Serafina's Stories

by Rudolfo Anaya

  One day the king asked the queen if she had ever seen their daughter laugh.

  —No, replied the queen, she didn’t laugh as a baby, nor when she was growing up.

  —Now she is eighteen and many suitors have come to ask her hand in marriage. If there is a man who can make her laugh, I will allow him to marry her, the king proposed.

  So the king prepared a grand fiesta, and he sent out an invitation for everyone in his kingdom to attend. Young men came dressed as jugglers, acrobats, comedians and clowns and tried to make the princess laugh, but they all failed.

  On the third day of the fiesta Lino, a young man with few skills, was walking by the palace. At the palace doors many vendors had set up stalls to sell their wares. One vendor was selling beautiful walking sticks.

  —May I see one? asked Lino.

  —Get away from here you rascal! shouted the vendor, and he struck Lino a blow on the back.

  —I may be a picaro, but I’m honest, replied Lino.

  He escaped into the palace, where he learned the king was looking for a man who could make the princess laugh. Lino decided to try his luck.

  The king had set up three doors through which the participants had to pass. At each door stood a gatekeeper.

  —Let me pass, said Lino to the first gatekeeper.

  —Whoever performs for the princess gets one hundred pesos, said the gatekeeper. I’ll let you pass if you give me 25 percent of what you earn.

  The dishonest gatekeepers were obviously making a lot of money from those they let enter.

  —Yes, Lino agreed, I’ll give you 25 percent of what I earn.

  He went through the door and met the second gatekeeper. He too wanted 25 percent of what Lino earned, and Lino agreed. The third gatekeeper asked for the same, and Lino said yes.

  The king was disappointed when he saw Lino. He would never marry his daughter to a worthless young vagabond.

  —Picaros are not allowed to perform, said the king. Just take the hundred pesos and leave.

  —Your royal highness, I don’t want the hundred pesos, replied Lino.

  —Well, what do you want?

  —Instead of the money I want you to beat me one hundred times with a stick.

  The princess who was standing nearby heard the strange request and smiled. The young man asking to be beaten seemed so serious, she couldn’t help but giggle.

  —What do you mean you want a hundred blows? asked the angry king.

  —That’s what I want. Please do me the favor.

  The princess had never heard anything so outlandish. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but the king and queen saw her. This was the first time they had ever seen her smile.

  —Very well! shouted the king. Tie him up and give him one hundred blows! And make them hard, he whispered to his guard. I don’t want this rascal married to my daughter.

  —Wait, your highness, said Lino. I have some friends, and I promised them a share of whatever I earn. May they come in?

  —Bring them in, replied the king.

  Lino went to the first gatekeeper and told him to come and receive his share of the earnings.

  —Here is my friend who will recieve 25 for me, Lino told the king.

  —Is it true? asked the king.

  —Yes, said the gatekeeper, not knowing the 25 he was about to receive were blows.

  —Very well, said the king. Tie him up and give him his 25.

  The dishonest gatekeeper was given the beating of his life and sent packing. The lords and ladies of the court laughed heartily. They realized Lino had tricked the gatekeeper. The princess, too, was laughing.

  Then Lino called the second gatekeeper, and he too came in, expecting to receive 25 pesos.

  —Are you ready to receive 25 for this young man? asked the king.

  —Yes, replied the gatekeeper, and they tied him to the post and beat him 25 times.

  Lino did the same with the third gatekeeper. He received 25 blows and went away grumbling.

  By this time the princess and the others realized the trick Lino had pulled on the dishonest gatekeepers. The young rascal knew how to take care of himself, and the king would have to keep his promise.

  —There are still 25 blows left, said the king to Lino. Are you ready to receive them?

  —Please allow me a few moments, replied Lino, running out of the palace.

  Lino ran out to the stall of the man selling walking sticks.

  —What do you want? asked the mean merchant.

  —The king owes me 25 sticks. Why don’t you buy them?

  —Are they very expensive?

  —I’ll sell them to you for 25 pesos, Lino replied.

  That’s a bargain, thought the merchant.

  —Are they good sticks?

  —Yes, they are very good. If they give you one you don’t like say you didn’t like it, and they will give you another one. In this way you can have all 25.

  If these are the king’s sticks they must be very good, thought the crooked vendor. I can sell them for twice the money.

  —Very well, he said, here are your 25 pesos. Now let’s go collect my sticks.

  They went into the palace where everyone was waiting. When the princess saw the eager vendor she knew Lino had tricked him, and she laughed harder than before.

  —Your highness, said Lino, this man has come to collect the 25 you owe me.

  By now the king was also smiling. The rascal was bright, capable of handling any situation. And his daughter seemed to like him.

  —Is it true? asked the king. You have come to receive the young man’s 25?

  —Yes, said the greedy vendor. I paid 25 pesos for those sticks. But I bought them on condition that they be good sticks. You have to give me good, solid sticks that I like.

  —Tie him up and give him 25, said the king.

  They tied him and the guard delivered the first blow.

  —Did you like that one? he asked.

  —No, I didn’t like it, groaned the vendor.

  —Well then, here’s another one. The guard struck a second blow.

  —Did you like that one? asked Lino.

  —Yes, I liked it! cried the vendor.

  —Well give him more, said Lino.

  Everyone saw the vendor couldn’t win. If he didn’t like the blow, he got another one. If he liked it, he still got another. When all 25 blows had been struck the vendor said he had learned his lesson. He crawled away vowing not to be dishonest.

  The king kept his promise, and Lino married the princess. Later Lino became the ruler of the kingdom, proving that a clever rascal can outwit those who are dishonest.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Governor chuckled. “A wonderful story,” he said, filling his wine glass. “By his wits the rascal gets the princess. In our culture the picaro is a well known character. In this case his craftiness punishes the mean vendor and the greedy gatekeepers. I like it. Tell me, do you have such characters in your stories?”

  “Our picaros are usually animals,” replied Serafina. “There are many stories in which an animal, like the coyote, plays a trick on other animals.”

  “Stories about picaros usually teach us a lesson,” said the Governor.

  “And they make us think. For example, I’ve often wondered about the three gates in the picaro’s story. What do they represent?”

  “I never thought of them as having a deeper meaning,” replied the Governor. This was a talent he admired in Serafina. She probed into the meaning of the cuentos. In the past ten days the stories she had told had taught him a great deal about himself.

  “Perhaps there are three doors to arrive at heaven,” she said. “The friars teach us St. Peter guards one of the doors to heaven.”

  “Or the passage of life,” said the Governor. “The first door is a passage from childhood to young adulthood. The second door represents the responsibilities of work, marriage, family. The last door is death …”

  He paused. Yes, there was some hidden symbolism
in the three doors.

  “And the princess who never smiled? Does she stand for a certain type of character trait? Is she afflicted by melancholy?”

  “Perhaps,” replied Serafina.

  “But why? She lives in a palace; she has everything she needs.”

  “But in all the cuentos of your people, the king is very powerful. It is he who decides when to marry his daughter, and to whom.”

  “That is our custom. A family needs a strong father. The king is not only the daughter’s father, he is the father of the nation.”

  “Perhaps the princess needs her freedom. Having the father and later the husband decide everything for her doesn’t allow her to blossom. She will never know what she’s capable of accomplishing.”

  The Governor raised an eyebrow and thought. Was Serafina sad? Was she the princess pining for freedom?

  “Are you sad?” he asked.

  “I miss my family,” she replied. “But from childhood we are trained that life is difficult. We do not dwell on sadness.”

  “I see. You say the princess won’t know what’s she’s capable of doing. Do you know your capabilities?”

  “Yes, your excellency. When I was a child I was given a vision.”

  “And what is that vision?”

  “To free my people.”

  The Governor sighed. The joyful mood he had cultivated all evening suddenly grew cold. The humor in the story drifted away. They seemed to be where they started, he on one side of the fence and she on the other. He respected her as a person and a storyteller, but even his admiration for her was not enough to solve the enmity between her people and his.

  “Will you follow your vision?”

  “I must, Your Excellency. If one doesn’t follow one’s vision one hurts the community. I cannot disappoint my people.”

  “And the princess in the story—if she had a vision, what would it be?”

  “She would need to find something that she could do well. She must ask herself, why am I not happy?”

  “Why do you think she was unhappy?”

  “Perhaps there was no love in her life.”

  “So she fell in love with Lino, the picaro.”

  “Yes. Apparently the young men of the court did not interest her. Lino is different. He breaks through her silence.”

  “Yes. Not laughing is a silence.” He paused. “You never laugh.”

  “A prisoner has little to laugh about,” replied Serafina. “Even in the king’s palace.”

  “Yes.” The Governor nodded. “I understand, and yet I cannot change the situation.”

  He knew Serafina needed her freedom, but he could not set her free.

  “Perhaps I am as much a prisoner as you,” he whispered.

  She nodded. “I have learned that in your culture every profession makes a prisoner of the person. The higher in rank the more you must obey the rules of your profession.”

  “And I, as governor, am bound by many rules and regulations,” mused the Governor. “Well, you have given me much to think about. But the immediate issue at hand is saving you from Fray Mateo. I am sure the encounter with the friar was not pleasant for you. I am selfish for taking so much of your time, but you know the evenings with you mean more to me than I can say.”

  He thought of asking her for another story, but he knew the rules. Instead he said, “It is time for you to rest.”

  “Yes,” Serafina said, and rose.

  The Governor went to the door, opened it, and called for doña Ofelia.

  “Good night, Serafina. Do not worry yourself about Fray Mateo.”

  “Good night, Your Excellency. May your dreams be peaceful.”

  “Yes, yes don’t worry,” doña Ofelia muttered as they walked to Serafina’s room. “They threaten to take you before the Inquisition and you are not to worry. Ay, bless the Governor, may he find a way to save you from their clutches.”

  Serafina said good night to the old woman and entered her room. It was too early for bed, and besides, there was much to think about. She picked up her colcha. Stitching allowed her mind to review the day’s events.

  The interview with Fray Mateo had not gone well. He was a crafty interrogator, and if they took her to Santo Domingo she would be no match for him. Would the Governor be there to be her protector?

  She shook her head. Being fearful would not help her people. What mattered were the plans to free themselves from the rule of the Castillos. She didn’t know how that would come about, but she guessed Popé was already back in Taos making plans for a revolt. He hated the Españoles and would do anything to drive them from the land.

  She thought about the meetings she had attended with her father in her own pueblo. Sitting in the kiva late at night, the men discussed the harsh rule of the Españoles. Each night the representatives from the different pueblos came closer to advocating an open revolt.

  What would it mean? Could the Pueblo people return to a way of living they had known before the Castillos came? Could they forget the language and all the friars had taught them? Could they live without the tools the Castillos had brought?

  A knock at the door made her look up from her work.

  “Who is it?” she asked, knowing doña Ofelia never knocked. Was the Governor returning? The door opened enough to reveal Gaspar.

  “May I come in?” he asked in a voice so plaintive Serafina could not refuse him.

  “Yes, come in.”

  He entered and softly closed the door behind him. He stood there, hesitantly. His curly blond hair framed a flushed but handsome face. He was probably eighteen, a young man already toughened by life in the frontier colony of la Nueva México. It was clear that he had no knowledge of a way with women.

  “Good evening, Gaspar.”

  “Good evening. I hope you don’t report me to the captain. I know it’s against the rules to visit a prisoner.”

  “I won’t report you. What is it you wish?”

  “I’ll only stay a few minutes,” he stuttered. “I hope you don’t think it is improper of me, a simple soldier in service of the Governor to wish to talk to you. By that I mean—”

  He stopped, feeling confused. He had dreaded the act of knocking on her door. Standing in front of this beautiful young woman he felt like a bumbling fool.

  “I consider you a gentleman, Gaspar,” said Serafina, smiling and attempting to put him at ease.

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I truly respect you in the highest … I am not accustomed to … I have never approached a young woman, such as yourself, with the motive of expressing my … how shall I say this so you do not think that I am taking advantage of you.…”

  “You have only to speak freely,” Serafina suggested.

  “Thank you for allowing me that courtesy. You know that I have only the highest regard for you. The same respect I bear for my parents and God.”

  “You are very kind, Gaspar. You have been most respectful in your duties, and I appreciate that. You are a gentleman, and I trust you.”

  “I only wish my parents could have the honor of being here with me. I have told them how much I admire you. My mother has sent you a gift, hoping you will accept it.”

  He came forward carrying a pair of buckskin tewas.

  “Will you accept them?”

  Serafina took the tewas. It was clear they were fine Cochiti moccasins, woven with pieces of turquoise tied in a row up the side. The leather was soft, worked to feel like cloth by the woman who made them.

  “They are lovely. Yes, I accept them.”

  “My mother said the feet of a princess should not go cold in winter,” he explained, his face beaming at her acceptance of his gift.

  “I thank your mother, but I am not a princess.”

  “That’s what some are calling you.”

  “And the others call me a witch.”

  Gaspar frowned. “Those are the people who want to keep your people subjugated. They accuse you of witchcraft as a means of keepi
ng control over you. They cannot understand why you do not ask for freedom for yourself. My parents have been to all the trials. We are in complete agreement that all of you should be set free. Your people and mine must find a way to live together.”

  “I wish that were so,” said Serafina.

  “May I call you Serafina? It is a lovely name.”

  “It is my Spanish name, not my Indian name. Yes, call me Serafina.”

  “What is your Indian name?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked. I dreamed I could speak to you, tell you what’s in my heart …”

  “You are free to speak.”

  “I came to propose a plan to save you,” he whispered.

  “What is the plan?”

  “That you marry me. Do not take me wrong,” he said hurriedly. “But if you marry then Fray Mateo cannot take you to Santo Domingo. I am volunteering. If you marry me you would be a free woman. My parents have agreed to go to your pueblo. They will speak to your parents. I assure you, it will be very proper. My parents are farmers like yours. When I finish my soldiering, I too will farm. I am single, and strong.”

  He stopped short, breathless, afraid his proposal would be such an insult that she would call for doña Ofelia.

  So the young man thinks he can save me from Fray Mateo by marrying me, thought Serafina. How noble of him.

  “I thank you, Gaspar, but—”

  “I will abide by your decision. I, too, am a man of honor, even though I am a lowly guard. But if you accept my proposal of marriage it will make you a rightful citizen in the eyes of the church.”

  Gaspar believed their marriage would not only save her, it would improve the relations between the Españoles and natives. And during the past ten days he had fallen in love with her. Together with his parents they had formulated this plan.

  “I fear marriage will not stop Fray Mateo,” she said.

  “The Governor will help us,” replied Gaspar. “He loves you like a father. He will send the friar scurrying back to Santo Domingo.”

  “You are so confident.”

  “I have fallen in love with you,” Gaspar replied. “Whatever your decision I will abide by it.”