The Cracking Whip

By Helen J. Lake

Marina had no idea how long she had been walking. She’d stopped noticing her environment, only dully noting when the sun came up. That was when she’d dig a shallow valley in the warming desert sand and bury her body up to her chest, keeping her hands free. She would try to sleeping, usually failing, and kept a constant vigil for sandstorms. So far, she’d been lucky and hadn’t had any problems with them. She’d tied a scarf around her head, protecting her scalp and neck from the blistering sun. The tattered remains of her sleeves mostly covered her arms, at least enough to shade her olive skin.

“At least I won’t burn too much,” she murmured softly, repeating her words from the day she’d run away from Amables. The day Papa died, she thought bitterly as a tear fell from her eye to the dry sand, where it disappeared without a trace.

The full moon above her shone brightly and Marina gazed up at it. Not watching her path, she stumbled on a half hidden stone and landed on her hands and knees. The wind picked up and smothered the shrill scream of frustration and anger she let loose. The wind slowed until the far off echo of her cry was the only sound.

“Now, Marina, is that any way for a lady to act?” she could almost hear her father’s jovial voice saying…almost see the teasing twinkle in his brown eyes. He often said this to her after her mother died and he was left with a young daughter to raise. But soon enough, both of them had come to realize that Marina Fortune was rarely a lady. She liked to climb trees too much; to ride horses with her skirt pulled forward and tucked into the front of her belt in a wreck less form of slacks. Not even the talk of the Women’s Committee could convince Pablo to reprimand his daughter. Only once had he questioned her boyish behavior.

“Marina,” he’d said, puffing at his pipe between words. “Do you ever feel foolish when you do these things?”

“No, Papa,” she’d declared honestly, gazing at him with her emerald eyes. “I climb to see the world better and I ride so that I may feel what it is to fly.”

A squawk of derision broke Marina’s reverie and she stared blankly at a large crow. It hopped back and forth on its thin legs, the claws clicking on the large boulder beneath it. It cawed again and she glared at it, climbing to her feet. She brushed her hands slowly against her stained skirt, eyes locked on the bird. A painful rumble from her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten for…she shook her head, unable to recall her last meal.

Suddenly the annoying blue-black bird was a possible feast. She wished briefly that she had her bow and quiver of arrows. The thought brought with it a pang of homesickness and the love for her Robin Hood books. With a shake of her head, she brought her attention back to the crow.

Squawking once more, as if to let Marina know how tasty it would be, the bird too to flight, its wingtips almost brushing the top of her head. She growled at it, knowing that she could not easily catch it once it flew. There was a flash of movement and suddenly a small white fox stood nearly five feet from her. On the ground between its feet lay the crow, its neck broken. The fox stared at her, its wise black eyes measuring her. Without picking up its prey, the fox turned and trotted away.

Marina crossed herself and murmured a prayer of thanks to Virgin Maria before she snatched the crow from the sand. Grateful for her father’s training, Marina soon had a small fire burning. She plucked the crow and cooked it carefully, despite the urge to eat immediately. When she finished eating, a powerful thirst came over her. As she had done many times during her walk, she went to a cactus and broke off a section of needle. With the thickest needle, she poked a hole in its waxy skin and began to worry it back and forth. Soon, she had a small hole dripping with store water. She put her mouth to it, heedful of the sharp needles nearby. She drank in small gulps.

Feeling slightly refreshed, but still weary, Marina turned back towards where the fox had gone. “Thank you, zorro,” she called and began to walk again.

* * *

The next evening as Marina pulled herself from her sandy bed, she saw a far off image of green. She blinked and looked again. It did not waver. Knowing it could be a mirage; she hesitated.

“But it does lie in the same direction I am walking,” she mumbled and wiped a dirty hand across her brow. Her long braid of black hair swung gently as a gust of wind pressed against her back. Feeling as if nature itself prodded her, Marina began to make her way to the green image.

The moon was nearly overhead when she reached her speck of green. It was a top of a tree and all she could see of it on this side of the large stone wall she now leaned against. The cool stone was a comfort to her feverish cheeks and she stood that way for several minutes. The need to find the gate that led to such a green tree in the middle of a desert caused her to start walking again. She chose to go left, seeing some ivy growing among the stones many feet away.

She tugged at the green and brown vines that hung over the top of the wall, noting that very little gave. Abandoning her endless trek, she bent to pull her skirt forward from behind to form her makeshift pants. She placed her thinly soled shoe on the wall and began to climb.

Breathing hard, but victorious, Marina rose to stand at her full height from atop the wall. Her breath caught when her eyes took in the large house before her. She saw a figure cross a window that was lit from within. She looked at the area below her, amazed at the green of it all. Grass grew sparsely, in patches and tufts, but the trees…oh the trees! How she longed to be among the branches and leaves! To lie beneath them and count the stars like she did as a child.

“Look at the stars, Mama,” she whispered. “Uno, dos, tres…”

“Quíen es?” a man’s voice demanded.

Marina searched the dark garden for the source of the warning shout. She saw no torch or candle and wondered how anyone could see their way through the grounds.

“Quíen es?” the voice asked again, closer now. Marina crouched and reached for the vines to climb down again. She glanced down and saw the figure of a man emerge into the moonlight. “Don’t move!”

Marina shifted towards the edge and that’s when she felt the air whistle near her head. She ducked, her shoe scraping the stone, and then saw the long whip as it snapped a bit closer to her. The whip cracked again, striking her shoulder and causing her to fall to one knee. She struggled to keep her balance, to brace herself for another hit. It wasn’t enough as she felt a sting on her shoulder again.

Crying out, Marina fell from the stone ledge. She struck a branch, feeling the wind knock out of her. She lay on her back, sucking in a breath, staring at the stars. A figure blocked her gaze, blurring and focusing until a face appeared. The man had a close-cropped black beard and gray-blue eyes that gazed at nothing.

He’s blind, she thought as she closed her eyes wearily. But he’s handy with a whip. She finally gave in to the heavy feeling of unconsciousness.

* * *

Marina awoke slowly to the sound of a rooster crowing. A small smile flitted across her face as she opened her eyes. Disappointment filled her when she saw she was not at home.

“So, where am I?” she muttered. Above her was a plain white stucco ceiling and she realized that it was morning, seeing the light spill in through a window. She shifted in order to sit up and was struck by a burst of white-hot flame in her side.

“I don’t recommend sitting up, Señorita,” said a familiar voice. She turned her head to see the blind man from the garden. “Your ribs are quite bruised.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but found her threat dry and rough. The blind man nodded and approached her with a ladle of water. He lifted her head gently and she sipped gratefully.

“My name is Rinaldo,” he resumed his ongoing speech. “You are in my quarters and are quite safe from whatever you run from.”

“Who—,” she began and paused to clear her throat. “Who said I was running from someone?”

“No one, Señorita,” Rinaldo replied evenly. His light colored eyes seemed to smile knowingly. Though she tried to remain distantly suspicious, his easy manner calmed her stance. Relaxing against the pillow, she watched how he moved from place to place in the room, taking exact steps. She wondered why he didn’t ask for her name, but she wasn’t about to volunteer it.

“When I heard you on the wall, I’m afraid I thought you were a man,” he continued. His voice was slightly embarrassed as he said, “And when you fell, your scream gave me pause…until I felt was seemed to be pants. I was sure you were a man and so I took you here and set about to treating your ribs. It was then I knew you were a woman.”

At his words, she realized that her blouse was partially open and that her ribs were bound with a length of cloth. Outrage and humiliation flooded her face with red and she searched for the words harsh enough to rebuke him.

Sensing her distress by the silence, Rinaldo sank into a chair and smiled awkwardly. “I can assure you, I saw nothing.” He tapped his temple and Marina found herself trapped in the gray clouds of his eyes. “As for the touching as I wrapped you…” She tensed in anticipation. “It reminded me of my daughter, may she rest in the Virgin’s arms.”

He crossed himself and murmured “Amen”. Marina hesitated, and then quietly echoed him. She flicked her gaze around again, seeing the simple room in a new light.

“Are we in a town?” she asked.

“No, we are several miles from Los Angelos.” He took a sip from the ladle before dropping it into the bucket with a soft plop. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

Marina raised her eyebrows in surprise, knowing he couldn’t see the movement, and replied, “Twenty.”

He nodded. “Veinte años. My daughter was sixteen when she was killed. We were on a carriage ride when a wheel broke. I was repairing it while she comforted the spooked horses. Dios mio, how she loved horses…” He trailed off, gazing at nothing. He sighed and continued, “One of the young stallions bucked and knocked her down. I ran to get her from under him, but he clipped me in the temple.” He rubbed a scar on the side of his head while he spoke. “When I came to, her skull was crushed and I…was blind.”

Unsure of why he told her this, Marina was silent. She shifted again careful of her ribs. Finally, she decided she should say something.

“That was very tragic, Rinaldo,” she said, feeling a pang of her own grief.

“Sí,” he murmured. “Tragedy is never expected. But when it happens, sometimes good can come of it.”

“Rinaldo,” she said softly. “What good can come of losing a family member?”

“When I lost Luisa, I moved here to start fresh. And I met a man who needed a servant with many talents. For some reason, he thought I fit the bill.”

“Becoming a servant is good?” Marina asked, truly not understanding.

“Ah, the good is that I have a home, a job, and…a family.” He stood and walked to the door. “My point is that in everything that God allows to happen there is a higher purpose. But you will never find the good if you continue to run.”

He left; shutting the door quietly while Marina stared after him. She contemplated his words. Left alone with her thoughts, Marina began to question her future.

* * *

Rinaldo brought trays of food for dinner. He sat with her, helping her drink while he fed himself. He told her about the town and how the Festival de Fleures was coming up. Having never heard of this festival, Marina asked many questions. He explained that the town Commandante, Ortega, had decided to create a unique festival for the town’s anniversary.

“That was nice of him,” Marina remarked politely. To her surprise, Rinaldo’s face clouded with anger.

“Ortega created this festival as an excuse to collect debts.” Marina felt the blood drain from her face. “And if they can’t pay…the men are flogged and the women are auctioned as household servants. It may take years for the women to be freed, if ever, and if the men cannot pay within a week, they are flogged again. Most men die.” He paused, hearing no movement or sounds from Marina. “Lo siento, Señorita. I meant not to disturb you.”

“Is this policy just for Provecho or do they include anyone?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“If there is a warrant, it includes all of California,” he offered. “But this punishment is only here.”

Feeling the need to run again, but recalling Rinaldo’s words about that, Marina changed the subject.

“Will I be meeting your master soon?” she inquired, taking a bite of beans. The food was very good and she wondered if Rinaldo cooked as part of his serving.

“He is away until next Tuesday,” he replied. “Just in time for the festival.”

Marina nodded and took another piece of cornbread. Rinaldo smiled and poured more water into her cup. She murmured a thanks and looked around the room. She wondered how difficult it might be to sneak out of her room, then out of the house. She had to get away from this town before they arrested her!

To be Continued…

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