Soul of the Sacred Earth

by Vella Munn

Other Bear Clan members muttered agreement with Sun in the Sky and several suggested they all put on their kachina costumes, which would help keep their thoughts pure and their hearts good.

  “When soldiers have their way with our women, what does the padre say?” the old man asked her.

  “He disapproves, but the captain does not listen to him.”

  “Hm. Prayer brings the Hopi peace. The padre speaks of peace, does he not?”

  “He speaks of obedience to his god’s law.”

  That confused Sun in the Sky, but after briefly muttering to himself, he continued. “This is my thought. My decision. The captain is like Coronado and Oñate, incapable of a good heart. I pray the padre is different. Morning Butterfly, I ask you to go to Fray Angelico and look into his heart.”

  “Me? But—”

  Sun in the Sky rocked forward. “I do not want to put this to you, but if the Hopi are to walk in peace, we must know what is in the hearts of the newcomers.”

  “I know.”

  “You will do as I—as we ask? If you are afraid—”

  “Not afraid, Sun in the Sky,” she told him, although she was. “But before I do this thing, I ask for a prayer, to feel surrounded by kachinas and the love of my people.”

  In unison, the men assured her that they’d already decided on a closing prayer for the meeting, but as she joined the tight circle around the sipapu, she was filled not by thoughts of gentle kachinas, but of the other spirit people, the powerful and sometimes angry Siliomomo.

  Chapter Ten

  “I have sinned, my father.”

  Pablo’s confession came as no surprise to Angelico, but before he could encourage him to continue, his equally contrite companion spoke up.

  “Weakness of the flesh overcame us, Padre,” Madariaga said. “It has been so long since we have tasted human pleasures. The native women are so available, so uninhibited in exposing themselves. Only a saint could . . .”

  Despite the somber occasion, Angelico could barely suppress a smile at Madariaga’s embarrassment. “I am but a humble servant of God,” he explained, “not a saint. And as a human, a man, I understand temptation.”

  “You have been tempted by the Hopi women?”

  “No, not that. Your captain was mistaken earlier.” Lord, please forgive me for this lie. I simply wish to fulfill my role as confessor and advisor for these children. “My chosen life has taken me beyond such earthly concerns, but I am not blind to what goes on around here. The natives have no shame or modesty. They will, once they have been brought into the fold, but until then— You have come seeking absolution?”

  “Yes,” the two said in unison, their heads bowed.

  The devil’s own sun beat down as Angelico and the two soldiers knelt before the wooden cross he’d brought from Santa Fe and had erected during his first full day here. The cross, higher than anything else around, anchored him and served as the setting for the sermons and sporadic baptisms he conducted when not on the mesa. In its shadow, he grounded himself in the belief that had always been the center of his life, felt the Gospel’s truth flow through him, and submerged himself in the holy Scriptures. At those times he told himself that nothing had changed.

  “My sons, the Lord forgives weaknesses of the flesh and understands temptation, but for you to receive salvation, you must fight the devil.”

  Pablo, apparently completely healed from his injuries, and Madariaga, handsome and strong beneath his unwashed garments, clasped their hands in prayer. They were both children and men, lambs to be led who, as soldiers, were part of the secular world—one not always in accordance with God’s rule.

  “Lord, look down upon these sinners and see that they are truly repentant. See also that temptation exists all around us and that we are in a heathen land, without the comfort and sanctuary of a church.

  “By one man sin entered into the world, and by sin death, and so death passed upon all men. Behold thus the lamb of God. Behold him who taketh away the sins of the world. In those who are born again, there is nothing that God hates. There is no condemnation to those who are truly buried together with Christ, who are made innocent, immaculate, pure, harmless, and beloved of God. There is nothing whatever to retard their entrance into heaven.”

  Angelico opened his eyes, hoping to see the other soldiers coming to join them, but they were alone on the rock- and weed-strewn slope, alone except for the wind.

  The wind that whispered of things he’d never heard before.

  “We believe in one God, Father Almighty, maker of all things, both visible and invisible. And in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begotten—”

  Something sang in the wind, the sound more essence than reality. Angelico shivered. Pablo shifted position, as did Madariaga, who’d opened his eyes and was staring into the distance.

  “Begotten from the Father, only-begotten, that is from the being of the Father, God from God, light from light.”

  Vibrations shimmered, unseen but felt, weighting down the air, adding to the heat, yet making Angelico shiver again.

  “True God from True God, begotten not made, one in being with the Father, through—”

  “Padre?”

  “What?”

  “Do you feel it?” Madariaga whispered.

  “What you feel is the Lord’s presence!” Angelico insisted.

  Madariaga’s lips tightened and his gaze turned inward. Angelico knew the soldier didn’t believe him. He wasn’t sure he did either.

  • • •

  After taking a deep but not calming breath, Morning Butterfly walked to the flap that served as the opening to Fray Angelico’s dwelling place and called his name. She hoped he would order her to leave. Instead, she heard him shuffling about, and then he pulled back the flap and stuck out his head, looking first into her eyes, then behind her. The day was hot and nearly windless, making her wonder how he could stand to be inside such a close space. She’d worn a length of cotton tied at one shoulder and secured around her waist, leaving her arms and shoulders free; her dress ended modestly at her calves.

  He now seemed fascinated by the way she presented herself, his gaze lingering on her arms before briefly touching her breasts. She knew to keep her distance from the soldiers, but to be looked at like this by the padre still confused her.

  “Morning Butterfly. I am pleased to see you.” He sounded unsure.

  “You are?”

  “Of course, my child, of course.” His voice gained strength. “Pleased and yet surprised. I would ask you into my humble abode, but it would not be seemly. I am certain you understand.”

  She had no idea what he meant, but didn’t say so as he stepped outside. “I must speak to you,” she told him. “Of a thing that concerns all Hopi.”

  “The tribal leaders sent you?” He folded his arms across his narrow chest. “I will never understand you people, allowing women to conduct themselves with authority. Are you certain you have their permission?”

  “I do not need anyone’s permission—”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps.” For a moment, he looked as confused as she felt. Then his features brightened. “You are here to accept the Lord’s words? That is why—my child, my child! I am delighted.”

  Unfolding his too-long arms, he reached to take her hand, and despite her determination not to show fear, she recoiled.

  “What is it? Oh, my child, you have no need to be afraid of me. A man of God is not like other men.” His gaze again flicked over her breasts. “The devil has been testing me,” he muttered. “Not in matters of faith, of course. My devotion to my Lord will never waver, has been my life so long that—” He glanced around.

  “The devil seeks to distract me from my holy task by placing temptation in my path and weakening my resistance to that temptation.”

  “Fray Angelico,” Morning Butterfly interrupted. “My people fear the soldiers’ wrath and power. It is not the Hopi way to fight.” But maybe the Siliomomo . . . “We wish only peace, and yet—and yet things have happ
ened which place that peace and our good hearts in jeopardy.”

  Although obviously disappointed that she hadn’t come to do what he called accepting the Lord’s word, he nodded, and she took that to mean he wanted her to continue.

  “You are part and yet not part of the soldiers,” she said, Father Sun’s heat on her back giving her courage. “You came with them, and yet you do not dress or act or speak as they do.”

  “No, I do not.”

  “It is our belief that your heart is different from theirs.”

  His features gentle, he indicated a nearby rock. She sat on it and waited as he selected another for himself, then he shifted position several times.

  “Yes, my child,” he said, “my heart is quite different from theirs because I am not conflicted by the opposing loyalties of Church and state; I suppose I should not be surprised that your people are aware of those differences. For one thing, I know that if one has given oneself to his Lord and master, then death is nothing to fear.”

  “The Spanish fear death?”

  “Not death so much, but hell, certainly hell.”

  Hell was another of those words she could barely pronounce, let alone comprehend, but right now she was not interested in another long explanation of something that had nothing to do with her or her world. However, before she could think of a way to turn the conversation in another direction, he continued.

  “Ah, Morning Butterfly.” He sounded melancholy, yet determined. “I cannot yet expect you and your people to understand, but the time will come. I promise it will! It is not your cross to bear that you have no knowledge of the Christian God—Satan’s hold on this land is that powerful—but the day will soon come when you no longer follow your heathen ways, when all of your people will commit themselves to walking on the righteous path that will assure you your place in heaven, not hell. If you do not take God into your life and heart and reject the beast, upon your death, your mortal soul will spend eternity burning in hell.”

  He tried to reach across the space separating them, but his arms weren’t long enough. “You will understand. Once you have been baptized, the process of salvation will begin and you will turn your back on your heathen ways as you work for the glory of God and Spain. I promise you. I could have already baptized you as I did the Navajo and a fair number of your people, but it is my prayer that you, of all the Hopi, will seek salvation of your own free will.”

  Hopi ways weren’t heathen—and why should they work for this god or for some place she’d never see and had no wish to? “This is not what I came to speak of today, but perhaps I must before we can talk of other things.” She gathered her courage and began.

  “For the Hopi, death is nothing to fear. When a heart ceases to beat, it means one cycle of life has ended and another is about to begin.”

  Fray Angelico clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed.

  “We leave one world and enter another; we embrace the journey. A man’s body is wrapped in deerskin, a woman’s in her marriage dress if she has one. A mask that symbolizes the rain cloud is placed over the face, and the body is arranged in a sitting position with the head bowed between the knees.”

  “No.”

  She ignored him. “Then the body is carried to where a grave has been dug. No one speaks as a bowl of food is placed on a nearby rock, and then everyone returns home, but for four days afterward, the women visit daily and place feathered prayer sticks and fresh food in the bowl. At the end of those four days, life goes back to what it was before the death and the soul of the one who no longer lives among us travels to the World Below to dwell among the kachinas.” And maybe the Siliomomo.

  “This is what I want you to know,” she finished. “That our ways are different from yours, different from the Navajo or other tribes, but right for the Hopi.”

  “No, no, no. Morning Butterfly, you are wrong!”

  “Wrong? How?”

  “The Scriptures leave no doubt that men such as myself must devote our lives to spreading the light.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Lord God so proclaimed. We are charged to go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

  “The Hopi do not wish to become disciples.”

  He shook his head, spoke loudly and without looking at her. “It is written in Acts Eight. Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household!”

  “There is no Lord Jesus in Hopi land.”

  “Silence! The Father Almighty, who made the heaven and the earth and the seas and all the things that are in them, is everywhere.”

  “Taiowa is the Creator. Taiowa—”

  “You are a savage! A heathen! You cannot possibly understand the hold the devil has over you.”

  Devil, like hell, was another word she wanted to fling into the wind.

  “I live the Hopi way. How can that be wrong?”

  The padre’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed again. She had confounded him, that was clear. Maybe now—”Please, I do not wish to speak of these things. I came with a message.”

  Angelico collected himself, then asked, “Is this about the Navajo? You know who freed him?”

  The sky had been an eye-pleasing blue this morning, but now it had taken on a hazy appearance. It might be a forerunner of rain, but there had been no Niman kachina ceremony yet to welcome the heaven’s life-giving gift.

  “It was I,” she said.

  “You? Why?”

  “A Hopi does not willingly allow death to happen, not even to a Navajo.”

  “You feared the soldiers were going to kill him?”

  “They were. We both know that.”

  Wincing, Fray Angelico repositioned his spare frame. “I still do not understand why that should concern you.”

  “Cougar did nothing wrong.” Except lie to the Spanish, but then so did I. “Why should he die?”

  “Cougar? That is his name?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know? You’ve seen him before?”

  “No, no.”

  “And yet you agreed to translate for him.” The padre tipped his head to one side, his scrutiny so intense that she became even more uneasy. “He has a certain animal quality about him, a certain sensuality. Perhaps the two of you are lovers.”

  “He was a stranger.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I must never lose touch with the extent of Satan’s influence here. So, Morning Butterfly, first you facilitated a conversation between the Navajo and the captain, then you freed him, and now you have come to me. What do you, if you are speaking of your own free will and not at Lucifer’s command, want from me?”

  What was he talking about, Lucifer’s command? “I do not wish my people to be punished for my actions, but I do not dare take my plea to Captain Lopez.”

  He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “So, you wish me to intercede on your behalf, do you? Ah.” He pressed his hand against his forehead. “Tell me, do you want me to tell the captain about your personal involvement in his prisoner’s escape?”

  “I . . . no.”

  “Hm. No, I do not imagine you do. So, Morning Butterfly, you are confessing your sin to me, correct?”

  “I . . . do not know.”

  “You do not know?”

  “Was what I did something you consider a sin? I simply wished no blood to be shed. And today I came to you because I need to know whether my people will be made to suffer for my actions.” Overwhelmed, she stared at the ground.

  “Go on, my child,” he whispered. “I do not want you, helpless child that you are, to ever fear me. Instead, I compel you to reach out for salvation.”

  His voice sounded so close. Looking up, she discovered that he’d risen to his feet and was standing over her, his outstretched and trembling fingers nearly touching her head. Men of God had been with the soldiers who’d all but destroyed Acoma and turned One Hand into a cripple. She cringed.

  “I
do not know what you will do with my words,” she managed to say. “If you take them to the captain, maybe he will punish me. Still, that is better than having all my people punished.”

  The padre’s hand descended, not on her head but her shoulder. She felt his fingers spasm.

  “Yes,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “I confess my . . . sin.”

  “Child, child, praise be! Come into the fold and be saved. I will protect you and free you from the devil’s clutches. I swear—”

  Before she could ask him what he was talking about, he’d drawn her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. He must be praying, but his words made no sense, prompting her to wonder if padres sometimes spoke to their god in another language. His arms felt like ropes, and she wished Cougar was here to free her.

  “I will show you the path to walk, Morning Butterfly. Guide you out of hell’s darkness and into the light of everlasting life. And when I am done”—his grip became even stronger, her breasts now flattened against his chest—“when I am done, you . . . you will be . . .”

  Sobbing deep in his throat, he thrust his pelvis against her. She might be a virgin, but her people made no secret of what went on between a husband and wife, and she knew what he wanted, what her sister had been forced to endure. Still, if she repelled him, would her people pay the consequences?

  “Fall on your knees with me, child! Together we will pray for protection and safekeeping, demand the devil cast himself out of you—out of me. Fall on your knees so your soul may receive salvation. Ask—ask for baptism and become a good Christian. If—if you do this thing, you will go to heaven—heaven. And—and . . . Eternal life of great bliss—in the presence of God.”

  Frightened by his tone, she struggled to free herself, but he continued to hold her with the kind of strength Cougar must have used to control the horses.

  “If you do not become a Christian, you will be banished to hell where you will suffer . . . suffer cruel and everlasting torment.”

  “Padre, let me go!”

  “I am your salvation, my child! Your salvation. I . . .”