New Fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 6/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 01:22:34 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 6/18
Chapter 6
Next day
Work at the rancho* began at sunrise.
"Shovel up all this horseshit and take it to the carromato*," Paco said,
giving the instrument to Corazon Negro. "That's your first lesson with the
horses. If you want to enjoy them, you must clean up after them first."
Even if he hadn't had to work directly with the horseshit, the smell
pervaded the place. There was also the horse smell, and hay--a combination
which brought bad memories of Spaniards to Corazon Negro. But he was no
longer the enemy, or a slave--he was here of his own free will, and he
needed to be near the girl. He could not stay on a working rancho* and not
put in his share of labor, no matter how unpleasant, so he dutifully took
the shovel, went inside the empty horse stall, and started to clean up the
excrement. There were some horses in their stalls, and he could hear others
being exercised outside, but apparently he was not going to deal with them,
just with their shit.
Paco watched him for a while, and finally said, smiling, "Let's see how long
you can last. "
Ignoring the other man's comment, and ignoring the smell as much as
possible, the warrior stopped and took off his shirt, preferring freedom of
movement for such work. He hung it over the wall of one of the stalls right
next to a large yellow cat, who, undisturbed, watched him intently with deep
green eyes. Corazon Negro looked down the length of the stable--there were
at least twenty horse stalls. <It's going to be a long day,> he thought.
When Corazon Negro finished filling the small wooden barrel beside him, he
raised it onto his shoulder, walked to the carromato* outside the stable and
dumped his load into it. Then he bent over and inspected the wagon more
closely. He had seen smaller, flimsier wagons since, but this particular one
reminded him of the ones used by Cortes in his attack on Tenochtitlan. But
this time, instead of carrying cannon or treasure, it was filled with
horseshit, to be used in the fields, probably. The warrior memorized every
joint, every part of the wagon. Perhaps in the future this knowledge would
be useful to him. His hands started to run over the wooden, iron-reinforced
wheels. He crouched down to look under the wagon.
"What?" Paco asked, smiling a little as he came out of the stable. "Don't
you know the wheel?"
Corazon Negro's raised his eyes to meet the foreman's. For a moment, the
warrior stood still--then he returned the smile. "You know what, hombre*?
Hundreds of years before the Spaniards arrived at the 'New World,' the Aztec
had already invented the wheel. In fact, we used it in our children's toys."
"Is that so?" Paco asked sarcastically. "Then why didn't you use wheels to
fight back against the conquistadores?"
"Because we didn't have horses or any other large beasts that could pull a
wagon like this. We simply didn't need to," Corazon Negro answered, lifting
the wooden barrel to his shoulder again. As he walked to the stable, he
said, "Besides, I'd think you would be interested in how to defeat the
Spaniards. The Mapuche have been fighting them for a century, haven't you?"
"Not all Spaniards are worth killing," Paco said--a bit defensively, the
Aztec thought. "Some are honorable men. Are you?" Paco asked him directly,
blocking him at the entrance.
"What does it matter?" the Immortal shrugged.
"It matters to me. It matters to my mistress. And I assure you, it will
matter to Don Alvaro! Why do you insist on staying around here?" Paco asked,
fury in his eyes. "The Senorita doesn't need your protection, and we don't
want you here. When the master arrives, you will wish you had gone."
Corazon Negro shook his head, thinking that the rancho* foreman, a mortal,
should not really be involved in Immortal business. "I doubt that Don Alvaro
would appreciate your making his decisions for him, hombre*," he said,
warningly. However, he could not blame the man for wanting to protect his
mistress. But then he had a sensation of deja-vu. "Well, Paco, you know my
secret, and I'm pretty sure that you think I'm not much better than a
beggar, a killer perhaps, but you are forgetting one thing ..."
"What am I forgetting?" Paco asked with a threatening smile.
"To respect your elders," the warrior answered and walked around the other
man and back inside the stables. Once there, Corazon Negro began his labor
one more time.
Paco had no intention of interfering in his lord's decisions--but he had a
good idea what Don Alvaro would do to an Immortal who had come to his
rancho* and was getting friendly with his beloved daughter. He had warned
the Mexican--now all he had to do is keep a careful eye on him for the next
few days. Paco stood in the stable, ignoring others of his duties to keep
the Immortal in sight as much as possible, and wondering what kind of man
was before him. He realized that Corazon Negro didn't mind the sweat and the
shit on him, the results of honest work--he had certainly not complained
about it. It was almost as if the Mexican enjoyed it. As Corazon Negro moved
the shovel up and down, easily and effortlessly, a question began to take
form in Paco's mind. "You've done this kind of work before, haven't you?
Were you a slave?"
Corazon Negro stopped and turned back to the horseman. "Yes," he finally
said. "I was a slave in a silver mine a long time ago."
"Did you escape? How? By killing someone?" Paco asked, intrigued. In his
many years on the range he had never killed a man, although he'd been in
several knife fights and felt sure he could kill if he needed to. He wanted
to find out more about this man, hoping to discover something useful he
could use against the Aztec if it became necessary.
"It was not as dramatic as you think. A good man, a Franciscan friar, freed
me," the warrior answered. The wooden barrel was full again, so he bent down
to pick it up, disturbing a rat, who fled from him with a squeak. But it
didn't get far--the yellow tomcat snatched it up immediately and took its
still squealing prize out of the stable. The Immortal took the barrel once
more to the carromato*.
At the same time, Fulgencio, the young rider he had shared a horse with the
day before, walked past him into the stable. When the warrior returned to
refill his barrel, Paco and Fulgencio were in Samson's enclosure at one end
of the stable. After slipping a bridle onto the horse's head, it still took
both men to convince the stubborn, and by-now angry animal to leave his
stall. They attached a lead rope to the bridle and tied Samson to one of the
wooden pillars that held up the stable's roof. The stallion neighed in
discontent, trying to pull loose.
The Aztec approached the men. "That is one powerful animal."
Paco was slightly out of breath from fighting with the stallion. He turned
to Corazon Negro. "Yes, he is. And he's mean-tempered, too. He is Senorita
Mariaelena's favorite, but I don't know why. Women are a mystery to me."
The warrior nodded, smiling in agreement. Women hadn't changed, not in
centuries; that was part of what made them so fascinating. Then he glanced
at the next enclosure, and his gaze froze. Another stallion was there,
almost an exact copy of Samson, and equally vigorous. The horse's eyes
looked directly into Corazon Negro's, and the beast approached the gate,
coming towards the Immortal, snuffing and neighing. The warrior came closer
too, and for a moment, man and beast studied each other. Finally, he lifted
his hand and caressed the animal's head.
"Cuidado, hombre*," Paco said, as he realized what was happening. The old
man could see the man and the animal staring at each other, almost without
blinking. Watching the scene, Paco, who was a very religious man, could
imagine that the Aztec had touched his soul to the animal's being.
Miraculously, the horse laid his great head onto Corazon Negro's shoulder,
and Fulgencio blessed himself slowly, completely astonished.
"He is magnificent. And he likes me, I think," Corazon Negro smiled
slightly, still caressing the horse. "What is his name?"
"His name is Goliath," Paco answered. "He is Samson's first son."
"Goliath," he repeated. "Yes, I'm your friend," he said to the horse, then
turned to Paco. "The name suits him. He is as proud as his father, and he
should be. How old is he?"
"Four years old. The Don tamed him, and it wasn't easy, although he's not as
ill-tempered as his sire. Don Alvaro wants to breed Goliath to a couple of
new Andalusian mares that will soon arrive from Spain."
Corazon Negro noticed that Paco's hostility and mistrust had abated while he
spoke of his beloved horses. But then Paco's gaze turned dark again, and
Corazon Negro followed the old man's eyes to the stable entrance. The boy
Joaquin was coming inside.
"What are you doing here, boy? You know you these horses are too nervous and
valuable, and you need to stay away from them."
"I know," the boy answered, "But I have something for Corazon Negro,
abuelo*," Joaquin answered, coming closer.
Paco was clearly annoyed. "Get back to the house, Joaquin. We are busy
here," he ordered.
Fulgencio had finished examining Samson, especially his feet, and was now
untying the animal.
"Corazon Negro, you can watch Fulgencio to see how to correctly wash a
horse. They can be very particular," Paco said.
"Please, abuelo*. Let me just stay for a minute," Joaquin repeated, with a
little-boy whine.
Corazon Negro went to the boy. "You should obey your grandfather, Joaquin.
What is so important?"
Paco's eyes narrowed in irritation. Not only had the boy disobeyed him, his
own grandfather; Joaquin was paying attention to a stranger. Paco started to
speak, but the boy said to Corazon Negro, "I made this for you." It was a
small drawing on a dirty rag of the night sky.
Paco moved toward the Immortal and the boy, to see what his grandson was
doing and to interfere if necessary, but suddenly he heard Samson start to
neigh, then scream, in fury or pain. His head whipped toward the horse.
Something had disturbed him greatly, and the stallion reared up furiously,
ripping the rope out of Fulgencio's hand, throwing the young man against the
paddock door and knocking the wind out of him.
Paco desperately leaped for Samson's bridle, but the enraged animal reared
up again, kicking out at the old man, who dropped away to avoid the deadly
iron-clad hooves. The stallion rode past him toward the stable entrance,
intending to get out into the enclosure.
"Run, Joaquin, run!" Corazon Negro yelled and headed directly toward the
horse, who was bearing down on them. He jumped and grabbed the lead rope and
tried to wrestle the horse down, but his strength was no match for the angry
animal's. Worse, out of the corner of his eye Corazon Negro could see that
Joaquin was crying, frozen in fear--still standing squarely in the doorway.
If the horse got past him, he would run right over the boy, and inexorably
Samson pulled the warrior towards Joaquin, as if the animal wanted to get
the child. Corazon Negro released the rope, abandoning his efforts to
control the horse, and snatched Joaquin up, covering the boy's fragile body
with his, and trying to run outside with the boy in his arms. But the
stallion was right on top of him, rearing up once more, and knocked them
down.
Everything had happened too quickly, but by this time Paco and Fulgencio
were back on their feet and looking with horror at the scene before them.
"Nooo!" Paco screamed as Samson kicked Corazon Negro's prone body. His
grandson was under the Aztec! The stallion reared and kicked again, crushing
the back of Corazon Negro's head. Then, Fulgencio reached past Paco and
grabbed the horse's reins, then lost them again as Samson ran into the yard,
where a group of ranch hands who had heard the pandemonium finally succeeded
in roping and trapping the stallion.
Paco ran to his grandson and pulled the Aztec's inert body off the child.
The boy was conscious, and Paco examined him closely. "Are you all right,
Joaquin? Is anything broken? Are you hurt?" he asked frantically, running
his hands over the child's body.
"No, Abuelito*, I'm fine," the boy answered in a shaky voice.
At that moment Mariaelena, coming for her morning ride, entered the stable
running, immediately grasping the situation. She looked at Paco, who had
risen with Joaquin in his arms. "Samson?" she asked. "Is the boy hurt?" she
asked.
"It was Samson, and no, Joaquin doesn't seem to be hurt," Paco answered, his
voice trembling. "God be praised. But ..."
Nodding, she followed his gaze down at Corazon Negro's pummeled body. The
back of his head was a bloody pulp, and she turned him over. His face was
broken and bleeding; she took a blanket from the nearest stall and covered
his head. Then she ordered Fulgencio, who was coming to her, "Help me carry
him out of here."
Fulgencio took Corazon Negro's feet, while Mariaelena did the same with the
Mexican Immortal's shoulders. They carried him outside, where Mariaelena saw
that Samson was firmly roped down. "Let's get him to that house," she said,
and Paco, still holding a dazed Joaquin in his arms, ran to open the door
and preceded them inside. They put the body on a cot in the corner. "Get
out!" she ordered. "Everyone out, now!" she yelled.
"But Senorita, if you need--" Fulgencio began, still trembling with fear and
exertion.
"Mariaelena, you can't--" Paco, still gripping his grandson, said at the
same time.
"I'm fine. Leave me," Mariaelena interrupted, and they did, quickly. Once
alone, Mariaelena took the blanket off Corazon Negro's face, then took the
handkerchief out of her sleeve and went outside to dip it into the rain
barrel. She knelt on the floor behind him and watched him carefully while
she cleaned him. Although she'd seen Immortals heal before, she was still a
young enough Immortal to be astonished as she watched fatal injuries slowly
fade. The forehead bone had been broken and pushed inside the head, and
slowly, Mariaelena observed how the bone returned to its original place, as
if some invisible fingers had pushed back the bone and the facial muscles.
Small blue whirrs of lightning circled his head and shoulders. The eyeball,
which had looked dull and lifeless just a moment before, was hidden by the
eyelid as it closed and the tissue started to move back to place. A few
minutes later there were no scars--only a huge red-brown stain was left
where before was a deadly injury, and Mariaelena wiped the blood off his
face and shoulders.
After a few minutes, which she spent in an agony of impatience, Corazon
Negro finally took a deep breath, arcing his body and opening his eyes. He
felt a terrible pain in his face and head, and his mind was confused. But
when he looked up at Mariaelena's face, he suddenly remembered. "The boy!"
he exclaimed, trying to sit up. "How is he?"
Mariaelena smiled her most brilliant smile. "Relax. Joaquin will be
fine--you covered him with your body." She pushed him back down onto the
blanket.
"My head hurts," the warrior answered, nevertheless relieved to find out the
boy was not hurt. "Where am I?"
"In one of the worker's houses--I'm not sure which one," Mariaelena said,
continuing to smile. She took his hand and wiped the blood from it. "Thank
you," she murmured. "For saving Paco's grandson."
Touching his face gingerly, he replied solemnly. "All life is precious.
Besides, the child is my friend." Suddenly the warrior froze as if he
realized something. He sat up once more, and this time Mariaelena didn't try
to stop him. "Wait a minute, there was someone there. The boy, and Paco. The
other young man, Fulgencio! Did they see--"
"Don't worry," she assured him. "Paco knows our little secret and Fulgencio
and the boy are both too shocked to figure out what happened. In any case,
they won't contradict me. And if anyone else saw you, your head was covered
with a blanket." She picked it up gingerly. "It's covered in blood--I'll
have to burn it."
Corazon Negro rose fluidly, and she did the same. He seemed completely, and
very quickly, recovered, and she made a note of that for future reference.
Then she heard a familiar voice outside, and bending down, stuffed the
bloody blanket under the hay-filled mattress, pushing it in with her booted
foot as Padre Teodoro flung open the door and rushed into the room.
"I spoke to the others outside," he announced, staring from one to the
other, then looking around the room. "I was told someone was hurt, perhaps
killed ..."
"Corazon Negro was knocked down by Samson, but it was only a glancing blow,"
Mariaelena said, pointing at the Aztec, who was nevertheless still showing
some blood. "Thanks be to God," she murmured.
The Padre looked at the Mexican with narrowed eyes. "God is merciful to all
his creatures--even those who don't deserve it."
"I am very grateful for His mercies," Corazon Negro said humbly.
"But I heard you were hurt; or dead," the priest persisted.
Hoping to avert his suspicions, Mariaelena said, "Actually, Padrecito, this
man saved Joaquin's life from Samson. He's a hero."
"A hero, eh?" Padre Teodoro said, his eyes narrowing again.
Paco entered at that point with Joaquin, who ran to Corazon Negro and hugged
the warrior's knees. "Thank you, Corazon Negro! You saved my life!"
"Yes, you did," Paco agreed, smiling widely, "and I will not forget it,
hombre*." Reaching into his shirt, he handed the Aztec the drawing Joaquin
had made. Corazon Negro accepted it with a smile. Then the men shook hands.
And Mariaelena sent up another prayer of thanks for the good timing of the
others' arrival.
Having nothing more to say, the priest and then Mariaelena left him, and the
Aztec went back to his work. But he noticed that now, instead of being 'the
stranger,' he had become one of the workers. He continued his work, but the
other Indios* and mestizos* smiled and saluted him in a friendly tone. News
of his deed had spread immediately, and that disturbed him a little. In his
mind, he had just done what he had to--protect the life of an innocent. For
hundreds of years he had tried to keep a low profile among mortals, to hide
his special gift. But the approval felt good. Once again, the Aztec felt
almost at home. Almost.
Corazon Negro was carrying out another wooden barrel full of shit when Paco
approached him. "Put that down. We're going to try something else," the old
man said, smiling. "It is time for you to learn to clean the animals."
Corazon Negro smiled, too. He'd finally won Paco over, although it was not a
method he would recommend, or want to repeat. "I thought I *was* cleaning
the animals."
Paco chuckled. "This is another method, involving a brush and water instead
of shit. But before you get close to the Andalusians, you need to clean off
the smell of blood," Paco suggested.
"The Senorita did that. And I think I smell more of horseshit than anything
else," Corazon Negro said. He followed Paco toward another stall, that of
Goliath, and together they opened the animal's gate.
"He likes you," the old man said, approvingly. The stallion's big ears rose
with curiosity; then he gave his own approval, neighing and shaking his
head. Paco slowly tried to enter the enclosure.
"May I try?" the Aztec asked.
Paco hesitated, then stepped aside and let the warrior go in ahead of him.
Corazon Negro raised his arm toward the animal, saying, "That's right,
Goliath. You remember me, don't you?" and the by-now docile stallion
approached him, easily following the Indio* out of his enclosure.
"That's fine," Paco said approvingly. "Lead him there, to his favorite
spot." They tied Goliath to a pillar on either side, then Paco gave Corazon
Negro a wooden-handled brush, which the Aztec used to caress the animal's
back--long strokes which soothed the man as well as the animal. The Immortal
looked at the old man--he knew that this was Paco's way of thanking him for
saving his grandson. No words were needed between them.
"He *really* likes you," Paco said. "I've never seen anything like it. How
do you explain it?"
"I can't," Corazon Negro answered, continuing to brush the black horse. The
horsehair felt smooth and soft under his fingers. "I suppose it's in my
being, my soul. My people once believed that men must live with nature and
all her creations, not against her. Perhaps I still have something of that
within me."
Paco nodded, smiling. "That's a beautiful thought," he mused. "Perhaps we
are not so different after all."
"Perhaps," Corazon Negro agreed. At that point the bells of the little
chapel began to toll. The Immortal stopped brushing, listening very
carefully, remembering that in other places, that sound meant trouble.
"Time for the midday meal, Paco explained. "Come, put Goliath back in his
stall and let's go eat."
Notes & translations:
carromato (Spanish): wagon
abuelo/a, abuelito/a (Spanish): grandfather/grandmother