infuriates me.
The phantoms of naturales destroyed my leg
and poisoned my mind
with troubling magic.
If I had my sword,
I would tame the girl
and her entire
ghostly tribe.
Naridó
I vow to fish so powerfully
that Caucubú’s stubborn father
will let her marry me,
so I fish in a downpour,
guiding the tree-spirit
of my lively canoe
between snarling waves
that make the sea
look like a towering
mountain range
of water.
The Woman of Wind
and her beast Huracán
shriek and roar,
but I cannot understand
their furious, whistling,
wild language.
Caucubú
I wail and plead,
begging my mother
to tell my father
to send other fishermen
to rescue Naridó
from the hurricane,
but no one listens,
so I run away
from the lonely shore,
feeling monstrous.
Quebrado
The Woman of Wind
and her hurricane dragon
spin closer and closer.
I flee with all the villagers
to the same huge cavern
where we danced before.
Flutes moan, drums thunder,
and children weep.
Once again, we chant songs
of heroes and hope,
songs that make me wish
I could be heroic.
Instead, I stay hidden
inside the friendly cave,
dancing and chanting
while Naridó is alone,
lost at sea.
Caucubú
My father wears two dance masks,
one on his face and another
on his chest, as if he is trying
to divide himself
into sacred twins.
The shimmering masks
are made of manatee bones,
with glowing eyes—a blend
of gold, silver, and copper,
all the hues of sun, moon, and stars
swirled together like a marriage
of morning and midnight.
If unlike metals can merge,
why not people?
Naridó
Survival.
Huracán was not able
to drown me,
so I climb once again
toward the big
welcoming cave,
thanking all the near
and far spirits
for rolling waves
that carried
my canoe
back to shore.
Survival.
Some words
are even stronger
than wind.
Bernardino de Talavera
In the chaos of the storm
I lose track of the girl,
but I follow a fisherman
up to a vast cavern,
while Ojeda,
like a shadow
limps behind me.
The first thing I see
inside the cave
is the savagely
painted face
of the broken boy,
my servant.
Quebrado
Quebrado.
Broken.
The pirate’s voice
booms a name
I had hoped to never
hear again.
He orders me to translate
demands for food, medicine,
and a big seagoing canoe,
but I refuse to speak.
I will not obey
bellowed commands
from a man
who still sees me
as his slave.
Part Four
The Sphere Court
Quebrado
Talavera’s face is gaunt,
and Ojeda is stooped
like a helpless old man,
but all I see is coiled fists.
Villagers move toward them,
curious and friendly,
until I shout warnings.
I call the intruders monsters,
even though I know that both
the pirate and the conquistador
are human, and humans are capable
of living in unimaginably
monstrous ways.
Quebrado
All faces turn toward me,
both the painted ones
and the bearded.
I am the only one in this cave
who understands
two languages.
My quiet voice feels
like a small canoe
gliding back and forth
between worlds
made of words.
Caucubú
The unnatural beings
have hairy faces, and they stink,
so I cover my nose
while the storm-boy speaks
to my father and my uncles
about distant places
and danger.
He tells of a faraway land
where men wear skins of metal
and move swiftly atop creatures
that make them resemble
two-headed giants
with long wavy tails
and four legs that end in feet
as hard as stone.
He speaks of enormous oceans
crossed in canoas as big as islands.
He tells of mournful tree-spirits
trapped within the wood
of the huge boats.
The boats turn into cages
that capture the lives
of ordinary children
and force them
to float far away
from their island
homes.
Naridó
The storm-boy’s tale
makes him frown and groan,
even when he tells of wonders—
a village woman in love
with a peaceful stranger
on a four-legged spirit
made of strength
and speed.
He describes his own
childhood as a marvel,
with songs learned
by listening
to chanted stories
told by birds.
Quebrado
Revealing my life’s tale
is such a challenge
that, in order to keep myself
from weeping like a small child,
I begin to add sweet memories
of my mother’s talking macaws
and my father’s leaping horse,
and while I sing in Taíno,
the pirate glares at me,
and Ojeda stares,
his gaze a blank puzzle
of sadness or fury.
When I speak of my parents,
the words make me feel
less alone.
Bernardino de Talavera
All my years in the Americas
have passed without any need
to learn a tribal tongue.
There were always enough
quebrado children, divided souls
who found it easy to translate.
Now, my fate rests in the voice
of a broken boy who hates me.
He has grown bold enough
to defy me, but I can easily
make him timid again.
I know how to turn
newfound courage
into terror.
Alonso de Ojeda
Anger seeps
into my deep well
of fear.
In Venezuela,
I was the r
uler of all
and now I rule nothing,
not even my own rotting leg
or the ghosts
or my fear.
So I wait for an end
to the broken boy’s
confusing speech
in a language that sounds
like the familiar whispers
of hateful phantoms.
Bernardino de Talavera
Warriors with spears,
arrows, and war clubs
surround us.
Some wear masks
with glinting eyes,
and even though the metal
is not pure, I recognize
streaks of gold.
All I need now
is the broken boy’s
clever voice
to help me befriend
this rich tribe.
Alonso de Ojeda
I would give up all my old dreams
of finding cinnamon, pearls, and gold,
if only I could learn to speak
the natural language,
so that I could beg healers
to cure my leg.
I would even give up
all hope of gaining
marvelous wealth
by selling the islanders
as curiosities
at market fairs
in Sevilla.
Caucubú
The storm-boy’s tale
whirls through my mind
like a hurricane
in a nightmare.
When the noise of the storm
beyond our sheltering cavern
finally fades to utter silence,
my father proudly announces
that we will now descend
to the sphere court,
where skillful men
will play a ball game
to determine the path
of our future.
Quebrado
Sphere games
are an island’s courtroom.
Playing ball helps leaders
turn their anger into energy,
so they can make wise decisions
about matters of warfare
and peace.
As a small child,
I used to play for fun,
but now I am old enough
to join the solemn team
who will decide what to do
about my tale of cage-ships
and slave traders,
the improbable story
of my true life.
Quebrado
The sphere of sap and cotton
is as hard as a tree, but it moves
as lightly as air.
Wooden belts protect our bellies.
We are not allowed to hit the sphere
with feet or hands, only our heads,
hips, shoulders, and knees.
I leap to strike with my forehead,
and in that instant of motion,
all worries vanish.
I fly.…
I soar.…
The sphere
looks like
a golden sun
guiding me up
into blue sky
where my mind
suddenly feels
completely clear,
even though
the future
is still cloudy
and uncertain.
Alonso de Ojeda
On the mainland,
trials by sphere game
are often said to end
with execution,
but I have no idea what to expect
on this bewildering isle
of troubling surprises,
so I stare at the healers,
hoping to make them
tremble
by revealing
my own terror.
If they see that I am
inhabited by native ghosts,
surely they will share
my fear.
Quebrado
The line between
captives and captors
flows back and forth
like high tide.
When I see such deep terror
in the eyes of Ojeda,
I remember how recently
he was the pirate’s hostage,
and I was the pirate’s slave.
Now, the only captives
are the same two men
who lived by preying
on others.
Caucubú
It must be the way
I watched Naridó as he ran
and jumped, guiding the sphere
from goal to goal.
My father noticed.
He decided.
I had assumed that the only verdict
to grow out of this ball game
would be punishment
for the two monster-men
who tormented the storm-boy,
but another announcement
quickly follows.
I will be sent away in the morning
to become the wife of a stranger.
I will be sent far away
from Naridó.
Naridó
I search for her face
in the raucous crowd,
but she is gone.
We will never laugh
together again,
unless I find her quickly,
and we run away,
leaving our village
and our families
forever.
Quebrado
I watch with joy
as tribesmen with spears
chase the pirate and Ojeda
toward an eastern swamp
where crocodiles lunge
and writhe.
Banishment.
Mercy.
My enemies
will be outcasts, not corpses,
their deaths would not help me
to be any more free
and hopeful
than I feel
at this moment
of stunned relief.
Bernardino de Talavera
This green-water torment
is endless and murky.
We will probably starve
in the swamps,
or shrivel with fever,
or be torn apart by claws
and fangs.
Whatever tale
the boy told in his own
broken language
has worked like a testimony
in a courthouse,
condemning us
to danger.
At least we have a small
merciful chance
of survival.
Caucubú
My world
was once
so wide
and bright.
Now
it is narrow
and dark
as I crouch
alone
in this upside-down
realm of bats.
Only love and hope remain,
but they are enough
to help me smile
as I wait
for Naridó.
Part Five
The Sky Horse
Quebrado
First by sunlight
and later by starlight,
the whole village searches
for Caucubú and Naridó,
but their footprints
show that love
has carried them up
to a forbidden region
of misty forests
where only healers
are allowed to venture,
and not even
the hunting dogs
seem brave.
Quebrado
Villagers blame me for all
that has happened.
Children call me
a creature of magic.
The healers accuse me
of knowing secrets.
Caucubú’s father
sends me away.
The village that once
seemed so friendly
will no longer be
my refuge.
Quebrado
Alone and roaming
through valleys and over ridges,
I sense my father’s restlessness
stirring within me.
I am an outcast now,
but wandering almost feels
like going home.
There are no people
in this forest—no huts or fields,
just trees the height of clouds,
mossy branches that whisper
and sing in the breeze,
and spidery orchids
that dangle
like fingers,
reaching.…
Quebrado
Forests are sacred.
My father once told me
that he’d abandoned the army
because killing made him
heartsick, and acts of mercy
were his only chance
to understand heaven.
I was too young to know
what he meant, so my mother
led me into a thicket of trees
where I heard songbirds,
tree frogs, and cicadas.
I heard stillness too,
silent roots growing
and fruit ripening.
It was the music
of a distant spirit
growing closer.
Quebrado
As I search for Naridó and Caucubú,
I hear the rustling leaves
of a red-barked mahogany tree.
It sounds like a whispered plea
for freedom from a rooted existence.
Naridó fled the village without his canoe,
so when I find him, I will show him
this spirit-tree, and we will build a boat.
It will take a month to chop the trunk
with stone axes, and another month
to hollow it with bone scrapers
and smoldering leaves.
We will have to start beneath
a new moon, when sap runs slowly
and insects will not devour
the moist wood.
By the time the heavy trunk
is transformed into a light,
floating thing, Naridó will know