Hurricane Dancers

by Margarita Engle

  shattering the deck.

  Shredded sails

  and tangled ropes

  form a swaying web

  of smoky nooses,

  choking me,

  seizing my breath.

  Sailors screech

  like demons,

  then leap

  and sink.

  I throw myself

  overboard,

  onto a frothy wave,

  hoping.…

  Quebrado

  Water

  is heavy

  and monstrous.

  I writhe up

  toward air,

  gasping and gulping

  as the ship’s

  last remnants

  vanish.…

  All around me,

  men grasp and pull,

  dragging each other

  under.

  Part Two

  Brave Earth

  Quebrado

  Trapped on surging waves,

  I struggle to swim in rain

  that feels like spears

  of shattered glass.

  The ship is gone,

  her tree-spirits rising,

  transformed into air.

  It would be so easy to give up

  and just let myself sink,

  but as soon as I begin to wonder

  if drowning would be peaceful,

  a sea turtle glides toward me

  like a creature in a dream.…

  The turtle is real, with a sucker fish

  clamped onto its slick green shell,

  and a forest vine tied to the tail

  of the wriggling fish.

  Out of the downpour,

  a canoe appears as if by magic,

  rowed by a man with long black hair.

  He tugs at the slithery green vine,

  leading the huge turtle

  toward his boat.

  He shouts, and even though

  his voice is swallowed

  by howling wind

  and booming waves,

  I understand that the fisherman

  is telling me to reach for the turtle,

  so I grab the rim of the shell,

  and I clamber up,

  pulling myself onto

  the great beast

  as it skims

  the rough surface,

  soaring toward safety.…

  Naridó

  The waves are mountainous,

  but there is a spirit-boy

  between peaks,

  so I help him escape

  on a turtle I caught

  with my bring-it-back fish.

  I pull the storm-boy

  toward a sandy beach,

  and when he cries out

  with gratitude,

  his odd words

  sound like echoes

  of my own

  human tongue.

  Quebrado

  Feeling lost

  in a whirl

  of wind,

  I breathe

  and discover

  that I am alive

  with my feet

  on firm land

  and my heart

  astounded.

  Bernardino de Talavera

  My ship, my crew,

  the promise of a long

  profitable life

  at sea.

  All are gone.

  Only this struggle

  to swim

  remains.

  Alonso de Ojeda

  My poisoned leg

  makes swimming impossible,

  so I cling to a splintered board

  and hope that somehow

  it will carry me

  to dry land.

  I have survived

  other shipwrecks

  on perilous shores,

  but I was strong then

  and now I am helpless,

  just an old man

  surrounded

  by devious phantoms

  who try to steal

  my makeshift raft.

  Quebrado

  The turtle hunter leads me

  through the ragged ruins

  of a flooded village,

  and then uphill

  along the edge of a forest

  where the wind

  uproots towering trees

  and sends them

  flying.…

  We stop and crouch.

  We enter a cave.

  I expect darkness and silence,

  but the torch-lit cavern

  is filled with people, birds, dogs,

  and music, a chanted story,

  a heroic song.

  Naridó

  My world is safe in the leaping light

  of palm-frond torches that surround

  a circle of dancers.

  Hollow-gourd rattles, bird-bone flutes,

  tree-trunk drums with fire designs

  painted on the sides.

  Caucubú sees me and smiles.

  Her name means “Brave Earth,”

  and she is all that I know and love.

  I take my place in the circle

  of dancers, with the storm-boy

  at my side, bringing his spirit world

  into the cave, our only refuge

  in this time of wind.

  Quebrado

  The enormous cavern glitters

  with jagged crystals

  and smooth ones.

  The faces of the dancers

  are painted with red zigzags

  and black spheres.

  My mother used to decorate me

  in the same way, using bija seeds

  and jagua fruit to ward away

  stinging insects.

  The women wear white cotton skirts,

  but the men are almost naked.

  Everyone stares at me

  as if I am the one

  who looks strange.

  Quebrado

  Safety.

  Such a small word.

  The cave bristles

  with sharp crystals

  shaped like beaks and claws,

  and flowing ones that resemble

  glassy waterfalls.…

  If I am not dreaming,

  then perhaps I am dead,

  wandering along the paths

  of an afterlife

  filled with wildness

  and beauty.

  Caucubú

  Naridó brings a boy

  from another world, his arms and legs

  encased in a skin of wrinkled cloth.

  We stop dancing to laugh and wonder,

  but we cannot pause long

  or the Woman of Wind

  and her beastly Huracán

  will swoop down to crush us

  with gusts of rage.

  So we resume our rhythmic steps,

  chanting about the ancient beings

  who emerged from caves long ago.

  Some turned into trees or birds,

  while others became people—humans

  who love to sing like birds

  and dance like trees

  in wild wind.

  Naridó

  Everyone calls me River Being

  because I catch so many fish

  with my feathered arrows

  and winged spears.

  Caucubú’s father

  is our leader, the cacique,

  and her twin uncles

  are the behiques,

  magical healers whose cures

  protect our village

  from wind spirits

  and water beings,

  visitors from the worlds

  of spinning clouds

  and swaying fins.

  Caucubú

  When Naridó is close,

  I feel like a storm

  within a storm.

  My father says I must marry

  a powerful cacique,

  but I love Naridó,

  the best fisherman

&n
bsp; in our village.

  When Naridó is close,

  my mind swoops

  and tumbles

  like the wind

  in a stormy sky.

  I am glad there is peace

  at the center of each

  hurricane.

  Quebrado

  Many years have passed

  since I was small and whole

  and free to dance.

  Movement surges

  up through my feet,

  pounding

  and rippling

  like a whirlpool

  in a stream,

  round and round

  until the story-song

  flows to an end,

  like a river

  finally reaching

  its deep heart,

  the wide sea.

  Caucubú

  I wish the dance

  could go on forever,

  keeping me far

  from the dread

  of marriage

  to a stranger.

  Even my mother

  expects me to accept

  my father’s wishes,

  and marry someone

  my father chooses,

  instead of Naridó.

  No one listens

  to young girls

  in love.

  Quebrado

  The hurricane

  falls silent.

  We step out of the cave,

  and find masses

  of writhing sea things

  that look like snakes,

  moons, flowers,

  and stars.…

  The Woman of Wind

  taught all these creatures

  how to fly.

  What will the hurricane

  teach me?

  Part Three

  Hidden

  Quebrado

  Villagers wade

  through deep mud,

  salvaging fragments

  of their toppled homes.

  All I find is a bell

  like the one I rang

  on the ship,

  when I hoped to calm

  the Woman of Wind

  with music.

  Calm winds were my hope

  because I did not yet know

  that a hurricane could free me.

  Quebrado

  I help Naridó weave new palm-frond roofs

  beneath a sky of circling vultures

  and shrieking parrots.

  When children ask my name,

  I cannot bear to speak the Taíno one

  I knew when I was small and whole,

  so I search my mind for a new name,

  and while I search, the children decide

  that I must have come from the air,

  so they call me Hurará, “Born of Wind,”

  even though I do not feel bold

  and strong

  like a hurricane.

  I still think of myself

  as a broken place, a drifting isle

  with no home.

  Bernardino de Talavera

  Battered by reefs,

  my hands are swollen,

  scraped by the rough

  coral stone.

  Washed ashore like driftwood,

  I am lost, and longing for sleep,

  desperate for rest—but I need

  to keep moving

  until I find magic

  or medicine

  for my hands,

  and hearty food,

  and a big seagoing canoe

  to carry me away

  from this desolate shore

  of shipwrecked hopes.

  Alonso de Ojeda

  This is my first true encounter

  with weakness.

  My leg is paralyzed

  yet it aches and itches,

  and drives me mad with fury.

  After other shipwrecks,

  there were bells, mirrors, and beads,

  shiny trinkets of flotsam

  to astonish the naturales.

  This time, I find nothing at all

  on the shell-littered beach,

  nothing to trade

  for food and potions.

  All I have is my ghosts

  and my fear.

  Quebrado

  Naridó’s village is sheltered

  by freshwater marshes

  and wind-ravaged trees.

  The thatched huts seem hidden,

  but even on this peaceful shore

  I cannot imagine ever feeling

  truly safe.

  The dark sea is huge,

  and it brims with ships

  that carry ferocious men

  like the pirate

  and Ojeda.

  No matter how invisible

  I feel, I will always be wrapped

  in the memory

  of life as a captive.

  Quebrado

  I give up my Spanish clothing,

  and start to dress like Naridó,

  wearing only a cotton loincloth

  and a necklace of spiky

  barracuda teeth.

  The designs that Caucubú paints

  on my cheeks and chin

  soon begin to feel

  like a protective covering,

  even though they are really

  just pictures

  of fiery lightning

  and radiant stars.

  Caucubú

  I venture just far enough inland,

  to get away from the salty crust

  left by hurricane waves.

  I mound soft red mud into hills,

  and dig holes with a sharp stick,

  so I can plant spicy pepper seeds,

  sweet potatoes, and corn.

  Then I wait

  for my world

  to grow.

  When I am a little older,

  no one will be able

  to keep me away

  from love.

  Quebrado

  Many years have passed

  since I was a child of the land

  with my hands in moist soil.

  Now, I am eager to plant yams,

  peanuts, and papayas,

  and pluck hollow gourds

  from tangled vines

  to make musical

  maraca rattles.

  I long to eat pineapples

  that taste like golden sunlight,

  instead of dry ship’s bread,

  and salted beef,

  and sorrow.

  Quebrado

  I have discovered

  a deepening fear

  of the sea.

  I stay away from Naridó

  while he fishes, and I avoid Caucubú

  as she leaps from rock to rock

  at the edge of the tide,

  gathering shellfish.

  The water is no longer stormy,

  but it holds memories

  of bearded men

  who capture tree-spirits,

  and turn them into wooden ships

  that serve as floating cages.

  I have discovered

  a deepening fear

  of the past.

  Naridó

  I try to show the storm-boy

  how to swim like a dolphin,

  but his terror of water

  will not let him listen.

  So I work alone,

  catching silvery marsh fish

  in tapered baskets,

  chasing swift river fish

  into stone traps,

  and wrapping the sea’s

  great gold-belly fish

  in nets that fly out

  over the waves

  like wings.

  The storm-boy is young.

  He has not yet learned

  that hope is stronger

  than fear.

  Quebrado

  I explore farther and farther inland,

  away from Naridó’s futile efforts

  to teach me
courage.

  Alone at midnight, I hunt

  on the slopes of a mountain.

  Naridó has warned me

  that the whispering forest

  is forbidden to villagers,

  but I climb uphill anyway,

  grabbing the slender trunks

  of trembling saplings,

  and shaking them

  to make iguanas fall.

  Then I roast the giant lizards,

  listening as branches

  whisper and sing

  in a gentle breeze.

  Caucubú

  Each time my father speaks

  of sending me away to marry

  the cacique of another village,

  I flee to a small hidden cave

  where I huddle alone

  in darkness, feeling certain

  that bat dung and pale,

  skittering, eyeless spiders

  are more beautiful

  than a life without love.

  Naridó is the only one

  who knows about this tiny cave,

  a secret we have shared

  since we were little.

  As soon as he arrives

  and we huddle together,

  the darkness begins to feel

  like home.

  Quebrado

  Storms follow me

  wherever I go.

  Once again,

  the sky looks so heavy

  that I would not

  be surprised

  if black clouds

  sank to earth

  and grew roots

  in moist soil,

  creating a wispy forest

  of drifting air.

  Mysteries follow me

  wherever I go.

  Bernardino de Talavera

  I wander like a beggar,

  never finding any living soul

  to mend my wounds

  and heal my hunger.

  When I finally see a natural,

  she is just a young girl

  on a stormy beach,

  watching the crash of waves

  from another tempest.

  Hidden by beach shrubs,

  I wait for a chance to capture

  the unsuspecting girl.

  I could trade her for medicine,

  or a canoe rowed by slaves.…

  Alonso de Ojeda

  The sight of the lone girl