by Thomas Craig
In public, Tazario would be seen extending a hand to his indentured mistress, helping her out of the car, kissing her hand which got a smile from the woman lucky enough to be out on the town with him. She would take his arm and match his pace. If Tazario stopped to talk to someone, she would gracefully peel off and stand to the side smiling.
Once he started walking again, he would look once, and she would already be reattaching herself to his arm and trained to say something blissfully insignificant like, “Thank you for taking me out today. I am looking forward to some time with you.”
Tazario would smile and say, “Yes, let’s enjoy some time together.” Anyone around to witness this would see a young, good looking couple out on the town encouraging what seemed to be a healthy romance in progress. There would even be well placed affectionate kisses or kissing.
The women knew that if they could be Tazario’s perfect date, perfect companion, or mistress, whether it was out on the town, in a meeting, or his bed, that they would be treated very well. Most of the women displayed classic signs of Stockholm syndrome, as they developed what they believed to be real feelings for Tazario. They thought of themselves as his devoted girlfriends and did whatever they needed to do to keep his love or stay in his good grace. It was common for them to sleep in his bed at the same time, waiting, hoping for him to come to cuddle and sleep with them. They desired his companionship and related it to security.
Two of Tazario’s companions were inseparable, Izabella and Esperanza. They found the circumstances of their arrangement rough the first few months in the mansion, as learning what to do without hesitation, dread, or abhorrence was not easy. They found out quickly that making mistakes meant staying in the guest or servant quarters and that meant subpar meals, cots for beds, and being on standby for guests that desired companionship for the evening.
The guests, mainly other high-ranking cartel members, seemed to lack the ability or care for a soft touch when being with one of the women Tazario made available. They learned quickly to make themselves desirable to Tazario, in hopes to stay in the main house with him. Women in the main house were treated with respect by all. That was one of his rules. However, these women still had to follow strict rules and were, in essence, servants. But the conditions were far superior to the guest house or servant house.
Women who were showing potential to be Tazario’s beautiful acquaintances at meetings were all told the same story. He would fill their heads with the history and stories of the Tayrona tribe and the Lost City. He would tell them about the sacred grounds they lived on and that their respect and undying loyalty to him would earn them a place as ‘Reina’ or Queen next to him. A few women believed in Tazario’s tales when he referred to himself as the newborn King of the Tayrona and one of the leaders of the Ibagué Cartel. As such he was to have many Queens.
Izabella and Esperanza had been with Tazario for a year and a half now. They were free to go according to his terms, but they stayed. He told them they were his Queens and treated them like such. They were brainwashed.
They helped train the other women that came and went. They entertained his guest with grace and sophistication. They were his first two choices when taking a woman to town for dinner, shopping, and meetings. They even accompanied him to the shipping yard to appraise the women that were to be shipped, asking for their opinions if any of the women might make a good addition to the mansion.
Over time, Izabella and Esperanza earned ‘queen’ status in the house, and with that status came the right to monopolize keeping Tazario’s bed warm at night. His master suite was enormous and housed a closet just for them. They both had the luxury of bathing daily, wore expensive perfumes and makeup, dressed comfortably in tailored business suits or stunning dresses that always brought welcomed and sought-after compliments from Tazario.
He never laid a hurtful hand on them and always spoke to them kindly. He treated them so well that they eagerly brought love, passion, and affection to the ‘relationship’ with their man. They had become, in Tazario’s mind and perhaps their minds too, loyal companions.
His University professors and parents would be disgusted if they knew how he took what they taught him over the years and created such a scheme designed to break the soul and will of women, before transforming them into brainwashed loyal companions.
At the beginning of each woman’s stay in the mansion, he would skillfully set them up to fail and make them feel responsible for sending themselves to the guesthouse or servant quarters. He would advise them of the rules, the expectations, and the desired outcomes of each day during their stay. If they failed, which was inevitable in the beginning weeks, it was discussed with them why they chose to fail and what they could do to get back at being ‘successful’, which also meant enjoying the finer things the mansion and Tazario had to offer.
Over time, most women complied, achieving his daily expectations, and more. For those that just were not cut out to be ‘successful’, they served as motivation to the remaining women to stay focused on being successful. Repeat offenders of his rules were placed on the next shipment to North America. The other indentured mistresses were forced to witness the bon voyage.
The successful ones strangely blocked the memories of being pulled from the streets of Cali, Medellin, Bogota, Bucaramanga, Barranquilla, or whatever town they came from. That day, that horror of being separated from family and friends without choice would somehow morph in their mind into a memory of this man saving them from the cargo ship or the guesthouse and building a new life for them. A life where they are cared for, loved, respected and the caregiving even extended to their family that they ‘chose’ to stay separated from.
Twisted was their captor, their circumstances, their reality.
Chapter 10
The Beast
It had been months since my visit to the Zuni Pueblo. During that visit, I had an intense encounter with two Sky People one evening on top of the Dowa Yalanne mesa. Many refer to the Gods as “Sky Beings or Sky People.” and normally the Sky People were not seen by regular people, but I’m anything but normal.
It has been shared that Sky People mainly come in the thoughts of the older Shamans who claimed to speak to them in prayer and dream. This was why my claim had created a bit of a stir with the elders and Chiefs that evening. They reluctantly believed me though, after seeing the huge handprint on my chest from where one Sky Being aggressively pushed me across a room. This happened after I startled one by grabbing its wrist as it reached for Arya, who was sleeping next to me on top of the mesa. It was a crazy evening.
It was also a known fact (or myth, depending on whom told it), that every 5 to 7 years, Sky People would descend in the night to mate with younger women. These women would claim to have seen a Sky Being in their dream and later discover they were pregnant. An immaculate conception of sorts. Years after giving birth, their child would be taken by the Gods.
Unbeknownst to me until later in life, my mother claimed to be one of these women and she fled the Pueblo to have me and care for me without the worry of the Gods returning to take me away. That may have worked in my youth, but making my presence known to the Sky People months ago would eventually catch up with me. I just didn’t know it yet.
Dowa Yalanne is a 7,000-foot-high mesa in New Mexico, southeast of the Town of Zuni. Like a much longer and wider version of Devils Tower in Wyoming, the mesa rises sharply 600 to 800 feet from the surrounding plateau. The Zuni wisely built a fortification atop the plateau 500 years ago to protect them from Spanish armies and used it later to thwart Navajo and Apache raiders.
These days, it was used for the occasional ceremony and temporary refuge for a few local Zuni families that kept some of the area fertile with seasonal crops and kept a few adobe houses in working order. The other rundown structures of the old fortification atop the mesa served as a reminder of the past. Tribal stone craftsmen spent time up there as well, to feel more connected with their culture while creating stone fetishes.
It was still used for certain gatherings and ceremonies a few times a year. Most believed the site had special significance with the Gods, due to how the Mesa dramatically climbed into the sky. Even though Christianity and Catholicism have found a way into the community, no one abandoned their heritage, their true Zuni beliefs, and culture. That rang especially true for a highly respected Zuni Shaman named Alimon.
The Sun was setting as Alimon returned home from a youth group where he led studies on Zuni history. The children, a few teenagers, and adults that attended his groups always kept him on his toes with questions and stories they have heard from their parents. Some historically accurate; others not so much. There was never a lack of engagement and enthusiasm in his groups.
They loved how Alimon would always end each group session with a mythological story that tied in a lesson while intriguing them with a folklore character, God or beast only known to Zuni.
As he entered his home, Alimon expected to find his son waiting for him, as they had dinner plans tonight. On the center of the kitchen table, standing four inches tall, was a recently finished multicolored stone sculpture of an eagle.
This figurine brought a smile to Alimon’s face, as it reminded him of his short time with a beautiful young lady he recently met, Arya Shah. Like her, the eagle was a messenger and hunter, but also represented strength and grace. He asked his son to make this for Arya a few months ago and now looked upon it for the first time with admiration for his son’s craftsmanship.
Alimon and his son had roughly the same build, about 5’7’’ and slender. So, when a 6’9” figure turned the corner and instantly filled the area between the kitchen and living room, Alimon was more than startled.
This behemoth of a beast was intimidating in size alone, but the smell that accompanied the creature skipped the frontal lobe and cortex and went right to the amygdala, causing Alimon to freeze with fear. He could not place the smell at first, but after a few painfully quiet seconds that lingered between him and the giant, the olfactory sensor connected with his memories and he placed the smell. Death, he thought. It reminded him of death.
Now in his elderly years, he didn’t even think about running away from what seemed to be an ominous intruder. Then it stepped into the kitchen light and a sick feeling traveled through the gut of the old Shaman. He started to wish he could run.
The giant had the skin tone and slight facial and cheekbone characteristics of a Zuni, but differed from most by being bald, abnormally tall, and built like a tank. When it spoke, it spoke with a forced smile that revealed jagged teeth.
“Sit old man, I’m not here for you.” Its voice was deep and raspy with a hint of a hiss, likely caused by the space between sharp teeth.
“Who are you and why are you in my home?” Alimon tried to say with a commanding voice but failed as the words slipped through his lips as a whisper.
The beastly man took a step closer and inhaled deeply through flaring nostrils several times as if sniffing the air around him.
“Humph,” it grunted. “Uhepono sent me here for the Bringer of Light.”
Alimon took a few seconds to process what he just heard. Uhepono was the Chief or God of the underworld. He could feel the negative energy filling the room as the giant stepped closer. Just hearing the word ‘Uhepono’ caused a vice-like grip on Alimon’s muscles and mind, and he became very still and silent.
“You know the Bringer of Light, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. You need to leave,” Alimon was convinced this was no man. If sent by Uhepono, this was a beast with one purpose. The Zuni name “Lusio” meant bringer of light. It seemed the purpose of this beast was to find his friend Lusio Abrams and drag him to the underworld.
The giant of a man reached out with his long arm and quickly scooped up the stone eagle from the kitchen table. The beast gave it a once over as the stone fetish lay in the palm of his hand. Its gaze returned to Alimon and it extended its hand to give the miniature statue to the old man.
Alimon slowly raised his hand to receive the sculpture, only to find that the beast turned it to dust in its grip, letting the pieces fall into Alimon’s hand. Some dust particles floated around in front of Alimon’s face.
“Don’t test me, old man. Do you know what I am? I’m what you call an Atahsaia. Once I have my scent, nothing gets in my way. He has been here,” the beast revealed.
“Why? Why do you come for this man? He has done nothing to provoke Uhepono,” Alimon questioned, knowing it was pointless.
He knew that if the underworld released an Atahsaia, which was a mythological cannibal like beast or man-eating ogre, it would not be stopped by a human. In all the stories he heard and studies he accomplished; he had never heard of this beast being sent by the Chief of the Underworld for a particular person. Especially someone with only good intentions and a history of helping the Zuni. Why Lou? He thought.
“You know why. He does not belong, as I do not belong. Our presence and actions create imbalances in your world. Tell me where he is, and I will leave you in peace,” the beast grumbled.
Alimon knew he could not tell the beast where Lusio was. He also knew that not talking could cost him his life. The ‘imbalance’ the beast spoke of was something Lou and Lolo had specifically talked to Alimon about on multiple occasions over the years. Alimon and the other elders always said, ‘don’t question the gift of the Gods.’ That seemed like a logical and innocent way to explain the healing power that Lusio possessed. However, here he sat, questioning why the Gods wanted to remove Lusio.
The beast moved around Alimon and searched in the cabinets until it found what it was looking for. It came up with a large pot which it started to fill with water. Keeping an eye on Alimon the beast turned on the stove and then opened the refrigerator. Seconds later a few different vegetables landed next to the stove and he swiftly moved the pot, with water now in it, to the stove.
“You are going to stop playing games with me now,” the beast said to Alimon as it threw whole carrots, celery, and potatoes into the pot. No time was wasted to wash or cut them.
“You are going to tell me where to find Lusio Abrams or I am going to put the best parts of your son, piece by piece, in that pot and enjoy a nice meal before I leave.” It leaned over and put its large face right in front of Alimon’s, grinning at the old Shaman. It was looking for Alimon’s eyes to tell what it knew was coming next. Fear. Fear that he was telling the truth about Alimon’s son. Hopelessness. The situation Alimon found himself in was hopeless, as he would have to give the beast what it wanted to save his son.
Alimon could see in the eyes of the beast that it likely had his son in the other room it came from early. Likely unconscious or tied up. Even if the beast did not have his son, if it did not get what it wanted, this was the kind of beast that would kill and likely eat Alimon, then go do the same to his son before leaving town, just out of principle. Or anger. Or hunger. The giant beast would get what it wanted, but the question now became, ‘at what unnecessary carnage?’
If he told the beast where Lusio was, could he forgive himself for the betrayal? Would others understand the position he was in and forgive him? Would it save his son’s life? He had to believe he could save his son’s life.
Alimon decided to save the life of his son first, and then focus on trying to save Lusio’s life next. When looking into the face of death, there was not much negotiating.
“I will tell you,” Alimon said reluctantly.
The statement seemed to bring temporary satisfaction to the giant’s face as it slowly backed away from Alimon. Standing with its arms crossed, it listened as Alimon revealed the city Lusio lived in. Then, the satisfaction started to fade from its’ face as the information failed to get any more specific than that. The beast was not pleased that it would have to be resourceful in Atlanta to find Lusio. It showed its displeasure with one swift movement of its right arm towards Alimon’s neck, connecting its large hammer-like fi
st with such power that it crushed Alimon’s windpipe and broke his neck.
Alimon fell back and awkwardly hit the floor like a ragdoll tossed aside by its childish owner. There was no pain, no attempt or fight for the last breath, and no visions of his life passing before him. The kitchen light went out and darkness took over. Darkness and silence. Then, an old mentor and friend appeared before him. An old Chief he knew that passed away many years ago. The greeting was unceremonious. As simple as that, Alimon’s afterlife had begun.
Chapter 11
The NIT Port
The cantilever rail-mounted gantry cranes moved like gentle giants slowly through the container yard of the Norfolk International Terminal. Looking like something out of a Transformer movie, the joined double T figures were graceful and efficient at displacing multi-ton containers from the dock to ship or rail and vice versa. The machines and the crews that worked them never stopped. Day and night, the flow of cargo ships, trains, and semi-trucks in and out of the port’s terminals, never stopped.
Massive congestion developed daily at the popular Virginian port. Large vessels sat in holding patterns a few miles off the coast, waiting their turn for space at the docks to unload and load up for their next haul.
The opening of the expanded Panama Canal in 2016, with its wider and deeper canals, allowing the largest of the mega-ships to make the trips from Asia with 13,000 to 24,000 standard 8’ x 20’ containers on them only exacerbated the situation. The crews, the cranes, the trucks that came in and out of the port could not keep up.
