Challenge 2-revisted

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 9^th 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