all the winding paths of streams
in this mountaintop haven,
and he will be able to fish again.
I will help him build a village,
and I will find a girl to marry,
and together, we will plant fields
and be farmers, letting our minds
grow rooted and leafy.…
We will create
our own peaceful
New World.
Bernardino de Talavera
I battle Ojeda for scraps
of swamp food—raw frogs
and the dank eggs
of stilt-legged marsh birds.
I even swallow the mosquitoes
that pierce my skin to steal my blood.
Ojeda hates me, and I detest him,
but it takes two men to wrestle
a hungry crocodile.
By the end of the first night,
we have saved whatever is left
of each other’s miserable lives.
Quebrado
In a silky green meadow,
between stands of ebony and cedar,
I notice a movement,
and then a mystery—something huge
and four-legged, on this isle
where no tales are ever told
of large animals—no panthers
or tapirs, no cattle or goats.
I aim a makeshift spear,
only to discover that the beast
is just a horse, a blue roan mare
with a wavy tail and rippled mane.
Moving closer, I see that her color
is black and white hairs
so finely mixed
that they look smoky blue,
like a shimmering cloud.
Quebrado
The mare is tame.
I stroke her soft muzzle
and puff my breath
into her nostrils,
inviting her to memorize
my human scent
so that she will accept me
as a trusted companion,
a member of the herd.
After so much solitude,
the friendship of a horse
feels like a mysterious gift
from distant spirits,
so I call her Turey.
I call her “Sky.”
Quebrado
Turey and the green meadow
are so far from the swamps
that I should feel completely safe,
but questions begin to pound
through my nervous mind.
Is the horse alone, or did she escape
from an army of mounted invaders?
Are there explorers nearby,
searching for gold
and slaves?
Perhaps Turey belongs
to a lone wanderer
like my father.
If he is still alive and roaming,
would we recognize each other
after so many lonely years?
Quebrado
The mare is expertly trained,
an eager mount whose steadiness
reminds me how to guide a horse
with my voice, my legs, my hopes.…
I have no saddle or bridle,
no halter or lead rope.…
Clambering up the towering masts
of rolling ships must have helped me
preserve the art of balance.
I ride, I fall, I climb back up
and ride again.…
I feel like a giant,
gazing down at my world
from the height
of sky.
Quebrado
Alone in the meadow,
I practice all the cavalry skills
my father taught me
when I was little
and whole.
Sing to soothe your horse
when you are afraid.
Do not look down at the ground
or you will end up there.
Throw your heart over the fence
and your horse
will follow.
Bernardino de Talavera
After long nights of sleeping
in the branches of swamp trees,
and even longer days
spent searching
for any sign
of solid ground,
I find myself
absurdly grateful
for any company at all,
even though Ojeda
begins to sound
more and more
like a madman,
with his endless,
rambling speeches
about swords
and ghosts.
Alonso de Ojeda
Talavera still thinks of me
as his helpless captive,
but once I conquer
these phantoms,
they will be glad to fight
at my side,
instead of battling
within me
and against me.
The pirate will soon
find himself
outnumbered.
Caucubú
While Naridó tries to catch
a few river fish for dinner,
I squeeze the bitter juice
from wild manioc tubers,
so that we can eat
toasted cassava bread
and live like humans
in our wild little village
of two.
We are happy together,
yet lonely also,
aware of distance
and time.
Our families are so far away,
and the sea of days we knew
when we were younger
has grown tangled with chores
and exhaustion.
Naridó
Without a canoe,
I have lost my rough power.
I lack the magic of swiftness,
the ability to glide toward fish
that can never swim fast enough
to escape.
So I sit by a stream, wondering
how we will survive on our own,
and then I see him, the storm-boy,
my born-of-wind friend.
He races on towering legs.
He has grown two-headed,
with a feathery crest and flowing tail.
He seems to fly—he must be
part bird or part spirit.
Quebrado
Turey is the one who finds them
with her sensitive nose
and swiveling ears.
I leap off her back,
to help my friends understand
that I have not changed.
At first, Caucubú looks frightened,
but Naridó reminds her that my father
rode a marvelous four-legged beast
in the tale I chanted when the pirate
first appeared in the cave of dancers.
Caucubú smiles and agrees
that hurricane songs are often filled
with impossible dreams
that turn out to be real.
Caucubú
The storm-boy and his sky beast
make the forest seem even more
remote and eerie than before,
but a little less lonely too,
and more exciting.
He teaches us how to ride Turey,
and she carries all three of us
on her sturdy back to a red tree
that resembles
an upright canoe.
Yearning fills Naridó’s eyes
as soon as he sees the tree
and hears the leaves whisper.
He is eager to carve a new boat,
to keep our hopes
from sinking.
Quebrado
I long to stay hidden forever,
carving boats and dreaming
of safety.
On clear nights,
I climb to the highest branch
of the tallest tree.
I perch like a hawk,
close to the pictures
made by stars.
The glittering shapes
of mermaids and centaurs
help me imagine
distant life.
Quebrado
Imagining
turns into a circle
of possibilities
that leap and spin
in my mind.
Are there villages
beyond the eastern swamp?
What if the pirate and Ojeda
survived?
Would a song-story hero
race to warn the people
who live in that land
of far light?
I have a horse.
I can fly.…
Part Six
Far Light
Bernardino de Talavera
When we are hovering
on the very edge of starvation,
natural warriors appear
like spear-bearing angels.
They lead us
out of the swamp
and into their heaven
of thatched huts.
We are joyful with feasting
and magical cures.
Alonso de Ojeda
The coral cuts on Talavera’s hands
are quickly mended, and even
my poisoned leg is healing.
Each evening, we sit around
the barbacoa fire, where natives
offer us our fill of lobster, shark,
and crocodile.
I still wear my armor
and my amulet, along with fangs
and claws from all the beasts
I have swallowed.
Soon, I will seize a canoe
from this generous tribe,
and the ghosts will serve
as my oarsmen.…
Quebrado
Balanced on Turey’s back,
I creep through forests
and canter across grasslands,
skirting swamps until I finally reach
an open coast
of leaping waves
and twirling dolphins.
As I gallop
along sandy beaches,
the land, sea, and air
feel like one.
My fear of the shore
has been transformed
into exhilaration.
No one can capture
and cage
a horseman.
Alonso de Ojeda
Voices, vultures, faces, hands …
and now an avenging phantom
galloping toward me …
All the ghosts are happy to see
this mounted specter.
They must know that he will speak
in their language of sighs,
revealing my past to the village,
announcing that I am a killer
of chieftains.
So I rush, I charge, I clasp
the horseback phantom’s
narrow wrist.
He twirls away
from my weakened grip,
and when he glances
into my eyes,
I see that he is real,
just the broken boy
from the pirate’s
storm-swallowed ship.
Without my sword,
all I have is a sliver of shell
from the beach,
so I struggle
to use its sharp edge
as a knife blade,
to slice away
the boy’s
defiant fingers.
Without hands,
he will never be able to hold
reins to guide horses
meant for knights.…
Bernardino de Talavera
I yank Ojeda away from the boy,
but it is too late to stop
this disaster.
Warriors surround me,
even though the boy is unharmed,
his hand intact.
Ojeda’s rough madness
has turned our rescuers
into attackers.
With spears at my throat
I remain silent, hoping to evade
any appearance of sharing
the madman’s
useless rage.
Quebrado
Villagers subdue both men
at spear point, while I canter
wide circles
around the edge
of chaos.
I never imagined that the pirate
would try to protect me,
not even in a futile attempt
to protect himself.
All around me,
there is turmoil.
No one in this village
has ever seen any creature
the size of a horse.
Alonso de Ojeda
The boy displays a mounted dance
of horseback leaps and pirouettes
that convince me he is a master
of spells.
If I ever reach any Spanish town,
I will see this strange boy
and all my other
natural phantoms
burned at the stake.
I will see Talavera
hanged by the neck.
I will see my own name
on every proud map
of impossible islands
and perilous continents.
Bernardino de Talavera
The prancing mare
and the broken boy’s
two languages
must seem like magic
to the chieftain
and the healers.
While Ojeda and I
are held prisoner,
the boy is free
to tell the same tale
that condemned us
once before.
This time, I fear
his words might kill us.
Quebrado
After dancing and sphere games,
the village cacique is willing
to execute my enemies,
or banish them forever.
The choice is mine.
Heroes in songs make easy decisions.
They kill without conscience,
but in real life, deciding is torment.
I think of my father at the moment
when he resolved to leave the army.
I remember my mother’s people,
who settled disputes by trading names,
a peace pact that turned rivals into friends,
offering everyone a fresh start.
I think of the quiet times
between hurricanes.
I dream of the peace
in a forest.
Bernardino de Talavera
We row away from the island,
arguing about who will be captain.
I imagine Ojeda thinks
he has captured the whole world
in this tiny canoe,
but we are alone
in our exile.
We have nothing left
but oars and the sea,
endless distance …
endless time.…
Yacuyo
As soon as I am alone
on a sunlit beach,
I shed all my old names,
both the gentle ones
given by my parents,
and the rough names
I received from my life
as a ship’s slave
in hurricane season.
I choose the name
of a place—Yacuyo,
“Far Light.”
The name glows brightly.
It carries me galloping
on my sky horse
all the way back
to the sheltering forests
of high mountains
where I have friends
> and a home.
I no longer feel
like Quebrado,
a broken place,
half floating isle
and half
wandering wind.
I am free
of all those old
shattered ways
of seeing myself.
I am whole.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I became fascinated by the first Caribbean pirate shipwreck while researching my own family history. One of my ancestors was a Cuban pirate who used his treasure to buy the cattle ranch where many generations of my mother’s family were born. It was a ranch I loved visiting when I was a child. I especially loved riding horses.
The 1511 Spanish conquest of Cuba came so close to genocide that most historians regard Cuban Indians as extinct.
While researching this story, I learned that throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the region around my ancestors’ ranch was known as un pueblo indio, “an Indian community.” I became a subject of the Cuban DNA Project, and discovered that I carry a genetic marker verifying tens of thousands of years of maternal Amerindian ancestry.
I am a descendant of countless generations of women like Caucubú. Indigenous Cubans do survive in body, as well as spirit.
HISTORICAL NOTE
Characters and Events
This book is a fictional account of historical events that were variously recorded by early chroniclers as having taken place in 1509 or 1510. Quebrado is an invented character. The others are historical figures, but I have imagined numerous details.
During the Age of Exploration, an estimated one of every seven vessels that left Europe sank or was wrecked by storms.
In the early years of the Spanish conquest, horsemanship was forbidden to natives of the Americas, who were only allowed to ride donkeys. Indians who defied the ban became some of the world’s finest horsemen. The speed offered by horses allowed some to reach mountain hideouts, where they had a chance of survival.
Bernardino de Talavera was an impoverished conquistador who had worked all the Indians on his land grant to death. To avoid debtors’ prison, he stole a ship and became the first pirate of the Caribbean Sea.
Alonso de Ojeda (also spelled Hojeda) arrived in the New World on the second voyage of Columbus in 1493. Ojeda led the brutal conquest of Hispaniola, and became notorious for his cruelty. He was one of the first Europeans to capture Indians and sell them as slaves. He led an expedition to South America that included Amerigo Vespucci, for whom the Americas are named. As governor of Venezuela, Ojeda was wounded by a poisoned arrow. Desperate for help, he accepted a ride from Talavera, who took him prisoner. The pirate and his hostage were shipwrecked together off the south coast of Cuba. After encounters with Indians and an ordeal in the swamps, they reached Jamaica in a canoe. Talavera was hanged for piracy, and Ojeda settled in Santo Domingo. According to legend, Ojeda ended his days as a mad pauper who asked to be buried under the doorway of a monastery, so that all who entered would step on his bones.
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