Alone by the campfire
Campfire
Tonio had died and we all had traveled to the Yucatan as a final memorial. Half of his ashes would be kept in the United States and half would be buried in Mexico. It was so fitting as he had always lived with one foot on each side of the border.
He was young when he died – only 65. He was a fusion of the blood that run through Mexico. His maternal grandmother was of Spanish descent and grew up in the comfort of Haciendas and education and social sophistication. His paternal grandfather was descended from Yaqui shamans. Tonio came to the United States to be educated and obtained his degrees in modern languages and eventually became a full professor at the Ohio University. He and his family would spend summers in Mexico and winters in the United States where he would teach and write and paint.
The storms were raging and roaring up the storms on the waters of the gulf when we settled into the casa that sat back from the sea. Mark and I would walk along the beach and feel the deep sadness that only the wildness of nature can evoke. Behind a dune, we gathered driftwood and started a fire. Slowly the other family members gathered around. I pulled back from the fire and watched the family as they did their morning in the ways of our primitive ancestors. The waves crashed and the fire crackled. Silhouetted against the sea stood Tonio’s wife Jane, his daughter Laura, his sister Lucilla, and Grandmother Ona they held each other and were seemingly caught in a chant of mourning for a time that was passed.
As I watched them I had never felt more alone. The vast emptiness of the night sky reflected the hole created in the soul of this family with the passing of their patron.
I felt mesmerized and seemed to fall into some kind of trance. I could feel the coldness of the night and the hearts around me. A glow seemed to be forming behind them as if rising from the sea I saw a golden orb. It grew bigger and bigger until it illuminated the darkness with a mystical glow. And then, it faded away.
The campfire burned down. Hand in hand the women walked back to the casa. I sat alone in the night with my back against the dune.
Tonio had died and we all had traveled to the Yucatan as a final memorial. Half of his ashes would be kept in the United States and half would be buried in Mexico. It was so fitting as he had always lived with one foot on each side of the border.
He was young when he died – only 65. He was a fusion of the blood that run through Mexico. His maternal grandmother was of Spanish descent and grew up in the comfort of Haciendas and education and social sophistication. His paternal grandfather was descended from Yaqui shamans. Tonio came to the United States to be educated and obtained his degrees in modern languages and eventually became a full professor at the Ohio University. He and his family would spend summers in Mexico and winters in the United States where he would teach and write and paint.
The storms were raging and roaring up the storms on the waters of the gulf when we settled into the casa that sat back from the sea. Mark and I would walk along the beach and feel the deep sadness that only the wildness of nature can evoke. Behind a dune, we gathered driftwood and started a fire. Slowly the other family members gathered around. I pulled back from the fire and watched the family as they did their morning in the ways of our primitive ancestors. The waves crashed and the fire crackled. Silhouetted against the sea stood Tonio’s wife Jane, his daughter Laura, his sister Lucilla, and Grandmother Ona they held each other and were seemingly caught in a chant of mourning for a time that was passed.
As I watched them I had never felt more alone. The vast emptiness of the night sky reflected the hole created in the soul of this family with the passing of their patron.
I felt mesmerized and seemed to fall into some kind of trance. I could feel the coldness of the night and the hearts around me. A glow seemed to be forming behind them as if rising from the sea I saw a golden orb. It grew bigger and bigger until it illuminated the darkness with a mystical glow. And then, it faded away.
The campfire burned down. Hand in hand the women walked back to the casa. I sat alone in the night with my back against the dune.
posted by Myriam Maytorena at 5:51 AM
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