Letter to a Lost Love, dated 1910

My short story and poetry have been published in the
Romance Anthology,

"Passion's Prisms: Tales of Love and Romance". 

Writing as "Diana Garcia"

(a portion of the proceeds from sale of this anthology to benefit MS charities)

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Letter to a Lost Love, dated 1910.

(Letter in an old strongbox which was buried and found in Monterrey, Mexico / currently held in the Museo de Historia de Nuevo Leon / Translated to English from Spanish)

My Dearest Dominico,

I hope and pray to God and the saints that this letter finds you although I heard some of Madero’s men were caught and imprisoned in San Luis Potosi. If you are in chains, my love, please know that I am with you in spirit and that I will love you for a thousand years.

I understand and fully support that you followed Francisco Madero into revolution. My love, my life, you and I have talked about this. Porfirio Diaz, must be stopped and our people shall overcome the terrible injustices imposed upon our people.

Our families, mine and yours, were so proud of you the day you completed your university degree with honors. I can see you now, standing before me so proud. So tall. So handsome in your father’s old suit.  I long to kiss those luscious lips and to touch your thick lashes with my tongue as you so liked in our quiet moments. Our secret moments. The hopes we had! How were we to know the railway job you had hoped for and, which was promised to you, would go to French or American personnel? I did not care! I wanted us to be married before the storm I knew in my heart was yet to come. Yes, I knew this terrible storm, or as you called it “this volcano” was the change for social reform. I felt it deep in my bones. We all felt the impending surge. It caused such nightmares, such sadness. This feeling that things will never be the same again. The feeling that we would never be was a pull and gnawing upon my brain and grew heavy in my soul, like a hideous demon that could not be exorcised.  This “volcano” would pull us apart, forever.  At this moment I feel rather than be fearful I should have greeted all my days I spent with you with relish and joy and thrown all caution and premonitions to the wind.

You and your friends were left out in the cold, educated, but unemployable for being a Mexican! Oh, how I watched the change in you. It was palpable. We all knew the social change and the call for reform was inevitable. I recall those nights when you dragged me to those secret meetings where we heard Obregón talk about agrarian and labor reforms for the people. The fever of our desire for change was infecting all of us, the obrero, the peon, the laborers, and like our families, the rancheros. The discussions, arguments, and talk about so much of Mexico’s industry being owned by foreigners was truly explosive. When I once asked you, “Mi amor, what do the foreigners own?” You fired back with passionate rage in your eyes, “They own the railways, copper mines, textile mills and the oil fields! The proletariat slaves thirteen hours a day for mere centavos! These foreign pigs hold back the workers’ wages while their own country’s wealth increases! How long must we let this go on?” Such passion! Such rage! It made me love you more! I was infected by your fiery energy. We all were.

Remember how you dressed me in your men’s clothes? You helped bind my breasts. As I write these words I can still feel the warmth of your hands on my skin as they lingered there. Our breaths in each other’s mouths and our tortured whispers to rush and finish so you could sneak me out of the house was so exciting for me. Yet, I knew you wanted to ravish me. I wanted that too. The stolen kisses and the need to touch and feel each other was magnetic to the point of causing us into some kind of delirium. Like a parched earth greedily drinking in the summer rains. Those moments will live forever in my memory.

The passion we felt in the heat of our anger in our chants for change there in the dark abandoned building where the people gathered.  The news of the day was so exciting because Haleys Comet was soaring over Mexico. It was a portend of great changes. Little did we know it would herald a time of disaster and war for our people. We were so in awe of the heavens that night. We shared bottles of tequila and cigars as we made plans to follow the Villistas in “our” revolution.  I felt like I belonged. You made me feel that way, my dear heart.

Yet, you and your friends yelled at me as I resolved to go with you to fight against injustice. I was so caught up in the frenetic energy of your masculine youth. The power of your emotions compelled me to want to fight by your side. “I can fight alongside you!” I said. You removed my hat and my long hair tumbled down to contradict my motives to act as a man so I can follow you into battle. “I can cut it!” I yelled. You and your friends just looked down or away from me in embarrassment. “I will follow you no matter what!” I yelled as I ran away into the darkness. I cried into the night. I was angry at the world for being a woman. A woman bred for piety and charity of the times, a woman of culture and propriety. I did not want to live like that. I wanted to fight for my people. I thought it was the only way to make a difference. You instilled that in me my love! That was the last time I ever saw you. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time and run into your arms and tell you how sorry I am!

Two nights later, Chita, the maid, entered my bedroom to inform me that my mother and father summoned me to the sitting room to receive your parents who had come at that late hour for a visit. I knew at that moment you were gone from me. The minute I walked into the room all eyes turned to me. I noted the disapproving looks of my mother because I was dressed as a field worker, shunning a dress as usual. Doña Romero, your mother, ran to me and grabbed my hands and pleadingly asked me if I knew where you were. She read to us all the brief farewell letter you wrote telling us all not to worry and to convey your undying love to me.

Of course I knew what you were up to, but did not know exactly where you went. I told them I could see what I could find out. My father in his deep croaky voice said, “You will do no such thing young lady! You will remain here locked up and my men will keep guard if they have to.” Then he turned to them and told them he was sorry but that I was too young to get involved in the crazy political upheavals of “today’s youth.” He then bade Chita to escort me back to my room. But not before Doña Romero ran to hug me and whisper urgently in my ear, “Please find out what you can!” Then Chita pulled me away from the room and my father’s murderous looks.

Luckily, I did not give you back your men’s clothes and as soon as Chita left my room and locked it I scrambled to dress as you had shown me. However, this time I wore my brother’s boots and spurs. I cut my hair to the scalp with the knife you gave me. I know you will not like my new look but it is imperative in my disguise. I had also previously stolen one of my brother’s guns.  I then crawled out of my window into my future. Our love was to be my beacon to follow in my search for you. This was all the security I had, my love would find you.

As of this letter, I have not seen my family, or even know if they are alive, nor have I returned home. If you ever see them, please tell them to forgive me and that I love them regardless of how they feel about me. I cannot bear my father’s anger and shame. I am truly sorry for hurting them and for following my heart.

One thing you must know, my older brother, Miguel, joined the local mounted police. Yes, he has become one of the rurarles who terrorize the countryside in search of agitators against the government. I am sure by now he found out I took his boots, spurs, and favorite gun. He and his men will hunt me down, with the blessing of my father of course. By now, my family will have disowned me and are calling me a “puta” a “desgraciada”. Even so, I know I can evade those idiots because, more likely than not, they will have been drinking as they are wont to do, which is a boon for me as I know this terrain blindfolded.  For that, I am thankful to you. I am remembering the times we hunted and roamed the family lands together without a care, the days of our childhood, those golden days. Our parents always knew we would marry and keep our neighboring lands together. We were all so sure those plans would fall into place. It all seems so long ago now.

I traveled on foot for a day and a half.  I stayed away from any roads and lived as you taught me. I fished in a lake and I even killed a huge lizard and skinned and ate it. I was so proud of myself because I did not go hungry. People were kind and generous because they thought I was a young boy headed out to fight in this new revolution. Everywhere I went people talked about the revolution and the hope for change.

 A curandera, a healer, gave me shelter one night and she prayed over me and bade me follow her instructions for a ritual of spiritual cleansing. She looked like an ancient crone with hunched shoulders and with skin as dark as coffee. I was not afraid. She sprinkled holy water on me as she prayed soulful prayers in a raspy whisper. I knew some of the prayers so I prayed along with her. She also rubbed an egg and some lemons on my body to absorb any negative forces and then brushed me all over with rosemary, basil and rue branches to absorb the negative and evil energies. Afterwards, we drank a delicious spiced tea as she continued to pray over me. I felt enveloped with vigor and strength all the while thinking of you as she prayed. I did not pray for myself but I prayed for you, that I would find you. She was a kind woman with sorrowful eyes and she invoked God and the saints for my protection in this earthly life and beyond. When I asked her why she was doing this to me her cryptic response was, “Child, I am calling for protection for your long journey, a journey that will last you beyond this time.” In the morning she begged me to stay but I left feeling rested and “protected.”

One day I approached a lonely cabin in the woods approximately several towns away from where I started. Travel on foot was slow especially when I was not sure what I was doing or where I was going. Yet, somehow I felt like I knew I would find you. I just knew I would travel the ends of the earth to find you. My determined walking kept me focused. I had to find you! To fight beside you. To die by your side, in your arms if need be, and nothing would stop me.

It wasn’t really a cabin but more a hut. I needed a horse. My father’s men bunked in our stables so I had been unable to mount my horse, Lobo, of which I was sorely disappointed. I knocked on the cabin door and a beautiful but sickly and emaciated Yaqui woman answered the door. Her eyes told a story of pain and sorrow. She bade me stay away with hand gestures saying “cholera,” but then she fainted and I stormed in. I picked her up and lay the woman on a mat on the dirt floor, then turned upon hearing a child’s voice moaning in the candlelit darkness.

I then recognized both the mother and child. This woman was the known “puta” of Don Santiago, a Spaniard of the largest haciendado in the region. He was a cruel man. He was a man known for his severe punishment of the Yaquis and Mayan workers by either a bullet or the whip. I remember seeing both mother and child once shopping at a bustling tianguis and some of the sellers refusing to sell to her. I had traveled there with my mother as we were visiting an old aunt who lived nearby.  Several months ago I had heard my father’s henchmen talking about how Don Santiago had perished as a result of his stallion kicking him in the head. It was the big news at that time. Of course this left the poor beautiful Yaqui woman and her child destitute and far away from her people, and utterly despised by everyone around her. My mother and I had heard the whispers as to why this woman would be with such a man who was so cruel and hurt her own people. My mother later explained to me that she knew for a fact that this woman was forced to be with Don Santiago and that no one should judge the poor woman rather to pray for her, which we both did on our way home.

I picked up the sickly child and she looked at me with large tear-filled eyes and snuggled into me for warmth.  She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. She was an angel. She was about two years old but was very tiny and malnourished. I wrapped her in my poncho and went to nurse the mother and make her comfortable. I found her dead on the mat. Her sunken eyes were open in terror. I fell to my knees with the child in my arms and began to cry. I had never experienced death, nor had I ever felt such utter loneliness and sadness as I felt then. I closed her eyes and covered her with a thin blanket.

The little girl died in my arms that night too. She had stared and stared at me and the last thing she did I will never forget. She brushed her tiny hand upon my cheek as she looked at me with a smile on her face, then she looked upward as if seeing something I could not see and her little head with long black hair rolled to the side, and she was gone. I sat in that dark little hut which reeked of old tallow and dung and I rocked her and sang quiet lullabies upon her warm little head. I knew then that I would never see you again. I knew then that I will never have your child. I held her and kissed her long-lashed eyes and the next morning I buried her next to her mother in back of the hut. I said prayers for their dearly departed souls to be received in the gates of heaven.

I sang, 

“O María, madre mía,

O consuelo del mortar.

Ampararme y giarme

a tu patria celestial…” an old Spanish hymn.

Burying the bodies had tired me to the extent that I could not make myself to leave that day. It had taken me all day long with an old broken shovel to dig a grave big enough. I was determined to give them a proper burial with prayers and singing for the glory of both of their souls.

A day later, while saddling the old swayback horse tied behind the woman’s hut, I fell to my knees retching and feeling faint. I knew I was sick with the cholera. I clawed at the dirt at my ill fortune and cried salty tears screaming your name, “Dominico! Mi amor!” I laid there in the dirt until I could regain my strength and slowly crawled back into the hut and fell upon the dead woman’s mat on the dirt.

I am currently suffering chills and a burning fever. The thirst is unbearable. I am a wretch retching uncontrollably.  Although I am weak I am here writing this letter a little at a time. Each line takes an eternity to write. But thoughts of you keep me going. I am hoping and praying to regain my strength so that I can continue my quest to be with you. It is my deepest wish, my love. I yearn to complete my task. I see you in the dark dank room in my delirium and wish it to be so. I want this to be true. To touch you. To laugh with you as you hold me tight.

It has been hours since I wrote the previous line and I know that in my deep sorrow I can write no more words.

Alas, should this letter find my heart, my love, my spirit, Dominico Alvarado Romero, please tell him my last thoughts are of him and that I will search for him all of my days.

Yours until death,

Maria Luisa De Las Espadas,

18 years old.

I, Miguel De Las Espadas, Coronel, Mounted Police, do hereby attest this degenerate body and letter belongs to my sister, the disgraced, Maria Luisa De Las Espadas, daughter of Don Emilio and Maria Elena De Las Espadas. I further attest that the scoundrel, Dominico Alvarado Romero, is currently imprisoned in San Luis Potosi, charged with treason for inciting an uprising and revolutionary actions against the government and is sentenced to die by firing squad, this day, November 20, 1910.  Postscript: I further attest, said letter to remain undelivered.

Miguel De Las Espadas.

Note:  This is a work of fiction. The historical persons, Madero and Obregon are true. Also, Haley's Comet was visible over Mexico on May, 1910.

© 2012 Diana Noquetzal Garcia