Madurez gonádica

By T.S. Luikart

I

n his dream, Endeley stood atop Ogunde’s Hill, his face warmed by the morning sun. Kabo’s wind caressed his hair and the long grass as far as he could see was his to hunt in. His spear was heavy in his hand both in weight and responsibility, for the marks of five generations were carved down its length. Today the weight was mighty indeed, for one of Simba’s tribe had run through his people’s camp the night before, the life-blood of Otoo’s firstborn bright red on his lips and teeth. Endeley’s line bore the sacred cuts of the Long Hunters and it was to him that the terrible honor of destroying the lion fell.

Endeley ran through yellow grass his spear at the ready. The tracks of his prey led him on and he deftly slipped between the tall blades till he came upon a small clearing. There, at the center, the Tawny Hunter awaited him. Before it lay the carcass of a half eaten young buck.

“What do you want of me, Man?” It whispered or it thought; Endeley didn’t know which.

“You’ve slain a child of my tribe.”

“And?”

“Your life is forfeit.”

It said nothing for a time, his eyes roaming over the grass, his tail flicking slowly. Finally, it looked straight into Endeley’s face and its golden eyes were not golden but the darkest blood red.

“This is how it would have been, Son of Aprakuru, if you had found the lion that day. You would have come upon him and you would’ve killed him or he would’ve killed you. But that isn’t what happened, is it?”

Endeley sobbed. “No. No, it isn’t.”

The lion’s face smiled, in his dream.

“Change is coming, Long Hunter. Prepare yourself.”

Endeley heard a noise behind him and spun to face five tribesmen he didn’t recognize. Each one bore a stout club and a heavy net. He didn’t even have time to scream before the first club fell.

“What think, ye, Willy? Be it a worthy prize or a handsome folly?” yelled Morgan Kilgore up to the high cross trees where Slim Will sat watching the horizon. Men shifted about on deck, some craning to see and others sharpening their blades in hopeful preparation.

“Maybe, Captain. She’s not runnin’ deep though. Looks a slaver, she does.”

Morgan stood lost in thought, one hand roaming through his infamous bright-red beard. The men about him knew better than to interrupt the Captain when he was thinking deep.

After a minute or so, Morgan called out, “A slaver, ye say?”

“Aye.”

“But shallow’n?”

“Looks like.”

Morgan grinned and some of the fainter hearted men aboard shuddered at his countenance. Knock the Cooper spoke up first. “Well, Captain, what’s it to be then?”

Morgan looked around the decks as the Fiery Rose’s crew regarded him, their anticipation evident. “Well lads, ere’s what I fancy. Slim Will reckons her a slaver, but not loaded. In these waters,” he gestured out at the Caribbean Sea surrounding them, “and not with a haul? Ha! The hauls already in, I’m think’n. Which means the trip’s profit is likely close to hand.”

“Which makes it close to our hands, eh Morgan?” yelled Amos Cullins, the quartermaster. The crew roared their approval.

“Even so, Cully. Bring her about, lads, time to look lively. Willy! Give ‘em a wink of our jolly mate!”

Endeley jolted awake, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth. It was almost welcome, certainly far better than the wretched gruel he was forced to consume to stay alive. He slowly, unwillingly, opened his eyes and took in the crowded dark hold he and the others had been chained into. The only light slipped down through the cracks in the boards above. His chafed wrists stung from the salt. If his people had ever had a conception of Hell, he would’ve thought he was in it.

“Sobhuza and Umbragwe are dead.” whispered Ngothen, as carefully as he could. You could be beat to death if you were caught talking in this place. Endeley regarded his friend from the Heartland and as always, marveled at the intricacy of the inked markings and designs that had been carved into his flesh.

“Better for them, then. May Olorun choose a better life for them.”

“The Menge are afraid of something.” Endeley raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“How do you know?”

“There was a great pounding as they all ran and words swiftly spoken. I wanted you to hear it, but I woke you not for it ended too quickly. It is not over, though, the guard is away from the door.”

Endeley held up the chains that shackled him to the wall. “It matters little.”

Ngothen shrugged. “Change comes when least expected.”

Endeley looked at his friend, his eyes widening.

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘Change…”

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-A cannonball interrupted him as it blew through the side of the hold and out the other, shattering their wooden prison and slaying most within.

“Hit ‘em again!” shouted Morgan over the cannons’ roars.

“It makes no sense, Morgan,” shouted Amos, “why are they fighting?”

“Ye can ask when we’re in residence, Cully.”

Amos laughed. “I just may, Captain.”

“Prepare to board, lads!”

Captain Gilberto Salaveria was cursing when Acedo found him. Cursing his men, cursing his king, cursing his god, but mostly cursing his luck and the damn pirates. Gilberto looked up as his First Mate entered the room.

“Well?”

“She’s a frigate, Captain. She’ll take us for sure... Sir, you’ve been wounded!”

Dark blood welled past Salaveria’s fingers and dripped onto the deck beside his chair. One glance at the scarlet flow told Acedo that his Captain was not long for the world.

“It doesn’t matter, boy. Prepare to repel boarders.”

“Sir, I realized we’ve trained men aboard, but…”

He stopped under his Captain’s glare.

“They are not to have what this ship contains. Hold them as long as you can. Scuttle her if you must.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Go.”

“The surgeon?”

“No time.”

The young man turned to leave and was almost out the door when the Captain said, “Acedo?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been a fine officer.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Die like a man, Acedo. Don’t let them take you alive.”

He nodded and left.

Captain Salaveria pulled an intricately crafted pistol from his desk and placed it at the ready.

“Come on then,” he whispered, “we’ll go together you bastards.”

Endeley shook his head to clear it. He lifted a hand to wipe blood out of his eyes and stopped in shock. His hands were still shackled, but the chains holding him to the wall had been ripped to pieces. He stood up for the first time in two months, but fell back to the deck again as his knees were unready for and had grown unaccustomed to his weight. He forced himself upright again, bracing against a wooden bulkhead. Ngothen had been killed by shards of the broken hull. Endeley unsteadily moved across the room, over many twisted corpses, and up the stairs to the decks above. He felt the ship shudder and twist under his feet as he groped up the stairs. The sound of many warriors crying as one reached his ears and he knew a battle must be near.

As he reached the deck, he saw that it was swarming with fierce looking men and Menge in the clothing he had come to loathe. The cruel butcher called “Acedo” was standing at the rear of the ship directing his men against the fierce ones.

Endeley looked around at the seemingly endless sea that surrounded him, then back into the center of the battle. He held up his wrists.

The butcher had the keys.

Endeley smiled grimly, for his were a dangerous people.

Morgan ran his cutlass through a man, drawing a pistol from the fresh-made corpse as he did so. He booted the body from his blade and shot another with the dead man’s flintlock.

A voice reached him, clear even in the midst of battle.

“Morgan Red Beard. Face me.”

He turned and smiled up at the figure on the aft deck. He took in his uniform and the deft precision with which he twirled his rapier.

“Cristobal Acedo, I’m thinking?”

“Even so.”

“To the death then?”

Acedo raised his rapier in a traditional salute.

“Absolutely.”

Morgan grinned, tossed away his spent pistol and wiped his cutlass on a nearby crewman.

“I knew t’were gonna be a fine day.”

Endeley slipped forward, as cautious as he could be in the midst of the struggle. Several times, men with short sharp blades confronted him, but each time the men would give him a quick glance up and down before moving past and ignoring him. After the second time it happened, Endeley decided they didn’t find him a threat because he was chained and there was nowhere to go.

“How will I get home?” he wondered to himself. He laughed at himself. “Kill one lion, not the pride,” he quoted silently. “I’ll deal with

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-that if it ever comes.” As he turned and looked up at his destination his eyes widened in surprise. A giant was fighting the butcher.

Endeley regarded the two struggling men, first with trepidation, but slowly, with awe. The tribesman knew nothing of swordplay, but he knew master warriors when he saw them. Endeley moved forward across the deck, his eyes focused on the struggle before him. The fire-haired giant and the cruel Menge fought across the high deck, their blades flashing so quickly that the eye couldn’t follow. It was soon obvious that the big man was tiring, though, for with every passing minute more cuts appeared in his long coat and his blood was flowing freely from many wounds. The butcher’s imminent victory seemed obvious. A vicious smile was on his face as he began slowly but steadily backing the giant towards the ocean.

Even amidst the sounds of the fighting, a stern quiet voice caught Endeley’s attention.

“Change, Long Hunter.”

Endeley knew that voice. He turned and looked about him. On the deck a few feet to his right, a man in bright blue cloth lay in a pool of what Endeley knew must be his life’s blood, but his eyes were clear.

“Ogunde,” he whispered. The man smiled and pointed, then collapsed.

Looking about the deck, Endeley swiftly found what the man had been gesturing at. A long spear had been tossed into a pile of ropes.

Endeley picked up the spear, took aim despite his chained wrists and let it fly.

“I admit,” gasped Morgan, “ye are better than I gave ye credit for.”

Acedo smiled as he swiftly parried Morgan’s blows.

“I was trained by Caravaca himself. My family spent a fortune.”

“Really? A rum puncher named Lathan taught me. It cost me two doubloons and a set night with a pretty he fancied.”

Acedo knocked Morgan’s cutlass away and dealt him a fierce wound across his shoulder.

“It’s comforting to see that one still gets what one pays for.” He drew back and prepared a lunge that would end Morgan’s life. “The game is over, Red Beard.”

The head of a boarding pike suddenly thrust out of Acedo’s chest. Both men looked at it in surprise. Acedo slowly slumped to his knees, then fell hard onto the deck.

“Aye, lad. I suppose ‘tis.”

Endeley stood as straight as he could in the face of the giant’s approach. He was, unquestionably, the largest man Endeley had ever seen.

His strange eyes above his beard of fire were like carved bright chips of Damballah Wèdo’s realm. He stopped before Endeley, regarded him from his great height. He swung his blade into the air high above Endeley’s head, and the Long Hunter closed his eyes, thinking,

“At least I’ll die on my feet.” The blade whistled as it descended. There was a ringing sound followed by thumps that shook the deck as the man withdrew. Endeley opened his eyes and looked at the giant’s retreating back, then down at his hands. His manacles fell away and clattered to the deck, amidst the pieces of broken chain.

“Ye think then, that they carried secrets for ‘ole Phil then, do ye?”

“So it would seem.”

Morgan nodded. “Aye, t’would explain why they fought so ‘ard. I fancy those papers in the hold maybe worth far more than pieces of eight and doubloons, eh?” Amos nodded. Morgan turned away from the quartermaster and faced his crew.

“A fine prize, lads. Take the hold’s booty and stow it with the rest. We’ll split it soon enough.”

Morgan looked about as he could hear grumbling among the men.

“What is it, then?”

“Well, Sir,” Evans was speaking, never one to agree readily with Morgan, “what about him?” He gestured towards the black man standing behind Morgan.

“Well, what ye swab?” Morgan stabbed a finger at Endeley; “He saved me life. He’s a free man insofar as I’s concerned.”

“That’s all well and good, Captain. But he’s worth twenty pound at Trinidad.” A number of men nodded. Morgan turned and looked at the one that saved him.

“What’s your name, boyo?”

Endeley was silent for a moment, struggling through Morgan’s odd accent. At last he slowly spoke, “En-del-hay.”

“Well, what will ye?”

Endeley looked up at Morgan for a time, then he regarded the sea around them. When he finally spoke his voice was clear as he said,

“Where you go, I will follow.”

Morgan’s teeth showed yellow-white amidst the red and he turned back to his crew. “He’s joined our crew, lads. How’s this, then, Morgan will buy drinks next time we’re to port to the sum of twenty pound. What say, John Evans?”

Evans looked about, gauging the mood and slowly nodded. “Sounds fair, Captain.” The crew of the Fiery Rose roared their approval and set about preparing their prize.

“Amos.”

“Morgan?”

“Set ‘em to learn’n what he must.”

“Aye, Morgan. What is he doing, do you think?”

Morgan turned and looked at the African, who stood at the stern with his arms outstretched, face to the sun. The captain smiled at the quartermaster.

“He’s being a free man, Cully. Aren’t we all?”

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In document Variación espacio-temporal de la abundancia, estructura poblacional y aspectos reproductivos del lenguado de dos manchas, Xystreurys liolepis Jordan y Gilbert, 1881, en la costa oeste de Baja California Sur, México (página 61-65)