“Treason has to be punished. It is a crime against society. If left unpunished, the social fabric breaks down, the rule of law collapses.”
“Is it treason to hold our own beliefs, to want to throw off the yoke of slavery?”
“You are not slaves. You have your pueblo, your lands to farm.”
“But we must pay tribute, and answer to the friars.”
“Those things are necessary for our survival,” replied the Governor.
With this said both fell into silence. Each knew the arguments, and each came from such a different point of view, a different world. What could heal the wounds? Respect for each other’s views, kindness, a forgiveness for past atrocities committed?
“You’re not comfortable,” she said, noticing again the way he kept his back away from the chair.
“It’s nothing. A sore back. I took a fall from my horse.”
“Take off your shirt and let me see.”
“No. I insist, it’s nothing. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“But I want to help you.” She went to the pantry and brought out a small clay bowl. “I have an ointment I made for my hands. Dry mint leaves, ground osha boiled with the sap of the piñon tree.”
Reluctantly he removed his shirt, exposing bruises along his back.
“It’s nothing, a few scratches,” he explained.
“This will help,” she said as she rubbed the balm into the welts.
The ointment relieved the pain. Her fingers gently and deftly spread the soothing cream along his back.
“There,” she said and handed him his shirt.
“I am grateful. Thank you. The irritation is gone. You have some knowledge of healing balms and herbs.”
“My mother is a healer,” Serafina replied. “As are many of the women of my pueblo. I learned from her.”
“I know I will sleep well. And I have you to thank.”
He wanted to go on talking to her, enjoying her company, perhaps learn more about her life in the pueblo.
“I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my visit. I must say good night.”
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
“Thank you again for the unguente. I hope it hasn’t been too much trouble.”
“Not at all.”
“I feel,” he began, “I can’t tell you how I feel. Grateful. There are so many things to talk about—Come early tomorrow night. We can have dinner together.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency, but I can eat only what the other prisoners eat.”
“Then I will have doña Ofelia feed your kinsmen what we eat. Fresh venison, eggs and chile. We have turkeys she can broil. And those wonderful wheat tortillas she is so famous for. And apple pies for dessert. She has an excellent store of dried apple slices. I will have the same meal sent to the other prisoners. So you cannot refuse.”
“As you wish, Your Excellency.”
“Very well, until tomorrow.” He took her hand. “Good night.”
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
He bowed and left, Serafina returned to her work, but she had barely picked up the colcha when doña Ofelia knocked and entered.
“Is the Governor gone?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Serafina.
“Ah, you look beautiful tonight, hija,” said the old woman, placing her candle and the cup of chocolate on the table.
“I do not think myself beautiful,” Serafina replied.
“Still, the fair-skinned Españoles like your long, black hair, those eyes like dark night that reflect stars, your skin bronzed by the sun. Yes, the Castillos like our women. So many of the soldiers, like the young Gaspar, have married our women.”
Serafina looked at doña Ofelia. What was she getting at?
“Drink your chocolate, child,” she said, then mumbling to herself she turned and went out, shutting the door behind her.
The next morning a strange rumbling filled the skies over the Villa de la Santa Fé. Clouds swept down from the north, covering the mountain peaks with a swirling mantle of snow. In the lower elevations a fine drizzle fell.
In spite of the rain many of the citizens lined the plaza for the day’s trial. The land had been suffering a long drought, and many thought this January rain presaged a good spring. Perhaps the drought was breaking. There was nothing better for the corn, wheat, chile, and other vegetables that were grown along the Río Grande valley than rain from the heavens.
The old men who kept the caniculas, the forecasting of the year’s weather by studying the weather of the first twelve days of January, nodded with satisfaction. They had noted the weather of the first twelve days; the weather of each day corresponded to the weather of the twelve months. It was a system used for predicting weather by the farmers.
The Governor seemed in especially high spirits. He looked at Serafina and smiled, then he greeted those waiting under the portal. Seeing the prisoners standing in the rain without adequate wraps he ordered his maese de campo to provide them with buffalo robes.
He turned and greeted those assembled to watch the proceedings. “A fine day,” he said, “with just the rain we need for spring. Let us pray for a bountiful summer.”
He nodded at Fray Tomás who stepped forward and said a prayer of thanksgiving. Then the Governor motioned for the trial of the seventh prisoner to begin, and as was predicted, the prisoner was freed. For the first time a few in the crowd applauded. Perhaps, the citizens of the villa thought, the Governor is doing the right thing, and a new era of peace will reign.
That evening the Governor’s room was as brightly lit as it had been for Christmas. A crackling fire warmed the room. Candles blazed on hearth and table, lending the room a festive feeling.
The Governor, his hair and beard neatly trimmed, nearly drove doña Ofelia crazy with his orders that every detail be just right. Dressed in his best cotton pantaloons, a silk shirt and wool vest, he reveled in the new-found joy he took in hosting the meal.
“Doña Ofelia,” he confided, “is it possible that a single man could adopt a daughter?”
Doña Ofelia understood his meaning but said nothing. She shook her head and went on about her business.
The Governor shrugged and opened a bottle of wine. A case, a special gift from don Roberto, sent up the Camino Reál from Mexico City. A stout red. Yes, México was beginning to produce good wine. As was the colony, for already in Santo Domingo and further south in the hacienda of don Bernal, the friars cultivated their vineyards and pressed some excellent wines.
A knock at the door startled the Governor. Gaspar opened the door and in stepped Serafina. She looked like a princess in the white lace gown. Her long black hair glistened as it cascaded over her shoulders.
“Come,” said the Governor, extending his arm to lead Serafina to the table, not noticing Gaspar’s drawn face. The young soldier closed the door with a sigh.
They ate in silence, a silence broken only by doña Ofelia as she served pea soup, goat cheese, then slices of fresh venison covered with a red chile sauce, and the warm tortillas which lent an aroma to the meal.
After the meal they sat by the fireplace, the Governor sipping coffee while he listened to Serafina’s story.
SIXTEEN
The Tree That Sings
One afternoon, as the king took his walk, he heard laughter coming from an open window. He paused to look inside. He saw three sisters laughing and talking.
—I would like to marry the king’s keeper of wines so I could drink all the fine wines, the eldest said.
—I would like to marry the king’s baker, said the middle sister, so I could eat all the good bread.
—I would like to marry the king, said the youngest, whose name was Estella. Then I would have everything I need.
The king fell in love with the youngest sister, and when he returned to his palace he sent his servants for the sisters. When they stood before him he granted their wishes.
—You wanted to marry my wine steward, he said to the eldest. It shall be gr
anted.
—No, no, the sister protested, I was just joking.
—Your wish will come true, the king insisted. And you wanted to marry my baker, he said to the middle sister.
—No, no, we were just playing, she protested.
—Nevertheless, you will marry the baker, said the king. And you shall marry me, he said to Estella.
And so all three were married, as the king decreed.
The two sisters were furious that they had to work all day with their husbands and never got to taste the bread or the wine. On the other hand, Estella and the king were very happy.
Months later the king had to go very far away to fight a war. Shortly after he was gone Estella had a baby. The two jealous sisters came to tend Estella. The took the baby boy and threw him into the pig pen, and they put a puppy in the crib.
The gardener was passing by the pig pen and heard the baby crying. He took it home where he and his wife took care of the baby, whom they baptized Juan.
Estella was shocked to find the puppy in the crib, but she accepted her fate as God’s will. When the king returned he too was surprised.
—If it it God’s will we have a dog, then let it be so, he said. He loved his wife as much as ever, something the two jealous sisters couldn’t understand.
A year later Estella was pregnant again. At this same time, the king had to go fight another war. Estella delivered a baby boy, and before she could hold it the two sisters took it away and put a kitten in its place.
They threw the baby into the pig pen. The gardener happened by before the pigs could harm the baby, and he took it home and baptized it Pedro.
The two sisters wrote the king to hurry home, writing that Estella had delivered a kitten.
When the king returned home he laughed joyfully. He and Estella didn’t understand what was happening, but they gave thanks anyway.
The two envious sisters pulled their hair and plotted to destroy the love between Estella and the king.
They waited until the king went away again. When Estella delivered her third child the two sisters took the baby girl away and threw her in the pig pen. They put a piece of rotten meat in the crib.
The gardener found the baby girl and took her home. He and his wife baptized her Pervís.
When Estella found the piece of meat in the crib she was horrified. So was the king when he returned.
—You have deceived me three times, said the king to Estella. But this time you have gone too far!
He ordered a glass house be built and he banished his wife to live there. Then he ordered all the people to pass by the glass house and insult Estella.
Many years later the gardener and his wife died. Juan, Pedro and Pervís continued to live in the house. They had learned gardening from their father, so they kept the most beautiful garden in the city.
One day an old woman stopped to admire the garden.
—How are you, granddaughter? she greeted Pervís. What a beautiful house you have! And what a lovely garden. It only lacks three things to be more beautiful than the king’s gardens.
Pervís grew curious.
—What are those things? she asked.
—Haven’t you heard the story of the bird that can speak, the tree that sings, and the water of gold?
—I have, replied Pervís, but it is a fantasy.
—No, they exist in a dangerous place on top of the Mountain of the East.
With that the old woman grinned and hobbled away.
When Pervís’s brothers returned from work she told them what the old woman had said.
—With those things we would be richer than the king, said Juan. I am the oldest, so I will go in search of them.
The following morning he packed provisions and saddled his horse. He gave his sword to Pervís.
—If I have bad luck and do not return you will know because my sword will bleed.
Juan traveled to the Mountain of the East and there met a hermit. He asked the hermit for directions, but the old man had such a long, thick beard Juan couldn’t understand what he said. He took a pair of scissors and cut off the hermit’s beard.
—I am looking for the bird that speaks, the tree that sings, and the water of gold.
—It is a very dangerous place, replied the angry hermit. Many kings and princes have gone up the mountain in search of those things, and none have returned.
—I will succeed, Juan insisted. You must help me.
—Take this magic ball and roll it. Follow it until it stops. There you will find what you seek.
Juan rolled the ball and followed it until it stopped in front of an ominous field of boulders. Juan shivered. All around him strange figures of man-sized rocks rose from the earth.
Suddenly a dreadful voice called out.
—There he is! Grab him and kill him!
Before Juan could run away the evil spirit turned him into a rock.
Back home the sword he had given Pervís began to bleed, and she and Pedro knew their brother was dead.
—I must go at once, said the grief-stricken Pedro. Take my knife, he told Pervís. If spots of blood appear on it you will know I am dead.
He rode full speed toward the Mountains of the East. When he arrived he met the hermit.
—I am looking for my brother who came in search of the bird that speaks, the tree that sings, and the water of gold.
—Oh, the one who cut my beard. I wouldn’t search for him if I were you.
—I will go and you must help me, insisted Pedro.
—Very well. Take this magic ball and follow it until it stops. There you will find your brother.
Pedro rolled the ball along the path until it stopped at the foot of a mountain. He got down from his horse and began to climb.
—There he is! the voice shouted. Grab him and kill him!
Pedro turned to flee and as he did so he became a rock.
At home Pervís saw drops of blood appear on the knife.
—Now both my dear brothers are missing, she cried. I must find them.
She mounted her horse and rode toward the Mountain of the East in search of her brothers. On the road she met the hermit and inquired if he had seen two young men in search of the bird that speaks, the tree that sings, and the water of gold.
—Yes, I saw the two. They went up the mountain but did not return.
—I will look for them, said Pervís.
—It is a dangerous place, the old man warned her. There are evil voices that create an enchantment. No one returns from their spell.
—Voices? said Pervís. It must be the bird that speaks that lays the spell. That is the secret. I will cover my ears with wool.
—You are truly wise, said the hermit. Take this magic ball and roll it along the path. Where it stops you will find what you seek.
Pervís filled her ears with wool then followed the ball up the path. Where it stopped she saw the strange rocks that looked like humans, and near the rocks was perched the bird that speaks.
—Grab her and put a spell on her, said the bird, but Pervís could not hear the incantation.
Instead she grabbed the bird and held it tight. She took the wool out of her ears and spoke to the bird.
—Magical bird, now you are my prisoner and must do as I command. Where is the tree that sings and the water that is gold?
—There! cried the frightened bird.
Pervís looked and saw the water that ran like gold. She heard the sweet melody of the tree.
—How can I take them with me?
—Take a branch from the tree and plant it at home. It will grow. Take water in a bottle. When you come to the rocks that look like humans, sprinkle them with this magical water.
Pervís did as she was told. She sprinkled a drop of water on each rock and as she did her brothers emerged from the rocks, as did other men once held prisoners. They greeted each other with joy and tears.
The three went home and Pervís planted the branch, which grew into a lovely singing tree. Its melodies
wafted out like rainbows across the valley. The water in the bottle became a spring gushing gold.
A few days later, while Juan and Pedro were hunting in the mountain, they met the king. The king was impressed by the brothers’ hunting skills, and he invited them to visit him at his palace.
Juan and Pedro visited the king, who was extremely pleased with their company. They in turn invited the king to visit their home, which he promised to do.
When the brothers told Pervís the king was coming to dinner she didn’t know what to serve. She asked the bird what she should feed the king.
—Bake him a pie of pearls, replied the bird.
Pervís did as she was told. When the king arrived he was astounded at the beauty of the gardens, the singing tree, and the water of gold. He did not see the bird which hid itself behind some leaves.
Pervís served the pie and when the king bit into it he discovered the pearls.
—Is it possible that a king should eat pearls? he asked.
From his hiding place the bird replied.
—Is it possible that a woman should give birth to a dog and a cat?
—Who said that? cried the startled king. He was even more astounded when he turned and saw the bird which spoke to him.
—Your wife’s envious sisters are the ones who replaced your children with a dog, a cat, and rotten meat. These three are your real children.
The king was overjoyed with the revelation. He took Juan, Pedro and Pervís to his palace, and he sent for his wife and asked her pardon.
The family was reunited, except for the evil sisters who had tricked the king. He ordered that they be dragged by horses into the desert.
SEVENTEEN
An evening could not be more perfect, thought the Governor as Serafina finished her story. Contentment filled his heart.
“I remember that story from my childhood,” he murmured. “The sisters are envious of Estella. Envy is a monster in the heart.”
“My mother taught me many stories,” replied Serafina. “Now the stories mean freedom to my countrymen.”
Serafina's Stories Page 12
