THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 16/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Sun, 4 Mar 2001 01:40:31 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 16/18
Chapter 16
Mariaelena had sobbed over Paco's body until her chest hurt and her eyes
were dry, but Paco was still dead and he would not come back. She looked
around her at the other corpses, her men, the ones she should have cared
for. She felt sick. Ari was dead. Joselito was dead. Fulgencio could even be
dead. And it was all because of her. She was still kneeling by Paco when
Corazon Negro came and crouched by her. She couldn't meet his eyes.
He handed her a skin full of water. Closing her eyes, she drank greedily,
not realizing how parched she'd been.
"I carried Fulgencio under the trees and laid him on a blanket," the Aztec
said. "I gave him some water. He has many broken bones, his ribs especially,
and he's in a lot of pain."
She was in a lot of pain, too. She returned the empty waterskin to him, then
looked down at the ground again. At her dead, beloved Paco. "It's my fault
that the boy is hurt. It's my fault that Paco is dead, and the others," she
said, barely audibly.
But he heard. "What about the priest? And the other young men? You didn't
kill them, Curi-Rayen. The Spaniards did."
She shook her head. "We shouldn't have come, and that was my decision.
Paco--"
"Paco died protecting you," he interrupted. "It was a good death for him.
You must make his sacrifice an act of honor! And if we had not come, those
two would have found another way to get to you or your father." He lifted
her chin, forcing her to face him. "You fought like a warrior. You did your
best. You should be proud. I am proud of you, your father will be proud, and
Paco was, too. But now Fulgencio needs you. And others will need you, too,
when you return. We need to think about the living and we need to be strong.
There is a time for pain, but this isn't it!"
The horror, the terror she'd felt facing the merciless Don Carlos--knowing
that if she had died by his hand she'd be truly dead--the guilt that was
eating at her, seemed to slightly recede as she looked at Corazon Negro and
heard his kind but firm words. And now she felt something else, something
she'd felt during the Quickening, a warmth towards Corazon Negro--no, not
warmth, it was heat, !Dios mio! How could she even think about this, about
him! But it wasn't just her! She was looking right into his eyes and saw
the brightness there, too, and his breath coming harder.
"Curi-Rayen!" he whispered hoarsely.
She closed her eyes, and he released her chin. He said, "I'll lay the bodies
out so we can get them home. And I'll dig a grave for the brothers--unless
you think they should have a sacred burial ..."
"No!" she cried out, horrified. "Throw them into a hole where they belong,
and where no one will remember them." She stood quickly, looking around,
avoiding his gaze as much as he was avoiding hers. The warmth still suffused
her--she could imagine Corazon Negro's body, his height, his strength, even
without looking at him. "I'll see to Fulgencio, then gather the horses."
He'd stood up with her. "Good. And you should wash some of that blood off,"
he suggested.
"I will," she murmured, and ran to the trees.
Corazon Negro watched her run, then lowered his gaze, embarrassed by his
instincts at that moment. He took a deep breath and walked toward the
bodies.
*********
Mariaelena and Corazon Negro had spotted the riders quite a distance away,
growing ever larger as they approached on the flatland. "!Mi padre al fin*!"
Mariaelena had whispered, cautious joy in her voice.
Corazon Negro continued with his hard labor until the riders were close
enough that the feeling of an Immortal washed over him. He had dug a grave
with a shovel from the brothers' own pack, had thrown Don Lucas's body and
head on top of Don Carlos', and was starting to fill in the grave. He
stopped, glancing at Mariaelena. Their eyes met for an instant; then she
walked over to one of the Lipizaners, rubbing his nose. Putting the shovel
down, the Aztec pulled himself out of the grave and reached for his shirt,
wiped his face, and put it back on. It would not do to seem disrespectful to
the Don, who would be understandably upset, perhaps enraged, by what had
almost happened to his daughter and by the death of five of his men. Because
he was an Immortal, Corazon Negro was fair game, and he did not want Don
Alvaro, who was both respected and feared by his people and whose word in
these parts was law, to use him, Corazon Negro, as a scapegoat.
He took his weapon, which he'd laid by the grave, and walked over to where
Mariaelena was waiting with the horses, resting the Maquahuitl* against the
trunk of one of the trees. On the ground, laid out as respectfully as
possible, were the victims of the Munoz brothers: Padre Teodoro, Paco
Onioco, and the two young men, Joselito and Ari. What a horrible waste of
good men, Corazon Negro thought, sadly. Even the priest, whom the Aztec had
not liked, had not deserved to be eviscerated. The Immortal sent a prayer up
to thank God for His help in destroying these Spaniards.
But now another Spaniard was riding up. "!Padre*!" Curi-Rayen exclaimed,
nothing but joy this time, and started to go to him, but at that moment
Fulgencio groaned, and instead she knelt to see to the young mortal, giving
Corazon Negro a chance to study Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte as the older
man rode up. The Don's face was lined with dust, exhaustion, tension and
perhaps anger. The eyes were as blue as they'd been in the portrait, and
cold as the ice in the mountains. Don Alvaro rode by the makeshift grave and
glanced inside as his daughter broke free and finally ran towards him, and
he placed his horse between her and the only surviving Immortal, then
dismounted, never taking his eyes off Corazon Negro. The Aztec noted the
Don's height--a bit taller than himself--and his whipcord leanness. Although
Don Alvaro was not in the flower of his youth, Corazon Negro had met plenty
of hard men who were not young. And this man, whose quick glances missed
nothing, and who was staring hard at the Indio* Immortal, was a killer.
As soon as Curi-Rayen touched her father, the Aztec saw the immediate change
that came over the Don. His relief was obvious, his features softened almost
into a smile--even his eyes gained some warmth from within. She was in his
arms, burying her face in his chest, and whispering, "You're back! I am so
glad to see you. I have so much to tell you. It's been ... it's been
terrible!" But she was not, Corazon Negro noted, weeping uncontrollably, as
might have been expected of a woman; as she really had every right to do,
under the circumstances. She hadn't broken down when it had been time to
fight the Spaniards, either. She continued to surprise and impress him.
"You are well, I see, child," Don Alvaro said quietly, holding her against
him for an instant, then pulling her back to examine her more closely. "I
want to hear everything."
As he said this, his four men rode up. "Muchachos*, see to your comrades,"
he ordered, and they dismounted.
She took a big gulping breath, and the two of them walked toward the trees
where Corazon Negro waited. The Aztec saw the Don's eyes linger for a moment
on the Maquahuitl*, then meet his evenly.
Mariaelena said, "Let me begin by introducing you to Yollohtlzin Tliltic. We
call him Corazon Negro, and he saved my life."
"We saved each other's lives, Don Alvaro. It was my pleasure and my duty to
help your wonderful daughter, although ..." He glanced back over Don
Alvaro's shoulder toward the partially-buried bodies.
"These damn, bloodthirsty Munoz brothers--" Mariaelena began.
"I know them," Don Alvaro replied, his voice heavy with disdain--and with
regret. "I was able to find them by the trail of dead they left on their way
here to kill me--and to kill you as well. Although I see that you've taken
their heads."
"Corazon Negro and I fought together," she whispered, obviously mindful of
the mortals present. Then her voice rose in pitch and emotion. "But we
couldn't keep them from killing Paco, Padre Teodoro, Ari, and Joselito. And
poor Manuel, also, who was taking this message to Buenos Aires. I'm sorry,
Father. I shouldn't have--" she began. Then she shook her head, apparently
at a loss for words. Her eyes full, she reached in her pocket and gave him
Padre Teodoro's letter.
Don Alvaro gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. Then he scanned the letter,
nodded, folded it and put the parchment inside his breast pocket.
"Fulgencio is hurt," she continued matter-of-factly, although her voice
broke. "Don Lucas rode him down with his horse. He's-- I don't know if he
can ride."
"He'll be taken care of," Don Alvaro promised. He gazed at her for another
long minute. "I should not have left you, my dear girl," he said, with real
feeling. Keeping her in the cirlcle of his arm, he addressed the Aztec. "It
seems I am indebted to you, Corazon Negro, although I still have many
questions. Let us get back to the rancho* with our dead. We will speak again
this evening."
**********
Later that evening at the Duran rancho*
The entire rancho* was thrown into a state of loud and deep mourning by the
arrival of the riding party, and Corazon Negro could not get out of his head
the anguish on Joaquin's face when they'd carefully lowered his
grandfather's body from the horse.
The Immortal sat in a cooling bath, making himself ready body and soul to
meet with Don Alvaro. After saying a few words to his people, the Don had
retired to his chambers with his daughter, and Corazon Negro was waiting to
be called. In spite of her grief, Paco's daughter-in-law had offered to
patch his torn and bloody shirt. The Immortal had thanked her, then decided
to put on the Aztec clothes he had originally arrived in, which had also
been cleaned and patched for him by the women of the rancho*.
He closed his eyes, but opened them almost immediately at the sound of a
soft step.
Joaquin Onioco slowly came toward him. The boy's face was closed down now.
He stood in front of the Immortal silently for a moment.
Finally Corazon Negro asked him, "Are you all right?"
The boy shook his head mutely.
"Do you want to ask me something? Or say something?"
Another shake of the head.
Saddened, and not knowing what to say, the Immortal stood and dried himself
silently, then dressed. When he was finished the boy still had said nothing.
Nothing wrong with silence, he thought. "Shall I take you back to your
mother? I'm sure she'd love to have you near her."
"They're all crying," Joaquin replied. "I don't want to be there."
The Aztec understood at once. "You don't want to cry."
"Yes, I do, but ... Abuelo* Paco wouldn't have wanted me to. He would have
wanted me to be brave."
Corazon Negro put his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed softly.
"Crying just means your heart is too full to hold the pain inside. It does
not make you weak--your grandfather knew that," he said sadly.
"He cried when my father died. I did, too." Before the Immortal could say
anything to that, the boy asked him, "How did my grandfather die?"
The Immortal took a deep breath. <How to explain the malevolence of such men
to a child, especially when he didn't understand it himself?> "There are
evil men in the world. They kill others because they think it makes them
strong, but it doesn't. It just shows their weakness and their evil. They
hid in the trees and shot us with guns."
"They hid like the rattlesnake who killed my father?" Joaquin asked.
"Yes, exactly like that." Corazon Negro wished he'd been able to see the
trap sooner. If only he had--
"The rattlesnake got away. Did these evil men get away?"
"No!" Corazon Negro rushed to say. "As Don Alvaro announced, they are dead,
too." At least he could reassure the boy about that. "So they will not be
able to hurt anyone else again."
"Did you kill them?" Joaquin asked.
"The Senorita and I killed them," the Immortal replied. "She is very brave
and strong, just like your grandfather, who fought bravely against them."
"I'm glad he helped to kill them," Joaquin whispered. "I know Abuelo* Paco
was brave and strong, and good. So was my father. But they're both dead."
Moved by Joaquin's bleak assessment, Corazon Negro took a deep breath before
continuing. "Yes," he agreed. "Sometimes being brave and strong and good is
not enough to keep you alive. But God will love them in the next life, as He
did in this one. God will not love the evil men."
Tears sprang to Joaquin's eyes. "I hate them!" he said savagely, then threw
himself into the Aztec's arms--but he still wouldn't cry.
"So do I." Corazon Negro squeezed back. He knew that the Christian God
preached forgiveness of your enemies, but he couldn't find it in his heart
to forgive the Munoz brothers. The man and boy were silent, standing for a
moment, then Corazon Negro said, "Let me take you back to your mother.
You're the man of the house now. She needs you."
When they got there, he asked about Fulgencio, whom he was told would
probably recover, and the relatives asked him for details, and he recounted
as much as he could without giving away their secret. He was in the midst of
this when a young girl came looking for him, to tell him Don Alvaro would
see him at once in his office.
Corazon Negro followed the girl to the front of the house, where a wagon was
just pulling up. He saw the Don and Curi-Rayen emerge and talk to the
driver, an old farmhand named Tomas.
"We have the bodies--what's left of them. Even the baby. But they weren't
all dead, Don Alvaro," Tomas was saying, his voice shaking. "We found the
boy hidden in the cow shed." He pointed at one of the riders, who had a
young boy sitting, asleep, on the saddle in front of him. "He said his
mother told him to hide, so he didn't come out, not for hours, not even when
he heard the screams from inside his house."
Don Alvaro shook his head sorrowfully, and Mariaelena reached up for the
child, who was handed down to her and didn't even awaken. As she held the
little boy against her, her eyes met Corazon Negro's. They were swimming in
tears. The Aztec could imagine what she was thinking: another family
destroyed, another tragedy ... How many more, and for how long? Forever?
"Who did this?" Tomas demanded, striking one fist into his hand. "Who? And
why?"
"I can tell you who, and that they're in Hell where they belong; but as to
why ... that I cannot answer," the Don said, sighing. "We'll send the boy to
one of the Indio* villages," he said to his daughter. "I don't think he'll
want to be near any Spaniards for a while, or near those white stallions."
She nodded and went inside the house. Then the Don looked at Corazon Negro.
"Follow me," the Don ordered. They went into Don Alvaro's private office. He
entered first and Corazon Negro respectfully followed him. The Aztec saw
that the room was very comfortable. Large, as surely all the other rooms
were inside the rancho*, it was barely illuminated, even in the middle of
the day, by the oil lamps that burned on both ends of the writing desk.
Behind it, a great number of books and manuscripts were piled on shelves.
Don Alvaro sat in his chair behind the desk while Corazon Negro stood before
it with his hands behind his back, as a symbol of respect, waiting for the
other man to speak first.
Don Alvaro had hardly slept since he'd had news of the brothers' arrival
four--or was it five?--days ago. His eyes burned and his head felt like it
was being slowly crushed. Worse, he'd spent most of those four or five days
in the saddle, and his back was agony. Every muscle in his body cried out
for rest, and as he sat in his comfortable chair, he stifled a sigh. He ran
his thumb and forefinger along his moustache, thinking that all he wanted to
do was kiss his daughter, drink a bottle of sangria, and go to sleep. But
first he had to settle matters with the Aztec Immortal. For good or ill.
He silently studied the warrior for a long time. Corazon Negro didn't sit in
the chair in front of the desk, and the Don considered that a symbol of
respect and good manners. Don Alvaro had never met a pure-blood Indio*
Immortal, and he had heard that the Aztec had all been wiped out by Cortes
and by disease. Of course, Immortals were not destroyed so easily. The
Spanish Immortal had to admit that this younger man--not so young, if he had
helped settle the ancient city of Tenochtitlan--was a magnificent-looking
fellow, proud of his heritage and race. He could find no dishonesty in
Corazon Negro's calm gaze, no guilt, no fear. He had a feeling that this man
would tell him the unvarnished truth.
Notes & Translations:
mi padre al fin (Spanish): my father at last
muchachos (Spanish): men
abuelo/a (Spanish): grandfather/grandmother