Calling Crow

by Paul Clayton

  “Take a basket and follow me,” he said to Calling Crow.

  They walked toward a field where people were digging, making a big hole. Many Spanish stood about on the edge of the hole, some of them with large dogs tethered to their hands. Calling Crow stared at the dogs as they passed. He had never seen such big dogs as these. They had broad, powerful chests which tapered down to their sleek hindquarters. Their snouts were long and tapered and they looked like they could run like the wind. The dogs barked continuously at the people and would obviously attack if the Spanish let them free. A big man who did not look Spanish began shouting loudly at them to hurry. Little Bear turned to Calling Crow. “He is the cholo I told you about, the one they call El Animal.”

  “What is this word, cholo?”

  “It means people who have gone over to the ways of the Spanish. It is a bad word.”

  “Hurry up, you dogs,” said El Animal. “It is time for your baptism.”

  “What is he saying?” asked Calling Crow.

  “The Black Robes are coming to pour water on the heads of those who have just arrived. We must go over there.” Little Bear lifted his scrawny arm and pointed to a cluster of people under a tree.

  Calling Crow looked over. They were standing before a tree with no leaves or branches which had another smaller tree lashed across it. “What is that?”

  “They call it the Cross. The Black Robes plant them all over this land and worship them.”

  “Black Robes?”

  “The Spanish medicine men. They call themselves priests. Some of our people call them Men Without Wives.”

  Calling Crow shook his head as they started walking over.

  When they joined the crowd, Calling Crow saw Fire Hair’s Enemy among the Spanish. The man sat on a tree stump while another man cut the hairs from his head and face with two small knives. Calling Crow’s anger grew as he remembered the night on the ship. He could still hear the screams of the people as they were pushed into the sea. He turned to Little Bear. “What is that one called?”

  “That is the one they call Roll-dahn. He is a very bad man. Stay here.”

  Little Bear moved closer to where Roldan was sitting and squatted down as if to rest. He quickly took some of Roldan’s hair and tucked it under his breeches. After a few moments, he started back, a withered old man unnoticed by anybody.

  “Why did you take his hairs?” Calling Crow asked.

  Little Bear shook his head. “Be quiet. The Black Robes are coming.”

  “Why did you come for the baptism?” said Calling Crow. “You did not just arrive.”

  It is better than work and I like the cool water on my head.”

  ***

  Father Luis was a short man, fattened by middle age. His tonsured head and round face were reddened from his days in the sun and he sweated heavily under his black woolen robes. As he walked along with Father Sabastian, a young priest from Santo Domingo assigned to help him, he felt very tired and sad. Senor Alonso Roldan’s pit mine was a short distance away and even now he could see the poor unfortunates working there under the hot sun. According to the Council of the Indies, captured hostiles and cannibals could be worked under such conditions a full year before being released. The great majority of them did not live that long, however. Father Luis shook his head sadly at the sight of these new unfortunates. Of all those who were allowed to have Indian laborers, the soldiers were the worst, and of all the soldiers, Roldan was the most unyielding to the priests’ suggestions, and the harshest overseer.

  Fathers Luis and Sabastian walked past two breastplate-wearing soldiers who stood guard holding crossbows. As they passed, the soldiers laughed lecherously at some joke. Father Luis looked away. The crudity of the soldiers and their potential for violence frightened him. He had seen firsthand the fruit of that violence when he was a boy of six. He had been running and playing in the street with the other boys, when the soldiers in their armor and bright red scarves came riding through his village. It was after one of their many campaigns against the Moors, and he and the other boys ran alongside them, begging for coins. They had smiled and called out admiringly to the powerful Christian soldiers. A few coins were tossed, but Luis got none. “Me, me!” he shouted at a bearded knight in a shirt of mail. The knight smiled and lifted a small bundle wrapped in cloth he’d been carrying. He threw it in the dusty street. It rolled like a cabbage down a side alley as the soldiers rode on in a cloud of dust. Luis raced after the bundle with the other boys hard on his heels. Just as he reached it another boy kicked it out of his grasp and went chasing after it. Infuriated, Luis ran after the boy and threw him on the ground where the boy bloodied his knees and hands and began crying loudly. Luis ran to the bundle which had come to rest in the gutter and triumphantly picked it up. He peeled the clinging, wet cloth wrapping back quickly, only to reveal a horrible bearded face. The skin was yellow and purple in places, the almond-shaped Oriental eyes open, and the mouth smiled ghoulishly. A foul odor came from it.

  Luis threw the head down in horror as the other boys came running up behind him. For months afterward he had hardly slept, and for years afterward the face’s wicked smile had lived in his dreams. It had been the death’s head trophy of the Castilian knight. Only in the church, in the warm light of the candles before the beautiful painting of the Madonna and child, had he been able to free himself from that face. In gratitude he had devoted himself to the Faith forever after.

  “Here we are,” said Father Sabastian, as they reached the barren patch of ground. It had a wooden cross as tall as a man planted in the center. Nearby sat a table and a water trough. The closest tree was a hundred meters away.

  Father Sabastian held up the gleaming brass cross he was carrying. “Where do you want me to put this?”

  Father Luis pointed to the head of the table, and Father Sabastian gently set the cross down. Father Luis said, “Bring the Indians up. I will bless the water.”

  As the young priest walked off, Father Luis made the sign of the cross over the trough and prayed softly, his lips moving rapidly.

  Father Sabastian returned with six Indians, all men. Father Luis sighed. They were dressed in the shabby, undyed woolen breeches and shirts that had become their standard dress on the island and they looked sickly.

  He looked at Father Sabastian. “I thought there were a lot more needing baptism?”

  The young priest nodded. “There are, but the guard said to baptize these first and then he would send the rest of them.”

  “Very well.” Father Luis thought the old Indian in the group looked familiar. “Ask the old one if he has already received his baptism.”

  Father Sabastian put the question to the old man and listened to his reply. He turned back to Luis. “Yes.”

  “Have him start back and let’s begin with the others.”

  Father Sabastian spoke to the men and they formed into a line. The old man squat down in the shade.

  “Why doesn’t he go back?” said Father Luis.

  “I don’t know,” said Father Sabastian. “I told him to.”

  “Let us begin,” said Father Luis.

  Father Sabastian’s young face frowned in seriousness as he dunked the oaken bucket in the trough and filled it. As Father Luis recited the liturgy, Father Sabastian poured the water slowly over the first Indian’s head and then moved to the next. The old Indian stubbornly remained, watching the ceremony from a few feet away. After all of the men had had water poured over their heads, Father Luis stepped back and picked up the cross.

  He faced the men solemnly and made the sign of the cross over them. “I christen all of you Roberto.” Not being able to take the time to enable each man to choose his own Christian name in the mass baptisms, this was the method they usually employed. Father Luis was not happy with the arrangement, but it was necessary to ensure there was enough time to give all of them the most important thing, which was the Sacrament itself.

  The Indians stood around, evidently not understanding that t
he ceremony had been concluded. “That is all,” said Father Luis in the few words of Arawak that he knew. “Finished.”

  The Indians went over and squatted down with the old man.

  What is the matter?” said Father Luis. “Why aren’t they going back?”

  Father Sabastian talked to the tall Indian who had been baptized first. He turned to Father Luis. “He says the old one told them not to go back until he, too, is baptized.”

  “Tell the old one that you are only baptized once.”

  Father Sabastian frowned as he translated. He looked back at Father Luis. “He wants to know if the ceremony makes one holy.”

  There was no shade and Father Luis felt as if he would faint in the heat. Then he saw the big ugly overseer called El Animal hurrying toward them. He looked back at Father Sabastian. “Of course! Tell him, yes. Here comes the overseer!”

  Father Luis looked at the old man as Father Sabastian translated. The old man glared at him stubbornly.

  “He says,” said Father Sabastian slowly, “that if that is the case he would like to be baptized again.”

  Father Luis felt his frustration getting the better of him.

  El Animal walked up to them. “There is work to be done. What is the holding them up?”

  Father Luis grew nervous as he looked up into the big man’s eyes. They did not call him El Animal for his kindness. If he told him the old one was responsible, he would beat him. “We are almost finished,” he said.

  El Animal smiled down at Father Luis. “Good. I will wait.”

  Father Luis wondered how many men had died due to this brute’s sadistic touch. He nodded at Father Sabastian. “Let us do the old one. You say the prayers. I want to christen him myself.”

  Father Luis filled the bucket up completely. Young Father Sabastian’s eyes grew wide as Father Luis slowly poured the entire contents of the bucket over the old man’s head. The water soaked him, making a puddle of mud at his feet. Father Luis looked at him sternly. The old man smiled broadly and Father Luis had to smile in return.

  “Now they can go back,” Father Luis said.

  Father Sabastian spoke to the men, and they began walking back to the pit.

  Father Luis turned to El Animal “Where are the others?”

  “They have to go work now. You come back.” El Animal began walking away.

  Father Luis quickly walked round and blocked his path.

  El Animal’s small black eyes burned into Father Luis’s. “I say, you come back!” the big man said.

  Father Luis grew nervous. He wondered how the soldiers controlled a brute like this, how they disciplined him.

  Someone shouted at them. Father Luis turned to see Roldan walking over. El Animal quickly ran to him like a naughty child. The turnabout amazed Father Luis.

  “He wants to baptize the rest of them,” said El Animal, “but I have already sent them back into the pit.”

  Roldan looked at Father Luis in annoyance, “Can’t you come back and do the rest tomorrow?”

  Father Luis swallowed. Perhaps he should just come back in a week, he thought. After all, if he insisted on this, Roldan could frustrate his other requests to provide the Indians with the Sacraments. Then again, this first Sacrament was the most important. What if one of them died of the pox? What kind of priest was he to put them in jeopardy of not being able to enter the kingdom of Heaven? “I have other duties,” he blurted out. “I will be busy tomorrow.”

  “Well, come back next week then. They have already waited too long for you and they have work to do.” Roldan and El Animal started to walk away.

  “No!” said Father Luis loudly. He was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. “Some of them are sick, I’m told. Next week could be too late. They must be baptized today!”

  Roldan started back. He put his hand on the pommel of his sword and smiled coldly. Father Luis’s heart pounded in his chest. Roldan looked into his eyes and saw the fear there. He seemed pleased. He turned to El Animal.

  “Bring him his precious Indians. But get them back in the pit the moment he’s through.”

  “Si, Senor Roldan.”

  Roldan gave Father Luis an icy look before walking off. Father Luis was angry at himself for letting the other man see his fear, but at the same time he was glad they would bring the other Indians up for their baptism. That was more important than any pain or shame he might feel. He sighed and went back to the trough.

  Chapter 16

  The day after the baptism, Calling Crow and Little Bear walked down into the muddy pit with the others. Little Bear said to Calling Crow, “How did you sleep last night, Roberto?”

  “Why do you call me that?” asked Calling Crow.

  “Because that is the name the Black Robe gave you yesterday.” Little Bear pointed to an old man walking beside them. “And him, too, and the boy over there, and me.

  “That is crazy!” Calling Crow said angrily. “I have a name. How can they give me another?”

  Little Bear nodded. “Yes, they are crazy.”

  A woman came and laid her basket down in front of Little Bear. He picked up a flat stick and began putting mud into her basket. As he worked, he looked up at Calling Crow. “Now that you are baptized, you are a child of their god. They say that when you die you will go to the place where he lives, which they call heaven. I don’t believe it, though.”

  The woman picked up the basket, put it on her head, and walked off.

  “Why do they have us remove the earth?”

  Little Bear frowned. “To get the yellow metal from it. It is a thing they love even more than their own god. You see, they speak of love of this god. But when the talk rolls around to yellow metal, it is obvious what they really love. For god they talk, read their books, and bend their knees in prayer. But for yellow metal they would crawl through fire, or slay a thousand of us.”

  Calling Crow found this confusing. After all, the Spanish had great magic, like their cloudboats, their thunder sticks, and their long knives. These made them very powerful. Why their hunger for yellow metal? It did nothing and had no magic. Their love for such a thing made them seem crazy. It was all very strange.

  A young man with a scarred back put down his basket in front of Calling Crow. Calling Crow ignored him and looked at the muddy earth at his feet. “I don’t see any yellow metal in this earth.”

  “It is there,” said Little Bear as he shoveled dirt, “in small pieces like the sand on the beach. How they get it out I-- ”

  “You!” A shout rang out. El Animal stood at the edge of the pit. He glared down at Calling Crow. “Stop talking and start shoveling or you will feel the kiss of my whip!”

  Concern stilled Little Bear’s face as he called over in a low voice, “Use one of those flat sticks, what they call shovels, and fill his basket with dirt.”

  Calling Crow took the shovel and did as Little Bear said. The man picked up the basket and walked off and a woman put her basket down. Calling Crow began filling it and El Animal turned and walked off.

  “Don’t work too hard,” said Little Bear. “There is not enough food for that. Work slow.”

  “Yes,” said Calling Crow.

  The woman took her basket and went off. An old man as skinny as a corpse put his basket in front of Calling Crow and he began filling it. Calling Crow did not put much earth in it, however, for he was afraid the old man would not be able to lift it. He stopped a moment to watch as the man put the basket on his head and walked to the edge of the pit. As he attempted to climb out he lost his footing on the muddy bank and dropped the basket. El Animal saw him fall and rushed over. He hauled the man out of the pit by his hair and threw him on the ground. Taking out his whip, he began thrashing him. Calling Crow put down his stick and started for him, but Little Bear blocked his way. “No. Go back to work. You cannot do anything.”

  El Animal struck the man again and again until he rolled away and down into the safety of the pit. His chest smeared with blood and mud, the man picked up his
basket and came back to Calling Crow. Calling Crow leaned on his shovel, watching in anger as El Animal walked off. It was true, what Born In Storm had said, he thought. Here they truly were worse off than the dead. He remembered Little Bear’s words the morning before, but he could not believe them. Surely one could escape from this place. He would do it, he told himself. He would escape soon.

  Little Bear touched him on the back. “Work! Fill his basket or we will all get in trouble.” Calling Crow picked up his shovel and continued working.

  The sun moved along on its daily journey and salty sweat burned into Calling Crow’s eyes and his head and body ached. He lost his footing and nearly fell into the mud. Suddenly he heard beautiful voices singing, like happy spirits from another world, and he thought it must be a dream. He continued working like the others as the singing grew louder. He looked around and saw a strange procession go by on the wide path not far from the pit. A Black Robe led a group of children along, singing as they went. All the people in the pit turned slightly to watch as they passed. They were not Spanish and they did not dress in the Spanish style as the cholos did.

  Calling Crow turned to Little Bear. “Who are they?”

  “They are the sons and daughters of caciques.”

  “What is this cacique?”

  “That is the cholo word for a chief or a headman. Now it is a Spanish word.”

  “Where are they going now?”

  “The Black Robes have a special school for them. They treat them well, for through them they rule the people.”

  “I am a chief.”

  Little Bear leaned on his shovel. “I heard you say that earlier. They will never believe you.”

  “Still, I must tell them.” Calling Crow thought that if he could get out of this place, away from all the Spaniards with thunder sticks and fighting dogs, and into a Black Robe school, then perhaps he could find a way to escape. He saw El Animal walking back toward them. He put down his shovel and walked to the edge of the pit.

  Calling Crow called up to the man, “I am Calling Crow of the Muskogee People. I am the cacique of my village.”