New Fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 8/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 01:24:54 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 8/18
Chapter 8
Padre Teodoro had looked out through one of the colorful windows and seen
Mariaelena and Corazon Negro talk, then walk away. Together. Slowly, he went
to close the wooden door and returned to the sacristy.
<That dammed Indio*! He might infect the young and impressionable Mariaelena
with his false and blasphemous words.> She was a woman, and therefore weak,
inherently unclean, like Eve. On top of that, she had Indio* blood herself,
and that made her even weaker. Not for the first time, the priest wondered
what had possessed Don Alvaro to adopt a half-breed when there were so many
available Spanish children. But even he had to admit that the girl was good,
kind, and faithful, even if she did have a stubborn streak. His thoughts
darkened as they turned to the Indio*. Corazon Negro had to die. The priest
had already tried to get Paco to throw the Aztec out, but Paco would not go
against the Senorita, and appealing to the other residents of the rancho*,
no matter how faithful or obedient to the Church, would certainly fail now
that the Indio* had saved that child from being trampled. As thankful to God
as he was that the child had lived, the priest was furious that it was that
damned Indio* who had saved him.
No, the savage had to be gotten rid of, and there was only one sure way to
do it. Seating himself at his small wooden desk, Padre Teodoro pulled out a
piece of clean parchment and opened his flask of ink. Then he dipped his
peacock feather in the ink. He had to write to his contact in Buenos Aires.
The Inquisition should know about the infidel in Don Alvaro's house. Padre
Teodoro was sure that the Don would reward him for his services. The Indio*
must burn in the purifying bonfire; and from there Padre Teodoro would hear
the regret from the Aztec's mouth before the flames consumed his animal's
soul.
Considering for a moment, he finally wrote:
"To the Chaplain of his Holiness, His Grace Juan Len de Guevara, recently
enlisted as Holy Bishop in the Holy See of Buenos Aires--
I come to His Grace with my soul in deep pain. I must inform you that during
the absence of Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte, who departed for Buenos Aires
two days ago to attend to business in that city, an infidel from the north
arrived at our beloved rancho*. This savage claims to be an Aztec, and Your
Grace surely knows that these people were exterminated by the Great Hernan
Cortes, who, seeing the uncivilized state in which the savages lived, asked
permission of our former Holiness and Catholic Majesty, the Emperor Don
Carlos, our Mighty King, to evangelize in this Godforsaken land.
It is with this same pain and submission that now I ask His Grace to send a
representative of the Holy Tribunal, as well as soldiers to support him in
his quest, to our beloved rancho*, because I feel there's a great danger
that this Indio* could poison the thoughts of the Don's young and
impressionable daughter, Senorita Mariaelena Duran y Agramonte, who seems to
be listening to the infidel. As you know, these people, the Aztecs, were
well known for their 'powers', surely obtained from their pacts with Satan.
I'm sure that His Grace will take this matter up with the urgency it
requires. I do not know when Don Alvaro will return, but I'll be expecting
your emissaries within the week. It is my utmost wish that our Lord
Jesucristo will keep and preserve the precious life and the Catholic Person
of His Grace for a long time to come.
With all my heart, your unconditional vassal,
Teodoro Villagran de Varillas
Protector of the True Faith"
Padre Teodoro finished the letter and smiled. He could almost smell the
Indio's* scorched flesh--he had done this before, delivered a heretic to the
purifying flame, and had felt nothing but righteousness, even during the
screams of the damned. He put his seal on the letter and looked around
outside, spotting a young worker, Manuel, who was passing nearby. This boy
was a good choice; unlike some of the others whom he suspected, he was sure
Manuel was faithful. In fact, the Inquisitor's arrival might uncover other
Indios* who only pretended to be of the True Faith--they could make a clean
sweep. Don Alvaro would be pleased. "Manuel!" the priest yelled, his voice
full of command as always.
Manuel approached, removing his hat before Padre Teodoro.
"Take your fastest horse and deliver this letter immediately to the
Parroquia* of Buenos Aires, to be given into the hands of His Grace, the
Bishop." With any luck, the boy would be in the city in two days, a day to
make the arrangements, perhaps three days to return--depending on the youth
and vigor of the Inquisitor who was sent--all told, Padre Teodoro could
expect an investigative group here within the week. By that time, surely Don
Alvaro would have returned. The Don would be pleased with him, and so would
the Bishop. As for the Senorita--she would obey her lord, and would never
directly challenge the Holy Mother Church.
"Yes, Padre," Manuel answered, taking the letter and bowing. "I'll leave
right away."
**********
Because Goliath seemed to have a special liking for the Aztec, Mariaelena
made an exception in letting someone other than herself or her father ride
an Andalusian. She was making a lot of exceptions for this man, she
realized, and it was because, in spite of all the warnings and possible
dangers, she inherently trusted him. But she was all too aware that her
judgment of men was limited, and she had no illusions of being able to best
the older Immortal in a duel. He was also certainly stronger than she was,
so she kept a loaded pistol in the pocket of her skirt and remained within
calling distance of someone at her rancho* at all times.
Corazon Negro was inside one of the paddocks with his mount. Because the
purebred Andalusian was high-strung by nature, he had taken the time to calm
Goliath first, speaking to the beast in a soothing, clickety-clack language
she didn't understand. Then he had saddled Goliath under her supervision. At
that point she climbed to sit on the fence. When she told him to mount, he
grabbed the front of the saddle and easily swung himself into it, startling
Goliath, who shook his head noisily, rose slightly on his rear legs, and
spilled his rider, then ran to the other end of the paddock.
Mariaelena burst into laughter, leaning back so far she almost fell off the
fence. Clutching the post, she righted herself, still giggling and hoping he
would not be too arrogant to laugh at himself ... and he wasn't.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he picked himself up and dusted himself
off. "What did I do wrong?" he asked.
By this time one or two riders had wondered over to see the lesson, pointing
and laughing at him good-naturedly.
"Horses don't like sudden movements," she replied, pulling the hair back off
her face. "Think of them as children--large, strong children--who don't like
to be surprised. So next time get on slowly, using the stirrups, and make
sure you have the reins firmly in hand first. That way, if the horse
objects, you can pull on the reins and show him who's in charge. If they
suspect you are afraid or unsure, the horse will do what he wants, not what
you want."
The Aztec nodded.
"Go get him," she said, "and try again."
He had no trouble mounting the second time, and urged the horse towards her,
but the animal didn't move. "Use your heels," a ranch hand, Ari, who had
also come to sit on the fence, said, "and loosen the reins. You're pulling
too hard. He thinks you want to stop."
Corazon Negro did as he was told, kicking the horse softly in the withers,
and Goliath proceeded across the paddock--but not towards where Mariaelena
was sitting. "Pull his head to the left to turn left," another man cried out
to him, but Corazon Negro was already doing that, and he managed to point
Goliath towards where she waited. When they got there, he pulled back on the
reins to get his mount to stop, but he lost one of the reins in the process,
and when he leaned down to get it, the horse moved under him again and he
slid off the right side back onto the ground.
Mariaelena giggled. "It's the grease on the saddle, isn't it?" she teased
him.
He picked himself up again. "No, I think I took my feet out of the
stirrups," he said.
Someone else laughed, but there was no taunting or derision. The ranch
workers were taking him as one of their own, someone to be taught and not
made fun of. "Grip with your knees!" another man called out, and Corazon
Negro acknowledged the instruction with a wave. It made Mariaelena smile.
Saving that boy's life had ensured the Aztec a place in the rancho*. She
gave a little frisson, wondering what her father--the master of the
place--would say, and found herself thinking that she would defend Corazon
Negro if necessary. But only up to a certain point. She would *not* go
against Don Alvaro. And if the Don decided to behead the Aztec Immortal ...
she sighed. Que sera, sera*, she thought.
"Yes, you have to stay on the horse, that is important," she said, teasing
him again. "But you're doing better." She was delighted at his good humor
and his obvious enjoyment. The man would make a good rider. He liked
horses--at least this one horse--and that fact endeared him to Mariaelena,
who in her heart of hearts liked and trusted horses better than people.
After about an hour he was riding easily around the enclosure, and hadn't
fallen again. She ventured to suggest they ride around the property, not too
far. She went into the stable and saddled Samson, and as they rode out of
the paddock a rider with a pistol visible in his tirador* fell in behind
them. She smiled to herself, knowing this was Paco's doing. As much as Paco
might be grateful to Corazon Negro, he was not going to leave the Mexican
alone with the Senorita. They rode out onto a fallow field, and the two
Great Danes immediately joined them, getting under their horses' feet but
expertly avoiding the hooves. Corazon Negro practiced turning, urging the
horse into a trot, a canter. Finally he brought Goliath next to Samson and
stopped. He was smiling.
<He has a nice smile.> "You like riding," she said.
"I do," he answered. "It gives me a feeling of freedom, and I like being
high."
"Wait until you gallop," she said. "That is like flying." Gazing at him for
a moment, she decided to indulge her curiosity. "Tell me about your city,
your Tenochtitlan," she asked him.
At that moment some small animal underfoot startled Goliath, Romulo and Remo
barked loudly and ran after it, and Corazon Negro was hard put to stay on
the saddle as his horse danced underneath him. Samson, who at the best of
times was ill-tempered, also began to twist and weave, but Mariaelena
controlled him with less effort.
Finally both horses calmed down, and Corazon Negro, panting slightly, turned
to talk to her. "What did you ask me? Ah, yes, the city. It was a place of
wonder, built in the middle of a great lake, and as far as I know,
Tenochtitlan was larger than any European city, even mighty Rome. We had it
all--temples, schools, theaters. Surely when Cortes first saw the city, he
must have been astonished. But because it was unfamiliar, and because it
wasn't *his*, he decided we were uncivilized. But I wonder who were the
savages, the ones who could build those marvels or the ones who destroyed
them," he said, bitterly.
Goliath's bulk stirred beneath him, and Mariaelena thought, <that's how I
can tell how you're feeling, Corazon Negro--by watching your horse.> He
seemed unaware of it, and it was good to have some insight into this
complicated man's mind.
They began to ride back toward the stables, and he continued in a sad,
rather than angry tone. "We respected our elders and punished the liars,
thieves and drunkards. Only the elders could get drunk. Adultery was
forbidden, whereas the Spanish noblemen all seem to have mistresses, and
treat their wives and daughters like animals to be owned and used."
Mariaelena wondered if the Aztec was referring to her relationship with her
own father. True, the original Spaniard who had owned her, the man who had
raped her mother and whom she had believed was her actual 'father,' Don
Rafael Almeida, had abused her; he had even handed her around to his
friends--but not Don Alvaro, never. She felt compelled to explain this to
the man before her, to defend Don Alvaro. "My father is not like that," she
stated with conviction. "He certainly disciplines me, sometimes physically,
but that is his right as my father. And he is," she leaned closer to Corazon
Negro, saying proudly, "absolutely merciless on the training floor, so that
I will learn to protect myself. But he has never 'used' me, and he has in my
presence killed at least one man who insulted me, much less anyone who laid
hands on me. And he does not abuse the women servants in his house," she
added, for good measure.
Corazon Negro smiled indulgently. "I do not refer, of course, to *every*
Spaniard--just most of the ones I'm acquainted with. Certainly most of the
ones with Cortes, may his soul burn in any hell you care to believe in."
He said this so calmly, it actually frightened her, a little. She got an
image in her mind of that weapon of his, with the sharp stones ready to rend
bone and flesh, and she suppressed a shudder. Samson shook his head in
annoyance. She hadn't yet been frightened by the Mexican Immortal's anger,
but his calmness was ... formidable. Her father was always most dangerous
when he was cold, not hot and raging, and she realized for the first time
that she was glad this man was, apparently, her friend and not her enemy.
She turned to look into his face, but he was looking off, his eyes cold as
ebony, remembering.
"I believe that the Spaniards saw a civilization far superior to theirs,
and, blinded by gold fever, they decided to destroy it."
She took a deep breath, her hands tightening on her reins, and ventured,
"But Padre Teodoro called you a human flesh-eater back in the chapel. You
did you have human sacrifices, didn't you? How can you call that superior?"
He looked at her, his face warm again, the coldness gone from his eyes.
"Yes, we did. My people believed that if they didn't, the sun would
disappear from the sky. Strong incentive, wasn't it?"
She glanced up into the sky, and couldn't help agreeing, although she said
nothing. <Religious beliefs cause people to go mad sometimes.>
He continued, "However, not all the ancient cultures of this continent had
human sacrifices. That was the main pretext the Spaniards used to butcher
every people they encountered, although when the conquistadores arrived,
only we Aztec had human sacrifice. We killed those who went against our
laws--against Quetzalcohuatl's teachings, of course. Instead of hanging
them, shooting them or burning them, we took the heart out of their bodies.
We used to believe that that extinguished life would serve as a gift to our
Gods, not as a punishment to the man. In our minds, killing just for the
sake of killing was a sin."
He paused, shaking his head. He sounded to her more earnest than apologetic.
"I'm not trying to justify it," he continued. "I now realize that we were
wrong, but even the Bible contains human sacrifices to Yavhe. And as you
should know by now, human sacrifice was practiced all over the world, in
every culture, even in Greece. At least we didn't try to justify our
sacrifices as the Inquisition does, accusing innocent people of witchcraft
and of being in league with the devil, then burning them at the stake just
to keep all their belongings. In fact, we used to call gold God's shit, and
that's why we wore it on our clothes, as an act of submission to remind us
of our inferiority compared to the gods."
Mariaelena nodded. His tone was still calm, as though they were just talking
about the weather, but she could sense the tension underneath, and she could
see Goliath did also. But the Aztec was wrong; he was generalizing. "I don't
believe Padre Teodoro wants to burn you to get your belongings, Corazon
Negro--unless you have some hidden treasure that he knows about," she said,
teasing him a little. "I think he sees you as a corrupting influence, on me,
especially. He wants to protect me, to keep my soul from burning in the
eternal fire, even if it means burning your body here on earth."
"I know that your priest wants," he said. But instead of going further on
that tack, he leaned toward her, speaking earnestly. He was trying to
convince her, and pretty much succeeding.
"I know that from the Spanish point of view, we were just a bunch of
savages, and we needed their civilization. But remember that our own
civilization rose without any outside influences, unlike your Europe, whose
culture was built from a mixture of a lot of different cultures. The
European people are used to having slaves, and the land belongs to your
kings and your Popes, not to the people, as it should."
She considered it. Technically, she supposed, the land they were riding on,
the rancho*, should belong to the original inhabitants, the Indios*, the
Mapuche, who were still fighting the Spaniards. But now it belonged to Don
Alvaro, granted to him by a piece of paper signed by a king in another
continent. She shook her head; Don Alvaro had won this land, fought for it.
He'd even made a deal with the Indios* here. He deserved it. And no one
would take it from him while he lived. But surely that was not what Corazon
Negro was suggesting. He was just talking about a lost civilization, gone
for a century. Nothing would bring that back, and he had every right to feel
a regret for that great loss. She wondered if, a century after she left this
home, everyone and everything she knew and loved, she would still feel such
a great regret. Provided, of course, that she survived for a century, she
thought, grinning to herself.
It was with that ironic, self-amused thought in her head that she said to
him, as they rode back to the stables. "Don't forget tonight!" Realizing
that the Aztec was a deeply religious man, she was looking forward to
sharing the faith of her mother's people with him. Then, without waiting for
his answer, consumed by a wild recklessness, and knowing she would get a
good dressing down for it, she yelled loudly, "!Cuidado, muchachos*!" As
everyone turned to her, she whooped, startling Samson. Then she urged him
into a run, then a gallop, and she and Samson leaped over the paddock fence
as though it were only half a meter tall.
Just like flying, she decided, breathless and satisfied. Exactly like it.
Notes & Translations:
parroquia (Spanish): administrative office of the Catholic Church
que sera, sera (Spanish): what will be, will be
tirador (Spanish): Argentine belt
!Cuidado, muchachos! (Spanish): Careful, boys/men!