The Ugly One (4 page)

Sumac hadn't stopped. Little
eeeee eeeee
s were scratching their way out of his throat. I threw off my woolen bed coverings, and the cold morning air splashed my body. Tiny bumps rose along my arms and legs. I could feel each of the hairs standing tall and straight, like feathers growing out of my skin. Memories flooded me. The
yunka
man had been in my dream! Suddenly, I knew I must find him. He had an important message. Sumac looked up at me with his dark bird eyes and stopped his noises. Grabbing his basket and my cloak, I rushed outside.

The clouds were thick in the air, weaving in and out among the soaring heights of the mountaintops. Mama Killa, the moon, rested in the sky, round and heavy, but she was leaving even as I watched. The still-frozen gray-green
ichu
grass made a
crunch crunch
sound as I walked hurriedly toward the center of our small village.

I spotted him easily—a figure walking along the mountain trail high in the distance. At first I thought to chase after this man, the
yunka
stranger. But he was very far away, so far that he appeared smaller than Sumac hunched in his little basket.

I watched the
yunka
man, his back to me, as he climbed higher on the path. And then it was as if he felt my eyes upon him, for he stopped and turned and looked in my direction. The clouds hung just above his head and sent down small tendrils that caressed him.
Why have you stopped
? they seemed to ask. He ignored the questioning clouds and continued to face me, and I felt a strong pull from him and from the city to which he was headed. But I couldn't follow. This was his journey. I was meant to stay.

Sumac let out a screech. He was shivering in his basket, his few feathers ruffled in a sad attempt to keep warm. I glanced once more at the distant mountain, but the stranger was gone, as I knew he would be. Only the clouds remained, beckoning to me with their long, moving fingers.
Come this way, child
, they gestured. The breeze blew against my face, cold and busy.
Follow him
, it whispered as it streamed by.

But these were foolish thoughts. I was only a girl, a very ugly girl. When Sumac squawked for attention again, I was relieved to turn away and head back to the warmth of the
wasi
. Still, as my feet crunched the
ichu
grass, my mind went back to the twisting trail and the man who followed it to fulfill his right and true path. He had frightened me, this
yunka
stranger who made my heart slow and revealed my scar to the people. But odd as it may seem, I hoped I would see him again.

5

I pulled my wrap more tightly about my shoulders as I hurried toward the warmth of my family's
wasi
. Sumac trembled in his basket. I leaned in and blew warm breath on his tiny body.

The sound of someone playing the
antara
, wooden pipes, alone and quiet, suddenly filled the early morning. I paused. The faint music slipped and slithered through the air, insisting that I follow it. Where did it come from?

It is a strange thing, the way your feet can turn and lead you in a different direction than expected.
Go to the
wasi
to sit by the hearth. Turn back
, my thoughts whispered, but my feet were more certain, and I followed the call of the music. The grass crunched quietly, as if even the earth was frightened of where I was headed.

The
antara
led me to the home of the great Paqo, the powerful shaman of our people. His
wasi
sat alone on the edge of the mountain, away from the other homes. The Paqo had moved to our village several years earlier. It was said that he had once been a great priest in the capital city of Cuzco, that he had worked for the mighty Sapa Inca himself. No one really knew why he had left such a position of honor, although there were many wagging tongues and interesting stories that tried to explain his mysterious appearance in our small village. I had been a young child and didn't remember his arrival. To me, he had always been there on the edge of village life, like a watchful jaguar to be tiptoed around carefully.

The music beckoned from within the Paqo's
wasi
. Why it had brought me here I didn't understand. I paused at the entrance, setting my hair carefully over my cheek. Surely I wasn't meant to enter. One so powerful as the great Paqo would be most offended by such a loathsome face as mine. His time was spent with the gods, not with the people. I shouldn't be here. I had no right. And yet, this was a place of spirit and magic. The Paqo dwelled with the gods. He and Inti were as one. I had always felt this power when the Paqo was near, but my fear of him had kept me away.

A red and brown alpaca cloth hung in the doorway. It was adorned with a pattern of woven hummingbirds that flitted about playfully. Sumac let out a low squawk. Go in, he seemed to say. I ran my fingers through my hair once more, to be certain the offensive scar was well hidden, but still I stood, uncertain.

Suddenly, the
antara
stopped speaking. The silence of the early-morning chill settled upon me. A voice from inside, low and even, said, “The bird is cold. Come in.”

I remained as unmoving as the mountains, still unsure what to do.

The voice spoke more forcefully. “Come in!”

Finally, I pushed the weaving aside and stepped into the
wasi
. On the floor sat the great Paqo, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile upon his lips. A small
antara
of six bound wooden pipes rested by his side. The
wasi
was dim. Still, a faint light from the hearth glimmered on the gold plugs hanging from his ears, a sign of his high status. How he was aware that I had been standing outside I didn't know.

His eyes remained closed.

I let the weaving fall back into place behind me.

“I have been waiting for you,” he said. “An entire life can slip away downstream in hiding.”

What did he mean? The air was warm and heavy with the scent of burnt
koka
leaves, a smell I recognized from ceremonies of the past. Odd dried plants and flowers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were covered with pictures of Inti and Mama Killa, as well as of the stars, the rainbow, and Illapa, the thunder god. A painted river snaked its way along one wall, and carved condors soared toward the roof. Behind the Paqo, a large weaving of a jaguar stared at me with yellow eyes. Its teeth gleamed, as if it were ready to eat me for its next meal.

“Sit!” The Paqo's eyes opened abruptly. They were like the eyes of the
yunka
stranger, not to be ignored.

I sat.

“The scar distracts you from Beyond.”

His words were a riddle. I grasped my hair, holding it tightly against my cheek to guard against the shaman's eyes.

“The past is the key to the now,” he went on, and the jaguar hanging behind him hissed. Or perhaps it was the embers crackling and spitting on the hearth. “Tell me, what do you remember of your past?”

What
did
I remember of my past? Sitting on my
huaca
. Hiding my face from the people. Searching for a way to make my scar leave me forever. Lurking at the far edge of the fire, always away from the people and the eyes and the words that stung.

“There isn't much to remember,” I replied.

“Oh?” His eyes probed, as if they would force me to speak my secrets, much as the
yunka
stranger had made me reveal my face.

“Why am I here?” I asked. It was fear of what I might say that gave me the courage to ask a question of so powerful a person.

“Yes. Why are you here?” he asked, and his lips opened in a smile that showed he was missing his top two front teeth.

His question startled me. “I shouldn't be. I'm sorry to intrude.”

“Does the river apologize when it changes its path after the rains?” he asked.

To answer incorrectly would be shameful; to say nothing, disrespectful. My head whirled from the strong scent of the
koka
and the confusing way the shaman mixed his words. “I don't know.”

“Of course it doesn't. It follows its nature, as you must do. But you were right.”

I was right? Choosing correct words in this place of confusion seemed impossible.

He closed his eyes and picked up the
antara
. His nails, I noticed, were yellowed and very long, like the claws of a beast. There was a frightening quiet before he said, “You should not be here.”

I had done a terrible thing, coming to this man's home. Who would dare to interrupt the mighty shaman but an ugly, scorned girl? The scar had ruined more than the skin on my face. It had twisted me inside.

“You should not be here because you aren't ready,” the Paqo said. “Come back when the bird says so.”

He held the
antara
to his lips and began to play. The music was slow and deep and sad. It said that I must leave.

“I'm sorry to have disturbed you,” I whispered. He didn't reply, but continued playing. Cradling Sumac's basket under my arm, I stood. My head spun for a moment, and the music hopped and swirled. Then I pushed the door weaving out of my way, stumbling out of the
wasi
before the
antara
could turn hurtful in its song.

The cool air cleared my thoughts. Inti shone brightly above. I had missed the morning greeting to the sun. Did he understand why? Was he angry with me? I couldn't bear the thought. Inti was the only companion I had.

Sumac squawked insistently. He opened his beak toward my face, and his small gray tongue probed the air. He was hungry. I didn't know what the Paqo meant, that the bird would tell me when to return. I was simply glad to be leaving, and I knew I would never come back.

As I quickened my step, the music stopped. I paused on the path, my ears straining to catch the tune. Instead, a new sound wound its way to me: the Paqo laughing heartily from within his
wasi
. I turned and fled, his laughter chasing after me like the wind.

6

 

Ayau hailli, ayau hailli!
Kapai Inti, Apu Yaya,
Kaway kuri, sumay kuri.
Song of praise and victory!
Great Sun, mighty father,
Wake the seeds and make them grow.

 

The men sang as they lifted their tacclas, their foot plows, straight above their heads. Their skin glowed with sweat in the early-morning sun as they hurled their tools downward and jumped on them with their feet to grind them into the soft earth.

 

Hailli, Pachamama, hailli!
Victory, oh, Earth Mother, victory!

 

The girls and women answered back as they scattered the corn seeds into the turned soil. It was sowing season, a time of great joy and solemn sacrifice and prayer. Boys stood by with their slings, ready to scare away any birds or small animals that might try to make an easy meal of our hard work.

There had been many preparations for this day. In all of the
wasis
, the people presented offerings of maize-flour dough, shells, colorful stones, plucked eyelashes, and freshly killed rabbits. Papa had wrapped a beautiful cob of corn, the bright color of Inti's rays, in our family's finest cloth and placed it in a niche in the wall, chanting over and over to Inti and to Pachamama, Earth Mother, to make this harvest plentiful. Rain had been scarce for several years now, and the storehouses were not so well stocked as they used to be. If Earth Mother remained dry and empty, if she didn't give us a beautiful golden crop this year, the people would go hungry. Papa was even more fearful than usual of bad omens. Every hoot of an owl sent him into a high-pitched fit, and whenever the cooking fire hissed, he threw a bit of
aca
, maize beer, into the flames to appease their anger.

Only the great Paqo could be sure of the proper day to begin planting. He knew the language of the stars, and he spoke with them every night, waiting until they told him the time was right and true. When he announced to the people that it would be today, the final preparations were made. We arose before dawn and danced our way out to the fields. The first ground was broken by our leader, Yawar, just as Inti began to rise in the sky.

I had felt concern that Sumac might try to eat the seeds as I planted them, but he sat on my right shoulder, studying all around him with curiosity. He was strong enough to perch there now and was beginning to show signs that he would live up to his name, Handsome One. Small feathers, rich red and deep blue, were appearing, and he was growing larger on the many potatoes and corn kernels I fed him. But he was still young and couldn't fly. He had chosen my right shoulder as his favorite perch, as if he knew it would free me of my worry to keep my right cheek covered by my hair.

“Why do you bother to plant the seeds?” a voice sneered from behind. Without turning, I knew who it was. Ucho. He continued speaking, even though I didn't acknowledge his words. “Surely Earth Mother is offended that the Ugly One would place seeds into her. They won't grow! Don't waste our precious kernels by contaminating them with your hand!”

This wasn't the first time I had heard such words. When I was younger, I had made it a point to study the location of the maize and potatoes I had planted and had snuck back to the fields to see if they had grown. I didn't want to offend Pachamama, and if she felt I wasn't worthy to plant, then I would not have done so again. But my corn grew tall and golden, my potatoes were abundant. It was a great relief to learn I wasn't completely scorned by the gods.

“I know that you hear me,” Ucho said menacingly. “And now you have brought a pest that will eat our sacred crops!”

Suddenly, I heard a light whizzing sound by my ear, and Sumac screeched so loudly, it echoed within my head. It took me a moment to realize that Ucho had used his sling to throw a stone at Sumac. It hit the bird's right wing, which Sumac lifted high in the air as he squawked in pain. I brought him to my chest to protect and comfort him. There was no blood, but my anger was fierce.