Serafina''s Stories

  “And if you did not have the motive of their freedom, would your stories be as enchanting?”

  “I would hope so. The story is sacred in my culture. Winter is the time for telling stories.”

  “But these are Spanish cuentos, tales I heard as a child. Do you ever tell the stories of your people?”

  “It is not permitted,” replied Serafina. “We can tell hunting and farming tales, those that describe everyday experiences. But we cannot tell stories about our tradition.”

  “Why?”

  “The friars say our stories are pagan.”

  “Yes, and so are the Greek myths we tell our children to this day,” said the Governor. “Perhaps we judge your people too harshly.”

  “Some even call our stories works of the Devil. They force us not to repeat them. Don’t they know we would lose the culture of our ancestors if we didn’t tell their stories?”

  “Lose your culture,” the Governor repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, you’re right. If a culture forgets the stories of its ancestors then it dies. The Greeks are remembered because they passed their myths on to the Romans, and they passed them on to us. Those myths inspire our art and music, and the new stories that spring from ancient legends.”

  He paused, then added, “Why can’t we allow your stories to exist?”

  “As you know, the friars are opposed to our Kachina dances,” Serafina answered. “When your people first came to our land we told the stories of our creation, the coming forth from the sipapu. But they told us we must not believe such stories. So now we keep our religion to ourselves.”

  “Someday perhaps you can tell me the stories of your people. These winter nights are so long. The rain has changed to snow.”

  Serafina rose. “I am tired. I thank you for the dinner, but it is time for me to rest.”

  “I understand,” said the Governor, rising.

  He knew that it wasn’t right for him to keep her beyond the dinner hour. He had gotten to know her well these past eight nights, and he respected their agreement.

  Here was no ordinary young woman. She was gifted. Dressed as she was tonight her beauty could vie with the ladies in any court in Europe. In the capital of New Spain she would be called an Aztec princess.

  “Our agreement is for you to tell one story,” he said with some sadness.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “I can’t help thinking that perhaps one day this land will be like the garden in your story. The tree will sing with many voices, the birds will speak the truth, and the river of gold will nourish our fields.”

  “We will pray for that,” Serafina said,

  He went to the door and called doña Ofelia, who instantly appeared, holding a lighted candle.

  “Please escort Serafina to her room,” he said.

  Doña Ofelia nodded. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “Good night, Serafina.”

  “Good night, Your Excellency,” she replied and went out.

  The minute the door closed behind them doña Ofelia held the candle close to Serafina and whispered.

  “You have a vistor.”

  “Who?”

  “Fray Tomás. And he is in a nervous state. Come.”

  She led Serafina through the dark, low-ceilinged rooms of the residence, muttering as she went. “You have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Some of the people like what the Governor is doing, others don’t. The enemies say the Governor is enchanted by you.”

  Serafina frowned. “The witchcraft accusations are silly.”

  “Yes, but they have spies everywhere. You must be careful. Every step is fraught with danger. Listen to the friar, he is a holy man.”

  She paused only when they arrived at Serafina’s door. “I sent Gaspar to the kitchen to eat his supper. I will remain outside your door, to give warning if anyone comes. Oh, what a terrible world we live in. There is a storm coming.”

  Serafina knew the storm doña Ofelia alluded to was not the snow that had arrived. Something ominous was in the air, and the old woman was worried. Else why would she stand guard?

  “Thank you, doña Ofelia,” Serafina whispered, then opened the door and went in. Fray Tomás, who had obviously been pacing, turned to greet her.

  “Serafina. Buenas noches.”

  “Buenas noches, Fray Tomás. Please sit. Tell me, to what do I owe this visit?”

  She felt the anxiety of the friar. His hair was unkempt; he had come in a hurry. On the cot lay a small bundle. What? Serafina wondered.

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  He paused and looked closely at her. “Your dress,” he stuttered. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Fray Tómas.”

  Realizing what he had said the friar blushed. “Forgive me. The intent of my words is to convey the beauty of your soul, your inner light.”

  “I understand,” replied Serafina. “But please sit down and tell me what brings you out in this snowstorm.”

  “I can’t sit. I’m too agitated. It’s obvious you haven’t heard. But surely the Governor must be aware—”

  “Aware of what?”

  “An indio, one of your people, rode in from Santo Domingo just moments ago.”

  “Who?”

  “He didn’t give his name. Only that he was a friend. Then he disappeared back into the storm. The poor man was nearly frozen. The snowstorm caught him at La Bajada. He came directly to me, hoping I could help. The Inquisition has decided to question you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Serafina said.

  “The messenger said the prelate and agent for the Inquisition has chosen Fray Mateo and two others to come and question you. If the snow hadn’t fallen they would be here now. But tomorrow, or the day after, as soon as the storm clears, they will come.”

  Serafina shrugged and let out a deep sigh. “They have no jurisdiction over me,” she said.

  “True, the Inquisition has no charge over the natives, but they see you as a threat. They can get others to testify.”

  “You mean to raise lies against me.”

  “Yes. Anything to prove you practice witchcraft. They can send you to Mexico City to the tribunal. You see, if they can get rid of you they can topple the Governor.”

  “But I’m not a witch. You said so yourself. You questioned me.”

  “I know you’re not a witch, but I’m not a member of the committee. I now know the names of the three friars chosen to interrogate you. Fray Mateo has been the most agressive in stamping out your kachina dances and all forms of your religion. In front of him you will be like a lamb led to slaughter.”

  “The Governor will protect me,” Serafina blurted out.

  “Yes, he will protect you,” agreed the friar. “But there will be a protracted battle. The church wants the right to tell the civil authorities that it alone is in charge of your people. This battle between the church and secular authorities has been intense since Governor López was charged by the Fray Posada. There is no love lost on either side. If this committee can prove the Governor has consorted with a witch, they will have won the battle.”

  “I have not consorted with the Governor!” Serafina snapped back.

  “I meant no disrespect. But the people know it is because of you the prisoners are freed. Perhaps he means well, but he doesn’t realize that by his actions he compromises you. And himself. His enemies will use his relationship with you against him. Against you.”

  “How?”

  “They will produce witnesses, those closest to you.”

  “Who?”

  The friar went to the door and listened. Then he turned to Serafina and whispered. “The old woman.”

  “Doña Ofelia? No.”

  “You trust her, I know. But a committee of the Inquisition can frighten the hardiest soul into confessions. You don’t understand the political ramifications. Your people are ready for a revolution. Everybody knows that. That’s why you were taken prisoner. The civil authorities and the church are lo
cked in battle to win control of the Pueblos, and you have become the pawn.”

  “A pawn in the struggle between your civil authorities and the Franciscans! Don’t you know the only thing my people want is to be left in peace? To continue our way as we have since we first came to this earth?”

  “I know, my child, but you have no power. The Governor might protect you, to a point, but he also has to protect his position. What if he decides to desert you?”

  Serafina gasped. The Governor had become like a second father to her, a man she could trust. She had never thought he would desert her.

  “Every Governor remembers the first governor of la Nueva Mexico, don Juan de Oñate” continued Fray Tomás. “What he did resulted in his leaving office in disgrace. He spent years and a fortune clearing his name. Those who have served since then remember history.”

  Serafina nodded.

  “Do you understand?” the friar asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then there is only one solution. You must flee.”

  “Run away? When?”

  “Tonight.” He reached for the bundle on the cot. “I brought one of my cowls.” He unfurled the hood of a friar.

  “Escape?”

  “If you wear the cowl no one will recognize you. Behind the chapel I have two burros packed with provisions. We can make our way south to Socorro, then to El Paso …”

  Serafina imagined herself and the friar wending their way along the Río Grande in the snowstorm. Like Joseph and Mary fleeing to Egypt, leaving their homeland. Over them hung the wrath of Herod.

  But she could not leave. Not that she feared the journey—no, for freedom she would suffer any hardship—but if she left, the four remaining prisoners would be sent as slaves to Zacatecas.

  “I cannot,” she whispered.

  “How can I convince you the danger you face is very serious? Fray Mateo has been selected by the Custodian to bring the Governor to his knees. He will use you. If he can have you sent to the Holy Office in Mexico City, that will cause the Governor’s downfall. Here brother will turn against brother, and you, in the middle, will have no one to protect you.”

  “I thank you for your kindness, but I cannot run away. Not until all the men are free.” She reached out and took the friar’s trembling hands in hers.

  “I thought this would be your answer,” he stammered, “but I had to act. You think only of helping others. You will be called a Joan of Arc, one who gave so much for her countrymen. I promise to stand by you …”

  “Thank you, Fray Tomás,” she whispered.

  “May God be with you, my child.” He made the sign of the cross over her and went out of the room, leaving Serafina alone.

  Outside she heard doña Ofelia leave. When she was ready for bed she heard Gaspar take his post. She blew out the candles and slipped into the cold bed.

  The winter storm swept down on the Villa de Santa Fé, obscuring the adobe houses of the hamlet. In the hills Serafina heard the call of a coyote, then an answer.

  Even in the storm her father kept watch. She knew they would be camped in the hills, near the road that led to the northern pueblos.

  The following morning the eighth prisoner was freed. Serafina returned to her room to work on her colcha, and the Governor and a squad of soldiers rode off, seeking the Apache band that had stolen a shepherd’s flock near Galisteo.

  When the Governor returned he met with emissaries from the pueblos. A few tribal leaders had come that day to tell the Governor they were pleased with his release of the prisoners. That evening he related the meeting to Serafina.

  “Two of the caciques from the southern pueblos have come to visit. Chiefs from Isleta and Tiguex. They compliment me for releasing the prisoners. So, our bargain is working after all. I have you to thank for the goodwill we have garnered.”

  “I have played but a small part,” replied Serafina. “And besides, the northern pueblos are not yet ready to compliment you.”

  “That is true. But I’m sure I’m on the right path. And I owe it to you. We have scared the Apaches away, and I feel I can relax. Now I can spend time with my horses—”

  He looked at Serafina and wondered if she would ride with him. He was noted for his horsemanship, and he often thought that if he had sons or daughters they too would love horses as he did.

  “Will you ride with me tomorrow?” he said impulsively. “I have a mare. Estrella is her name. She needs to be exercised, and I haven’t had the time. We can go at a walking pace. It will be good for you to get some fresh air.”

  “What will the people say? The prisoner out riding with the Governor.”

  “Let them say what they will. I am the Governor, and I have every right to invite you. The hills will be snow-covered. Believe me, it will be beautiful.”

  Is he offering me a chance to escape? she thought. And am I ready? There is only one way to know for sure.

  “Very well. I will go with you.”

  “You’ll see how exciting a horse ride can be. Only the most trusted native auxiliaries who help us fight the Apaches are allowed to ride. I want you to feel the freedom, the joy. I’ll have doña Ofelia bring you one of my wife’s riding dresses.”

  He talked throughout the meal about his horses, and Serafina listened.

  “I’ve talked too much,” he said when the meal was done. “It’s your turn.”

  Serafina smiled and began her story.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Native

  This is the story of Trino, a young Indian from one of the northern pueblos. One day while he was hunting in the mountains he found a spring. Trino hid in the grass by the pool of water until he spied a deer that came to drink. He reached up and grabbed the deer by the leg. He tied a rope around its neck and led it home.

  He locked the deer in a shed. The next day Trino took his knife and sharpened it. When he went to kill the deer, the young buck spoke to him.

  —What are you going to do?

  —I am going to kill you for food, replied Trino.

  —Don’t kill me. I am a prince that had a spell put on me. I was transformed into a deer. If you spare me I will give you a gift.

  —What do you want me to do? asked Trino.

  —Go to my father and tell him you found me and I am alive. He will try to give you money, but ask instead for the little mirror he owns. Bring it here and free me from this enchantment.

  Trino traveled to the house of the father and told him he had found his son. The man offered money but Trino asked for the mirror. He received it and returned home.

  —What do I do with the mirror? he asked the deer.

  —Rub the mirror with your hands, replied the deer.

  When Trino rubbed the mirror as he was told, a jinni appeared.

  —I am at your command, said the jinni. Tell me what to do.

  —Lift the spell from the deer and make him a man again.

  The jinni obeyed and thus Trino was able to return the young man to his father. A great feast was held. Trino ordered the jinni to bring lots of posole, and so the feast lasted several days.

  In those days there lived a king in the adjacent kingdom who promised to marry his daughter to the man who could build a bridge across the Río Grande. Trino heard of this and told his mother he was going to build the bridge and marry the princess.

  —Don’t go, his nana said, they might kill you.

  —I will be safe, and I will return for you, Trino said.

  So he journeyed to the king’s palace and told the king he could build the bridge across the river.

  —Many princes have tried, replied the king, and they failed. If you cannot build the bridge I will have you killed.

  —Very well, said Trino.

  —What equipment do you need?

  —Only a pick.

  The king and the people thought Trino was crazy. He went to the edge of the river and dug a cave. There he slept for many days. When he was rested he got up and rubbed the mirror. Instantly the jinni appeared. r />
  —I am at your command. Tell me what to do.

  —Build me a bridge across the river and a beautiful palace in the middle of the bridge.

  When the king awoke that morning he saw a brilliant light coming from the river. He went to his wife and together with all the court they went to the river. When they saw the bridge and the palace they couldn’t believe their eyes.

  —You have kept your word, said the king, and he married his daughter Blanca to Trino.

  Trino was very happy, but he didn’t know there was a jealous prince who was in love with the princess. Prince Costa had spent all his money trying to build the bridge and had failed.

  —I will have Princess Blanca for my own, he vowed.

  He went to a witch and asked her help in discovering how Trino was able to build the bridge.

  The witch disguised herself as a royal lady and went to visit Princess Blanca.

  —Show me your bedroom, she said after they had had tea.

  Princess Blanca showed her the bedroom. When the witch saw the mirror hanging on the wall she immediately knew it was special. Of course Trino had never told his wife about the mirror’s power.

  —What a beautiful mirror, said the witch.

  —You may have it as a gift, said the princess.

  The witch took the mirror to Prince Costa.

  —With this mirror you can get rid of Trino, she said. The prince rubbed the mirror.

  The jinni appeared.

  —I am at your command, he said. Tell me what to do.

  —Destroy the bridge and take the palace to a faraway place, said the prince.

  And it was done.

  That morning instead of awakening in his palace, Trino awoke in his cave by the river. There was no Blanca by his side, and no bridge. He rose and went to the king’s castle.

  By now everyone knew the bridge had disappeared. When the king heard the news he was very angry at Trino.

  —The bridge you built was a fantasy! he roared. Now you must die!

  —I accept my sentence, replied Trino, but first give me time to find my palace.

  —You have one day, said the king. If you do not return in one day I will marry Blanca to Prince Costa.

  A very sad Trino set out to find the palace that had disappeared. On the road he met an old woman.