excerpt
“Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua lucea eis . . .” I
reached the end of the requiem and asked God’s mercy for my
friend’s soul.
I did not care that Guacaipuro was left waiting for me to appear.
One of the many plants I had unearthed served as my discipline. I
chastised my body for hours, beseeching the Lord to accept my pain
in payment for the sins of my friend, who could no longer redeem
himself.
The wind that swelled the sails of my faith had stopped blowing.
Myfaith hung flaccid from the yards of dogma. I slumped and wept.
After the tragic battle, Guacaipuro had returned eager to kill me
and send my remains to Losada. He suspected me of having
somehow warned my people. I wouldn’t have seen another day had
it not been for Urquía.
She had followed her husband against his wishes and had almost
been killed. Her servants brought her back to the village bleeding
profusely in her portable chair. She had received a harquebus shot to
her hip, taking a sizable chunk of tissue out of her womanly
roundness. The servants—captives from another tribe—were
terrified, for they envisaged her husband’s rage. I, who was
unaware of his suspicions, had luckily, by the time he arrived at
vespers, taken care of his beloved wife with the help of his sister,
Tiaroa. God had seen to it that she recovered enough to appease the
cacique’s fury.
He warned me that I would die if she did, but when she
recovered, his gratitude was palpable. After that, he honoured me
by inviting me to share his dinner. I had no inkling that he would
avenge his defeat with such horrifying brutality, sending Tamanoa’s
head, arms and legs to Losada.
Guacaipuro usually dined in the company of some of his warriors
and his family; when I appeared before him, as summoned, I was
therefore rather surprised to find him alone that night. Urquía lay in
a hammock in the background, but she was either sleeping or
intentionally quiet.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 