The Ugly One (3 page)

“The husband and wife knew that they had found Cuzco, the center of the world. Manco Capac taught the men how to farm the land, and Mama Ocllo showed the women how to weave. Civilization came to the people, and Cuzco was the center of it all, a thriving city of nobles and priests. All the children of Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo grew strong and wise and had their own children. We are the descendants of these people. And this means that each one of us is born of the mighty sun Inti, the father of us all. So it was and ever shall be.”

The people solemnly repeated, “So it was and ever shall be.” Then there was silence. I closed my eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire. Its warmth didn't reach me strongly, but I imagined it was day and that Inti was still with us, touching me with his long golden fingers.

The
yunka
man was nodding his head in agreement. He pointed to himself and said, “Ari. Why I go to Sacred Sun City.”

I thought I had misunderstood. Many people traveled to Cuzco, the grand city where the Sapa Inca, our emperor, lived. But I had never heard of one who would go to Sacred Sun City, a place hidden high in the mountains. Did the stranger mean he was traveling there?

Sacred Sun City, the Sapa Inca's most precious estate. My heart raced at the thought of this religious center where only the holiest of priests and the most beautiful of Sun Maidens lived, always in prayer and praise to Inti and the other gods. How could he, a
yunka
stranger, feel that he was worthy to go there? He wasn't even one of Inti's true children. He would be killed—thrown into a pit of poisonous snakes or fed to hungry jaguars—before he would be allowed to enter such a sacred place. Surely I had misunderstood.

It wasn't my place to ask, but Yawar, the leader of our village, spoke out. “You are making the journey to Sacred Sun City at Machu Picchu?” His eyebrows were raised high in question, and his voice didn't hide his surprise.

“Ari. Sacred Sun City. Praise Inti.”

“They will kill you before you can pass through the Sun Gate and enter the city,” Yawar said. This wasn't a question. He spoke in a flat voice, stating the fact that it was.

The stranger showed no sign that he was frightened by these words. “No. Not kill. I go. Praise Inti. Touch Sacred Rock. Ask question.”

The Sacred Rock was a
huaca
in Sacred Sun City. It was said to have the strongest of spirit powers. If you asked it a question in the proper manner, and if you were worthy, it would answer. It could solve your troubles, make them disappear, like a scar on a cheek suddenly vanishing forever. But very few were allowed contact with the Sacred Rock.

“What do you want to ask it?” Muti blurted out.

“No. Only here.” The stranger pointed to his chest. He may have been journeying to his death, but he was at least wise enough to keep his question guarded within himself.

Yawar stood tall in front of the dancing, hissing fire. He walked to the stranger and placed a large hand on his shoulder. “You must be permitted to enter by the Sapa Inca himself, and not many are worthy of speaking to the Sacred Rock. You are from far away, so perhaps you do not know these things. It would be best if you didn't go.”

“I am holiest. I am worthy,” the stranger said loudly. He had been looking at Yawar, but now he turned his head in my direction, and I felt little bumps crawl on the back of my neck. It was as if he could see through the night air, directly to my hidden face. “We know who we are,” he added. Then he made a fist and pounded his chest, his face fierce. “Here.”

No one said a word. No one moved. The jungle stranger was still staring at me, although he couldn't possibly see me hidden in the darkness. I tucked my knees in under my chin and tightened the cloak around my face, afraid that he would pull me out of the crowd. But no. Instead he rose and walked stiffly away from the gathered people. Alone in the dark, his figure was quickly lost to my sight, as if he had disappeared from the earth forever.

4

I
N
our
wasi
, our one-room house, later that night, my family prepared for bedtime. The
wasi
was sturdy, built of tightly stacked stones with a thick thatched roof, but it could not protect us from the creeping fingers of the cold night air. We piled blankets and weavings over our bodies by the light of the hearth, which still glowed faintly from the evening meal preparations. I'd fed Sumac again, and he was nestled into the center of a basket filled with warm alpaca wool, just to the side of my rush mat. Now I lay back and pulled up my favorite wool blanket, a beautiful red one with weavings of the sun and birds.

As I turned to my right side, the position I always slept in to hide my scar, Mama knelt next to me. With a small smile, she tucked the blanket under my chin. Her hand lingered, and she tentatively brushed the hair off my smooth cheek. She was my mother, so she had to do this, but I believed she didn't truly want to touch me. When she leaned in to kiss me, I turned away as I always did, so her lips were spared the pain of touching my ugly face.

With a sad sigh, Mama stood. I wasn't certain if her sorrow came from gazing on her daughter's scarred face or from being a mother who longed to kiss her child but was rejected night after night. It was probably a mix of both. I turned away because it was easier not to discover the truth. I know this sounds odd. Why not let my mother kiss me? But what if she did, and it was so horrible for her that she never wanted to do so again? This was as close as I came to my beautiful Mama every day, and I cherished the moment despite her sadness. By turning away, I ensured that she would try again the next night. I told myself this was almost the same as a good-night kiss.

“Did I not say a stranger would come?” Papa asked from under his blanket, satisfaction thick in his voice.

“Yes, my husband,” Mama responded quietly. I saw her kiss Chasca before joining Papa. My older brother, Hatun, had been gone for almost three years now, serving his time repairing and guarding roads for the emperor as all young men did, but every night I thought of him at this moment. Mama would have kissed him good night after Chasca.

“No, you did
not
say a stranger would come,” Chasca said as she slid under her covers next to me. The reflection from the hearth danced in her bright brown eyes. From the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, I knew that she was smiling. She found Papa very funny and liked to goad him. In her playful voice she added, “You complained that your foot hurt, Papa. You never said a stranger was coming.”

“Is that not the same?” Papa defended himself. “It is said that a pained foot is a sure sign a stranger will visit.”

“Perhaps,” Chasca said. “If you didn't complain of aches and pains most days.”

“I am an old man. Show the respect due an elder,” Papa snapped.

“Yes, Papa,” Chasca said obediently, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

“I was certain of his arrival. And I am certain the man is a fool,” Papa went on. “He should go back to the
yunka
.”

Mama, who often kept Papa calm with her soothing voice, murmured from under the covers, “That would seem wise.”

“What good does it do him, stomping through the mountains only to be killed? He is a fool!” Papa's voice rose in pitch as it grew louder.

“Ahh,” Chasca said, “but sometimes even fools are correct, Papa. Perhaps they won't kill him.”

“Ridiculous!” Papa's voice howled like the wind as he continued. “He isn't even a child of Inti! Chasca, don't say such stupid things, or the bat will pay you a visit.” Papa made this threat at least once a day, that the bat would come and visit one of us. It was said that if a bat entered your home, you would meet with great misfortune. Papa was always worrying that some disaster would befall our family.

Chasca didn't share his worry. She sat up slightly and sighed. “I fear he may already have done so, Papa. I may have seen the fluttering of wings as I awoke this morning.” She paused and scratched her head, then added, “Or perhaps not. It was still dark, and I had sleep in my eyes.”

“Chasca!” Mama hissed. “Do not tempt the gods.” Mama didn't worry about bats in houses the way Papa did, but she didn't like to hear Chasca say such things. And my sister often said things to bother Papa. She was very pretty, Chasca, but at times she didn't know when to be silent.

“But I really might have, Mama. It flew out the doorway before I could be sure,” she said.

Suddenly, Papa sat up and shouted, “Ha!” The sound startled Sumac, whose little head jutted up above the edge of the basket at my side. I reached over and stroked him lightly.

Mama, who was used to Papa's loud noises, said calmly, “What is it, husband?”

“It is a bad omen if the bat visits you at twilight,” Papa said. “Chasca may have seen one
as she awoke
. It was morning, not twilight. There is no danger.”

I could hear in his voice that he was pleased with himself, like a child who has just answered an old man's riddle correctly.

With this settled, the small
wasi
filled with the gentle noises of the night. The little group of
quwis
Mama was raising scuttled about in the corners, making their quiet squeaking calls. The wind danced with the tree outside our home, and the leaves made their soft flutter music.

I closed my eyes and watched the blackness under my eyelids. But it didn't stay dark for long. The image of the
yunka
stranger appeared before me. His face was fierce. I didn't want to think of this man. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It bothered me, this image of the jungle man. Something hadn't been said that should have been. I was unsure if anyone else was awake, but I whispered my words anyway. “Perhaps he really is chosen by Inti.”

No one responded. I didn't know if they were all asleep or if they didn't hear me or if they didn't want to talk of the stranger any longer. I closed my eyes and turned to my right side, the position I always slept in to hide my scar. I hoped that the stranger would stay out of my dreams this night.

If you have ever heard a story told well, then you know what happened next. Of course I dreamt of the
yunka
stranger. They say that the dream world is closest to the spirit world, that to know your dreams is to know the past, the present, and the future. That night I walked with the spirits as I dreamt.

At first I sat on my
huaca
, my special rock. The stars in the great star river hung bright and heavy and seemed very close. The surrounding mountains were huge, dark living things that reached up, up, up, and touched the tiny, bright flecks of light that lived in the night sky.

The
huaca
grew hot, as if from Inti, but it wasn't his time in the sky. It was a good feeling, this warmth, and it made the rock soft like the coat of a baby llama. I slowly sank, as if in thick water, but this didn't frighten me. I was pleased that I would finally meet the spirit that lived within.

Inside was a dark cave. A black jaguar with gleaming eyes paced in the corner. She growled a warning: “Not yet.” Then her back muscles bunched together, and she took a mighty leap out of the cave.

Suddenly, the
yunka
stranger stood before me. His eyes held me once more so that my feet were stuck to the ground and I could only wave my arms like branches swaying lightly in the breeze. He stepped back and held something out for me, but I couldn't see what it was. Staring at me, he squatted and placed this object onto the ground. Then he stood tall and spread his arms. Something pushed through his skin and grew like many pieces of thin red grass. His body shrank and was covered in this redness, but some was also blue and yellow. He flapped his arms and—oh—it was
feathers
that he had grown. He was a bird, regal and beautiful. With a great macaw call of
BRRRUAW
, he sprang up and flapped off into the distance, so that I could no longer see him.

And it was then that I was able to move my feet again. I stepped forward and looked to the ground to see what it was that he wanted me to have. A lone toadstool stuck out of the earth. It was small with a creamy brown head. Carefully, I lifted it from the soil. It was soft and delicate like the petals of the lily flower. I placed this toadstool inside my basket, making sure that it was cradled by the alpaca wool. I hugged the basket close to me like a mother protecting her newborn child.

When I emerged from the cave and was back on top of the
huaca
, it was Sumac who sat in the basket, resting comfortably in the white fleece, staring up at me with big dark eyes. I was glad to see the little bird, but I couldn't remember what it was that I had first put into the basket. I knew it was important, a message of some sort, a gift from the jungle stranger. But it was gone, the memory slipping away like a leaf floating down the river.

***

I was always the first of my family to awaken. I didn't like to think that someone might arise and see me still in sleep, perhaps with my cheek exposed. So I was surprised when I opened my eyes to Chasca, who was staring over me with a scowl on her face. I realized at once I was lying on my back. My face wasn't covered. She was scowling because she saw my hideous scar.

But no, my mind cleared a bit, and I heard Sumac making little raspy
eeeee
sounds in the basket to my right. They weren't loud, but Chasca was a light sleeper, and immediately I understood why her face was unhappy.

“Make it stop,” she grumbled, and rolled back onto her mat, mumbling as she settled into sleep again. She had never been entirely awake.

The rolling chirp of the crickets passed through the early-morning air. From the warmth of my blankets I could see that it was almost time for Inti to rise. Light pinks and purples, the color of the
munca
flowers, were beginning to creep through the mountains.