(To Mrs. Mercedes Cabello de Carbonera)
I
intently that I will not know what year the last century was a priest of Yanaquihua in Andaray doctrine, belonging to the diocese of Cuzco, the doctor Don Gaspar de Angulo and Valdivieso, but I will say that the priest was a good shepherd who do not tire out much to his flock, and that his reputation for wisdom was on par with its morality. Always surrounded by parchment folios with pasta, enjoyed a reputation as a man of science, as it was not recognized then but people who comb gray hair. Great Latinist and accomplished theologian, the bishop and his council wasted no opportunity to consult in difficult cases, and his advice was almost always obeyed.
Valdivieso Dr. Angulo and lived in the parish house, accompanied by the clerk and a boy put or service. Its bordering on frugal table, and with regard to compliance with the sacred duties of his ministry was an example to all his colleagues in the diocese.
Although only thirty-four years old and it was beautiful face, strong body, a skilful musician and flirtatious, upbeat conversation, had never given rise to gossip or scandal to the faithful with a little sin venial to those that a flag skirt, dress good-looking body, has done and make it even more than four ministers of the altar. The study fully absorbed the soul and the senses of Yanaquihua cure, and so for this as for the benevolence of his character was the idolatry of the parish.
But there came a fateful day, probably that of St. Bartholomew, where the devil is loose and enticing to others. A pretty girl of twenty Easter very flowery, with a mouth like sugar, and eyes like the morning star, and a smile of Gloria in excelsis Deo, and a waist unleavened bread, and a little foot as the Empress of the Great China, and yet more revolutionary than the Congress, we got in the way of Dr. Angulo, and from that immediately went head to birds and made a memo. Anita Sielles, such was the maid, brought them spellbound. The pastor began to neglect the flock, and the books there were no open and covered with dust and cobwebs. Decidedly
asked binge body ... and come on, not everything has to be rigor. Ever has to give pleasure to the poor without bordering on vicious, that "even a hand or finger makes a swallow summer."
And if that looks like love letters, and the delicacy of poets is platonic haired and disheveled girls, Dr. Angulo did not mince many drawings, and went to Anita and sang hard and hearing the litany Cupid. And I have to me than the litany that had to reach the pericardium of the heart and soul interlinings, because the girl left the maternal home one night and went to the delight of the parish house with no little envious gossip of the town gossips. Half a year had
lovers cooing and loving, when the doctor tomorrow Angulo received a letter in which his presence was required in Arequipa for the sale of a farm owned in that city. Trust was empowered, in addition to loss of time and having to endure lies, and trabacuentas socaliñas, not receive or be exposed to a room. Our priest said
'Al water ducks,
not the gurrupatos eat grain. "
The farewell was as romantic as it goes. No one would have said but the priest would travel to the fabulous land of Canela.
Two weeks was longer than that should last absence. There was weeping and Faint y. .. I do not know! I know that there have ever been fired from a mistress.
Dr. Angulo came in Arequipa with happiness, because everything was for him to come and kiss. In a couple of days without much fatigue ended the matter, and after spending some money on diamond earrings, pearl necklace, clothing and other trifles to dress up to his sultana, facing the mule, croup again spurs calzose way Yanaquihua. He was our love
swallowing leagues, and found ourselves two days away and the parish, where he was met by an Indian and put their hands on this laconic note:
Come! Heaven or hell they want to split. My soul is sad and my body fails. I'm dying! Come, my beloved! I have a thirst for a last kiss.
II
The next day, at sunset, Dr. Angulo dismounted in the courtyard of the parish house screaming like a frenzied
- Ana! Ana mine!
But God had ordered that the unfortunate not to listen to the voice of the woman he loves.
few hours ago Ana's body had been buried in the church. Don Gaspar
dropped into a chair and gave a silent pain. Do not let out a curse, not a tear fell off her eyes. These mufflers are unfathomable pain as the pit.
seemed that his sensitivity had died, and that Anna had taken his soul.
but closed at night and when all the people were delivered to homes, opened a small door that led to the sacristy of the church, entered it with a flashlight in hand, took a spade and ran to the pit and removed the earth.
Desecration! Ana's body was soon on the surface. Don Gaspar took him in her arms, took him to his room, covered him with kisses, he tore the mortise, dressed in a crimson satin dress, cast it to the neck a pearl necklace and Ring in the ears of gemstone earrings.
Thus adorned, the corpse sat in a chair near the table, prepared two cups of herb of Paraguay, and began to drink mate.
he took his flute, that mysterious instrument to which my friend the poet Manuel Castillo
called "sublime flute of a voice
involves filling the heart of bitter grief, "
placed in a jar and made it produce sounds grim, true echoes of a nameless and infinite anguish. Then, together with those harmonies indefinable, solemn sad, improvised the yaraví that the people of Cuzco known as the Manchay-Puit (hell scary).
Here are two stanzas of which translated from Quechua, without reaching, of course, to give them the feeling that given the nature of that language, in which the poet known music haravicu consonant or assonance, finding harmony in only euphonious words.
"Open up your doors
hell to bury my spirit
in your caves.
hate existence, without which
was the delight
ay! of my life.
Without my sweet companion,
thousand snakes devour me guts.
not God good God who commands these punishments heart
ay! of hell. "
The rest of Manchay-Puit hampuy nihuay contains verses born of a desperate soul to wickedness, verses shaken by the outbursts of passion and shocked by the nakedness of the images. There in that yaraví all most delicate gradations of love and all the extravagances of the grossest sensuality.
pitiful dogs howled ominously around the parish house, and terrified Yanaquihua Indians abandoned their huts. And the mourners
notes of the flute and the tremendous words of haravicu continued to impress the neighbors as the lamentations of the prophet of Babylon.
And so it was three days without the priest opened the door of his house.
After they silenced the flute, and then a English neighbor audacity to scale walls and penetrate into the room of the priest.
Horrible sight!
The decomposition of the body was complete, and Don Gaspar, clutching the skeleton, crawled in the throes of agony.
III
This is the very popular tradition.
Church excommunication fulminated against those who sing the Manchay-Puit flute or touched in a jar.
This prohibition is today respected by the Indians of Cuzco, that no treasure on earth would agree to give the soul to the devil.
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