fall ill.”
“Carmen - ”
“Hermana Carmen’s circumstance is atypical, but unrelated to the temperament of your men, as well as their health. I only say this because her sickness has not spread to the doctor, nor to his assistant. I suspect if such an occurrence had transpired, Lope would be the first to know.”
A heavy silence. I can see Father Leoncio now. His gaze is even and set into the Captain’s reddening face. The Captain’s impatience finally gives away.
“I am here with my wife for Christmas mass. Should anything occur. Anything that could endanger her, anything that could endanger my men, I will take my leave to the bishop in Mexico himself. I will have this place sacked, and my men relocated. Sickness. Waning food. Consistent disrepair. It is amazing your congregation - ”
“My congregation, Captain,” Father Leoncio for once spoils his own tempered impatience, and I hear his voice take on a coldness I could never imagine, even in a man like Leoncio, “is best left out of this argument, for your own good.”
“Hmph.” I can hear Captain Gonzalo gather his things, and duck against a door set into a deep wooden frame. “Good day, Father. Until Christmas.”
Footsteps, spurs chiming dully on Gonzalo’s heels, and the footsteps growing louder. Captain Gonzalo passes me, does not see me, and continues stiffly down the hall.
“If only his timing were as keen as yours, Hermana Nieve. You seem to find these fights with a preternatural punctuality.”
I tilted my head out. Father Leoncio was lighting a pipe outside of his study, and sighing smoke through his nose and lips. “I am sorry, Father.”
“His timing is horrible. He is right; we are in constant need of repair - hence the workers - and our food has been difficult to manage as our little town under the hill grows. Carmen’s affliction has taxed us all, and he… Forget it,” Father Leoncio cracked his neck as I stepped out from my little hiding place. “How is she?”
“She has dreams, Father. Terrible dreams. I think,” and I could not believe I was saying this, “the devil has been set upon her.”
Father Leoncio paused in his inhale, and scowled. “That is a bold accusation.”
“I only go by her stories and her actions. She is not herself, and she will admit to this as well. I am no longer worried for her body, Father, but for her soul.”
“She will mend,” Father Leoncio barked, “and she will be playing our music again soon enough.”
Perhaps, considering the argument he had just experienced, it was best for me to agree, even if I did not fully believe him to be correct in any of this. “Yes, Father.”
That night, I was startled from my sleep when I felt something brush my shoulder. I sat bolt upright from my bed, nearly slamming my head into Father Alvarelo’s nose. He put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, and reached tentatively for me.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he chuckled, and despite all of the madness and stress I had been feeling, I too managed a smile.
“No. No, of course not. I have been pushed to very edge, I am afraid. Sorry if I - ”
“Please. I should not have snuck up on you. I never figured you such a light sleeper.”
“I did not used to be. They used to ring the bell three extra tolls back at our cloister, just to wake me up.” We shared a laugh, weak as my joke was, I think we were both looking for a chance to smile again.
“Is she doing better?”
“Much,” I said, though I was not sure even I could believe this fully, something told me I was not alone. Father Alvarelo lowered his eyes, but then found my gaze in the dark again and smiled for me.
“I left you some tea and biscuits on your night stand,” he nodded just past my shoulder, and sure enough there was my night treat. “You missed dinner, I figured you would be hungry.”
“Oh, I am starving, Father Alvarelo. Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
Father Alvarelo left me. I swung my legs slowly over the lip of the bed, and split one of the biscuits. I thought I tucked the first half away in one bite, and my mouth was soon dry and packed with dough. I ignored my hunger momentarily to pace my meal, and recovered with a few sips of tea. When I saw a dark shape, much bigger than Father Alvarelo, standing in the doorway beyond my white curtain… I froze.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Entry #11
Adan,
What a wretched night, a sleepless, black, and terrible set of hours I wish I could have back to try again, ending a day I wish I had never started. My mind and heart were so centered around my sister, I swear, I thought I saw her. I heard the latch of my door move. Dusty light from the corridor seeped in like wax rolling down a candle, followed by the shrill hiss of my door’s hinges, that light shrinking thinner and thinner until it was just an off-yellow sliver. At first, I thought it a draught from the corridor. The mission had a tendency to heave these sighs that groaned lonely along the walls. I pushed up, squinted. A shape outside my door, shoulders hunched, breath shallow, short.
“… Carmen?”
A gasp, my door slammed, and I heard footsteps retreating down the hall, the sound reminding me of when father‘s hounds would run through the kitchen; their nails clicking and clicking across the tiles. Perhaps I would not still be writing about it this morning, when I should be eating the breakfast losing its heat in front of me. I would be, Adan, I would, but I had locked my door, and I am the only one with the key.
My thoughts were cut short. Doctor Gil took a seat beside me. Only bread and coffee would sustain him this morning. Usually he took fruit and eggs, but I wondered if he had even the strength to chew such morsels over. He looked so weak and tired. His face was ashen, unexcited. There were bags under his eyes, whose gaze seemed to peer into the cracks of the wall in front of us. His purpose was indeed to sit next to me, but for the moment he seemed in a daze. Then, the tiniest smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. He looked at me.
“I apologize. Good morning, Hermana Nieve. For a moment I forgot where I was.”
“A late night, Doctor?”
“Why, yes,” he sighed. “All night, as a matter of fact.”
I was afraid to hear his result. “How is she?”
“She has been suffering from lack of meals and water. You saw her last night.”
“Yes,” I shivered.
“I managed to reset her arm. Aside from her tantrums and sickness, Carmen has also spent the last week suffering from infection. This affliction could explain her moodiness, and the fever we have been steadily breaking since last night.”
“Infection?”
“Are you familiar with the bot fly, Hermana Nieve?”
I had already canceled my classes, and I am relieved I did. The children did not need to see this, they did not need to hear her. Doctor Gil suggested I finish my breakfast, so much as it was. My own distress for Carmen kept me from completely enjoying my meal. I was joined by Father Alvarelo, who met me in the courtyard, and made his way to the infirmary with me. We walked together silently, though I had the impression he meant to say something. His head kept turning to watch my profile, and his lips seemed to squirm with sentences kept behind clenched teeth. In the end, he was silent.
We stepped inside. The patients that were there had been relocated to the furthest wing of the infirmary. Whether this was the doctor’s decision, as Carmen was being rather destructive the other night, or the patients’ was beyond me. Frankly, I was focused solely on Carmen.
The curtain was pulled aside. There was Pepita who was pouring tea for the still sleeping Carmen. Doctor Gil spoke in hushed tones, and waved Father Alvarelo and I over. Father Alvarelo stopped me.
“Will you be all right?”
“Father, I sincerely doubt it. What has happened to Carmen is nightmarish. I cannot turn away from her, nor could I turn her away though. I must do this.”
Father Alvarelo nodded. This was a fine enough answer for him, and even if it was not, I would insist on my presence. We both came to stand at Carmen’s bedside. The Tairona woman nodded to us, and moved to Doctor Gil’s side. Father Alvarelo pulled a chair up to the bed, facing Carmen. Pepita had untied the back of Carmen‘s slip. There were patches of gauze, pasted to her back. Doctor Gil kept his voice low, and nodded to myself and Father Alvarelo.
“Carmen,” Father Alvarelo called tenderly, his hand smoothed across Carmen’s cheek. Her coif removed, curled red locks hung around her neck and cheek, plastered there by the nights previous sweat. She flickered to life slowly, just as I knelt beside Father Alvarelo.
“Oh, Nieve,” she sighed, looking at me with such a pitiful gaze. “I am wretched. Bewildered. Tell me where I am.”
“You are with Doctor Gil.”
Pepita snorted. “Unbelievable. She does not recall a single moment, does she?”
Doctor Gil frowned. “Perhaps you could fetch me a dish, please, Pepita.”
She rolled her eyes and left us, tossing the curtain aside as she went on her way.
My attention never left Carmen. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
Her lips folded, her chin quivered as she shook her head. She winced deeply. Doctor Gil had started massaging in circle motions around her wounds. Carmen stiffened, a small sound of hurt escaping her.
“My dear Nieve,” the Doctor beckoned me, “could you please fetch me a bowl of water and some rags, please? You can use the well by the stable.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I was to my feet, kissing Carmen’s brow, and moving out the door.
When I returned, the smell of coconut was in the air, mixed with a sappy smell. Like pine, but not quite the same perfume. I used my shoulder to nudge through the opening in the curtain. Carmen’s back had been revealed. The gauze had been removed to show three holes about the size of tiny marbles. Two were swollen and red, and at the center was something white. I nearly dropped the water when I saw these white things pulse, twitch, and then bulge further out under the circular pressure from Doctor Gil‘s fingertips, now shiny with oil. The third cavity was hollowed out, but more inflamed than the other holes. I did not see anything white inside.
“Father, it appears she clawed one out,” Doctor Gil said, “but was either too frightened or too embarrassed to tell anyone. I am guessing she was too afraid to attempt to remove the other ones. She did not fully remove this first torsalo from its warble here, and therefore it is infected. I managed to clean it, but we must remove the others. This will relieve the pressure and discomfort in her back.”
“Will she be in pain?” I stammered, unable to move due to the ghastly sight that had been tattooed in my mind.
They all turned to look at me. Doctor Gil took the empty dish from Pepita as she bumped by me on her way back to the bed. “Not considerable pain,” he said, “more of a discomfort.”
Carmen whimpered, and Father Alvarelo took the water and rags from me. He touched my arm, and I peered at the concerned face considering me. “Do not worry about me,” I moved by him, and took a seat in front of Carmen. I took her hand in mine, and she began to weep.
“Nieve…”
“Shh, I am here.”
“The devil is in me. I can feel him. He is inside me. My insides burn,” she shuddered, and I pressed my brow to hers.
“Just hold my hand.”
The Doctor set to work removing the worms. He would occasionally remark how much they resisted, and Carmen hissed that she could feel them holding on, that their needles were set inside of her. I went to Father Alvarelo to take a wet rag from the bowl. I chastise myself now for looking over my shoulder. Why do I have to be so curious? Doctor Gil was removing the first of the two worms. Carmen’s skin was tugged as the bot fly’s larva offered one last clinging resistance. Her flesh rolled around its last ridge, swelled, and then withdrew sharply as the larva was snapped free. The worm was about as long as the distance between my first and second knuckle. It was white, a dull grey color lurked beneath the pale, slimy surface, and there were black, toothy spurs sticking out in greater numbers toward the thickest, writing end. Blood oozed down her back, and the Doctor deposited the worm in the dish, and in the blink of an eye was pressing a new square of gauze to her back.
I was back at Carmen’s side, holding her hand, using my other to draw the rag across her cheeks, neck, and brow. Anything to keep her cool and to keep her calm. I gripped her tightly to keep from losing my own nerve. I was already so close to losing my meager breakfast.
“The first one is out, Carmen,” I coo’ed delicately, and smiled in the hopes that that smile would make her less afraid. “We are almost done. You will be fine. You will be fine, Carmen.”
“No, Nieve,” she shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut, and she burst into further tears. “I will not.” Her sunken eyes reopened, blood shot and glistening with tears. Her face was tense and colorless. Spit had caked at the corners of her lips, stretching between her upper and lower lip. “None of us will. We are damned. We are all of us damned.”
What a wretched night, a sleepless, black, and terrible set of hours I wish I could have back to try again, ending a day I wish I had never started. My mind and heart were so centered around my sister, I swear, I thought I saw her. I heard the latch of my door move. Dusty light from the corridor seeped in like wax rolling down a candle, followed by the shrill hiss of my door’s hinges, that light shrinking thinner and thinner until it was just an off-yellow sliver. At first, I thought it a draught from the corridor. The mission had a tendency to heave these sighs that groaned lonely along the walls. I pushed up, squinted. A shape outside my door, shoulders hunched, breath shallow, short.
“… Carmen?”
A gasp, my door slammed, and I heard footsteps retreating down the hall, the sound reminding me of when father‘s hounds would run through the kitchen; their nails clicking and clicking across the tiles. Perhaps I would not still be writing about it this morning, when I should be eating the breakfast losing its heat in front of me. I would be, Adan, I would, but I had locked my door, and I am the only one with the key.
My thoughts were cut short. Doctor Gil took a seat beside me. Only bread and coffee would sustain him this morning. Usually he took fruit and eggs, but I wondered if he had even the strength to chew such morsels over. He looked so weak and tired. His face was ashen, unexcited. There were bags under his eyes, whose gaze seemed to peer into the cracks of the wall in front of us. His purpose was indeed to sit next to me, but for the moment he seemed in a daze. Then, the tiniest smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. He looked at me.
“I apologize. Good morning, Hermana Nieve. For a moment I forgot where I was.”
“A late night, Doctor?”
“Why, yes,” he sighed. “All night, as a matter of fact.”
I was afraid to hear his result. “How is she?”
“She has been suffering from lack of meals and water. You saw her last night.”
“Yes,” I shivered.
“I managed to reset her arm. Aside from her tantrums and sickness, Carmen has also spent the last week suffering from infection. This affliction could explain her moodiness, and the fever we have been steadily breaking since last night.”
“Infection?”
“Are you familiar with the bot fly, Hermana Nieve?”
I had already canceled my classes, and I am relieved I did. The children did not need to see this, they did not need to hear her. Doctor Gil suggested I finish my breakfast, so much as it was. My own distress for Carmen kept me from completely enjoying my meal. I was joined by Father Alvarelo, who met me in the courtyard, and made his way to the infirmary with me. We walked together silently, though I had the impression he meant to say something. His head kept turning to watch my profile, and his lips seemed to squirm with sentences kept behind clenched teeth. In the end, he was silent.
We stepped inside. The patients that were there had been relocated to the furthest wing of the infirmary. Whether this was the doctor’s decision, as Carmen was being rather destructive the other night, or the patients’ was beyond me. Frankly, I was focused solely on Carmen.
The curtain was pulled aside. There was Pepita who was pouring tea for the still sleeping Carmen. Doctor Gil spoke in hushed tones, and waved Father Alvarelo and I over. Father Alvarelo stopped me.
“Will you be all right?”
“Father, I sincerely doubt it. What has happened to Carmen is nightmarish. I cannot turn away from her, nor could I turn her away though. I must do this.”
Father Alvarelo nodded. This was a fine enough answer for him, and even if it was not, I would insist on my presence. We both came to stand at Carmen’s bedside. The Tairona woman nodded to us, and moved to Doctor Gil’s side. Father Alvarelo pulled a chair up to the bed, facing Carmen. Pepita had untied the back of Carmen‘s slip. There were patches of gauze, pasted to her back. Doctor Gil kept his voice low, and nodded to myself and Father Alvarelo.
“Carmen,” Father Alvarelo called tenderly, his hand smoothed across Carmen’s cheek. Her coif removed, curled red locks hung around her neck and cheek, plastered there by the nights previous sweat. She flickered to life slowly, just as I knelt beside Father Alvarelo.
“Oh, Nieve,” she sighed, looking at me with such a pitiful gaze. “I am wretched. Bewildered. Tell me where I am.”
“You are with Doctor Gil.”
Pepita snorted. “Unbelievable. She does not recall a single moment, does she?”
Doctor Gil frowned. “Perhaps you could fetch me a dish, please, Pepita.”
She rolled her eyes and left us, tossing the curtain aside as she went on her way.
My attention never left Carmen. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
Her lips folded, her chin quivered as she shook her head. She winced deeply. Doctor Gil had started massaging in circle motions around her wounds. Carmen stiffened, a small sound of hurt escaping her.
“My dear Nieve,” the Doctor beckoned me, “could you please fetch me a bowl of water and some rags, please? You can use the well by the stable.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I was to my feet, kissing Carmen’s brow, and moving out the door.
When I returned, the smell of coconut was in the air, mixed with a sappy smell. Like pine, but not quite the same perfume. I used my shoulder to nudge through the opening in the curtain. Carmen’s back had been revealed. The gauze had been removed to show three holes about the size of tiny marbles. Two were swollen and red, and at the center was something white. I nearly dropped the water when I saw these white things pulse, twitch, and then bulge further out under the circular pressure from Doctor Gil‘s fingertips, now shiny with oil. The third cavity was hollowed out, but more inflamed than the other holes. I did not see anything white inside.
“Father, it appears she clawed one out,” Doctor Gil said, “but was either too frightened or too embarrassed to tell anyone. I am guessing she was too afraid to attempt to remove the other ones. She did not fully remove this first torsalo from its warble here, and therefore it is infected. I managed to clean it, but we must remove the others. This will relieve the pressure and discomfort in her back.”
“Will she be in pain?” I stammered, unable to move due to the ghastly sight that had been tattooed in my mind.
They all turned to look at me. Doctor Gil took the empty dish from Pepita as she bumped by me on her way back to the bed. “Not considerable pain,” he said, “more of a discomfort.”
Carmen whimpered, and Father Alvarelo took the water and rags from me. He touched my arm, and I peered at the concerned face considering me. “Do not worry about me,” I moved by him, and took a seat in front of Carmen. I took her hand in mine, and she began to weep.
“Nieve…”
“Shh, I am here.”
“The devil is in me. I can feel him. He is inside me. My insides burn,” she shuddered, and I pressed my brow to hers.
“Just hold my hand.”
The Doctor set to work removing the worms. He would occasionally remark how much they resisted, and Carmen hissed that she could feel them holding on, that their needles were set inside of her. I went to Father Alvarelo to take a wet rag from the bowl. I chastise myself now for looking over my shoulder. Why do I have to be so curious? Doctor Gil was removing the first of the two worms. Carmen’s skin was tugged as the bot fly’s larva offered one last clinging resistance. Her flesh rolled around its last ridge, swelled, and then withdrew sharply as the larva was snapped free. The worm was about as long as the distance between my first and second knuckle. It was white, a dull grey color lurked beneath the pale, slimy surface, and there were black, toothy spurs sticking out in greater numbers toward the thickest, writing end. Blood oozed down her back, and the Doctor deposited the worm in the dish, and in the blink of an eye was pressing a new square of gauze to her back.
I was back at Carmen’s side, holding her hand, using my other to draw the rag across her cheeks, neck, and brow. Anything to keep her cool and to keep her calm. I gripped her tightly to keep from losing my own nerve. I was already so close to losing my meager breakfast.
“The first one is out, Carmen,” I coo’ed delicately, and smiled in the hopes that that smile would make her less afraid. “We are almost done. You will be fine. You will be fine, Carmen.”
“No, Nieve,” she shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut, and she burst into further tears. “I will not.” Her sunken eyes reopened, blood shot and glistening with tears. Her face was tense and colorless. Spit had caked at the corners of her lips, stretching between her upper and lower lip. “None of us will. We are damned. We are all of us damned.”
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Entry #10
Adan, I wish you were here.
We rushed Carmen to Doctor Gil. He received us immediately, setting aside a smoldering pipe. Pepita made a face and put it out.
“What happened to her?” Doctor Gil questioned hurriedly as he waved us over to an empty infirmary bed. A white curtain was drawn around all of us.
“She became sick in the church,” Father Alvarelo informed, breathless.
“Dear God,” he covered his nose upon finally taking in the stench of the sick burning away on Carmen’s habit. “That will wake you up, sure enough. Pepita,” she had annoyed pushed aside the white curtain to join us. “I want you to change her into a white slip, please. We need to get this off of her.”
“Can I please stay with her?” I asked before I could be guided away from the bed.
“Only if you help me clean her face,” Pepita sighed.
“Yes, I will do anything you tell me to do. Just name it.”
Doctor Gil pulled Father Alvarelo away, and I could hear them discussing things beyond the curtain. What, I am not sure. I was far too focused on Carmen. Pepita peeled the habit and underskirts away from Carmen’s body, and for once I saw the effects of Carmen’s diet. Her bones were specifically pronounced beneath skin as jaundice and dry as old paper. Carmen’s fingers and lips were quivering, pawing at the vomit on her chin in disbelief.
“Easy, easy, let me clean you up.”
“Do not lay a FILTY FINGER ON ME! Clothe ME! Clothe me!” Carmen shrieked, and began to convulse uncontrollably.
The Doctor returned, snatching the curtain shut behind him. He held her down, and I cleaned her face upon his permission.
“Get away from me!” Carmen yelled at me, and gathered a wad of spit in her mouth after a scraping sound at the back of her throat. The wad was enough to peg half of my cheek, and I recoiled, wiping at it.
“Pepita, get the slip on her.”
“You little BITCH,” Carmen snarled at Pepita. “I do not want a WHORE’s hands on me! Put them in me, put them in ME!”
“Doctor, sedate her,” Pepita snarled, “before I wring her little neck.”
There was a surge, and Carmen swiped her armed free with a wrench. Her fist would have made contact with Pepita’s face were it not for a pronounced pop indicating a dislocated arm. Carmen reeled, throwing herself into her pillow with an unearthly scream.
“What is happening to me!? Doctor, help me! Help me!”
Two hands seized my shoulders and dragged me through the thin white curtain. I was drawn into Father Alvarelo’s tight embrace. He held me as I broke down and sobbed into his chest. I clenched the scapular hanging down his torso from his shoulders.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Come outside with me. Come, come outside.”
I followed him as a sleepwalker would; not fully aware of my motions or travel, just dazed and unaware. He took me to the stable, and held back my habit’s coif so I could splash water from the trough over my face. I could have cared less if a horse had drank from it recently. He used his sleeve to dry my cheeks and chin.
“You did the best you could.”
“I did nothing. I… wiped her face.”
“None of that. You carried her, you were with her. There is nothing you can do for now except wait for Basilio’s verdict. From there, we will do what we can. Nieve,” he finished drying my face, “I cannot imagine what you are going through now.”
“I just want to lay down,” I whimpered, and dropped my face into my hands.
“Come then, I will take you back to your quarters. Just lean on me, I will not let you fall.”
I nodded, and he led me out of the stables. He braced me to his side, holding me much the same way he held Carmen on her first night here. Hard to imagine that was only two months ago. I relied on the good Father, and he supported me every step of the way. My progress was slow, but his steps were patient and considerate. We took a side entrance into the main mission building, avoiding the crowd that had pooled out from the church. I think the only one who saw us was Father Leoncio, who was then directing the traffic of befuddled soldiers and Tairona congregants.
We entered the mission, and made our way down several hallways back to my quarters. I fumbled with my key. Father Alvarelo very gently plucked the key from my shaking grip, and unlocked the door for me. He drew me inside, and helped me take a seat on the edge of my bed. He sat across from me on Carmen’s bed, and watched me closely.
“Will you be all right here, Hermana Nieve?”
“Yes,” I think I answered, I was not completely sure of my surroundings at the moment.
“I will check on you at lunch, and if you are well enough to travel to the mess, I will help you there. If you are not, I will return to the kitchen and send it to you.”
“Thank you, Father. For now, I think I will simply rest.”
He nodded. “Yes, Hermana Nieve,” he moved to stand, but I reached out and took his wrist.
“Father?”
“Yes, Nieve.”
“You are so kind to me. You are so kind to all of us. I am so grateful for your company and guidance.”
He lay his hands across the side of my face, bent his head, and kissed me on the crown of my coif. He left me, and that is when I began writing to you, Adan. Oh, I am so confused and worried. What if Carmen does not improve? Even if they do need to send her home, what if she is not well enough to travel? Things were going so well here, Adan. Now, Carmen is sick, and the children are afraid. I wish you were here, Adan.
I wish you could read this.
We rushed Carmen to Doctor Gil. He received us immediately, setting aside a smoldering pipe. Pepita made a face and put it out.
“What happened to her?” Doctor Gil questioned hurriedly as he waved us over to an empty infirmary bed. A white curtain was drawn around all of us.
“She became sick in the church,” Father Alvarelo informed, breathless.
“Dear God,” he covered his nose upon finally taking in the stench of the sick burning away on Carmen’s habit. “That will wake you up, sure enough. Pepita,” she had annoyed pushed aside the white curtain to join us. “I want you to change her into a white slip, please. We need to get this off of her.”
“Can I please stay with her?” I asked before I could be guided away from the bed.
“Only if you help me clean her face,” Pepita sighed.
“Yes, I will do anything you tell me to do. Just name it.”
Doctor Gil pulled Father Alvarelo away, and I could hear them discussing things beyond the curtain. What, I am not sure. I was far too focused on Carmen. Pepita peeled the habit and underskirts away from Carmen’s body, and for once I saw the effects of Carmen’s diet. Her bones were specifically pronounced beneath skin as jaundice and dry as old paper. Carmen’s fingers and lips were quivering, pawing at the vomit on her chin in disbelief.
“Easy, easy, let me clean you up.”
“Do not lay a FILTY FINGER ON ME! Clothe ME! Clothe me!” Carmen shrieked, and began to convulse uncontrollably.
The Doctor returned, snatching the curtain shut behind him. He held her down, and I cleaned her face upon his permission.
“Get away from me!” Carmen yelled at me, and gathered a wad of spit in her mouth after a scraping sound at the back of her throat. The wad was enough to peg half of my cheek, and I recoiled, wiping at it.
“Pepita, get the slip on her.”
“You little BITCH,” Carmen snarled at Pepita. “I do not want a WHORE’s hands on me! Put them in me, put them in ME!”
“Doctor, sedate her,” Pepita snarled, “before I wring her little neck.”
There was a surge, and Carmen swiped her armed free with a wrench. Her fist would have made contact with Pepita’s face were it not for a pronounced pop indicating a dislocated arm. Carmen reeled, throwing herself into her pillow with an unearthly scream.
“What is happening to me!? Doctor, help me! Help me!”
Two hands seized my shoulders and dragged me through the thin white curtain. I was drawn into Father Alvarelo’s tight embrace. He held me as I broke down and sobbed into his chest. I clenched the scapular hanging down his torso from his shoulders.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Come outside with me. Come, come outside.”
I followed him as a sleepwalker would; not fully aware of my motions or travel, just dazed and unaware. He took me to the stable, and held back my habit’s coif so I could splash water from the trough over my face. I could have cared less if a horse had drank from it recently. He used his sleeve to dry my cheeks and chin.
“You did the best you could.”
“I did nothing. I… wiped her face.”
“None of that. You carried her, you were with her. There is nothing you can do for now except wait for Basilio’s verdict. From there, we will do what we can. Nieve,” he finished drying my face, “I cannot imagine what you are going through now.”
“I just want to lay down,” I whimpered, and dropped my face into my hands.
“Come then, I will take you back to your quarters. Just lean on me, I will not let you fall.”
I nodded, and he led me out of the stables. He braced me to his side, holding me much the same way he held Carmen on her first night here. Hard to imagine that was only two months ago. I relied on the good Father, and he supported me every step of the way. My progress was slow, but his steps were patient and considerate. We took a side entrance into the main mission building, avoiding the crowd that had pooled out from the church. I think the only one who saw us was Father Leoncio, who was then directing the traffic of befuddled soldiers and Tairona congregants.
We entered the mission, and made our way down several hallways back to my quarters. I fumbled with my key. Father Alvarelo very gently plucked the key from my shaking grip, and unlocked the door for me. He drew me inside, and helped me take a seat on the edge of my bed. He sat across from me on Carmen’s bed, and watched me closely.
“Will you be all right here, Hermana Nieve?”
“Yes,” I think I answered, I was not completely sure of my surroundings at the moment.
“I will check on you at lunch, and if you are well enough to travel to the mess, I will help you there. If you are not, I will return to the kitchen and send it to you.”
“Thank you, Father. For now, I think I will simply rest.”
He nodded. “Yes, Hermana Nieve,” he moved to stand, but I reached out and took his wrist.
“Father?”
“Yes, Nieve.”
“You are so kind to me. You are so kind to all of us. I am so grateful for your company and guidance.”
He lay his hands across the side of my face, bent his head, and kissed me on the crown of my coif. He left me, and that is when I began writing to you, Adan. Oh, I am so confused and worried. What if Carmen does not improve? Even if they do need to send her home, what if she is not well enough to travel? Things were going so well here, Adan. Now, Carmen is sick, and the children are afraid. I wish you were here, Adan.
I wish you could read this.
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…”
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…”
Entry #8
Adan,
What a peculiar morning. Carmen insisted on another hour of sleep, her mood was grouchy and, dare I say, ill-tempered. I decided the best course of action was to leave her be. Dressing was a quiet endeavor, as closing the chest at the end of my bed elicited a heavy sigh from Carmen who flopped over onto her other side. We were gifted new linen habits and coifs. The light fabric would be enough to keep us cool on particularly hot days. I took my rosary with me, tucked the beaded piece into the belt woven around my waist.
I made my way to mess. There were only a few soldiers and Tairona there this morning. Perhaps I had risen too late to eat with everyone? No one was at the head table, and there was a certain awkwardness I felt just in considering a place there. Alone.
“Hermana Nieve.”
The crisp and serious voice could only belong to one person here as far as I was concerned. I had walked right by him. Father Leoncio was at one of the tables off to the side, chewing over bread and butter, drinking tea and smoking. His cassock was crisp as if new, and every stitch of his garments were in place. His graying hair was tied back, and his face was cleanly shaved.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Sit.”
“I am happier by the window.”
The chair across from him scooted out, and he dropped his foot back to the floor. He tilted his head. “Sit. Please.”
I did as I was told, and he caught the attention of a nearby Tairona. A young man approached us in a pale poncho and dark hat. His Spanish was broken, but had a certain eloquent accent that reminded me of the sing-song language I had heard in the Tairona village deeper in the jungle. The Tairona man left us, and Father Leoncio leaned his chin on his knuckles.
“Perhaps we started on the wrong foot.”
What was the right answer? I felt none would be, so I was silent.
His brows arched, he watched me steadily as my food arrived. Bread and butter, tea, and green pawpaws. The Tairona man excused himself, and Father Leoncio sighed before drawing on his coffee once more.
“This breakfast will be rather pointless with you biting your tongue the whole time. Eat. Talk.”
“I was only curious because I heard shouting.”
“Do you always go looking for trouble, Hermana?”
“No, Father,” I shook my head. “I wanted to help, should anything be wrong - ”
“Captain Gonzalo’s complaints are various and consistently voiced. They rarely change because he is a man hard-pressed to do such.”
“Such what?” I sipped my tea.
“Change. He is a man impatient with his own indecision, too frustrated to act outside his own limitation. There will be a day when he finally erupts, more angry at himself than us, and leave us. I would feel bad for his dilemma if it were not for the fact he lives on the beach with a beautiful wife, training new recruits eager to do his bidding, while his men are fed and sustained with us, just a ride a way.”
I chuckled, and I thought I saw a twitch in the corner of his cheek. His gaze was still firm, but lacked the coldness I had seen earlier.
“How are you enjoying your stay so far, Hermana? I know you have only been here a couple days.”
“I quite enjoy this place,” I said after finishing a bite of fresh bread, smeared lightly with butter. “I have never felt so close to God. This feels right to me, Father, this feels like home.”
“Myself and Father Alvarelo strive to make this place comfortable. Not just for our congregants and workers, but for us all.”
We ate silently together, and sipped our tea (and coffee) between our bites.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever heard- oh, nothing. Please, do not mind me.”
“Have I ever heard what, Hermana?”
“I… thought I heard someone in the library yesterday.”
“Was someone there?” I was amusing him, this was the wrong man to discuss this with.
“I think maybe a soldier. Perhaps even just my imagination.” Should I have told him about the books?
“Why do you say that?”
“I should really go get Carmen up.”
The Father watched me. He knew I was avoiding his question, and honestly I was making no attempt to disguise my evasiveness. Instead of pressing the matter, he watched me go, and I could only assume returned to his breakfast after that.
Returning to my room, I was almost nervous about confronting Carmen again. She had been so grouchy! However, when I entered, she was dressed, refreshed, and breathing in the morning air from the open window. This did little to settle my nerves, though I was hopeful.
“Nieve, is that you? Oh, Nieve. How exciting this is! We meet our class today. I can hardly wait. Aren’t you excited?”
“Of course, I am,” I chimed in, dismissing my misgivings.
Carmen scratched at her back, wincing. “I think the only thing I’m not used to yet here are the mosquitos. No matter! Have you eaten?”
“Yes. I had a meal with Father Leoncio, as a matter of fact.”
“The Father Leoncio who could freeze soup cold and deflate the fattest loaf of bread?”
I laughed. “The very same. My, what a mood I have found you in,” I remarked.
“What makes you say that, dear Hermana?”
“You were so grumpy this morning. You sounded hoarse too, I thought you might have fallen sick again.”
“I feel fantastic, Nieve. Is there enough time for me to grab something quickly from the mess?”
“Yes, our class does not come for another hour yet.”
“Wonderful! I will meet you in our littlest church,” she embraced me, kissing my cheek, and was out the door fast enough for me to wonder if all I had just witnessed had occurred. I felt as though I had stepped into a whirlwind! Even on her best days Carmen could not muster as much energy. In fact, she was as close to a real mother as any within the cloister. Always making sure we were disciplined, poised, and ordered.
I gathered my notes from the little desk by my bed, and made my way to the tiny hovel with the iron cross on the door. I met Father Alvarelo on the way, who agreed to help me tidy up the make shift church. We discussed the Tairona. He is fascinated with their culture, and thought it was important for me to know a little more before my first class arrived. He told me about Sen, the darkness that existed before there was light. As he spoke, he gesticulated and his eyes roved as if searching out the next sentence to this long, and beautiful plot. Just listening to him, I am fascinated. Not just with the people the Father describes, but with the Father himself. He is truly something remarkable.
We were arranging the floors beneath the altar when Carmen came through the door with a basket full of bread. “Look who I found!”
Small Tairona children flooded in from behind her, squealing and giggling, excited about exploring the new space. Father Alvarelo did his best to keep them from the organ, but some managed to squeeze through his defenses and began striking the keys. I think Carmen and I spent the first few minutes of our class calming the children, and only when he was sure that we had every one under control did Father Alvarelo leave.
“Now!” I began as the children began to pass the bread and tear off pieces for each other. “Let us begin with names.” The children seemed a little confused by my Spanish. Perhaps they understood a couple words here and there, but they were not as cognizant of it as the families that lived closer to the mission. These were clearly children from the village. “Nieve. Hermana Nieve.“
“Her.Mana. Nieve!“ The children called, giggling.
And Carmen was next. “Her.Mana. Carrrrrrmen.“
“Hermana Carrrrrmen!” The childred echoed, breaking into laughter as they playfully rolled Carmen’s “r” over and over.
Carmen and I taught with big, indicative gestures, and the first half of our class was devoted to teaching them Spanish. This in turn, helped us learn their language as well, as they often would tell us their meanings in step with ours. The other half was devoted to teaching them the ways of our Mass; the Eucharist, Acts of Penitence and Communion. Our lessons would end with song. Carmen played the organ, teaching them “Alleluia” while they taught us songs from their own village.
What a peculiar morning. Carmen insisted on another hour of sleep, her mood was grouchy and, dare I say, ill-tempered. I decided the best course of action was to leave her be. Dressing was a quiet endeavor, as closing the chest at the end of my bed elicited a heavy sigh from Carmen who flopped over onto her other side. We were gifted new linen habits and coifs. The light fabric would be enough to keep us cool on particularly hot days. I took my rosary with me, tucked the beaded piece into the belt woven around my waist.
I made my way to mess. There were only a few soldiers and Tairona there this morning. Perhaps I had risen too late to eat with everyone? No one was at the head table, and there was a certain awkwardness I felt just in considering a place there. Alone.
“Hermana Nieve.”
The crisp and serious voice could only belong to one person here as far as I was concerned. I had walked right by him. Father Leoncio was at one of the tables off to the side, chewing over bread and butter, drinking tea and smoking. His cassock was crisp as if new, and every stitch of his garments were in place. His graying hair was tied back, and his face was cleanly shaved.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Sit.”
“I am happier by the window.”
The chair across from him scooted out, and he dropped his foot back to the floor. He tilted his head. “Sit. Please.”
I did as I was told, and he caught the attention of a nearby Tairona. A young man approached us in a pale poncho and dark hat. His Spanish was broken, but had a certain eloquent accent that reminded me of the sing-song language I had heard in the Tairona village deeper in the jungle. The Tairona man left us, and Father Leoncio leaned his chin on his knuckles.
“Perhaps we started on the wrong foot.”
What was the right answer? I felt none would be, so I was silent.
His brows arched, he watched me steadily as my food arrived. Bread and butter, tea, and green pawpaws. The Tairona man excused himself, and Father Leoncio sighed before drawing on his coffee once more.
“This breakfast will be rather pointless with you biting your tongue the whole time. Eat. Talk.”
“I was only curious because I heard shouting.”
“Do you always go looking for trouble, Hermana?”
“No, Father,” I shook my head. “I wanted to help, should anything be wrong - ”
“Captain Gonzalo’s complaints are various and consistently voiced. They rarely change because he is a man hard-pressed to do such.”
“Such what?” I sipped my tea.
“Change. He is a man impatient with his own indecision, too frustrated to act outside his own limitation. There will be a day when he finally erupts, more angry at himself than us, and leave us. I would feel bad for his dilemma if it were not for the fact he lives on the beach with a beautiful wife, training new recruits eager to do his bidding, while his men are fed and sustained with us, just a ride a way.”
I chuckled, and I thought I saw a twitch in the corner of his cheek. His gaze was still firm, but lacked the coldness I had seen earlier.
“How are you enjoying your stay so far, Hermana? I know you have only been here a couple days.”
“I quite enjoy this place,” I said after finishing a bite of fresh bread, smeared lightly with butter. “I have never felt so close to God. This feels right to me, Father, this feels like home.”
“Myself and Father Alvarelo strive to make this place comfortable. Not just for our congregants and workers, but for us all.”
We ate silently together, and sipped our tea (and coffee) between our bites.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever heard- oh, nothing. Please, do not mind me.”
“Have I ever heard what, Hermana?”
“I… thought I heard someone in the library yesterday.”
“Was someone there?” I was amusing him, this was the wrong man to discuss this with.
“I think maybe a soldier. Perhaps even just my imagination.” Should I have told him about the books?
“Why do you say that?”
“I should really go get Carmen up.”
The Father watched me. He knew I was avoiding his question, and honestly I was making no attempt to disguise my evasiveness. Instead of pressing the matter, he watched me go, and I could only assume returned to his breakfast after that.
Returning to my room, I was almost nervous about confronting Carmen again. She had been so grouchy! However, when I entered, she was dressed, refreshed, and breathing in the morning air from the open window. This did little to settle my nerves, though I was hopeful.
“Nieve, is that you? Oh, Nieve. How exciting this is! We meet our class today. I can hardly wait. Aren’t you excited?”
“Of course, I am,” I chimed in, dismissing my misgivings.
Carmen scratched at her back, wincing. “I think the only thing I’m not used to yet here are the mosquitos. No matter! Have you eaten?”
“Yes. I had a meal with Father Leoncio, as a matter of fact.”
“The Father Leoncio who could freeze soup cold and deflate the fattest loaf of bread?”
I laughed. “The very same. My, what a mood I have found you in,” I remarked.
“What makes you say that, dear Hermana?”
“You were so grumpy this morning. You sounded hoarse too, I thought you might have fallen sick again.”
“I feel fantastic, Nieve. Is there enough time for me to grab something quickly from the mess?”
“Yes, our class does not come for another hour yet.”
“Wonderful! I will meet you in our littlest church,” she embraced me, kissing my cheek, and was out the door fast enough for me to wonder if all I had just witnessed had occurred. I felt as though I had stepped into a whirlwind! Even on her best days Carmen could not muster as much energy. In fact, she was as close to a real mother as any within the cloister. Always making sure we were disciplined, poised, and ordered.
I gathered my notes from the little desk by my bed, and made my way to the tiny hovel with the iron cross on the door. I met Father Alvarelo on the way, who agreed to help me tidy up the make shift church. We discussed the Tairona. He is fascinated with their culture, and thought it was important for me to know a little more before my first class arrived. He told me about Sen, the darkness that existed before there was light. As he spoke, he gesticulated and his eyes roved as if searching out the next sentence to this long, and beautiful plot. Just listening to him, I am fascinated. Not just with the people the Father describes, but with the Father himself. He is truly something remarkable.
We were arranging the floors beneath the altar when Carmen came through the door with a basket full of bread. “Look who I found!”
Small Tairona children flooded in from behind her, squealing and giggling, excited about exploring the new space. Father Alvarelo did his best to keep them from the organ, but some managed to squeeze through his defenses and began striking the keys. I think Carmen and I spent the first few minutes of our class calming the children, and only when he was sure that we had every one under control did Father Alvarelo leave.
“Now!” I began as the children began to pass the bread and tear off pieces for each other. “Let us begin with names.” The children seemed a little confused by my Spanish. Perhaps they understood a couple words here and there, but they were not as cognizant of it as the families that lived closer to the mission. These were clearly children from the village. “Nieve. Hermana Nieve.“
“Her.Mana. Nieve!“ The children called, giggling.
And Carmen was next. “Her.Mana. Carrrrrrmen.“
“Hermana Carrrrrmen!” The childred echoed, breaking into laughter as they playfully rolled Carmen’s “r” over and over.
Carmen and I taught with big, indicative gestures, and the first half of our class was devoted to teaching them Spanish. This in turn, helped us learn their language as well, as they often would tell us their meanings in step with ours. The other half was devoted to teaching them the ways of our Mass; the Eucharist, Acts of Penitence and Communion. Our lessons would end with song. Carmen played the organ, teaching them “Alleluia” while they taught us songs from their own village.
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