Friendly Betrayal Read online

  “Oh, my brothers and I learned it at the mission with the padres. Would you like to hear some more?” the bright-eyed young woman asked.

  Padre nuestro que estás en el cielo…” (Our father who art in heaven…)”

  “No, no. I’m convinced you know Spanish. I just didn’t know, since I heard both Spanish and some other sounds, which I must say seem to me like clacking sounds and grunts.”

  “Well, we speak many dialects but use Spanish as sort of a bridge language to communicate. My brothers and I speak the Coahuilteca language of our parents.”

  “It’s as good as Spanish, only better.”

  “Well, what are your friends arguing about? I thought two of them were about to start a fight.”

  “It concerns a dispute between my two brothers. My older brother wants to return immediately to San Juan Bautista to see his girlfriend. My other brother wants to go too in order to continue learning how to be a carpenter and mason that he and my older brother are learning at the mission.

  However, for now he wants us all to stay together until I give birth. The Comanches want to get back to their tribe up north as soon as they can. Apache and Delaware don’t care either way. So, there you are … we have an impasse.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. I did notice that you are with child. Are you alright?”

  “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

  “And what is that game they seemed to be playing when the others stand by one speaker and then the other?”

  “Oh, that is not a game, señorita. It’s animated, but it is a serious business. In our culture, if one has an opinion, you try to plead your case to the rest of the group, hoping to win them over. That is how we decide on things. The one who is persuasive enough and convinces all members to stand by him or her wins the debate. It is then that their idea is accepted.

  The more such encounters are won, the more the winner is seen as an elder. Although he is still young and impulsive, my brother sees himself as an elder of our small group since all of our elders are either dead or act as they might as well be dead at the mines.”

  “What about you, how do you feel?”

  “Because the debate is about me, I elected not to get involved. Otherwise, I would have been right in the middle of it. Although, I like to debate men. Sometimes, we girls make more sense than they do, but it is always they who make the decisions. No, I am neutral; at least this time. As you can see, the solution is nowhere in sight. The discussion may go on for hours.”

  “Then, let me come down there with you and I’ll help them settle their differences.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. A strong, good-looking white girl like you would bring a good price as a slave. Don’t put that idea on my hotheaded older brother or on the Comanches. They would trade you for a couple of horses if given the chance.”

  “Well, in that case then, I won’t interfere. By the way, what is your name?”

  “Flor.”

  “Flor, where is your husband?”

  “I am sorry to say that he died when an epidemic struck the mission a few months ago. I have been a burden to my brothers ever since.”

  “Where is your home and where are your parents?”

  “Well, if you mean home like your homes with doors, windows and roofs, I have never had a home like that other than the time I lived with the padres at the mission. We were happy there, until my husband met his untimely death. As to our parents, they are either dead or nearly dead in the mines as I said earlier. That is why many of the children like us run away. Most of the adults are no longer around to run things. The padres fight for us, but many times, the mineros (miners) have guns and take our people by force. So, there you have it, senorita.”

  “But, what are you doing here?”

  “My brothers brought me here as my husband promised he would do so that I can give birth to my baby. Under that tree is where I and most of my brothers were born, as was my mother and her mother before her. The reason is that this place you see all around us is our home. Or, should I say “used” to be.

  Flor continued, “No one owns the land; it is there for all of us. Once, our family roamed this region, until we were pushed west by Apaches and Comanche groups who made war on our small clan. That is why we ended up at Mission San Bernardo in San Juan Bautista which is where we will go once the baby is born. As soon as my child is born, my brothers want to take me back to stay at the mission. They know that the padres will take me in. A single female with a baby to feed won’t last long in the wilderness.”

  “Now, may I ask you a question, gentle senorita?”

  “Please, call me Miranda. That is my name as Flor is yours. Go ahead, ask.”

  “The padres tell us that whites came from a land far away across a big body of water that we have never seen nor heard of. What is it that made you leave that land? If you all miss it so much, why did you leave the home of your ancestors to come here to our land and that of our ancestors? If that wasn’t bad enough, your soldiers come to our villages and chase our people from our homes. Those they catch, they take away in chains to work in the mines.”

  “You ask very good questions. I have wondered about it myself, but no one can give me the answers. If I ever find out, I will tell you.”

  So engaged were the two women in their philosophical conversation, that Miranda did not notice that there were others present. She quietly looked around and realized that they were surrounded. A deep fear overtook her body and she tried hard to keep her terror deep within. She dared not flinch, she dared not tremble.

  One thing was certain; she wished she had minded her mother when warned not to stray too far away from the village. She felt trapped. Now, it was too late. She looked up at each of the faces encircling her. They did not look friendly. “Show no fear”, she told herself. They stared and she stared back. All she could do at the moment was to hold her ground.

  Miranda began to rise from the stone and a smile came to her face as soon as it was obvious she was head and shoulders taller than any of them. It was a standoff alright, but she had the edge. Suddenly, she felt a sense of control. She liked that.

  Chapter 2

  “A Harsh, But Magnificent, Beautiful Land”

  Miles away to the south, Brother Javier hurried down the path as fast as he could. The thick leather strap of a small satchel was looped around his left shoulder. It contained his most basic necessities. The thin straps of two other smaller leather pouches crisscrossed his chest. One of these packages contained religious items and the other carried several pieces of mail.

  He had been told by his superior that he should protect the mail from the elements, especially rain. Right now, the sky was clear, so he didn’t think there was much chance for them to be damaged.

  At times, the hem of his long sotana (robe), encrusted with a multitude of burs and thorns, left a trail on the ground similar to the impression left by a broom. When he noticed that the cloak was dragging too much, he pulled it up just above his waist and then tightened his leather belt to ensure it barely touched the ground. Neither did the robe or his fidgeting with his belt affected his movement; he was keeping up with his agile guide.

  His escort walked rapidly in front of him. Each dressed in extremes; they looked like an odd pair of travelers. The brother’s thick cotton frock covered his body from the neck to his ankles.

  Religious men who now traversed throughout the known world in their quest to spread the Roman Catholic faith were used to wearing the identifiable coat in all types of weather and terrain. As such, the friar did not consider himself overdressed for the hot weather. Its heavy appearance belied its functionality. Gently pushed air between his coat and his body, the garment kept him reasonably cool as he walked.

  On the other hand, his barefoot guide wore only a handmade poncho that served both as a body shirt during the day and blanket at night. He was acclima
ted to the weather and hardly broke a sweat even in the hottest part of the day. He looked back now and then just to ensure that the friar was keeping pace.

  Just as the holy man, the Indian carried a small pouch tied around his waist. It rested comfortably in the small of his back. He also carried a knapsack whose strap crisscrossed his chest from right to left. That bag contained their paltry provisions for the trip, consisting mainly of several thin strips of jerky. A dagger was securely tied to one side of the shoulder bag, which was indispensable, for it served as a multi-purpose tool for travelers.

  Most trips of the time depended on serious foraging in order to survive. That was clearly the guide’s responsibility. To help him do that job, the guide at times carried a palo (stick). He often skillfully threw the palo at small animals, such as rabbits and rodents. The palo was neither a weapon, nor a walking stick. In fact, it looked quite useless and harmless. That is, until it flew through the air aimed at its prey. An ingenuous short piece of slightly bent, tapered dried wood (heavier on one end), it spun slightly as it flew toward a target.

  An Australian aborigine armed with a boomerang would be proud of his American counterpart. On occasion, the guide lost the palo in the brush. That was never a problem since he could quickly pick up another one from the multitude of dried wood he found on the trail. Hunting for food was never a difficulty to a Coahuilteca or to any member of the multitude of distinct clans that lived throughout New Spain.

  Theirs was a way of life thousands of years in the making. In their seemingly bleak existence, neither did hunger appear to be a serious obstacle to these first inhabitants of the harsh, but magnificent beautiful land. They did look wild and savage to European eyes, but one thing puzzled Brother Javier.

  Every time the guide killed a small animal for food, he gently lifted his prey from the ground. Then, he raised it toward the sky and recited prayers in thanksgiving to the Great Spirit. The prayer rituals were adjusted whenever he found food. Such prayers were eons-old and were not the result of Christianizing by the padres at the mission. Looks are sometimes deceiving, the padre thought.

  The first Spaniards to explore the land were baffled to learn that small family groups could exist for long periods of time in the arid landscape without carrying any significant provisions in the European style. Indeed, the First Americans could make a meal out of just about any food item they found, including most plants, small animals, and crawling insects. Thirst has a special effect on dehydrated travelers.

  The necessary skills of survival had been passed from father to son, mother to daughter for tens of generations. They knew exactly what plants stored moisture in their stalks or below, in underground root systems. Typical of grass and weeds, these unique nourishment sources displayed scant foliage above ground. Many of them hardly showed any promise.

  That aspect greatly frustrated the Europeans. Initially, they viewed the customs with reservation, but they were learning to exploit them as the native people. Brother Javier especially enjoyed the underground potato-like stems, whose sweet sap tasted as the best wine he had ever sampled from a bota (wineskin).

  Indeed, he held the roots together at arms’ length, bota-style and squeezed out the miracle drops. Risueño, his companion, was puzzled at the friar’s strange drinking method, but was happy the holy man accepted nature’s blessings.

  Survival ability was second nature to indigenous people, and so they were never far from food or a drinking water source. In truth, the strangers that invaded their land from Europe would have never made it had it not been for this crucial transfer of knowledge.

  Other than voicing encouragement in his own language and showing a wide grin, he would not lessen his rapid pace. Aguila (Eagle) was the guide’s clan name, an apt name for a person who was as agile as anyone Javier had ever met. Thinking that the name was not civilized enough, he had been given a Christian name by the head priest at the mission.

  Brother Javier, however, had seen fit to call him “Risueño” (Smiley), due to his smile that at times seemed to widen from ear to ear. They had started from Zacatecas the morning of the first of May, 1775. At the fast pace they were on the Camino Real, he thought, they would quickly reach their destination on the Rio Grande.

  Showing a bit of his old bravado, he felt that he really didn’t need anyone to show him the way. Wagon wheel ruts were quite visible on some parts of the trail. Anyone could follow them, he thought. There was always heaven; he could read the stars.

  His guide spoke no Spanish, at least he claimed he didn’t, and Javier certainly did not speak the Indian’s dialect. He had correctly observed that although Indians in the area all looked similar in stature and appearance, each clan had its own means of communication, not unlike the peoples of Europe, who may look the same on the outside, but spoke Spanish, French, Italian, English and many other languages. He had decided that it would be impossible for him to learn them all. Sign language had served him well since he arrived and he was not about to change that.

  Since the young native was always way in front, the absence of dialogue didn’t matter at the moment. Even when they did stop to rest, Risueño kept his distance. In a squatting position most of the time when resting, he always faced the friar. The brother figured that he did so to warn him from the many crawling vermin and insects that seemed to be everywhere.

  Even when Brother Javier initiated conversation, Risueño hardly spoke. Maybe he was shy. Maybe he hadn’t yet developed European style comradeship with someone not of his family group. Perhaps he just wanted to return to his family in Zacatecas as quickly as possible. After all, neither of them was a volunteer.

  As for Brother Javier, he had “won” the honor from the abbot because he had found it amusing when the holy man slipped and fell face first in a muddy puddle in the church courtyard. Said another way, he was not there on his own free will, but for his lack of respect.

  On the other hand, the Franciscan Brother welcomed this excursion. As a matter of fact, this was his first real assignment since arriving in the New World. It was the result of a rash decision taken out of boredom. Even the abbot had been surprised by the brother’s willingness to take the mission.

  The young friar did not strike the abbot as necessarily ambitious, but he had accepted the recently arrived novice’s offer, nonetheless. In reality, he had no one else to send. Now, a bit discouraged and tired, Brother Javier was having second thoughts. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the job. His mind wandered off.

  He recalled his hasty goodbye to his family in Spain. That had been just two years before, but in a way, it seemed like only yesterday; in another instant it seemed much longer. The New World had that enveloping effect on most newcomers. It was not a matter of lost time exactly; it was more of an overwhelming power where time had no meaning.

  As in an out-of-body experience, he suddenly envisions two human beings trekking on a winding path. They were as significant or more exactly as insignificant as the myriad lizards, bugs, ants, and other of God’s creations scurrying around him. What was he doing here, he wondered? He should be back home, chasing girls; carousing with his friends; having a good time. But, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, traveling down a narrow trail. Thinking of time, he told himself that he would one day have to use it more wisely.

  His own father’s caution to make something of himself echoed in his brain. The least he could do was to pay heed to his father’s counseling, which he had tried to drill into him many times. Learn to be patient; sacrifice more. An idle mind is indeed the devil’s workshop, he would say. Be active; stay busy. Most of all learn restraint. His loving father’s encouraging voice resonated in his brain. More specifically, he recalled the “incident of the three fathers”. This was an episode he would rather forget. In a mysterious way, that godsend event had convinced him that he had to take life more seriously.

  His mind already in a trance, his thoughts traveled through a ti
me tunnel across the seas to his birth land far, far away. He figured that he had made several bad decisions in his young adult life. The first one, he thought was innocent enough. A spirited young man, he fell in love with the wrong girl in his village. His parents already had their eyes on someone else, but Javier had other plans. After a whirlwind clandestine courtship, he and his new conquest decided to elope to faraway Italy. Betrayed by her best friend, the girl’s father intercepted them on the road outside of their village. Right then and there, he challenged young Javier to a duel.

  Rather than beg forgiveness, the playful, more skillful Javier accepted the challenge. Not wanting to kill the older man, Javier wounded him on the right shoulder. Bleeding from his slight cut, the girl’s father told Javier that his four sons would not rest until their family’s honor was restored. It was at this time that the young lady’s self-preservation forces took hold of her. Shrieking and flailing her arms, she accused Javier of kidnapping her. If the additional threat of bodily harm was not enough, Javier’s father arrives to warn him that the father of the girl his son had spurned was on his way to defend his honor.

  Indeed, at that very moment, a rider on his galloping steed caught up with the group. Jumping off his horse, the man demands that Javier come with him to marry his daughter and all will be forgiven. If he doesn’t agree, the man says that he is ready to run Javier through with his sword in a duel. Amid the pleas of his father to run; the screams of his once-beloved; the exaggerated moaning of her honor-seeking injured father on the ground; and the threat of another duel, this one with the spurned girl’s father, Javier hastily made the easiest decision of his life. He decided to run. He had been running ever since.

  Clearly by chance, he met up with a group of Franciscan brothers going to America. Donning an extra black sotana (robe) given him by one of the brothers, he joined the group with the intention of hiding out temporarily. This was the perfect opportunity, he thought, to figure out what to do next in his life. Maybe he would move to Italy after all.