The Ugly One (2 page)

The
yunka
stranger lifted his free hand toward my face. Immediately, I slapped my own hand over the scar—an added layer of protection on top of the hair that already covered the cheek. It was foolish of me to do so. Everyone knew the scar was there. Nothing I had tried could make it disappear.

The stranger's hand hovered in the air, as if ready to strike me. He leaned his face closer to mine and narrowed his eyes. They were such a dark brown that it was difficult to tell where the color ended and the center blackness began. He probed me with these eyes, searching my thoughts, my spirit. I felt as if my very heart was being observed by this stranger, and somehow his stare slowed the beating. It was an odd sensation, having someone control my heartbeat with his eyes. I wondered how he did it and if he would make my heart stop altogether. And then I ceased wondering anything, and all I saw were his huge dark eyes.

His fingers moved to the river scar on my cheek, and I was surprised to find that my hand was no longer covering it. Gently, he lifted my hair shield, revealing the ugly scar for everyone to see. Why I didn't stop this I cannot say, but I know it had something to do with the way his eyes had not left mine. It was impossible to look away, to move.

He traced the scar lightly with his index finger, starting at the top by the eyebrow. No person had ever touched my scar before. This was the part of myself that I kept the most hidden, and it felt as if he were touching the inside of my head, setting it on fire. Still I didn't move, and his finger finished its journey to the corner of my lip and rested there for a moment. His eyes held mine steadily, and he uttered one word: “
Ari
.” Yes. Gently, he removed his hand and looked down at the animal at his feet.

Freed from his gaze, my thoughts came together and became my own again. I noticed that the people were watching us, and this was when I realized my cheek was still exposed. Quickly, I covered it with my hair.

The
yunka
man lifted the animal and held it in front of me, and again he said, “
Ari
.” I took it from him, unsure if this was what he wanted me to do. It fit into my palm, and I saw that it was a jungle bird, a baby macaw. One last time he said “
Ari
,” and then he walked back to his trading goods.

The crowd was slow to break up, but a few people followed the man to continue trading. Others stood and watched me, curious to see what I would do. The tiny bird didn't stir, except perhaps for a small rise and fall of its chest. Or maybe it was just my hand shaking? I wondered what I should do with it.

Chasca and Mama rushed to me, and my sister touched my arm. “Micay?” she asked, her eyes full of concern.

“Just leave me be,” I said. I pulled free, too humiliated to say more. Not far away was my basket, overturned in the dirt, a reminder of Ucho and his cruel words. I scrambled to pick up the scattered wool that hadn't blown away and placed it back inside the basket. Carefully, I rested the bird on the soft wool. Then, without looking at the crowd or my family, hoping that no one would follow me, I ran away, back to my rock.

2

M
Y
rock wasn't just a rock. It was a
huaca
, a special stone that contained spirit powers. I told no one of this. If the people knew, they would also come. It was my alone place, not for them. As I sat on my rock, the spirit within calmed me, told me all was well. No one had followed me. The stranger wasn't here. I was safe.
Ari
.

The little bird was resting in the basket, cushioned by the pile of white wool, and I saw that it was, indeed, breathing—tiny, fast breaths that moved the wool up and down. But I had to look closely to see this.

Sumac Huanacauri was a sorry-looking thing, mostly bald, with clumps of dirty reddish feathers sticking out of its body. At once I felt a connection to it, for it, also, was ugly. I wanted it to open its eyes and see me, to know me. But it was not well, this tiny one, and so it kept its bluish lids closed and breathed its fast little breaths.

Water. It should have water and food as well, I realized. But there was no water up at the
huaca
, and I didn't want to leave just yet. I did have a pouch of dried potatoes that I kept stored by the rock, because sometimes I didn't feel like leaving to eat with the others. I pulled one out and held the shriveled pale potato up to the bird's beak.

It did nothing.

I thought of the mother
caracara
bird who made her nest on the large rock behind the
molle
tree just last spring. She fed her children from her beak. Feeling foolish, I placed the potato between my lips and put my face close to its beak. It opened its eyes a crack but made no motion to eat. Then it closed its eyes again.

The potato was beginning to grow moist and sag. I took it into my mouth and chewed, enjoying the flavor. The bird slit its eyes to watch and craned its neck, stretching it long and thin. In quick, light motions, it nibbled at my lips with its dirty beak. I pushed a piece of half-chewed potato mush out of my mouth, and it took this into its own and swallowed eagerly.

Ahh. I understood now. The food needed to be wet, easy to chew. I took another piece of potato and mashed it between my teeth. When it was good and soft, I rested a clump on my tongue and stuck this out for the hungry bird. Immediately, it began to scrape the surface, eagerly picking up bits of food, which slid down its throat in fast little bumps.

I smiled. “You are hungry, little one?” I asked in a quiet voice. The small bird stuck its neck out for more, and I fed it in this manner two more dried pieces, until it didn't lift its head any longer. Its eyes closed and its head lowered in sleep, the breathing easier, a bit slower now. Good. Already I knew that I wanted this creature to live, to be with me. I didn't know how the
yunka
stranger was able to see so much about me so quickly, for I believed I hid my secret feelings well, but somehow the man knew that I needed this bird, and this was something that I hadn't even known about myself.

I watched it resting in the basket, comfortable even though I was so close. It was the kind of bird that grew the beautiful long red feathers Uncle Turu was trading for earlier. But it was still very young and very ugly. It was hard to imagine that it could ever look anything but ugly. The
yunka
man had called it Sumac Huanacauri. Handsome Rainbow. This was a very big and hopeful name for such a sad little creature. I wondered if such a name could offend the gods. Perhaps for now it would just be Sumac. Even this seemed ridiculous. Calling this scrawny bird Handsome One? But then Muti's call from earlier—
Look, the Ugly One is here. Millay shows her face!
—echoed in my mind, and anger swelled in my belly.

“Sumac,” I said aloud, daring the rocks to question the name. “You are Sumac.” The bird looked up at me, and I placed my hand on his head and stroked it lightly. He tilted it to the side, as if in thought. “What are you thinking, Sumac?” I asked. But whatever he might have said he held within.

***

Sumac remained silent all afternoon as I cleaned the remaining alpaca fur for Mama. He slept and slept, healing himself from a long journey that was beyond any travels I had ever known.

My thoughts wandered as my fingers worked their way through the fleece with a knowledge that came from having done this task for many years. Ucho's words still echoed in my ears. I wanted to leave them behind, to forget, to not be bothered by his taunts, but we are not always able to do what we want. In my memory, the stick poked into my side over and over again, and I grew angry once more. Why did I have to be the Ugly One? Why couldn't I have smooth skin like every other girl in the village? Why wouldn't the gods remove my scar and heal me? It made no sense that I should suffer this way.

I put down the fleece and grabbed a handful of mud from the earth. Angrily, I brought it to my face, rubbing it along my cheeks and forehead to cover the skin and offensive scar. I had learned that mud dried quickly in Inti's hot rays and, if put on properly, gave the temporary feeling of a smooth face. The challenge was not to cry, for tears would run down my cheeks in tiny rivers, preventing the mud from drying well and giving it a bumpy texture. More than once I had ruined a mask in this manner.

I turned my face to Inti so he could kiss it with his warm, drying rays.

“Is it done yet?” my sister's voice asked from behind.

I jumped. She had startled me that much.

“I didn't know you were here!” I said in an accusing voice. “When did you begin sneaking up on people?” I was embarrassed. No one had ever witnessed my mud ritual, and I prided myself on being aware of my surroundings so that I wasn't taken by surprise as I just had been.

“I don't sneak up on people. I sneak up on
you
,” she said with a laugh as she sat down by my side.

“Why are you here, Chasca?”

“I came to tell you Mama needs our help preparing dinner. Uncle Turu is telling stories tonight, and we don't want to be late.” Here she paused and offered a sly smile. “But you seemed so busy, I didn't want to interrupt you, Mudface.”

“Mudface, you say?” I replied with my own smile. I stuck my finger into the earth and, before she could stop me, smeared a streak across Chasca's cheek.

I thought my older sister might be mad at me, but her expression was one of concern, not anger. “Micay, why do you cover your face in mud?” she asked quietly.

I didn't like this question. The answer seemed obvious enough. Why force me to speak of it? “It feels pleasant on my skin,” I lied. I didn't like being dishonest, especially with Chasca, but I disliked talking about my scar even more.

“Micay,” she said in a serious tone, “I wish you wouldn't hide your face. Ucho and those boys are very young and very foolish.”

I gazed at the ground. “I don't know what you mean.”

She continued as though I hadn't spoken. “They don't see what a special person you truly are. If they did, they would never taunt you as they do.”

Hot tears trickled down my face. Somehow the ones on the right side always found the scar beneath the mud quickly. I could feel them course their way down my cheek, exposing the ugly, ruined skin.

Chasca finally let the topic be. “Mama is waiting for us. We should go,” she said. Then, with one last attempt at humor, she added, “But we should wash first, Mudface.”

I smiled at her, and a salty drop of tear and mud caught on the edge of my lip. “Yes, and we should hurry,” I said. “I don't want to be late for Uncle Turu's storytelling. That is my favorite time.”

“I know,” Chasca said. “You always say that.”

I took the basket with the still-sleeping bird in one hand and my sister's palm in the other. Together, we made our way to the stream, then down the mountain, so we wouldn't be late for dinner and Uncle Turu's storytelling.

3

Ñ
AWPA
pachapi
, once upon a time, there was only darkness. Then Inti, the great Sun Lord, took pity on the wretched creatures of the earth and sent his son, Manco Capac, to spread civilization.” Uncle Turu took a step closer to the fire and paused, for he enjoyed the silences of a good telling as much as the words. He searched the faces of his listeners, the people of the village, to make sure no one interrupted the quiet. Ucho and the other boys sat at the edge of the crowd, pointing and whispering at the
yunka
stranger, who was watching Uncle Turu intently. As Uncle Turu's eyes reached the boys, they stopped whispering and let their hands fall to the ground.

This was one of my favorite tales, the story of our people. I leaned in closer, not wanting to miss any of it. But I was still careful to stay far enough from the fire that the light couldn't reach my face. I pulled the edges of my woolen cloak close under my chin to keep away the outside chill and hugged Sumac to my chest. Listen now, and you can judge for yourself how skilled my uncle was in the storytelling ways.

“The Moon Goddess sent her daughter, Mama Ocllo, to be Manco Capac's bride,” Uncle Turu said. “Then Mama Ocllo and Manco Capac set out on their journey to bring civilization and enlightenment to the earth. Rainbow God created a beautiful bridge for them, connecting the world of the sky to the world of the land. The husband and wife held hands and walked down it to the earth below.”

Uncle Turu lifted his hands and made an arc to show the rainbow bridge. Then he linked them as Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo did so long ago. The fire flickered and threw strange shadow patterns on his hands, making them seem bigger, then smaller.

“The bridge ended at Lake Titicaca. The waters were lovely and deep. The couple washed and smiled, enjoying this new feeling of water on their bodies. But they didn't stay there long, for they had much to do. Inti had made a golden staff of his own body and given it to his son. He told Manco Capac to travel throughout the land in search of the center of the world, for this would be the place where he should begin a city. ‘You will know when you have found this place, because the golden staff will sink deep into the earth and disappear,' he said.”

Uncle Turu spread his hands, palms down, and moved them out and away from his body, into the distance. “They traveled for a long time, always heading in the direction the staff pointed. And finally they came to a place that Mama Ocllo and Manco Capac felt to be right and true. Manco Capac lifted the brilliant staff above his head”—Uncle Turu lifted his own hands high above his head as if he were holding a long stick—“and thrust it into the earth.” He lowered his hands in a quick gesture. “The stick glowed more brightly and beautifully as it touched the ground, so that Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo had to shield their faces. Then it sank below the surface, out of sight.