The Weeping God In The Clouds

I squat behind a boulder. What else can I do but hold my hands over my mouth and pray the crops are safe from stupid animals? I curse all animals. I curse the cactus behind me. And most of all, I curse her. I pray a lightening bolt will fry her from the inside-out. I hope ghosts with evil twisted smiles and long claws will steal her spirit while she sleeps. And for the millionth time I damn her to eternal, endless, infinite suffering.

She picks through gorse and stones like she’s some unstoppable, unflappable Goddess and I start shaking – partly with fear and partly with impotent rage – when she walks so close to my hiding place I can smell my shit on her feet and the blood on her hands.

She passes and I know I’ll live to see the sun go down on another day, but my happiness is always tainted with the knowledge that tomorrow I might not be so lucky.



* * *



This morning they found the birds she killed. There were fourteen of them, all featherless, all with twisted legs and all bitten twice on the neck. Those teeth marks are familiar; Apu Inti knows I’d seen them enough on my own arms and legs and feet and hands.

As they lead me away I see her standing in a doorframe. She smiles and this time there’s no blood dripping from her teeth. It’s just the sweet, innocent smile of a fourteen year old girl; the apple of the villages eye and the guardian angel of her stunted twin. Oh, if only they knew. I wish I could tell everybody the truth but they wouldn’t believe it.



* * *



I wake up in a small cell and at first I thought they were going to throw me into Dead Man’s Canyon but now I’m not so sure. After all, it’s not a crime to kill birds. Most people say they’re pests but I’ve always loved the way they trade places in the sky like running water.

I wasn’t careful enough. She saw my love and it was their death-knoll.

A man comes in. He’s the biggest in the village and usually walks like an awkward duck with his shoulders thrown back and his neck stuck out. Not now. He stoops to fit through the door and stays that way while he passes bowls to me. I try to tell him that I didn’t kill the birds but as soon as I open my mouth the man skitters back like a beaten dog and then he quickly shuffles out, never taking his eyes off me.

They’ve given me popped corn and dried llama and - best of all - a handful of roasted red beans which I hold in my mouth for as long as I can. I’m trying to capture the flavor with my tongue because it might be my last meal; even though they’re treating me like an honored guest, I know I’m still a prisoner.



* * *



I smell the Tall-Stranger before he enters the room; it’s a rich smell, full of hidden nuances. He bends down and puts his hand under my chin and I can feel his boils against my neck but I don’t shy away.

“Not mal aire de difunto, nor mal aire de agua, nor mal viento’, he says to someone outside the door and finally I understand. They think I’ve been corrupted by evil spirits, that bad air has seeped into my soul and made me lose my mind.

Someone asks a question and the Tall-Stranger rolls his eyes. “Wait,” he tells me. “I’ll be back for you.”

The minutes stretch into hours and then the hours into a sleepless night. Duck-Man resumes feeding duty. He no longer stands hunched when he enters the room but he still won’t turn his back on me. This makes me smile. Nobody’s ever been afraid of the Runt-Twin before, not ever.



* * *



The dawn sun is chasing shadows across the floor when the Tall-Stranger returns. He’s carrying a necklace made from nine round plates and asks me if I know what it is. I shake my head and the Tall-Stranger smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll teach you,” he says. “But first, you need to tell me who killed the birds.”

“You don’t think it was me?”

“We both know it wasn’t you. But why did the others think it was? Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”

“They never believe me.” I finger the necklace, not knowing the right words. “It was her. She’s . . . she’s evil. She tortures animals. She hurts babies too. She wants to kill me. But no one ever sees. I tried to tell them but no one sees it happen, so no one believes. They started blaming me because they love her too much.”

“Who is she?”

“My sister.” I say. “My twin.”

My gut starts churning when I see deep, worried lines around the Tall-Strangers mouth and I try to apologize but he waves it off. “It’s good you’ve told me, son. She sounds like a sash’a supay, a jungle demon. You’re lucky to still be alive. She has powers far greater than yours. Maybe even greater than mine.”

I wonder if that’s why I never grew big and strong like other children and the Tall-Stranger answers my thoughts. “She stole your stature when you shared a womb, boy.”

“What will you do? Will you tell the village?”

“No. She has a strong hold on them and they might turn on me. No,” he repeats and shakes his head. “I need time to think. Go back to sleep, boy. I have to trick her into the Otherside. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it one way or another.”



* * *



The next day is crisp and clear and blue. The Tall-Stranger and I stand in a semi-circle of curious faces. My sister is only a meter away but for the first time I’m not afraid and maybe she senses that because when her eyes fall on me, her mouth curls up at one corner and her pupils shrink to pin-pricks.

“The boy is coming with me,” the Tall-Stranger announces. I see my mothers face collapse with gratitude and tears sting my eyes. “He has great potential and will serve as my apprentice. But the boy isn’t the only special one. There’s someone else with The Calling.”

All eyes shift to my sister and she smiles with a calculated humility that makes my stomach turn.

“In my dreams, I saw a weeping God on the gateway of the sun.” The Tall-Strangers voice deepens and ancient melodies dance under its surface. “He had a strong face, this God and his tears were so powerful they burnt my skin. In his hands were two spears and they were wet with your blood. Yes, the weeping God was sending me a message for your village. He’s unhappy with your disrespect and he hungers for company. He hungers for lives and he asks for a tribute which, if he doesn’t receive, he’ll take. And he'll take it without mercy! He whispered your name to me,” the Tall-Strangers voice drops even lower as he turns to my sister. “He whispered it three times. What an honor!”



* * *



The setting sun is blood red. We’re ready to leave the village but no one notices; they’re too busy stoking my sisters’ ego with offerings of maize and massages and little gifts of handmade jewelry.

I see the Tall-Stranger take in my sisters’ face which is flushed to the forehead with pleasure and pride. “She’ll be up the mountain within the year,” he mutters, almost to himself.



* * *



When we return, my sister's grown fat and corpulent. Her stomach hangs over her waistband and all the finery in the village can’t hide the dimples in her arms or the greasiness of her hair. Even as we approach, people are telling her she’s beautiful but it almost sounds like they’re trying to convince themselves. She sees me and her eyes flatten; the puma and her prey. But I’m not scared. In the last year I’ve filled out, maybe even grown an inch or two, and I no longer walk as close to the ground as I can.

Final preparations are made for the trek. The Tall-Stranger tells the Headman he’s spoken with the High Priest; he relays that this is a village matter and we are to travel alone and only I can hear the deception in his voice.

The Headman pushes his youngest daughter forward. With a sinking heart, I notice her proud little face and the ornate robe she’s wearing and how she’s grown big and round and tall and strong, just like my sister. The Tall-Stranger clicks his tongue but we both know he doesn’t have a choice.

Refusing the child as a sacrifice would taint them both for life. So, with heavy legs, we lead the procession to meet the weeping God in the clouds.



* * *



I struggle to breathe. The air has become so thick and cold it burns my throat and sticks to my lungs. Travelers and traders eye us wearily as they pass. They’re probably not used to seeing such a rag-tag procession on such lofty roads but most of the villagers don’t notice and if they do they don’t seem to care. They’re untutored farmers who don’t realize we’re breaking both custom and etiquette with our lack of priestesses and royalty and ceremonial pomp.

The girls are carried aloft on simple palanquins and even from behind I can see my sister calculating how to break the Young-Girls will. There’s a quick flash of flesh on flesh. It’s not the first slap and it won’t be the last but Young-Girl’s spirit will escape, I tell myself, and find its way to the entrance of the Gods. It must.



* * *



Nightfall is worst. I walk into the long shadows outside our camp and bend over with my hands on my knees. The Tall-Stranger has given me some of the coca he used to dampen my sisters appetite for torture. He says my under-developed lungs are no match for the altitude and he must be right because my stomach is made of lead and my mind is spinning so badly I can only move in short, jerky steps like a headless chicken.

Perhaps that’s why I don’t hear her coming; I just feel her bitter, hot breath on my neck before she wraps something around me and forces me to the ground. There’s not enough air in my lungs to call out for the Tall-Stranger. I try anyway. It makes her laugh.

“I’m going to the entrance of the Gods, brother dearest,” she hisses through her teeth. “I’m going to spend eternity up there. We entered this world together and we’ll leave it together too. But you’ll be nothing but dust and bones and I’ll be where I deserve thanks to my capacocha. How do you like that, brother dearest? ”

I want to tell her she’ll never meet the Gods but a strange blackness is creeping into my consciousness. It’s soft and gentle and drowns all the pain. I thank Apu Inti and shut my eyes.





* * *

* * *







‘The two girls appear to have been left to die from exposure – at such a high altitude, it would not have taken long for children to die. Previous research, however, has shown that the Llullaillaco Boy was suffocated by having a textile wrap drawn so tightly around him that his ribs were crushed and his pelvis dislocated.’ – ‘Incas fattened up their children before sacrifice on the volcano’

October 2, 2007. Source: TimesOnline by Mark Henderson, Science Editor















Other Sources:



http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodmaya.html



http://agutie.homestead.com/files/world_news_map/mummy_inca_girl.html



http://www.lost-civilizations.net/inca-civilization.html



http://www.incaglossary.org/intro.html



http://www.crystalinks.com/incan.html





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