The Empty Hammock

by Barrett, Brenda

  She grinned. The title 'How were Taino babies born. Was it by Immaculate Conception or Passionate Copulation?' sounded better. She would get more sales for that one.

  “It is good, that you are smiling,” Orocobix said beside her. He caressed her bare back.

  Ana suddenly felt shy, her skin prickled where he ran his fingers. “I don’t suppose Tainos use birth-control, do they? I would not want to have a baby in this dream.”

  Orocobix knelt behind her and nibbled on her shoulders, “of what do you speak?”

  “Never mind, I will ask Basila. I should have done that last night.”

  Orocobix turned her to him, “Ana, what language do you speak when I can’t understand you?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Ana looked hard at him.

  “Of course I do. I want to know everything about you. We have never left the island, except to go to Bohio, but yet you speak strange things sometimes. How do you know how to do this kiss thing?”

  “I can’t really explain it.” Ana ran her hands through her hair, her strangely straight hair. “I am from the future. I don’t know how I'm trapped in this person’s body or what I am doing here.”

  Orocobix stared at her then he started to laugh. He laughed until he had to lie back down on their makeshift bed—tears streamed down his cheeks.

  He looked so handsome and male, his bronze skin gleaming healthily in the morning light. His strong features befitting that of a warrior rather than a peaceful chief. His slightly full lower lip was turned up in laughter. She could barely keep her face serious too.

  Ana slapped him on his leg. “Stop it. I was sleeping at my parent’s house, under a palm tree in the year 2007. Next thing I know, I woke up under a similar palm tree clothes-less with you hanging over me. I was hauled to a hut and stayed there for three days doing the spa treatment, which by the way was great, and then I was joined to you last night.”

  Orocobix’s body stilled, “Ana I would do anything for you, I just joined with you, I can’t bear to let you go. If you say these things to people, I will be forced to put you in a house at the bottom of the hill and join with another.” His dark deep-set eyes were serious.

  “Do you even believe me? Just a little bit Orocobix?”

  “I played in the stream with you at Maima; you cooked a bird for me on your eighth summer. We built a canoe together, when we found the perfect cotton tree. On your ninth summer, when the Caribs came to Maima, we hid in the trees. I held you while you cried because they took your baby brother away,” Orocobix got up and stood in the corner of the hut, his body taut with tension.

  “We used to secretly meet at the bottom of the cove and plan our joining.” His voice petered out. “It’s true things were different when I found you sleeping under the palm tree and calling out for sea turtles, but I…its impossible, you are the woman I have always known. You always had visions and said things but…”

  “I am so confused about this Orocobix,” Ana glanced at him, “it seems as if you had fun with your Ana. You love her very much, don’t you?”

  “Stop playing,” Orocobix demanded. “I thought you would have stopped playing when we joined.”

  “In the future joining is called marriage.” Ana looked at him. “What we did last night is called making love. This paradise is never truly reproduced again; nobody can clearly fathom how it looks now. It’s still beautiful but never like this again. The Arawaks are known as the original inhabitants but you all died out when another people came.”

  “Stop this please, Ana.”

  “Your great prophet Guacanagari saw in his vision where men would be coming in ships. It’s true. They are not gods, they are humans like you, and they will destroy your people. Are you listening to me Orocobix?”

  His face was pained and his hands clenched at his sides. “I know you are special, it was announced as such when you were in your mother’s womb, but this is madness. I know you; you grew up with me. How can you not be who you are?”

  “Basila said your father would take Ana’s council when she gave it. She said Ana saw visions.”

  “Yes,” Orocobix said and nodded. “Your council is much valued.”

  “Then trust me, Orocobix. I'm not the woman you did all of those things with. I don’t know her. I don’t know why I'm here, but I do know what the future will bring. I want to help your people.”

  Orocobix squeezed his eyes shut, what should he believe? She sounded so earnest and so sure of herself. He had loved her all his life, and now she was telling him she was someone else.

  What cruel trick was being played on him? He remembered the times he shared with Ana, the gentle maiden, who had followed him everywhere and then he thought of the woman in front of him; determined, independent outspoken.

  Could Ana change in three moons?

  How did she know how to do that kiss thing last night?

  He thought back to the day she woke up in the hammock, the fear in her eyes, and her ignorance of their upcoming joining.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the woman he loved. “Tell me, I will listen. I may not understand, but I will listen.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  They landed at La Española; the island was breathtakingly beautiful as were all the others. Juan directed his men to off-load the animals that his ship, El Dragon, had carried.

  Sadly, the old settlement had been raided and the men killed. He supervised the building of stables for the horses. The reluctant Spanish men complained that they were not builders and that the natives would do a better job.

  That he could not argue with, and after showing the natives what to do, they finally met his requirements. The language barrier was frustrating, but they finally did his bidding, smiling as they worked.

  A frustrated Colón had requested Juan’s company to go into the interior of the island to find the Chief, who was his friend. The man was badly burnt and could not come to the old settlement. They went through thick trees and even thicker brushes with their native guides.

  The island was redolent with greenery, yet he could see abandoned settlements with scarred tree trunks and burnt out grounds. They obviously used the slash and burn method of farming, a terrible environmental drain.

  They arrived at the new settlement where the Chief was residing and approached a square hut. It was bigger than the others and many women stood around it; some were cooking, others were braiding hair. It was a scene of domestication; the women happily greeted them, when they approached.

  Inside the hut was semi-dark and Colón stood stiffly as a short native man, whose body was painted into multiple colors, hung in a hammock in the center of the hut. Five young men surrounded him, their expressions faintly hostile, he opened his arms wide in greeting. Colón awkwardly returned the greeting because he was not sure that the man was genuinely his friend anymore.

  The man made hand gestures to him and even threw in a bit of Spanish in his speech.

  Juan was fascinated; obviously the Chief had learned the language from the men who had been on the island before they were killed. The conversation was actually fluent enough to put Colón in a sulk, his jaw ticked with rage.

  “How dare they?” He paced from one end of the hut to the other. “The filthy heathens, they killed our men.”

  Juan could tell that the old chief was not pleased by the deaths of the men in the settlement by the way he wrung his hands in consternation as Colón paced.

  “I thought these people were a gentle breed,” Pablo whispered to Juan as they stared at the bandaged foot of the chief that they called Guacanagari.

  “Well how much gentleness can one people have when you abuse their women and work them for food?” Juan asked practically. He did not feel angry. The people must have had a reason to be so drastic in their actions. The ones they had met so far were eager to be friendly.

  He went over to the chief. His short hair was tied in a thong and he had many feathers stuck in it. His intelligent eyes gleamed as Juan hung over him
in the hammock.

  “What happened, Chief?” Juan asked forcefully.

  “They took our women,” the chief said brokenly. “Four to each man and raped them. Made our men work hard.”

  Juan frowned; he actually understood the essence of what the man was saying.

  “The Christians killed two men related to the Chief in the east. He pointed in an easterly direction. So the chief of the east came to avenge their relatives.”

  Juan nodded.

  “What’s your name?” the chief asked sleepily, grimacing in pain.

  “The name is Juan Perez.” Juan looked at him properly. It was no wonder that Colón had befriended him; the man had eyes that were wise.

  “Juan,” Guacanagari said, pained as he moved his bandaged leg slightly. He swallowed and a half smile curved his cheek. “Bienvenidos - Welcome.”

  ******

  “Should we move her?” Carey asked his mother, as they stood over Ana. “She is out like a light.”

  “No let her stay,” Clara looked out to the sea, “the evening will be cool, if she is not awake by then, we should wake her up so that she can continue sleeping in her room.”

  “What were you doing in the basement so long?” Carey stretched. “I am sure I dozed off.”

  “I was sorting out your father’s papers. Your father was a storyteller; he had stories of his beginnings ranging from Taino parents and such. It sounded quite incredible.”

  “Ana would love that kind of thing,” Carey looked at his mother. Her face had creased lines that he could not recall seeing before. “Are you worried about something, Ma?”

  “It's just that I'm not so sure your father was senile.”

  “He wasn’t?” Carey asked incredulously. “The man rambled and raved for years before he died.”

  “I think he was writing a book and he mixed up fiction with his real life.”

  “Mixing up fiction with real life is what we call insanity,” Carey retorted, “how come I didn't know he was writing a book?”

  “I had no idea myself,” Clara headed toward the house, her housedress billowing in the breeze. “First, I find a treasure chest, and then I discover that all my late husband’s ramblings about the Arawaks and Spanish, including his dreams and visions, are documented. I found myself wondering how connected they could be, me finding this chest and his papers…”

  “Let me see what he has,” Carey walked behind her. “I can get to brag at the office that my father was in the process of writing when he died. Instead of having to explain that he was suffering from acute dementia and sporadic periods of disillusionment.”

  They headed down the steps of the basement. Carey looked around. It was like a museum. The odd calabash bowls sat on low, crude looking stools. In a corner, there were boxes of little wooden statues, their ugly faces scowling. In the center of the room boxes neatly packaged and labeled were stacked on top of each other.

  “How come I’ve never seen these things before?” Carey asked his mother.

  “They were scattered all over. I dragged them down here in the latter days. This is where Floyd used to spend most of his time—there is the book,” she pointed to a box marked ‘family tree’. “Read to your hearts content.”

  Clara headed for the other side of the room, “I will just clear out the old exam papers.”

  Carey sat down and opened a folder called the ‘Misconceptions of History’.

  History does not emphasize that the Tainos knew of the coming of the white man. There was a chief called Guacanagari, who saw the coming in a vision.

  Before the decimation of these people, they were shown exactly what would happen. Not only by Guacanagari, but also by Ana, my ancestor. She knew many things; she predicted many things. It’s history’s loss that her story was never officially told.

  “How could he know this?” Carey asked aloud. “And why was his ancestor called Ana?”

  “Don’t worry. I think your name is also from ‘the good people’,” she said and pointed to another folder.

  Carey scanned through the Taino names and howled, “Sea turtle. I am named sea turtle and Ana is the flower? How could you mother?”

  Clara shrugged, hiding her smile. “I had no idea that your name had an animal meaning. But you can search the Internet. I'm sure some other culture has you listed as a strong warrior or doctor.”

  ******

  Ana stared at the handsome profile of her husband. She could not believe that he was hers, at least for the time when she would be in this place. He was beginning to trust her; she could see the effort it cost him to admit that he believed her, and she admired him for it.

  “I'm hungry, let’s eat and then talk,” she told him.

  He relaxed a little and walked to the front of the hut.

  Basila stood outside, holding a flat plank of wood with two calabashes on the top. The sweet aroma that was drifting to Ana from inside the hut made her belly growl.

  “Basila, how long have you been there?” Ana asked as Orocobix took the breakfast from her.

  “Not long,” Basila said lowly. “Can I speak to you?”

  Ana nodded and followed Basila outside. The day was gloriously bright, the blue of the sky almost blinding. Birds were flying everywhere, their lithe multicolored bodies and the unique sounds that they made added to the atmosphere of peace.

  “What is it Basila?”

  “I wanted you to have this.” Basila lifted a pouch from around her neck and placed it on Ana’s.

  “What is it?” Ana asked curiously, the little bag had a drawstring, which was long enough to reach the top of her breast.

  “That is pomegranate seeds with pennyroyal.”

  Ana looked in the bag and saw the dried seeds and some pale blue flowers almost dried, they were losing their color.

  “What are they for?”

  Basila looked slightly impatient. “If you were really my Ana, you would know. Those are to prevent babies. Take a little bit in your food every day. If you want to have the Chief’s sons then you don’t have to take them.” She turned and walked away, “let me not keep you.”

  Ana looked up and saw Orocobix at the doorway staring at her, an expression of longing and frustration creeping over his face.

  She followed him into the hut and they ate in silence.

  “I know what that is,” he pointed to the pouch. “I don’t want you to take it.”

  “I have to. I'm not the Ana you want children with. I don’t belong in your time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because as much as the future is not perfect, with crime, unscrupulous politicians and depletion of the ozone layer. I can’t leave my brother and my mother; I would miss them too much. I have an apartment, modern conveniences, a job, and my computer. I could not stay here and plant food all day, or weave hammocks. I would go crazy. I have never been the domesticated type, although I believe Hilma, my brother’s wife, would adore it here. Sorry, I digress,” she said and inhaled. “No fast-food restaurants or chocolate cake.” She slightly shuddered. “A perfect life would be to have you and chocolate cake.”

  Orocobix looked confused. “Talk to me slowly, Ana. I want to know what you are saying, some of your words are strange.”

  She looked squarely at Orocobix, “I do not want to stay, because I know what the future will bring. This paradise and this way of life, will soon end. You are just a lost figure in a history book. I can’t get involved.”

  “Last night you were involved.” Orocobix grabbed her to him. “And I don’t care who you are professing to be, you are the one I love.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  They woke up much later in the day; Ana was snuggled in the body heat of Orocobix—he smelled like jasmines. His strong sweet smell assailed her nostrils, as it did on the first day she saw him. He was so strong and handsome, not the weak, one-dimensional man on the pages of her history book.

  What year is this? How much longer before Christopher Columbus paid them a visit?

&nb
sp; She shuddered as she thought that all the people in this little settlement would be lost, eventually. They would be overworked, starved, killed and raped.

  Could she stop that? Could she rewrite history?

  She was in a time that she always heard about, and yet she was stuck to the confines of her surroundings. Jamaica was now a deep tropical jungle: everywhere she looked there were trees, unrelenting undergrowth, and thick patches of bush. The place looked untamed with its faint dirt tracks and its stark purple mountains in the distance.

  It was all good and well to think up grand schemes of rescue, but what could she do?

  Only Basila believed a word she said, and even, then she only understood what she had told her about Guacanagari’s dream.

  The man lived on Haiti, she couldn’t call him and tell him what his dream meant, neither could she call the Lucayanos in Bahamas and tell them to kill the pale men that will approach them in the three ships. Nor did she know if Columbus had already landed on Bohio.

  She searched her mind for fifteenth century history. It had to be the fifteenth century because Guacanagari is alive and currently the chief. He would be a friend to Columbus, so chances are the time of the Tainos was rapidly drawing to an end.

  She barely knew fifteenth century history, except that the war between the French and the English was soon to end, and that purity of religion was now the order of the day, with the Roman Catholic Church dominating the world. This would be the century when war was fought for religious purity and people were dying for their faith.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” Orocobix whispered close to her ear.

  “Fifteenth century history.”

  “What is that?” he asked curiously, determined to listen to every word she said.

  “The time we are now in,” Ana got up on her elbow and looked down at him. “Time is measured before and after the death of Christ and we are in the fifteenth century after his death.”

  “Why would someone want to measure before and after the dead?”