"The Ugly One," Vocabulary from Chapters 6-10

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.

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.

It was a great relief to learn I wasn’t completely scorned by the gods.

As the people approached the guardian, each placed a small stone collected from the fields onto a pile at its foot. Many kissed their fingers and backed away reverently.

The leaves twisted and writhed in the flames, and a pungent smell tickled my nose before the smoke was lost to the sky.

Many spirits, some kind and some mischievous, hovered near us at such a sacred time, and one of them may have tried a trick of some sort.

We had fasted for several days in preparation for the sowing, and there is nothing to bring joy to your step so much as the thought of a savory meal after a long day spent in the fields.

“It requires the energy of all the people, and it is a sacred task that honors the gods.”

Yawar gestured behind him, and two of the older boys ceremoniously brought forward a large bowl, carrying it between them, and set it down.

“Ah, Daughter, it has been a long time since anyone in the village has been judged guilty of so horrible a crime. Sutic was caught sleeping in the field when he should have been toiling with the rest of us. He has been warned before. Now he will learn.”

“Sutic, you are guilty of endangering the people with your lazy ways,” Yawar announced in a loud voice. “To atone for this crime, you will drink the water that cleansed us from our labors.”

Yawar held up the bowl of filthy water and handed it to the old man. Sutic’s hands were trembling, and some of the water sloshed over the sides and onto his cloak. Slowly, he struggled to raise the bowl to his lips.

“It was the time of the corn harvest, and it was the oldest brother’s duty to guard the family’s bountiful fields. But he was newly a man and did not always take his job seriously. Each night, he would rest his eyes when he should have been watching, and cobs of corn would mysteriously disappear. Each morning, his mother would screech and scold him for being so lazy.”

As punishment for her crime, the star woman agreed to live with the brother. She held up the stolen corn. ‘I can feed you forever with just this one cob of corn,’ she whispered, ‘but only if you honor two conditions: You must tell no one where I come from, and you must never look into my manca, my cooking pot.’

There on the fiery stones of the hearth was a manca, hot and bubbling. Carefully, the mother lifted the lid and looked inside. Three small kernels sat in the boiling water. Only three kernels! How could this be?

“One more!” they cajoled. “Just one more story, Turu!”

Ucho sat in the center of the village with his younger brother, Muti, teaching him the complicated game of conkana. They kneeled over the board, and Muti threw the wooden dice and moved his colored bean with a sly smile on his face.

“All creatures serve a purpose. If it weren’t for the boy, you wouldn’t be here now, speaking your mind, showing you have thoughts other than how to hide. He has given you courage.”

“We all have our troubles. Cruel words. No rain.” I couldn’t tell if the shaman was mocking me. “You have chosen your way.”

I was fairly certain that I had become the apprentice of the great Paqo.

It didn’t occur to me until later that dwelling in the realm of the spirits could bring danger, especially to an ugly girl in a time when the rains didn’t come.

Cora opened her hands to examine a small pouch she held. She nodded her head vigorously. “Pachis, thank you, mighty shaman. Pachis!”

And then it occurred to me that there might come a time when the Paqo would use his power to heal my scarred face.

I was supposed to have been listening not to the Paqo’s words but to something else. What had I heard? In a panic, I tried to grasp at some sound.

“All is one. All is now,” the Paqo said. “To realize this is to reach Beyond. Study the spider. Learn its wisdom. Its eyes are your eyes. All is one. There is a language more powerful and ancient than the human tongue. Hear the language of the world.”

This was the end of the lesson. I didn’t back out of the wasi bowing and kissing my fingers at the Paqo as Cora had, for it didn’t seem appropriate. But I did pause at the hummingbird weaving in the doorway to say, “Pachis.”

On the night when Mama Killa was at her fullest, the entire village celebrated with a lavish communal meal, although no one spoke of how meager the feast would be this year.

By opening my eyes and my ears, I was creating a world of more smiles for myself. It was an odd and new sensation, to be seen after a lifetime spent feeling as invisible as the very air, and I was still learning to return those smiles.

Here Uncle Turu fluttered his eyes and delicately rubbed his cheek with his fingers, and the people laughed to see such a strong-faced man pretending to be beautiful.

Chuguillanto, however, was quiet, for already the llama herder had captivated her. The other Sun Maiden asked the herdsman’s name, and he told her he was called Acoynapa, but it was to Chuguillanto that he truly spoke, for he was as captivated by her as she was by him.

That night, Chuguillanto placed the wooden staff in her room and began sobbing. As the tears flowed down her cheeks and landed on the staff, it began to tremble and transform right before her eyes. Suddenly, kneeling before her was her beloved herdsman! The two embraced with much joy, and Acoynapa explained about the magic powers of the staff.

“But, as is always the way, these good times did not last. Famine and plague struck the empire. The dead outnumbered the living, and there weren’t enough hands to bury the bodies piling up in the roads.”

But Chuguillanto knew she was an impure sacrifice, for her heart belonged to Acoynapa. The entire empire would suffer if she was offered to the Sun God, and the Sapa Inca would be cursed. Ignorance was no excuse. She couldn’t allow herself to be sacrificed, but to confess would lead to her death and that of her beloved.

To move too quickly might expose my scarred cheek to the people, and I wasn’t prepared to do that. But Chasca quickly abandoned herself to the now rapidly beating drums.

I knew the dream was an important message, but now that I was awake, I could remember none of it. It was a gift, to have the spirits speak with me in such a manner. They honored me with their presence. To forget their message was a failure that further convinced me I was not the right and true apprentice to the shaman.