THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 11/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Sat, 3 Mar 2001 09:23:50 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 11/18
Chapter 11
Duran rancho*, near Buenos Aires, in La Plata (Argentina)
Just after sunset, Mariaelena came out of the house, dressed and ready to
ride. She walked toward the workers' huts, sensing the Indio* Immortal
almost immediately. Following the sounds of music, a melancholy vidala* at
first, she discovered a group of men and women dancing around a bonfire. As
she approached she heard the beginning drums of a chacarera*. Standing a
little apart, she smiled--she knew this song. The drum was followed by the
guitar. Then the sweet trill of the Andean flute cut through the evening,
and the dancing began in earnest.
Mariaelena knew that Padre Teodoro would not be present--he disapproved of
the drinking and of the *excessive* fraternization. Bu she saw that Corazon
Negro was right in the middle of the lively group. He was sitting on the
ground with Paco by his side and Joaquin on his lap. As the Mexican Immortal
looked around, noticing her and nodding to her with a smile, one of the
women, Isabel, tried to urge the Aztec to dance to the lively song, pulling
on one of his arms. Shaking his head and saying something Mariaelena could
not make out, he nevertheless took Joaquin off his lap and rose, his hand in
Isabel's. Mariaelena watched him for a moment without making herself part of
the group. The only thing missing was the gourd of mate being passed around,
but that was understandable, considering several of them were planning to
attend a religious ceremony later that night.
The music paused suddenly, as did the dancers, and the drummer called out:
"!A ver paisano, dispare un dichito*!"
The flautist answered, "!Aqui va! Como me gusta la sopa cuando la gallina es
gorda; pero mas me gusta la sirvienta ..." here his voice got a leer in it,
"... cuando la patrona es sorda*!"
Mariaelena laughed and joined the crowd, who would have stopped immediately
if Don Alvaro had arrived, but welcomed her into the group warmly and
informally. She was immediately swept into the dance by young Fulgencio, and
she tried to keep up with the steps. Amid cries, laughter, clapping and
general jaleo*, the drums, then the guitar, then the flute took up again. As
soon as this dance was over, the enthusiastic musicians started again. She
turned as her hand was taken. It was Corazon Negro.
Mariaelena liked to touch--she did so almost unconsciously. And now she was
surprised by how pleasant she found the touch of his hand. "Do you know
these dances?" she asked him, taking care not to lean too close to him.
"No," he grinned. "I was hoping you would teach me."
"Ey! Senorita," someone called out, and she smiled and nodded. "I'll do my
best; but I must warn you that I ride better than I dance," she told the
Aztec.
"I'm sure you do everything with equal grace," he murmured.
She smiled and gestured with her head and they watched several pairs of
dancers go through the steps. After a few moments she asked him if he was
ready to try it, and he nodded, and Mariaelena was surprised to find that
she had been holding hands with Corazon Negro the whole time. They moved
apart. The drummer started again; they stood across from each other and
began the steps, copying the other dancers as best they could.
"The chacarera* is a dance of courtesy," she whispered as they circled each
other. "We must look at each other, into each other's ... eyes ... and smile
all during the dance."
"I find it very pleasant to smile at you," he murmured. "As for your eyes
..."
She briefly lowered her gaze, then they both raised their arms, laughing as
they tried to imitate one of the other couples, dancing in the center of the
square and moving apart again. The second time around they moved more
fluidly through their tracts. But although Mariaelena's tap dancing was
heart-felt, it did not resemble anything any of the other dancers did, much
to the delight of the crowd around them.
Someone whistled, and this time around Isabel was partnered with young
Fulgencio. "Don't trip, Senorita Mariaelena!" the woman recommended with a
smile.
"I won't," Mariaelena answered, concentrating on doing her strutting part of
the dance, while the men, including Corazon Negro, did a tap dance.
"Eh, Senorita, are you dancing or killing lizards on the ground?" Paco asked
teasingly from the sidelines.
"I don't see you dancing," Mariaelena laughed. She stuck her tongue out at
the old man, then glanced at her partner. Corazon Negro was a better mimic,
and he got praise from some of the onlookers and instructions from
others--this time around--until he turned the wrong way and the two of them
collided. For Mariaelena it was like running into a wall, and she fell to
the ground in a heap of hilarity.
"!Ahora si*!" Paco exclaimed, roaring with unrestrained laughter, and even
little Joaquin was holding his sides.
"You're so clumsy!" she exclaimed, as Corazon Negro helped her up. She
dusted herself off but couldn't stop laughing
"Indeed, I am clumsy," he said, amused, remembering his old days as a
dancer.
"Yes, you are!" she agreed, glad that he hadn't called her clumsy. Which she
was. A little.
He bowed. "Please forgive me, but it's been a long time since I did my
Dance. The Only Dance."
"The only dance?" she asked him, still laughing and trying to catch her
breath. "I don't know what you mean."
"I'll tell you all about it another time," he said. "Shall we try again?" He
took her hand one more time, they studied the others and an appropriate
moment rejoined the dance. Even when the dance ended, then another one began
and they were swept into it, she continued to giggle periodically as they
both tried to keep up with the steps. But then came another chararera*, and
for the next few minutes, looking into each other's eyes, time paused just
for them. No worries. No doubts. No prophecy or danger. Just the two of
them.
The three musicians continued to play until the dancers were exhausted.
But there was no rest for the weary. As Mariaelena sat on the ground, out of
breath and feeling totally ridiculous, Paco said to the group, "It's late."
She nodded, sobering immediately, and Fulgencio took one hand, and Corazon
Negro the other, to help her get to her feet. Again.
"Gracias," she said, then closed her eyes, considering, wondering if it were
a good idea to go to this Mapuche ritual tonight, especially when Padre
Teodoro was already so suspicious. But she knew the priest went to sleep
with the chickens and was unaware that other gods were secretly worshipped
on the rancho*. Don Alvaro, however, was well aware of everything that
happened on his lands and still permitted others to worship as they
pleased--except for Mariaelena. Mariaelena had not lied to her aya* about
where she was going, but Fernanda clearly disapproved, although the old
woman would not give her away. Since both women knew Don Alvaro would forbid
it, Mariaelena was taking advantage of one of her father's rare absences to
attend a religious celebration of her mother's people. And, knowing that the
Aztec Immortal would not be left behind, she'd decided to invite him along.
As she hesitated, Paco, who had sent his reluctant grandson sternly home to
bed, came up to her. "You're worried about Padre Teodoro?"
She nodded. "A little."
"My spies tell me he's asleep. But ..." he sighed. "Are we going or not?" he
asked her.
Listening in silence, Corazon Negro saw the uncertainty on her face and
decided to intercede--a little. "It's your decision, Curi-Rayen," he said to
her.
She looked at Paco, then at Corazon Negro and the others, all of whom were
waiting for her. She knew it was her decision. They could go without her; or
she could order them all to stay. If she went, they would go. The
choice--and the responsibility--were hers.
"We're going," she decided.
The men and women looking to her nodded. Some of the dancers and onlookers
had already gone back to their huts, and the few who remained went
surreptitiously to the stables to saddle their horses. It was fully dark
when Mariaelena, Corazon Negro and a small mixed group of riders, led by
Paco, rode west to go to the Mapuche ritual. Although the moon, which was
almost full, gave the green grass a silver glow, Paco and a few others
carried lanterns tied to their saddles to light the way to the small
cinnamon grove, almost two hours away from the rancho*, where the ceremony
would take place.
They rode at a fast trot for many leagues, with Elena watching the Aztec. He
seemed to be doing well on the back of Goliath, and he hadn't fallen since
this afternoon, so she decided to take a chance, both with his ability to
stay on a horse and with his goodwill towards her. She raised her hand and
they all stopped. Then she asked Corazon Negro, "Do you want to try
galloping? Our horses are faster--we'll outdistance the others, but we're
close enough now that they'll catch up to us soon." This last she mentioned
for Paco's sake, who would not want to lose her from sight.
Sure enough, Paco began, shaking his head, "Senorita, I don't think--"
"Don't be an old woman, Paco," she answered. "Even if this man intends to
hurt me--which I don't believe he does--he's only been riding for one day.
He'd never catch me. Now please give me your lantern."
Paco paused for a moment, then handed her his lantern, and Mariaelena asked
Corazon Negro, "Well?"
The Aztec nodded, and she instructed him, "All horses are born to run. They
love it. Lean forward, hold on with your knees, ease up on the reins and
gently kick Goliath in the belly. And hold on; there's a rhythm, and once
you get it you shouldn't fall off." She smiled. "Unless you get clumsy
again," she teased him.
"I won't," he answered calmly, smiling at her joke.
Amused at his assurance, she yelled, "!Vamonos*!" leaned forward and spurred
Samson. With a huge snort, the horse surged forward. An instant later she
heard Corazon Negro yell, "!Ya!" and Goliath followed. She made sure his
horse caught up to hers, then she leaned down over the saddle, and watched
him do the same. They quickly left the other galloping horses behind. They
flew through the night, long black hair flying back like the horses' manes.
No matter how long she lived, she thought, she'd never feel so free and
happy as she did when galloping on the back of a fine horse.
Corazon Negro thought that the young Immortal had been right--galloping was
different from just riding. It was wonderful! As he rode into the wind,
trying to get Goliath's rhythm and stay on the saddle, he felt the wind in
his face and a joy that was almost a religious experience.
She brought Samson near Corazon Negro's mount and called out over the
pounding of the hoofbeats, the panting of their horses and the beating of
her heart, "How do you feel?"
The older Immortal turned his head and looked at her, smiling happily. "I
feel great!" he yelled. "You were right. This is fantastic!"
Mariaelena nodded, smiling back. The warrior was like a child with a new
toy. It was strange the way Corazon Negro could pass from feeling like a
boy, eager to learn anything, curious about the world around him, to being
the experienced, fierce warrior, a man of honor and courage. At this moment
she could see Corazon Negro's soul through his eyes, the calm that lay
behind that gaze, which seemed to penetrate into her heart. Mariaelena shook
her head, discontented. The man was a mystery, but now she suddenly felt the
need to know him better, to know what it would feel like to see her
reflection in his leopard's eyes.
She frowned, shaking her head and trying to avoid these bizarre thoughts.
Finally they got within sight of the clump of trees, which were lit by many
torches. She slowed her mount, but when he pulled back on Goliath's reins
the horse wouldn't slow; so Mariaelena had to catch up to him, snatch his
mount's reins, and help him pull his strong, stubborn horse back to a walk.
Panting, and wanting to think about something other than his eyes, she said,
"You know, we Araucanos have our own ideas about the divinity, and we
believe that there is only one supreme God." She paused to see if the Aztec
was interested in her talk. He was paying careful attention, so she
continued. "The offerings to our God consist of spilling the first drops of
blood of the animal that we're about to eat in His honor. We never
worshipped idols or figures. His name is Pillan*, and the natural world, the
Nuke Mapu*, that surrounds you, is His manifestation."
Corazon Negro stared into her eyes. "I know, Senorita. Long before I reached
your rancho*, I spent three years with the Mapuche over the mountains. Your
people are magnificent. It is good to see that in spite of your Spanish
upbringing you haven't forgotten your roots. I hope that you always will be
there for them, in any circumstances." The Aztec paused and looked ahead for
a moment, then added, "But your Catholic father would surely not approve of
this ritual that you are taking me to."
"No, he wouldn't," she answered.
This might be serious. "Would he be angry with you? Is it worth the risk?"
She smiled mischievously. "My father is angry with me a lot," she answered.
"And he's never forbidden me from going to a Mapuche religious ritual
because ... he doesn't know I go to them. As for risk, I've been risking my
life since I found you, remember? One more little thing won't make much
difference, I guess."
"I guess not," the warrior answered, smiling at her.
That smile again! Mariaelena watched his face, wondering why she'd felt the
heat rise to hers. No, she knew why. That dance to warm them up, and now
this moonlit ride--thank God the darkness of the night hid her expression.
And that they were here for religious reasons. Fortunately, they were just
arriving at the group of cinnamon trees. "We're here," she said. Then, as
they dismounted, she heard the other riders come up behind them.
Silently, everyone came to sit at the center of the clearing. Mariaelena had
brought a blanket from her saddlepack, and Corazon Negro spread it out and
respectfully took his place beside her. Leaning towards him, she whispered,
"This is a ceremony for our dead elders, the Ad Mapu*. Like your religion,
ours rules our behavior in mind and spirit. The dancers," she nodded with
her head, "are purifying this place, cleansing it from evil influences, so
that it will become a most sacred temple."
Corazon Negro watched carefully, and Mariaelena followed his gaze. Exactly
at the clearing's center, a single cinnamon tree was laid down as a rewe*, a
stage for the Machi*, the priestess who officiated and supervised the dances
around her. Looking like a living statue, her face serene, almost in
ecstasy, she listened to the songs of prayer to the Pillan*.
Suddenly, the priestess raised her arms and cried out: "Kom incin kine
mojfvngein, penigein, mapucegein.*" Mariaelena leaned close to Corazon Negro
again, feeling the warmth of his body near her. Taking a deep breath, she
translated: "We all are from one same blood, we all are brothers, because we
are the Mapuche, the Sons of the Land."
But Corazon Negro didn't turn to her--his gaze was frozen on the priestess,
and for a moment he thought he was looking at his former teacher,
Quetzalcohuatl, standing before him, up high above his stone city
Te-lol-ti-auc-can, the God's place, where the Sun and the Moon would live
forever as one, timeless.
The Machi* spoke once more. "Femkefui ta in kuitikeceyem, gijatun dugu eli
ta Cau Nuke Mapu*." Mariaelena turned to Corazon Negro again and saw a small
tear running down his cheek. <!Dios mio!* He is crying!> she marveled.
Feeling a strange tenderness, she took his hand and translated: "This is the
way our ancestors acted, because this is what our God commands." Gently, she
wiped the tear from his face with her thumb. "It means that all we do we
must do the right thing, as our ancestors did."
Corazon Negro took her left hand, the one she'd wiped his tear with, and for
a moment they held both hands, looking into each other's eyes. Then they let
go and looked down.
Mariaelena was embarrassed. She remembered Fernanda's warning. She'd been
too forward, she'd danced with him, she'd touched him. The Aztec was a man.
She didn't want him to get the wrong idea about her--and it might already be
too late for modesty.
While he was thinking that this night had been special, and that only once
before in his lifetime had he been so close to a woman as special as
Curi-Rayen. The last time he had touched the hand of a woman it had been
soft and delicate, like the petals of a flower. Curi-Rayen's hand was strong
and callused, but it felt just as wonderful to his touch. After seven
hundred years, it felt good.
But both their thoughts were interrupted by the Machi*, who opened her eyes
and looked at the Immortals. Slowly, she got down off her pulpit and started
to walk toward them, coming to a stop before them.
They stood respectfully. "For the two of you," she said, "this ceremony has
become Koncotum*--you have started a good friendship." The priestess took
Corazon Negro's hands between hers and announced, "You have came from a far
away land and you know men's hearts. You have seen the good and the evil in
every soul you have touched. As our ancestors were, you are a believer and
you have faith. Never forget that faith, and always watch over the black
flower," she finished, nodding towards Mariaelena.
The Immortals looked at each other, surprised, and nodded without a word,
and Corazon Negro felt his heart swell in his chest with joy and pride. It
was true, then. *This* was the last sign he needed to be sure, absolutely
sure, that Curi-Rayen was the black flower he was supposed to be protecting.
He *was* obeying his father's last prophetic commands, and the final
confirmation had come from another holy one. More tears slid down his face,
and he didn't bother to wipe them. "Manumaeimi, nuke*," Corazon Negro said,
bowing to the priestess. "Thank you."
The Machi smiled up at him, then turned around and started to walk away, but
after a few steps she looked back at the Aztec with an strange light in her
eyes. "But you must be careful, foreigner. From the west, where you came
from, comes all that is good, the Wenumapu*; but from the east will come a
great evil, the Minchemapu*. And this evil will come divided in two. Be
ready, both of you. And Son of the Wolf--don't lose your head." With these
cryptic remarks she went back to her ceremony, and at the end, the Machi*
and the dancers disappeared into the darkness of the night, while the
various worshippers walked off or rode quietly back through the flat,
infinite pampa.
Notes & translations:
vidala (Spanish): melancholy South American native melody
chacarera (Spanish): lively Argentine dance music
!A ver paisano, dispare un dichito! (Spanish): All right, comrade, let's
hear a wise saying!
Aqui va. Me gusta mucho la sopa cuando la gallina es gorda; pero mas me
gusta la sirvienta cuando la patrona es sorda! (Spanish): Here goes. I love
soup when the hen is fat; but I much prefer the servant girl when the
mistress is deaf!
jaleo (Spanish): singing, clapping stomping accompanying a song
!Ahora si! (Spanish): This is it!
vamonos (Spanish): let's go
Machi (Mapuche) - Mapuche priestess, physician, prophet, seer.
Ad Mapu (Mapuche): for the Mapuche tribe, all nature is a temple
rewe (Mapuche): wooden altar for the Machi, usually the trunk of a fallen
cinnamon tree