excerpt
I stumbled between the lines of stakes, drenched in sweat, weak
in the extreme. Tears streamed down my face, for I couldn’t baptize
them. Benjamin appeared and gave me his hand to support me.
“There is a messenger from the coast, padrecito. The captain sends
word,” he said under his breath. “Your brother.”
I heard the words but didn’t understand them. I touched each of
their foreheads, asked for their forgiveness and counted them.
Baruta was not among them. I touched the brows of twenty-two
caciques and one Indian who had been captive for a year. His name
was Curicurián, and he had impersonated his beloved chief,
Chicuramay, and died in his stead.
Everything went black.
Manolis Aligizakis 