He knew that day was going to be different.
The previous night, some strange dreams had often waked him up. In spite of the cold weather at the valleys, his body sweated.
He left the house and felt the sun, bringing him just a little bit of warmness, appearing among the tall cactus, called cardones
He sighed... with his calm step, he began to climb the stone’s road until reach that point of the hill where he used to spend almost all day long.
At home, he had left his wife, ready to go to the huge place where she and others women of the village grinded the maize.
Near , he had left his brother, who was preparing with other men, clay to model some utensils. When he passed near them, someone had specially attracted his attention. A potter with moist eyes was giving the last touches to the delicate decoration of an urn, beautiful pot that served to keep the rest of those who died. This one, specially, was small, because the little son of this potter had lived only few months. While observing the urn, our man thought that those tears incised in zigzag descending from the eyes drawn in shaped of two serpents, were those that contained the soul of the artist, those tears that hadn’t succeed to leave his eyes..
Again, he sighed. Life had to continue. The Pacha Mama, the mother earth, gave and took away.. it was fair.
But the dreams, the nightmares he had had, were not related to Pacha Mama. Or with something he knew from before. He had seen blood and horror; he had felt fear like never before… that visceral fear that arises from the impotence. Because when we don’t know our enemy , it is more difficult to let our braveness act...
The invaders advanced.. he had a presentiment..
When he finally arrived at the top of the hill from where he watched the far valleys, he tried to forget those ominous dreams and contemplated what surrounded him.. The sky was so blue that day… the smooth breeze made him feel better. He breathed deep… and thought about his son, still in the belly, plenty of desire to be born and to enjoy being alive...
A cóndor distracted him. It had approached from back of the hill flying high. It moved slowly, until it began to glide, and let take by an airflow that elevated it more and more… when it reached an incredible height, it began to fly again and moved away
He was always marvelled, although something daily, at the majesty and the beauty of the cóndor… his soul went away just a little bit with them, and he wished often to let himself elevate so easy and depart..
But while watching it to move away, he saw them. They were too many… coming from all parts…
He had the certainty... peace had died.