Turbinio

Pink Chrysanthemum

You begin to shiver, both in reaction to the mess and from the cold. Although you were used to emergencies, blood and even dinosaurs, the morning's events had been more than a little unsettling. It was like a bad Sunday night in an empty church chapel.

Cadichon seemed particularly bothered by your appearance and smell, as if she didn't recognize you, braying and giving weak head-butts to your shoulder every time you came near.

"I know, I know!'' You said one of the times she managed to land a headbutt on you, looking at all the blood on your clothes. ''We're near a lake, I'm going to take a bath.''

You walked beside Cadichon on foot, as you didn't want to get blood on your wagon. The sun was weaker near the lake and you were glad you didn't have to spend any more time in the heat.

With muffled steps, you removed Cadichon's harness and stroked Agno. Hidden by the forest, it was as if the village did not exist. You were completely alone and took off your clothes when you were sure of it. Your body shrank almost immediately, you felt strangely exposed, cold and vulnerable, without the warmth you had felt in the village. It's just stress or nerves, you thought, and you dumped your dirty clothes on the lake shore next to the clean ones. You took a deep breath and the cool, resinous air filled your chest.

That's when something peculiar clinging to the rocks ahead caught your eye.

It could have been the trees themselves or the rocks. But a vertical sculpture in front of a dizzying jumble of dark branches drew you in. With shades of gray, green and brown. As you approached, you saw a thin stream of water fall and pool over a tall, large basin carved from stone. There were carvings of angels, harps and clouds worn away and hidden by aged moss. The water that pooled in the basin seemed to renew itself at a certain level, flowing out through a small channel into the lake, carrying away dried leaves, insects and any impurities that fell into it.

You put your fingers into the small stone basin attached to the rock, finding it suddenly and strangely familiar.

''Fuente de santo...''

Years ago, walking with Reverend Innes, you had found a saint's spring hidden in a small grove. There was a flat stone at the edge next to the little fountain, and the remains of the carvings made on it had worn away almost to the point of leaving it flat, only the shadow of a human figure.

A sense of mystery hung over that small, dark fountain. You and the Reverend stood there for a while without speaking.

Then, at that moment, you had stooped, picked up the water with your hands and poured it at the foot of the stone in silent ceremony; you took another handful and splashed it on your face. You did not drink the water, for it was now contaminated with all the blood it had swept from your face. You were naked, alone, in a moment of peace and deja vu.

Above the curved back of the rock, you see knots of cloth tied to the branches of the trees above the sink. Promises, remnants of prayers, left by those who visited the ancient altar.

For how many thousands of years had men blessed themselves with water before making their requests? You dipped your fingers back into the water and awkwardly touched your head and heart, with something that felt like a prayer.

You remember that day well: you and Reverend got up and went to a church in a neighboring town. You found seats next to a murmuring family, busy tidying up their sleeping children, passing coats back and forth, while a small organ played ''A Dios exaltamo, en el amor eterno Trinidad'' somewhere out of sight.

Then the music stopped. There was a silence of expectation, and then it began again, with the louder sound of "Al Dios uno y trino le damos la alegría de la alabanza".