The Tale of my Three Ancestors
(with apologies to JK Rowling’s “The Tale of
the Three Brothers”) by Carlos Santaella re-told by elf
Once there
were three brothers who lived on a parched vineyard in Andalucía. When war erupted between their home country and
the Freedom Land to the west, they enrolled in the
army and traveled to a small island close to the enemy’s land. They fought bravely for their country;
however, when the war was over, and their country defeated, the three brothers
attracted by the lush green vegetation and the women of copper skin and flowing
raven tresses, stayed behind.
Intent on
making it on the foreign yet familiar land, they set out to work the fields and
offer their limited skills to the nearest plantation owner. On their way, they encountered a hooded
figure. Goosebumps covered their arms
and one brother still recalls how his nape felt as if a fork had been digging
into it. Hesitantly, they paused to greet him when they realized it was none
other than Death. Death in a voice that
reminded them of vacuous pipes and streaming water confessed he had been out
searching for them. Their ability to remain alive was troubling him for their
names had long been recorded in The Book
of Fates. According to the book,
their demise had been set for a week ago. Cunning as Death can be, he feigned admiration
for their feat and their ability to outsmart him, and offered each a reward of
their own choosing.
The men, hesitantly at first, gathered around the
hooded figure to name their prize. The oldest brother, Baldomero—a bold man
given to enjoying the good life-- thought hard about his choice. He needed something that he would enjoy and
at the same time allow him a life of comfort and ease. He had once long ago
worked at a cigar factory. He remembered
with nostalgia the pink smoke invading his nostrils and lingering on his
clothes, his hair, his memory. Shrewdly convinced that vice sells, and often
carries wealth, he asked that he be given a factory to produce his own line of
cigars. Death nodded and granted him his
wish.
The second brother, Ramiro—a savvy, and ambitious man—decided
that only through knowledge of science and medicine could he defeat Death so he
asked for wisdom for him and his descendants.
“I want to be a medicine man, and all my sons and their sons will
inherit my vocation for healing. I choose
to be a doctor.” From then on, Ramiro
was called Dr. Santaella.
Finally, Death summoned the third brother, who had
remained at a safe distance, observing and pondering his own choice. “What will
it take to change your fate?” asked Death. Nicolás did not trust Death. He knew that all
material things are paid for dearly. He
asked only that he be allowed to live his life without the interference or help
of the dark deceiver. Death was taken
aback. “Everybody wants something” he insisted. But, Nicolas only shook his
head.
“Allow me to go
on my way that I may make my own riches on my own time.” Death had to concede
and with a swift swing of its hand allowed the youngest brother to go on his
way.
After this encounter with the King of Darkness, each
brother went his separate way, a hint of a smile on Baldomero’s face, a grin of
satisfaction on Ramiro’s; only Nicolás went on with a frown on his face, and a
growing crease on his forehead.
The first brother traveled to Santurce, and, upon
settling there opened his cigar factory.
He called it El Cigarro in remembrance of his youth. The business employed half a dozen workers,
who inspired by Baldomero’s story worked steadily and proud. The oldest brother
was soon awash in riches. When the
company celebrated its tenth anniversary, the brother discovered that he
had cancer. The long years of smoking
and inhaling the toxic perfume had taken a toll on his health. As his physical condition deteriorated, so did
his spirit. He shunned friends and
family. When his son suggested he retire
to take care of his decaying body, he disowned him. A few years later, breathing barely,
and artificially, he would stare out a foggy window in a stark hospital room, and
remember his encounter with Death many years ago.
The second brother journeyed to Ponce where he married a good woman with whom
he fathered many children. He was a
well-known and respected doctor. But the
long hours of work soon brought unhappiness at home. One day, after a long day
at the clinic, which he opened to facilitate his work and bring in more income,
he found an empty house and a hastily scribbled note from his wife. After months of loneliness for his children
all grown and busy had little time for him, at age 53, he scrawled
a brief message to his children on a prescription pad, and bade Death to meet
him on the 9th at 9pm.
And so Death eagerly took the second brother for his
own.
The third brother in the meantime made a living for
his family and himself by toiling the land.
After years of hard labor and sweat, he built a shabby home, and raised
three scruffy children. All boys. He often looked at them and remembered his
life with his brothers. He also thought long about his choice, and compared his
meager existence with the wealth Death had procured his brothers. However, he had few regrets. When he celebrated his minetieth birthday,
Nicolás returned to the site in which he and his brothers, had encountered
death. The road was overgrown with brush,
and the road was barely visible. From a distance, he once again saw the hooded
figure slowly gliding forward to meet him.
“Are you ready?” it said. Nicholas nodded. “You took your time.” The frail man smiled enigmatically. “How did you survive the others?” In a low
raspy voice the old man said, “The quality of a life is not determined by the
sufferings and misfortunes you may receive or the wealth and blessings for that
matter. It is measured by what you make of the good or bad you receive in life. I was never a wealthy man, but I meted out
much love and much was given to me. I looked at life straight in the face,
never longing for what I did not or could not have. I woke every morning knowing that my life was
only mine in the making. At the end of my life I see that life was good to me;
my children will shed many a tear for me and my wife will light a candle for
the rest of her days to light my journey to the nether land; I meet you now
with no pain, no sadness and no regrets.”
Death who holds no grudges and keeps all promises stretched
out its bony hand and touched the tattered but wise man’s own, and they, as
equals, departed from this life.
The End
