Ahh. I understood now. The food needed to be wet, easy to chew. I took another piece of potato and mashed it between my teeth. When it was good and soft, I rested a clump on my tongue and stuck this out for the hungry bird. Immediately, it began to scrape the surface, eagerly picking up bits of food, which slid down its throat in fast little bumps.
I smiled. “You are hungry, little one?” I asked in a quiet voice. The small bird stuck its neck out for more, and I fed it in this manner two more dried pieces, until it didn’t lift its head any longer. Its eyes closed and its head lowered in sleep, the breathing easier, a bit slower now. Good. Already I knew that I wanted this creature to live, to be with me. I didn’t know how the yunka stranger was able to see so much about me so quickly, for I believed I hid my secret feelings well, but somehow the man knew that I needed this bird, and this was something that I hadn’t even known about myself.
I watched it resting in the basket, comfortable even though I was so close. It was the kind of bird that grew the beautiful long red feathers Uncle Turu was trading for earlier. But it was still very young and very ugly. It was hard to imagine that it could ever look anything but ugly. The yunka man had called it Sumac Huanacauri. Handsome Rainbow. This was a very big and hopeful name for such a sad little creature. I wondered if such a name could offend the gods. Perhaps for now it would just be Sumac. Even this seemed ridiculous. Calling this scrawny bird Handsome One? But then Muti’s call from earlier—Look, the Ugly One is here. Millay shows her face!—echoed in my mind, and anger swelled in my belly.
“Sumac,” I said aloud, daring the rocks to question the name. “You are Sumac.” The bird looked up at me, and I placed my hand on his head and stroked it lightly. He tilted it to the side, as if in thought. “What are you thinking, Sumac?” I asked. But whatever he might have said he held within.
***
Sumac remained silent all afternoon as I cleaned the remaining alpaca fur for Mama. He slept and slept, healing himself from a long journey that was beyond any travels I had ever known.
My thoughts wandered as my fingers worked their way through the fleece with a knowledge that came from having done this task for many years. Ucho’s words still echoed in my ears. I wanted to leave them behind, to forget, to not be bothered by his taunts, but we are not always able to do what we want. In my memory, the stick poked into my side over and over again, and I grew angry once more. Why did I have to be the Ugly One? Why couldn’t I have smooth skin like every other girl in the village? Why wouldn’t the gods remove my scar and heal me? It made no sense that I should suffer this way.
I put down the fleece and grabbed a handful of mud from the earth. Angrily, I brought it to my face, rubbing it along my cheeks and forehead to cover the skin and offensive scar. I had learned that mud dried quickly in Inti’s hot rays and, if put on properly, gave the temporary feeling of a smooth face. The challenge was not to cry, for tears would run down my cheeks in tiny rivers, preventing the mud from drying well and giving it a bumpy texture. More than once I had ruined a mask in this manner.
I turned my face to Inti so he could kiss it with his warm, drying rays.
“Is it done yet?” my sister’s voice asked from behind.
I jumped. She had startled me that much.
“I didn’t know you were here!” I said in an accusing voice. “When did you begin sneaking up on people?” I was embarrassed. No one had ever witnessed my mud ritual, and I prided myself on being aware of my surroundings so that I wasn’t taken by surprise as I just had been.
“I don’t sneak up on people. I sneak up on you,” she said with a laugh as she sat down by my side.
“Why are you here, Chasca?”
“I came to tell you Mama needs our help preparing dinner. Uncle Turu is telling stories tonight, and we don’t want to be late.” Here she paused and offered a sly smile. “But you seemed so busy, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Mudface.”
“Mudface, you say?” I replied with my own smile. I stuck my finger into the earth and, before she could stop me, smeared a streak across Chasca’s cheek.
I thought my older sister might be mad at me, but her expression was one of concern, not anger. “Micay, why do you cover your face in mud?” she asked quietly.
I didn’t like this question. The answer seemed obvious enough. Why force me to speak of it? “It feels pleasant on my skin,” I lied. I didn’t like being dishonest, especially with Chasca, but I disliked talking about my scar even more.
“Micay,” she said in a serious tone, “I wish you wouldn’t hide your face. Ucho and those boys are very young and very foolish.”
I gazed at the ground. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “They don’t see what a special person you truly are. If they did, they would never taunt you as they do.”
Hot tears trickled down my face. Somehow the ones on the right side always found the scar beneath the mud quickly. I could feel them course their way down my cheek, exposing the ugly, ruined skin.
Chasca finally let the topic be. “Mama is waiting for us. We should go,” she said. Then, with one last attempt at humor, she added, “But we should wash first, Mudface.”
I smiled at her, and a salty drop of tear and mud caught on the edge of my lip. “Yes, and we should hurry,” I said. “I don’t want to be late for Uncle Turu’s storytelling. That is my favorite time.”
“I know,” Chasca said. “You always say that.”
I took the basket with the still-sleeping bird in one hand and my sister’s palm in the other. Together, we made our way to the stream, then down the mountain, so we wouldn’t be late for dinner and Uncle Turu’s storytelling.
3
Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo
Son of the Sun and Daughter of the Moon
ÑAWPA pachapi, once upon a time, there was only darkness. Then Inti, the great Sun Lord, took pity on the wretched creatures of the earth and sent his son, Manco Capac, to spread civilization.” Uncle Turu took a step closer to the fire and paused, for he enjoyed the silences of a good telling as much as the words. He searched the faces of his listeners, the people of the village, to make sure no one interrupted the quiet. Ucho and the other boys sat at the edge of the crowd, pointing and whispering at the yunka stranger, who was watching Uncle Turu intently. As Uncle Turu’s eyes reached the boys, they stopped whispering and let their hands fall to the ground.
This was one of my favorite tales, the story of our people. I leaned in closer, not wanting to miss any of it. But I was still careful to stay far enough from the fire that the light couldn’t reach my face. I pulled the edges of my woolen cloak close under my chin to keep away the outside chill and hugged Sumac to my chest. Listen now, and you can judge for yourself how skilled my uncle was in the storytelling ways.
“The Moon Goddess sent her daughter, Mama Ocllo, to be Manco Capac’s bride,” Uncle Turu said. “Then Mama Ocllo and Manco Capac set out on their journey to bring civilization and enlightenment to the earth. Rainbow God created a beautiful bridge for them, connecting the world of the sky to the world of the land. The husband and wife held hands and walked down it to the earth below.”
Uncle Turu lifted his hands and made an arc to show the rainbow bridge. Then he linked them as Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo did so long ago. The fire flickered and threw strange shadow patterns on his hands, making them seem bigger, then smaller.
“The bridge ended at Lake Titicaca. The waters were lovely and deep. The couple washed and smiled, enjoying this new feeling of water on their bodies. But they didn’t stay there long, for they had much to do. Inti had made a golden staff of his own body and given it to his son. He told Manco Capac to travel throughout the land in search of the center of the world, for this would be the place where he should begin a city. ‘You will know when you have found this place, because the golden staff will sink deep into the earth and disappear,’ he said.”
Uncle Turu spread his hands, palms down, and mo
ved them out and away from his body, into the distance. “They traveled for a long time, always heading in the direction the staff pointed. And finally they came to a place that Mama Ocllo and Manco Capac felt to be right and true. Manco Capac lifted the brilliant staff above his head”—Uncle Turu lifted his own hands high above his head as if he were holding a long stick—“and thrust it into the earth.” He lowered his hands in a quick gesture. “The stick glowed more brightly and beautifully as it touched the ground, so that Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo had to shield their faces. Then it sank below the surface, out of sight.
“The husband and wife knew that they had found Cuzco, the center of the world. Manco Capac taught the men how to farm the land, and Mama Ocllo showed the women how to weave. Civilization came to the people, and Cuzco was the center of it all, a thriving city of nobles and priests. All the children of Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo grew strong and wise and had their own children. We are the descendants of these people. And this means that each one of us is born of the mighty sun Inti, the father of us all. So it was and ever shall be.”
The people solemnly repeated, “So it was and ever shall be.” Then there was silence. I closed my eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire. Its warmth didn’t reach me strongly, but I imagined it was day and that Inti was still with us, touching me with his long golden fingers.
The yunka man was nodding his head in agreement. He pointed to himself and said, “Ari. Why I go to Sacred Sun City.”
I thought I had misunderstood. Many people traveled to Cuzco, the grand city where the Sapa Inca, our emperor, lived. But I had never heard of one who would go to Sacred Sun City, a place hidden high in the mountains. Did the stranger mean he was traveling there?
Sacred Sun City, the Sapa Inca’s most precious estate. My heart raced at the thought of this religious center where only the holiest of priests and the most beautiful of Sun Maidens lived, always in prayer and praise to Inti and the other gods. How could he, a yunka stranger, feel that he was worthy to go there? He wasn’t even one of Inti’s true children. He would be killed—thrown into a pit of poisonous snakes or fed to hungry jaguars—before he would be allowed to enter such a sacred place. Surely I had misunderstood.
It wasn’t my place to ask, but Yawar, the leader of our village, spoke out. “You are making the journey to Sacred Sun City at Machu Picchu?” His eyebrows were raised high in question, and his voice didn’t hide his surprise.
“Ari. Sacred Sun City. Praise Inti.”
“They will kill you before you can pass through the Sun Gate and enter the city,” Yawar said. This wasn’t a question. He spoke in a flat voice, stating the fact that it was.
The stranger showed no sign that he was frightened by these words. “No. Not kill. I go. Praise Inti. Touch Sacred Rock. Ask question.”
The Sacred Rock was a huaca in Sacred Sun City. It was said to have the strongest of spirit powers. If you asked it a question in the proper manner, and if you were worthy, it would answer. It could solve your troubles, make them disappear, like a scar on a cheek suddenly vanishing forever. But very few were allowed contact with the Sacred Rock.
“What do you want to ask it?” Muti blurted out.
“No. Only here.” The stranger pointed to his chest. He may have been journeying to his death, but he was at least wise enough to keep his question guarded within himself.
Yawar stood tall in front of the dancing, hissing fire. He walked to the stranger and placed a large hand on his shoulder. “You must be permitted to enter by the Sapa Inca himself, and not many are worthy of speaking to the Sacred Rock. You are from far away, so perhaps you do not know these things. It would be best if you didn’t go.”
“I am holiest. I am worthy,” the stranger said loudly. He had been looking at Yawar, but now he turned his head in my direction, and I felt little bumps crawl on the back of my neck. It was as if he could see through the night air, directly to my hidden face. “We know who we are,” he added. Then he made a fist and pounded his chest, his face fierce. “Here.”
No one said a word. No one moved. The jungle stranger was still staring at me, although he couldn’t possibly see me hidden in the darkness. I tucked my knees in under my chin and tightened the cloak around my face, afraid that he would pull me out of the crowd. But no. Instead he rose and walked stiffly away from the gathered people. Alone in the dark, his figure was quickly lost to my sight, as if he had disappeared from the earth forever.
4
Musqukuti
Dreamtime
IN our wasi, our one-room house, later that night, my family prepared for bedtime. The wasi was sturdy, built of tightly stacked stones with a thick thatched roof, but it could not protect us from the creeping fingers of the cold night air. We piled blankets and weavings over our bodies by the light of the hearth, which still glowed faintly from the evening meal preparations. I’d fed Sumac again, and he was nestled into the center of a basket filled with warm alpaca wool, just to the side of my rush mat. Now I lay back and pulled up my favorite wool blanket, a beautiful red one with weavings of the sun and birds.
As I turned to my right side, the position I always slept in to hide my scar, Mama knelt next to me. With a small smile, she tucked the blanket under my chin. Her hand lingered, and she tentatively brushed the hair off my smooth cheek. She was my mother, so she had to do this, but I believed she didn’t truly want to touch me. When she leaned in to kiss me, I turned away as I always did, so her lips were spared the pain of touching my ugly face.
With a sad sigh, Mama stood. I wasn’t certain if her sorrow came from gazing on her daughter’s scarred face or from being a mother who longed to kiss her child but was rejected night after night. It was probably a mix of both. I turned away because it was easier not to discover the truth. I know this sounds odd. Why not let my mother kiss me? But what if she did, and it was so horrible for her that she never wanted to do so again? This was as close as I came to my beautiful Mama every day, and I cherished the moment despite her sadness. By turning away, I ensured that she would try again the next night. I told myself this was almost the same as a good-night kiss.
“Did I not say a stranger would come?” Papa asked from under his blanket, satisfaction thick in his voice.
“Yes, my husband,” Mama responded quietly. I saw her kiss Chasca before joining Papa. My older brother, Hatun, had been gone for almost three years now, serving his time repairing and guarding roads for the emperor as all young men did, but every night I thought of him at this moment. Mama would have kissed him good night after Chasca.
“No, you did not say a stranger would come,” Chasca said as she slid under her covers next to me. The reflection from the hearth danced in her bright brown eyes. From the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, I knew that she was smiling. She found Papa very funny and liked to goad him. In her playful voice she added, “You complained that your foot hurt, Papa. You never said a stranger was coming.”
“Is that not the same?” Papa defended himself. “It is said that a pained foot is a sure sign a stranger will visit.”
“Perhaps,” Chasca said. “If you didn’t complain of aches and pains most days.”
“I am an old man. Show the respect due an elder,” Papa snapped.
“Yes, Papa,” Chasca said obediently, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
“I was certain of his arrival. And I am certain the man is a fool,” Papa went on. “He should go back to the yunka.”
Mama, who often kept Papa calm with her soothing voice, murmured from under the covers, “That would seem wise.”
“What good does it do him, stomping through the mountains only to be killed? He is a fool!” Papa’s voice rose in pitch as it grew louder.
“Ahh,” Chasca said, “but sometimes even fools are correct, Papa. Perhaps they won’t kill him.”
“Ridiculous!” Papa’s voice howled like the wind as he continued. “He isn’t even a child of Inti! Chasca, don’t say such stupid things, or the bat will pa
y you a visit.” Papa made this threat at least once a day, that the bat would come and visit one of us. It was said that if a bat entered your home, you would meet with great misfortune. Papa was always worrying that some disaster would befall our family.
Chasca didn’t share his worry. She sat up slightly and sighed. “I fear he may already have done so, Papa. I may have seen the fluttering of wings as I awoke this morning.” She paused and scratched her head, then added, “Or perhaps not. It was still dark, and I had sleep in my eyes.”
“Chasca!” Mama hissed. “Do not tempt the gods.” Mama didn’t worry about bats in houses the way Papa did, but she didn’t like to hear Chasca say such things. And my sister often said things to bother Papa. She was very pretty, Chasca, but at times she didn’t know when to be silent.
“But I really might have, Mama. It flew out the doorway before I could be sure,” she said.
Suddenly, Papa sat up and shouted, “Ha!” The sound startled Sumac, whose little head jutted up above the edge of the basket at my side. I reached over and stroked him lightly.
Mama, who was used to Papa’s loud noises, said calmly, “What is it, husband?”
“It is a bad omen if the bat visits you at twilight,” Papa said. “Chasca may have seen one as she awoke. It was morning, not twilight. There is no danger.”
I could hear in his voice that he was pleased with himself, like a child who has just answered an old man’s riddle correctly.
With this settled, the small wasi filled with the gentle noises of the night. The little group of quwis Mama was raising scuttled about in the corners, making their quiet squeaking calls. The wind danced with the tree outside our home, and the leaves made their soft flutter music.
I closed my eyes and watched the blackness under my eyelids. But it didn’t stay dark for long. The image of the yunka stranger appeared before me. His face was fierce. I didn’t want to think of this man. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It bothered me, this image of the jungle man. Something hadn’t been said that should have been. I was unsure if anyone else was awake, but I whispered my words anyway. “Perhaps he really is chosen by Inti.”
The Ugly One Page 2
