Serafina's Stories Read online

  When they completed their studies they returned home, and as was their custom they continued to visit one week at one palace and the next at the other.

  The parents were so happy to have Fabiano and Reyes back home they held dances and fiestas and bullfights. Fabiano and Reyes always attended these events together, and he would dance only with the loveliest girls.

  When he presented his partner to Reyes he would whisper,

  —Isn’t she beautiful? I’d rather be blind than have an ugly woman at my side.

  One week the festivities were to be held at the palace of Fabiano’s father, who promised to bring the best singers and bullfighters from across the sea. Fabiano and Reyes helped with all the preparations.

  The first night of the dance Fabiano met a lovely young woman whom he immediately introduced to Reyes.

  —Reyes, meet my sweetheart. Isn’t she beautiful? Then he whispered to her. You know I would never have an ugly woman as my girlfriend.

  —Yes, replied Reyes. The woman who marries you must be beautiful and virtuous.

  The following night Reyes felt so discouraged she came to the dance in a plain linen dress.

  Fabiano reproached her.

  —Reyes, why are you dressed in linen? A virtuous princess like you should be dressed in the finest silk.

  —Oh my dear Fabiano, you know an ugly woman like me should not dress in silk. I don’t deserve fine dresses; the most common will do for me.

  —But I would be ashamed to present you to my sweethearts who dress in silk while you wear plain linen.

  —The women you fall in love with are beautiful and deserve silk, replied Reyes. I will dress to match how I feel.

  Reyes’s father had invited a well-known singer from across the sea to sing, but the singer was drowned when the ship sank.

  Reyes went to Fabiano and explained the situation.

  —My father promised his guests that the singer would appear tonight, but now that is impossible. So that my father doesn’t lose his honor, I will sing tonight.

  —No, no, replied Fabiano. Singing is not for a princess. People will criticize you, and then I will be ashamed.

  In spite of Fabiano’s protests, Reyes decided to sing for the assembled guests. No one had ever heard her sing before, so all were surprised at her lovely, melodious voice. Even the arrogant Fabiano sat spellbound.

  By the time Reyes finished her song Fabiano’s heart was throbbing with love. Immediatedly he went to Reyes and asked her to dance.

  —Oh, you wouldn’t like to be seen dancing with an ugly woman, she replied. Please excuse me.

  The festivities ended and the guests left, but Fabiano’s new-found passion would not let him rest. He had fallen in love with Reyes. Quickly he went to his parents and asked them to ask for Reyes’s hand in marriage.

  Of course the king and queen were very happy, and, as was the custom, they went to ask permission for their son to marry Reyes.

  All were shocked at Reyes’s refusal.

  —I cannot marry a man who despises those he calls ugly. A person should not be judged by the looks God has given. Fabiano should marry someone as beautiful as he.

  When Fabiano heard Reyes’s answer he grew very depressed. He couldn’t get over the love he felt for Reyes. After a month he went to his friend, a captain, and asked him to intercede. The captain agreed to go to Reyes and tell her that Fabiano was very much in love with her and wished to marry her.

  Reyes confessed to the captain that she had always loved Fabiano, but because he had despised ugly women so much she could not marry him.

  The captain sadly reported this to Fabiano, who decided to leave his kingdom forever. He moved far away, and every other day he would write Reyes a letter expressing his love, but he never mailed them.

  One afternoon while Fabiano was hunting, the rifle he was using exploded and blinded him. While he was in the hospital his father and mother died. The caretaker of their castle went to the hospital and brought Fabiano home. All the people who had once worked for the king and queen were gone; there only remained the caretaker and the old housekeeper to take care of Fabiano.

  Life in the deserted castle was lonely and sad. The old housekeeper cared poorly for Fabiano.

  To console himself, Fabiano took out the letters he had written Reyes, but now he could not read them.

  One day his old friend the captain came to visit.

  —Has Reyes come to see you? he asked.

  —No, replied Fabiano. She will not see me because I spoke ill of ugly people. Without her love I am slowly dying.

  The captain went to visit Reyes.

  —He is alone and he is blind, he told Reyes. You and he grew up together, and yet you don’t visit him. Why?

  —I love Fabiano with all my heart, Reyes replied. But I believe he fell in love with my singing, not with me. Does he love me deep inside?

  —Go and find out. The old housekeeper doesn’t take good care of him. The food she prepares is not fit for pigs. He needs a nurse. You should be that nurse!

  —Yes, Reyes agreed, I would like to take care of Fabiano. But with one condition.

  —What is that?

  —You must not tell him I am the nurse.

  —Ah, said the captain, so that way you will discover for yourself if he loves you with all his heart.

  —Yes.

  —Very well, you have my word I won’t tell him.

  With that the captain rode off. He arrived at Fabiano’s in a joyful mood.

  —My dear friend, he said, I have good news. I have found a nurse who will take care of you.

  —Thank you for your kindness. I only hope she can read.

  The captain brought Reyes to Fabiano’s castle, and when she saw the poor state he was in, she vowed to take care of him.

  She heated water so Fabiano could take a bath, and she brought out his fine clothes. She prepared him good meals, and soon Fabiano regained his health. He was very happy with the nurse his friend had found.

  —Nurse, he said one night, can you keep a secret?

  —Yes, replied Reyes.

  —You know the small suitcase I keep by my bed?

  —Yes.

  —Bring it to me, please.

  Reyes brought the suitcase and Fabiano opened it.

  —These are letters I wrote to the woman I love. Will you please read them?

  Reyes began to read the letters Fabiano had written and never mailed, and as she read, tears filled her eyes. She looked at Fabiano and saw that he too was silently weeping.

  The next day the captain came to visit and found Reyes in the kitchen. It was obvious she had been crying.

  —Is something the matter? he asked her.

  —I read Fabiano’s letters last night. I know now he truly loves me.

  —What are you going to do?

  —I will marry him.

  The captain and Reyes rode to Fabiano’s castle. They found him in the garden, and at first only the captain spoke.

  —My dear friend, you are alone so much. I think you should be married.

  —Who would have me? asked Fabiano.

  —Your nurse. She takes very good care of you.

  —Yes, and I feel very close to her. But the love in my heart is only for Reyes.

  —Then marry Reyes.

  —She wouldn’t have me when I was young, why would she have me now?

  —I spoke to her, and she will marry you. You see, the nurse who has been taking care of you is Reyes herself.

  Fabiano was speechless. Tears filled his eyes. Of course he had felt Reyes’s presence when the nurse was near, but he did not trust his feeling.

  —I would give you half my kingdom if that were true, he said with a sigh.

  —It is true, said Reyes, stepping forward and taking his hand.

  —I am blind and you will have me as a husband?

  —I am ugly, will you have me?

  —I have learned a lesson, said Fabiano. When I was young I judged people by their l
ooks. I know now that we should love everyone equally.

  —Perhaps we have both learned a lesson, said Reyes.

  The two were married, and to this day they live together, taking care of each other and sharing their love.

  NINE

  A glint of light from the dying embers in the fireplace betrayed the Governor’s tears. He turned away so Serafina might not see.

  Why has the story made me sad? he thought. I am the Governor, a military man who has seen many campaigns, fought many battles. I am ruler of this miserable kingdom which I daily struggle to keep together. The Apaches now have horses and attack the Pecos, Quarai, and Abo missions, the Pueblos constantly complain, and always some of the citizens want to quit the colony and return to New Spain. The winters are bitter, the drought has lasted many years.

  How can I be so affected by a story? Is it that I am like Fabiano, and I have been seeing only the ugly side of life? Are the stories really revelations of my soul? Am I Juan Oso, half man and half beast? Pedro de Ordimalas, a mere picaro pretending to be governor? Fabiano who lost the love of his life as I lost my wife?

  He looked at Serafina. Can she read my heart? Is it possible she is a witch?

  Yes, the thought had crossed his mind before. The Franciscan friars’ chief complaint was that the Indians practiced sorcery, they prayed to pagan gods, kept masks in their kivas and held the Kachina dances.

  “I’ll call Gaspar,” he said abruptly, rising and walking briskly to the door.

  When Gaspar had led the girl away the Governor hurried out into the freezing night. A sweet scent hung over the plaza from the thin feathers of smoke that rose from villa’s fireplaces.

  The settlement lay embraced by night, bathed in the light of the glittering Milky Way and a pale, waxing moon. In the hills coyotes yipped, a witching cry. Higher up, where the juniper-studded hills met the mountain pine treeline, a wolf howled a long, mournful cry for its mate, and moments later she returned the call.

  The sorcerers, the priests had reported, took the form of owls, coyotes, and wolves to travel about at night.

  “Bah!” the Governor spat, “I am not a superstitious man.”

  Still, he hurried across the frozen, desolate plaza to knock on the door of the church.

  Friar Tomás, his freckled face and reddish hair illuminated by the lantern he held, opened the heavy door. “Que diablo es a esta hora?”

  He peered into the pale face of the Governor and for a moment couldn’t recognize him.

  “Ah, Your Excellency. What brings you out on such a cold night? I hope no last rites. An accident?”

  “No such thing, Fray Tomás. Perhaps a case of witchcraft.”

  “Witchcraft!” the startled friar gasped. He peered beyond the Governor into the dark night. At night the peaceful landscape turned into the Demon’s playground. No one stirred, except those men who braved the cold to drink homemade wine at the cantina of doña Patricia.

  “Come in, come in,” he said.

  “I cannot stay,” replied the Governor. “You know the girl who came with the prisoners?”

  “Yes. I have attended the trial with great interest. Needless to say, your judgments have created quite a—

  “Fray Tomás, that’s not the matter at hand.”

  “Ah, yes, the girl.”

  “I want you to question her.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is highly unusual. I should send a message to the Custodian—”

  “I don’t want this request to be heard by anyone except you,” interrupted the Governor. “Isn’t it true that if you enter the room with the blessed Crucifix, if the woman is a witch she will cringe, cry out, and blaspheme the Holy Cross?”

  “Yes, but the girl cannot be—”

  “I make no accusation! I only ask that you speak to her. See how she reacts, that’s all I require of you.”

  “Very well,” a puzzled Fray Tomás replied. He disappeared for a moment and returned wearing a heavy buffalo coat, a crucifix in hand. Together they made their way back to the Governor’s residence and to Serafina’s room.

  “Is something wrong, Your Excellency?” asked Gaspar, puzzled by the Governor’s rapid exit and the appearance of the friar.

  The Governor did not answer. “Knock and enter,” he whispered to the friar. “Do not let her know I’m here.”

  The tremulous young friar made the sign of the cross, held the crucifix in front of him, and knocked.

  “Enter,” Serafina said, and he entered the room. Behind him the door shut tight.

  Shivering, he held the cross in front of him and took hesitant steps toward Serafina.

  “I come in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. If there are demons in possession of your soul, I cast them out with this cross.”

  He stood trembling, expecting at any moment to feel the wrath of the Devil descend on him.

  Instead he saw Serafina make the sign of the cross and kneel on the bare floor.

  “Have you come to hear my confession, padre?” she asked.

  Fray Tomás cringed. He looked down into Serafina’s calm face; her dark eyes peered back at him with an innocence that mesmerized him.

  “You’re not a witch,” he muttered.

  “No, padre.”

  “You asked for confession …”

  “I was raised in the mission church at my pueblo. I know all the prayers.”

  She closed her eyes and waited. A shudder went through Fray Tomás. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t come to confess a Christian, he had come to cast out demons. But there were no demons in the girl, only an aura that enhanced her beauty.

  “Please rise, child,” he managed. “Sit.”

  Serafina rose and sat on the cot.

  “Did you come to hear my confession?” she repeated.

  “No, not tonight,” the confused friar answered.

  For a long time the friar did not speak. Finally he asked, “Are you like the others? You believe in Christ, and yet you keep your pagan beliefs?”

  “I believe in the ways of my ancestors. Christ and his mother and the saints have come to join our holy people—”

  “No!” he interrupted her. “You can’t believe in Christ and believe in the things of the Devil! You are not a witch, child, but it is those things of Lucifer we must drive out. Place your hands on the cross and pray with me.”

  He sat by her, closed his eyes, and holding the holy cross to her he began to pray. He could hear her praying, her Castilian Spanish almost as good as his.

  They are all like this, he thought. We baptize them, they help us build churches, they come to mass and take the Eucharist, then they go at night to their kivas and pray to their fetishes, masks of the Devil. Why can’t we drive those beliefs out of them?

  He could smell the perfume of her hair, washed with soap from yucca roots. Opening his eyes he looked at her. She was only a few years younger than he, yet she was mature beyond her years.

  “You’re not a witch,” he stammered.

  “No, padre, I am not.”

  “You are innocent,” he murmured, unsure of what to say or do. He had never dealt with a situation like this before. “Good night. I must go,” he said. Outside, he was met by an anxious Governor.

  “Well. What is your finding?” he asked, clutching the friar’s coat.

  “She’s not a witch. We prayed together. She is innocent.”

  “I was wrong to have you question her,” the Governor said, realizing he had made a mistake. “Thank you for your time, Fray Tomás …”

  “It is nothing,” the friar replied. “I shall return to pray with her,” he said and disappeared into the cold night.

  The Governor gathered his courage, opened the door, and entered the room. Serafina looked up at him, and after a pause she spoke.

  “Why did you send the friar to question me?” she asked, her voice cold and pentrating. “I am not a witch.”

  “Forgive me,” the Gove
rnor said. “I do not believe in witchcraft. But I had to be sure.”

  “Why?”

  The Governor sighed. “Some of my enemies are spreading rumors; they say you have a power over me, and they attribute it to witchcraft.”

  “But you don’t believe that.”

  “No, but if they can get the Inquisition to question you, they would use the trial to destroy me. I had to be sure. Now I have the friar’s opinion.”

  “I see,” Serafina said. There was discord in the villa. Those who wanted the Governor out of office would use her to accomplish their goal. The Governor had to protect himself, and her.

  “I am sorry I put you through this.”

  “One does what one has to do,” she replied.

  “Believe me, I only do what I think is best for you. Now you must rest. Good night, Serafina.”

  “Good night, Your Excellency.”

  The Governor disappeared and Serafina turned to the clothes doña Ofelia had given her. She stitched late into the night, pausing only when she heard the cries of coyotes in the hills. She went to the east wall and pressed her ear against the cracks.

  “Father!” she cried. The coyote cries were her father and friends camped in the hills, awaiting her release. The call was clear, a signal for her to know they were there.

  Serafina blew out the candle, slipped into bed, and slept a very peaceful sleep.

  The next morning the Governor ate breakfast and hurried to the trial. As before, he listened intently to the charges read against the fourth prisoner, and as the people expected, the man tried that morning was freed. The other prisoners were sent back to the stockade, and Serafina returned to her room, where she worked on the colcha she was stitching.

  The Governor rode out with soldiers, still pursuing the Apaches who had raided the Picuris mission, but the raiders had disappeared.

  That evening, as was by now his custom, he called for Serafina. When he saw her the concerns of the day fell away. The more he thought of her as a daughter, the more he felt free to entertain the idea. And yet the thought disturbed him, because it was something that could not be.

  He greeted her cordially, offering her a chair by the fireplace.

  “Do you have a story ready?” he asked kindly.

  “I never have one ready,” she replied. “Whatever comes to mind is the story I tell.”