By White Feather
Rumors of the approaching Spaniards had been circulating within the village for weeks. Patli had heard about what happened in other villages. He spoke with all the other young men his age, imploring them to stand together in resistance to the Spaniards when they came. United they could defend their village and their families from the ruthlessness of the conquistadors.
Patli’s mother begged him to reconsider. When the Spaniards would come they would pillage but then they would move on. To fight them would only bring death and destruction. Patli was a young man now but he still respectfully took advice from his mother. But not this time. He was filled with rage and he refused to back down in submission to the Spaniards or anyone who threatened the peace and tranquility of his village.
The Spaniards finally arrived on a hot summer afternoon, their horses raising a cloud of dust that filled the village square. Patli was the first man to walk up to the Spaniards. He began yelling at them, telling them to go away and leave the villagers alone. The Spaniards, of course, did not know Patli’s language and had no idea what he was saying. What he was saying did not matter. The only thing that mattered is that he was standing in resistance to them.
Patli looked around the town square. All his friends who said they would stand with him were all cowering with their families at the doors to their homes. He was all alone. Then he saw his mother running towards him. She was crying and screaming at him, “Patli, please don’t do this! Please!” She reached him and grabbed him by the shoulders, “Patli, please come home to your family! Please don’t do this!”
Patli stood his ground and continued yelling at the Spaniards.
Most of the Spaniards had dismounted and two of them walked directly up to Patli. One of them pushed his mother to the ground then they grabbed Patli by his arms. Patli did not fight back but he continued yelling, only louder.
The Spanish soldiers marched him toward the giant tree in the middle of the town square. Some other soldiers had thrown a rope over one of the thick branches of the tree. The end of the rope that dangled down from the tree was tied into a circle. Reaching the dangling rope, the soldiers turned Patli around so that he was facing his fellow villagers. Patli was still yelling as the soldiers put the noose around his neck.
Three other Spanish soldiers were holding the other end of the rope and they pulled the rope with all their might lifting Patli into the air and snapping his neck. His yelling quickly stopped. The soldiers then tied down the rope leaving Patli’s body hanging from the tree.
The Spaniards commenced to loot every home in the village while Patli’s mother sobbed uncontrollably on her knees on the ground underneath the lifeless body of her son.
Kristina stood on the very edge of the cliff looking out over the valley to the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. It had been a month since Javier’s death but Kristina was still deep in the throes of mourning. She still cried several times every day. She missed him so much.
They had come to this very spot countless times. They would sit together on the cliff’s edge holding hands and staring at the incredibly beautiful vista. Their love was strong as was their mutual love of nature.
Kristina was a 44-year-old photojournalist living in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Although she was once briefly married back in her twenties, she remained single ever since and she never had any children. She did not want children.
Kristina’s hobby was knitting.
Kristina was also an ardent environmental activist. It was at an environmental protest in Utah that Kristina first met Javier. Never in her life had she ever been so instantly drawn to someone. While Javier was tall, muscular, stunningly handsome and had a smile that melted her heart the first time she saw it, it was something much deeper that drew her to him. She felt like she instantly knew him and she found herself instantly loving him. The first time they made love was in a tent at the protester’s camp there in Utah.
It was not until after they made love that they discovered that they both lived in Santa Fe. When the protest was over Kristina drove back to Santa Fe in her Subaru following directly behind Javier, who was driving his scratched and dented blue pickup truck. Once in Santa Fe, Kristina passed Javier and Javier followed her to her loft where they showered together then made love repeatedly for the next 18 months.
Javier (or ‘Javi’ as his siblings called him) was a 33-year-old Mexican American construction worker. His father, uncle and two of his three brothers were all in the construction trade. Over the years Javier found himself being drawn towards stone work. He once built a stone retaining wall for someone and discovered how joyful it was to hold stones in his hand and build with them.
He bought large picture books filled with photos of ancient Aztec, Inca and Anasazi ruins. He learned everything he could about those ancient cultures and he started doing more stone work most of which was inspired by the intricate work of those ancient stonemasons.
Javier’s biggest dream in life was to build a home for himself with his own hands. It would be a passive solar house combining adobe architecture with elaborate stone work. There would be large windows looking out over an incredible view. In New Mexico incredible views are everywhere. In an artist’s notebook Javier drew sketches of his ideas for the home as he thought of them. Once he met Kristina his life’s dream changed slightly. He still wanted to build that dream home with his own hands but now he wanted to build it for the two of them.
When Kristina’s sister, Barb, learned of the relationship she ribbed Kristina rather harshly, saying things like, “So what is he? Your little chocolate love boy? And like what are you? His sugar mommy?”
This greatly annoyed Kristina. Yes, she was 11 years older than Javier but that was something she almost never thought of unless someone else brought it up. The age difference was meaningless to her. She simply had to be with him no matter his age.
Over the years Javier had developed a strong passion for native peoples. He learned a lot about them and he kept up on the news of their struggles. Kristina admired this about Javier and she, too, began learning more. And both of them continued being passionate about environmental causes.
When the oil pipeline protests began in North Dakota Kristina and Javier decided to drive there to be part of it. In addition to protesting, Kristina would turn the trip into a photojournalism project. They drove in Javier’s pickup truck so that they could haul firewood and supplies to the protesters.
Despite the bitter cold Kristina and Javier made love in their tent at the protester’s camp just like they had done in Utah.
Her most powerful memory of North Dakota, though, was when she and Javier, along with hundreds of others, held hands forming an unbreakable chain across the pipeline route blocking the construction crews. Electricity was gushing through the many locked hands. She had never felt so powerful.
Now, standing on the cliff edge there was no one to hold hands with. She was standing alone and she felt utterly powerless.
Before going to their favorite spot atop the cliff Kristina had been going through photographs she had taken of Javier. Most of her photography was taken for professional reasons but she also took an inordinate amount of photos of Javier. He was her favorite subject. Most of the photos of Javier were not posed. She liked catching him at odd moments when he did not know he was being photographed. She had hundreds of photos of him and she was going through each one. The pictures could not bring him back but she could momentarily feel closer to him.
It was when she came to the photograph of him wearing the scarf that she had knitted him for Christmas that she began sobbing uncontrollably.
She remembered him unwrapping his present and asking what it was.
“It’s a scarf I knitted for you. Here, let me put it on you so I can take a picture.”
As soon as she had taken the photo Javier ripped off the scarf and handed it to her. His hands were shaking, “I’m sorry. I know you put a lot of time and love into this but I…. I…. I just can’t accept it. I…. I just can’t wear anything around my neck.”
Kristina was so shocked by this that she could not react or say anything. She simply could not understand why he reacted like that and she never asked him about it. She took the scarf back and eventually she started wearing it herself. He had worn it at least once so it had his vibrations on it and she liked having those vibrations close to her.
As she looked at the photograph of him wearing the scarf she could see the fear in his eyes. It made no sense. It was just a scarf.
When her sobbing finally abated she tossed the photograph on the table with all the other photographs then she left the loft and drove to the cliff where she and Javier used to go. She stood at the edge of the cliff for a very long time.
The brisk wind was bitterly cold but Kristina was well bundled. And she was wearing the scarf she had knitted for Javier.
Slowly, she took off the scarf. Bundled in her hand, she kissed the scarf and quietly said, “I love you, Javier.” Then she wiped her tears with the scarf.
Then, with all her might she threw the scarf off the cliff. The wind caught the scarf and unfurled it, sending it flying through the air. It flew a long way until it finally caught on the top of a juniper tree down below.
Kristina took a very deep breath then shouted as loudly as she could out into the valley spread before her, “I love you, Javier!”
She then turned around and walked back to her car.
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Public Domain photo from Pixabay. Thanks for reading and subscribing…
Heart Connection is a free subscription publication supported mostly by donations.
You can support Heart Connection and the writings of White Feather here.
Don’t miss my short story: The Woman Who Laughed a Lot