Tag: oppression

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“We cultivate corn, roots and cacao,” he said. I remembered the
sweet, delicious aroma of a cup of hot chocolate. He must have read
my mind or heard my stomach rumble. “You must be famished!” he
said. “We ought to find you something to eat. Let us pay doña
Perpetua a visit in the kitchen.”
I followed him into the parish house. It looked like one of those
straw lofts we had in Spain. The inside was austere. Brother Carvajal
invited me to take a seat on a chair made of hide that smelled
strongly of its previous owner. A table, two chairs and a cabinet
completed the furnishings. The house was spacious, with a thatched
roof nine or ten feet high. It had a muggy, earthy smell to it. The
interwoven wattles protruding from the mud walls were
disconcerting.
He opened a trunk and produced a bottle of wine and two silver
cups.
“It’s wine from an outstanding harvest,” he said, “a present from
the new governor, don Ponce de León. Do you care for wine?”
I had little knowledge on the subject beyond colour and
sweetness and was going to say so, but he continued.
“It’s my only indulgence,” he said, chuckling at the double
meaning. I smiled, because we both knew an indulgence was a
pardon of sins granted—or sold—by the Church to the faithful. He
sniffed the open bottle. “These hazel-coloured wines are vigorous
enough to survive the crossing of the ocean without detriment to
their quality. The ones from La Mancha are the favorites in court.”
He filled the cups and handed me one. He waved his cup under
his big nostrils, then sunk his nose into it. “But, please, let us toast
the joyful arrival of another labourer to this field and the merits of
our allotted toils. May the Almighty bless them and give us drink
from the abundant flow of the fountain of his sacred heart.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Ten years, my son! Ten years of unremitting struggle to build
this.” His eyes scanned the wattle and daub walls,

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Arrows

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Excerpt

“My mother always worked in a household.”
“Why is it bad to ask your name?”
“You didn’t ask my name. Say the words again, and I’ll tell you
what they mean.”
The horse had begun to graze, and Tamanoa took hold of the
bridle again.
“Matircom yeunatir ueipano dauquir” I repeated slowly.
“Breasts, nipples, whore . . .” His voice trailed off as he signalled
the meaning of the last word by pointing to his crotch. “And what
was the other thing you said? Ah, yes. Guecenar onque. That means
give me your . . .” Again his voice trailed off, and he turned and
pointed to his rear end.
Heat rushed to my face. I massaged my eyes with the heels of my
hands and heard him giggle.
Torn between anger and laughter, I laughed. Benjamin, Benjamin.
He had taught me words I would never have dreamed of saying,
and I had repeated them like a parrot. No wonder we had gotten so
many looks. I was laughing so hard I removed myself and my horse
from the convoy.
“It was Benjamin,” I said. “So it’s your turn to help me. How do I
ask your name?”
“It depends. There are Indians from far away who have been
brought here to work, and we all speak different languages. But in
mine it would be atiyeseti?”
“What language is yours?”
“Cumanagoto. Carib. It comes from the eastern coast. It’s the
most common. My mother came from the region of Cumaná.”
“Are the families brought here together? As husband and wife?”
He shook his head. I looked at the Indians around me. That could
explain much of their sullenness.
In the year 1511, the Church had proclaimed the equality of men
and denounced the Spanish debauchery in La Española. But in that
same year, King Fernando El Católico had declared the branding of
cannibals. For the Spaniards, natives out of range of missionary
protection were cannibals. They were raided and sold as slaves.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Arrows

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Excerpt

Bartolomé let him go, patting him on the shoulder. Pánfilo bent over
and coughed, hand on his throat as though choked instead of rattled.
I crouched beside Antonio and tilted the flask. I wasn’t sure how
much would suffice; a few drops would have to do as more would
kill him. I concentrated on balancing against the movements of the
ship and tilted the flask just a little more until a few droplets fell into
Antonio’s limp mouth. The potion squirted between Antonio’s lips.
He coughed from the bitterness and tried to sit up.
I gasped and tried to clean the excess with a rag, but it was too
late. Antonio had swallowed it all. I uttered unconfessable
commentaries under my breath and glanced at Bartolomé. He
looked at me, and I shrugged helplessly. We took our positions in
silence. I buried my nostrils in my armpit while positioning my
hands on Antonio’s chest, bewildered by the stench.
Benjamin knelt beside me, arms straight down, squashing
Antonio’s good leg. I was sweating, we all were.
Bartolomé produced a leather bundle and carefully spread it on
the floor, revealing a number of surgical instruments. Rag strips
were neatly folded in a small pocket. In the monastery, Fray
Bernardo had taught us to cure wounds. A few times we saved the
life of one of the animals by cutting an infected limb. We had always
proceeded faster when we placed a board underneath for support. I
found one and put it under the leg with a subtle nod to my brother.
He acknowledged with the sharp knife, ready to cut.
“Lord, have mercy.” I said.
In the uncertain light given off by two candles, Bartolomé crossed
himself and began cutting with long swift movements. Antonio’s
drunkenness and my potion failed to stop him from becoming a
struggling, swearing beast, but finally he passed out when
Bartolomé began sawing the bone.
We loosened our grip. Pánfilo gawked at the wound. Better he
keep his mouth shut for, whenever he talked or breathed, the foul
odor of his remaining teeth made me want to vomit.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522