by Paul Clayton
The big Indian grabbed the chain out of Mateo’s hands. Mateo held the iron ring around his neck to protect himself as the Indian pulled him to his feet.
“You!” said Mateo, holding back. “You again.”
“I have a name, Mateo! I am Calling Crow.”
“Why don’t you let them kill me, Calling Crow?”
Calling Crow jerked the chain angrily. “I don’t know. I cannot think of any reason. Don’t ask!” As a crowd of boys gathered, Calling Crow pulled Mateo back toward his hut. The boys followed him, laughing and shouting.
Chapter 46
Calling Crow looked back at the rear of the hut where Cochilima sat on her haunches eating her soup. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and he looked away. Her loud voice bothered him now, as did her scent, although she bathed as regularly as the others in her tribe, which was more than the Spanish. He realized that he never should have agreed to move into her hut. Thoughts of Juana filled his head still, and he missed her. He should not have stayed here with these people after they freed him. He could never be a part of them. They were foolish. They had no council; instead they slavishly did whatever Ahopo told them to do. Calling Crow tried to recall Tiamai’s face. Try as he might, he could not. There was only one face in his heart now and that was Juana’s, and she was back on that island of despair.
Cochilima said something . He did not answer. Instead, he looked out at the packed earth of the street and saw Mateo being led away by three women. They were evidently going off to dig for roots. Calling Crow thought about how these people did not grow corn, nor any other crop. They kept a few dogs, but relied mostly on what Mother Earth gave easily.
One of the women whacked Mateo with a stick, showering abuse on him. Her words drifted up on the hot, still air. “He has been fucking the dogs so long that now he has fur, too!” The others laughed heartily. Calling Crow’s face remained composed. Seeing his old enemy abused gave him no pleasure. He thought of Father Luis and his strange teaching of mercy, Was that why? But it was Luis’s mercy which had sent him to his own death, that and the Bishop’s revenge. Then again, it was also Luis’s mercy which had saved Calling Crow from the gold hungry soldiers. But for what?
The stick floor creaked and Calling Crow turned, barely escaping a scalding as Cochilima threw the calabash of hot soup at him. He got quickly to his feet as she jumped at him, her nails scratching bloody trails in his face. He pushed her away and she fell to the floor.
“I cook for you and you ignore me. Spanish slave!”
Saying nothing, Calling Crow walked back and took the skin mantle he had recently traded some game for, and his lance.
“Yes,” she cried. “Take your mantle. You will not sleep here tonight.”
“Yes,” he said. “I will not.” He tied his spirit bag to the rope tie of his breeches and jumped over the railing to the ground. Standing by the stilts of the house, he listened to her screams turn to sobs. He felt bad for her, but he knew sadness too. He opened his spirit bag and looked inside at the black iridescence of a crow’s feather, the blackened dried-up finger of Roldan, the piece of black cloth he had taken from Father Luis’s cloak on the beach the day of his death. He said a prayer and walked out into the slowly failing rain. Warm sodden clouds obscured the skies. It would be dark soon. He decided to sleep in the common hut used by unmarried men.
As Calling Crow lay in the blackness of the hut, he could hear the shouts and laughter of the braves as they amused themselves with the latest Spanish captive. There hadn’t been any soldiers brought back to the village for one moon and he had thought them all long dead. But just today a trading party had brought this one back. Calling Crow was amazed by the man’s strength. He had faced the combined tortures of most of the young men in the village from when the sun went down till now. Dawn was coming and the man was still alive. His moaning was deep and penetrating. For a long time Calling Crow had been able to keep it confined to only his head, but now it went down into his heart. Never before had that happened. He got to his feet and went out into the hot night.
They were by the firewell now, only ten or so of them, the others having evidently gone off to sleep. As Calling Crow approached the edge of the fire’s glow, the men acknowledged his presence with looks of welcome. A man picked a piece of firewood from the fire and advanced on the captive where he was tied to a pole. He touched the glowing end to the man’s chest but got no reaction. The others laughed. “He won’t favor you with a cry,” said one.
“We shall see,” said the man. He turned and jabbed the glowing stick at the man’s genitals. The man shook spastically, moaning deeply.
The onlookers laughed. Calling Crow closed his eyes for a moment. Beneath his eyelids another scene unfolded. It had been coming back to him often now. He saw the boat approaching the beach under the bright sunlight. Father Luis climbed, his cross held high before him. A man ran up behind him, raising his club. He brought it down with such force that the father’s knees jumped out from beneath him. Calling Crow felt as if his heart would leap out of his chest. He walked swiftly out of the shadows and picked up a club. The others smiled at him as he walked up to the captive. He delivered a quick powerful blow to the man’s head and his cries stopped. He dropped the club. The others angrily watched him walk back into the darkness.
Chapter 47
Calling Crow watched the confrontation with the others. Mateo had evidently grown confused during the night, and the sunrise found him asleep in the middle of the village square. Now Moscoso, one of the senior braves, stood over him, screaming angrily, the tendons in his neck standing out like bowstrings. “Out of my way, Spanish dog!”
The crowd quickly grew as others heard the commotion. Mateo opened his eyes. He laughed as he got unsteadily to his feet. Moscoso’s eyes bulged as he stared at him. He shoved Mateo violently, sending him sprawling, before walking off.
The people laughed as the weakened Mateo again struggled to his feet. He looked around at the women and children and bulged out his eyes in a pantomime of Moscoso. They drew back in fear and the men who had gathered laughed loudly. Mateo saw Calling Crow in the crowd and called over to him in a loud friendly tone.
“Calling Crow! How do you like your new home? Are you not glad to be free of the Spanish?”
The people frowned as they tried to make sense of the Spanish language. They watched Calling Crow to see what he would do.
Calling Crow pushed through the crowd up to Mateo. “These people are like the saints of your religion when compared to you Spanish.”
Mateo laughed. “That is funny. But what of Senor Vega, and Father Luis? Were they also so bad?”
Calling Crow stared at him, but said nothing. The people who were watching grew bored and began drifting off.
“You know,” said Mateo, “Father Luis came to me in my dream last night. He spoke of you. Do you want to know what he said?”
Calling Crow said nothing.
“He said that you would show me the way.” Mateo laughed.
Calling Crow scowled as Mateo’s laugh grew louder, collapsing in a fit of coughing. Mateo turned and hobbled away. He turned to laugh once more before disappearing into a patch of shade cast by one of the huts.
Calling Crow too, had been thinking of Father Luis, and Mateo’s dream disturbed him greatly. The spirits came to one in dreams, and their wishes must be acted upon. This was the way of his people. But Father Luis and Mateo were Spanish. Was it the same for them?
This and other questions tortured Calling Crow and he decided to seek a vision for the answers. He left the hut for men-without-women and went out into the morning stillness. Carefully checking to see that no one had seen him, he moved into the jungle. After walking for most of the day, he found a proper place by a small stream just before Father Sun began his descent. He made a fire and gathered many rocks, putting some of them in the ashes and stacking others. He cut some long pine boughs and began building a sweat house. When the house was completed and the rocks hot, he u
sed two sticks to pick some out of the fire and carry them into the hut. He sat on his haunches, looking skyward as the heat rose and sweat ran off of him. He put tobacco in his pipe and, lighting it with an ember, blew sacred smoke in the four directions, crying for a vision.
He went out into the night air, again and again, returning with more hot rocks. After many sweats, he fell down in exhaustion. He left his body where it lay and walked down a deer path till he came to the edge of the sea. The wind whipped his hair while the surf thundered and hissed in the blackness. Waves became visible as they broke, phosphorescent ghosts rushing at him. He walked into the sea, his total lack of fear surprising him. Soon he was beneath the waves and the noise, moving slowly through the cold water. The sea bottom sloped at a steep angle and he went down and down, instinctively knowing where to go, until he came to a large cave. He entered, surprising a large fish, which almost knocked him down in its haste to get away. He continued on into the cave until he came upon some people. They sat on rocks in a semicircle, facing him. One sat apart, on a large seashell, with his back to Calling Crow, but facing the people. As Calling Crow drew closer he saw that they were all people who had passed on, some of them from his own village. As he looked round at them he saw the Chief of Tumaqua, Caldo. Caldo nodded in greeting and Calling Crow looked at the other faces. He saw his friend, Little Bear of the Guale People, who had been killed by the dogs. Little Bear smiled, warming Calling Crow’s heart. Calling Crow looked at the next man was suddenly looking into the eyes of his long-dead father. Tears of joy filled Calling Crow’s eyes. His father smiled and pointed to the figure in the center. The man turned round and Calling Crow saw that it was Father Luis. Saying nothing, Father Luis smiled and slowly nodded his head.
Calling Crow opened his eyes in the blinding light of day. The sun beat down on him, baking him like a fish on a hot rock. It was just past midday. He walked stiffly down to the nearby stream and bathed. He walked back to the village to prepare for their departure.
Chapter 48
Calling Crow parted the bushes and watched the women talking as they gathered berries. Mateo was tied round the neck with a rope. An old woman held the other end. Calling Crow backed out of sight and pushed through the bushes. He walked till he could no longer hear their talk and sat on a fallen tree. He had been thinking of his vision for the past several days.
He heard a voice calling him and got to his feet. Pushing through a thicket, he caught sight of the sea, wide, blue, and beautiful. He suddenly knew what he must do. He hurried back to the women. Walking up to the old one with the rope, he said, “I want to borrow this Spanish monkey. I have spied some nice fruits up in a tree and I want him to fetch them for me.”
The woman laughed at his words as she handed him the rope. As Calling Crow pushed Mateo before him, Mateo stumbled over a root and Calling Crow kicked him in the buttocks, shouting viciously at him. The women tittered in laughter. Later, when they were out of sight, Calling Crow untied the rope around Mateo’s neck. “Hurry,” he said, “we must get as far away as possible before they realize we are gone and tell the men.”
Mateo looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because Father Luis told me to. Don’t talk! We must get far away before nightfall.”
After they had walked for several hours, Mateo collapsed, saying he could walk no further. Calling Crow put him over his shoulder and hurried on. When the sun’s light was almost gone, Calling Crow moved into a thicket of shrubs. He made a sleeping shelter, scooping together a large quantity of dead leaves to keep them warm. Mateo awakened suddenly and sat up. Both men said nothing for a long while as they stared into the darkness, listening to the calls of the birds and animals.
“Where are you taking me?” said Mateo finally.
Calling Crow looked at him. “I do not know. We will go as far north as we can, and wait. When they have stopped looking for us we can begin moving again.”
“No,” said Mateo, “no more waiting! You can leave, but I must try and get home. If I have to, I will die here. But I am not going back to the village.”
“What could you do on your own?” said Calling Crow wearily.
“I could signal a ship.”
Calling Crow thought about how Spanish ships had brought him nothing but suffering. “Do you think there will be a ship?”
Mateo coughed weakly. “Yes. There will be one after another. I am sure of it. By now they know what has happened to De Sole. They will be searching for whoever has survived.”
Calling Crow thought for a long time before he spoke. “I will help you call a ship. But we should get much further away from here before we try.”
“Yes. You are right.”
They fell silent for a time and then Mateo said, “Do not worry. If we find a ship I will not let them-- ”
Calling Crow touched Mateo on the shoulder, signaling for silence. Mateo was about to say something when he realized that Calling Crow had left.
Crickets and birds called to each other as Mateo shifted his weight, trying to see through the surrounding shrubs. A branch snapped as a dark shape approached. Pale starlight revealed the roundness of Moscoso’s face. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled forward. Mateo grabbed a cudgel-like root he had found earlier. He heard a thud like a melon being smashed and a warm mess splattered his face. Calling Crow whispered, “The others are still about. Say nothing.”
Mateo heard Calling Crow drag the body off. Moments later Calling Crow was soundlessly beside him. They listened to the strange birdcalls in the blackness for several minutes. Then all was quiet.
“They will not be back tonight,” said Calling Crow.
“Thank you,” said Mateo.
Calling Crow said nothing.
“Was there not anything about Hispaniola that you found good?” said Mateo after a time.
“Only Father Luis, one old man who has died, and a woman.”
“What woman?”
“There was a native woman who lived at the Bishop’s house. Her name was Juana and she was my woman. She is carrying my child.”
“Where is she?”
“Talk no more talk of it,” said Calling Crow angrily.
In the morning, Mateo tried to get to his feet but could not, being still too weak from his captivity. Calling Crow went out to the sea and collected crabs and clams. He brought them back and cooked them over a small fire. After Mateo had eaten, they began walking through the forest. Before the day was gone Calling Crow was again forced to carry Mateo. At night they stopped and camped on the beach. Calling Crow lit a fire to signal any Spanish ships which might be sailing past. In the morning Mateo was again too weak to move. Calling Crow made another meal of crabs and clams and, this done, searched in the forest for a medicine tree. He stripped some bark from it and pounded it with a rock until it was edible. He fed it to Mateo and they spent the day resting. At night they lit another signal fire. The next day Mateo was better, and they went again into the forest to continue walking. Calling Crow came upon an anthill at midday. He removed his clothing and had Mateo do the same, setting the bundle on the top of the anthill. Toward dusk when the ants had feasted on all the vermin in their clothes and gone away, they put them back on and continued walking. Again they slept on the beach with a signal fire going.
The next morning a ship appeared on the horizon. Calling Crow blew on the embers of their fire and threw dew-covered leaves on the flames to send up smoke. Not too long afterward they spotted a boat making its way toward them. Calling Crow stood on the sun brightened beach with Mateo as the sailors on the small boat quickly furled the sail. The surf carried the boat to where it ground on the sand. Three men immediately jumped out and pulled it up high onto the beach.
An old man dressed in black approached. He and Mateo embraced and Calling Crow looked on. Mateo clasped the man’s hands and looked over at Calling Crow. “I never thought I would ever again set eyes on another Spaniard.”
The old man nod
ded.
“Why were you in these waters?” said Mateo.
“To search, of course,” said the old man. “When De Sole’s ships returned with his supplies and they could find no one, they sent a ship back to the island asking for all possible help. What happened to De Sole?”
“De Sole is dead.”
“Dead?” said the old man in disbelief.
“Yes,” said Mateo, “buried by his own men. I spoke to one of his soldiers before he died.” Mateo nodded toward Calling Crow. “He helped me to escape.”
The man looked at Calling Crow and then back to Mateo. “Come, Senor,” he said, “we must get you back.” He pulled Mateo toward the boat.
Mateo stopped and turned to Calling Crow. “You must come with us.” He turned to the old man. “We must take him with us or they will kill him.”
Calling Crow remained where he was. “No. I will not go back to the island.”
“What about your woman?” said Mateo.
Calling Crow again felt the pain of Juana’s loss, but he could not go back to that place. He shook his head. “I will not go back there.”
“Then we shall take you to your village,” said Mateo.
The old man looked at Mateo in alarm. “Senor, you must come back to the ship now to see a physician.”
Mateo’s voice took on some of its former force. “Yes. But we must take him to his village. I remember the latitude.”
Calling Crow did not move. The thought of seeing his own people again flooded him with longing. “I will go,” he said.
As the little boat sailed back to the ship, Calling Crow’s heart felt torn in two. Although he longed to go back to Tumaqua, being once again at the mercy of the Spanish was overwhelming. Could he really trust Mateo?
Onboard the ship, a priest said a mass for Mateo and the others. Calling Crow sat behind them, his head bowed as he waited. Afterward, Mateo disappeared below with the priest. While they were gone, Calling Crow grew more worried. The sailors raised the sails and the big ship slowly began moving. Calling Crow watched the trees on the land slowly blur into a green smear at the edge of the water and he was struck with a terrible thought. Could Mateo be the Destroyer after all? Was he only taking Calling Crow back so he could learn the location of Tumaqua? He told himself it could not be so, yet the thought would not leave him.