The Surrender Tree Read Online Free PDF Page B

never let anyone learn my real name,
    or there will be rebel vengeance, after I kill her.

    She is a madwoman—just yesterday, I heard
    that she cleaned and bandaged the wounds
    of forty Spanish soldiers,
    and that Gómez the Fox let them all go,
    seizing only their horses, saddles, and weapons,
    leaving them enough food to survive.

    No wonder so many young Spanish boys
    are switching sides, joining the rebels,
    becoming Cubans.

    She must be stopped.
    It makes no sense, healing her enemies
    so they will turn into friends.
    Rosa

    When I travel
    between two hospitals,
    I listen to trees that speak
    with the movement of leaves.

    The horse I ride
    sings to me
    by twitching his ears,
    telling me how much
    he hates
    the flames of war.

    I stroke his mane
    to let him know
    that I will keep him safe.
    I hope it is true….
    Lieutenant Death

    I camp beneath
    a shelf of rock,
    almost a cave,
    I must be close….

    I crush a flower bud,
    popping it
    to squirt the juice
    that would have turned
    into a blossom
    with nectar
    for honeybees.
    Silvia

    How long have Rosa and I roamed
    these green, musical hills?

    Each step my little mountain pony takes
    has a rhythm, the music of movement,
    a way to make the most of every chance
    to heal a wound, cure a fever, save a life….

    We ride through dark night,
    surrounded by the beauty of owl songs,
    tree frogs, cicada melodies,
    the whoosh of bat wings
    and leaves in a breeze,
    all of it teaching me
    how to sing without being discovered
    by soldiers who would find us and kill us
    if my song turned into words….
    Rosa

    The scars of fear burn so intensely
    that I no longer ride my horse
    with a metal bit in his soft, sensitive mouth.

    I do not use a bridle of rope
    or a saddle of leather
    or spurs of sharp metal.
    I’ve learned how to guide the smooth gait
    of my Paso Fino mountain horse
    by shifting my weight and my gaze
    ever so slightly,
    just enough to tell him
    where I want to go.

    I’ve learned how to choose a direction
    with my knees, and my hands,
    and my hopes….
    Lieutenant Death

    I wear a red tassel on my hat
    to protect me against Rosa’s evil eye.

    The caves are endless.
    If I never find Rosa,
    will the cave serpents
    find me?

    Breathless, I race
    back out, into sunlight,
    where small blue lizards
    and huge green iguanas
    bob their heads
    as if they are mocking me
    with wicked, silent laughter….

    Has the witch cursed me?
    Am I mad to think of such things
    when I should be hunting, tracking,
    hard at work?
    Silvia

    Before the war, a funeral meant bells,
    trumpets, drums,
    white flowers, and black horses
    wearing black tassels.

    Now we just kneel, then rise to our feet,
    wondering why there are no priests
    out here in the forest…
    no tombstones or gravediggers with shovels,
    just children with machetes tied to poles
    for digging, and hardly any weeping
    or singing, or flowers….

    I wonder what the king of Spain
    would think if he could see us.
    He’s just a boy, around my age.
    I’ve seen his picture, with sad eyes
    and no smile—does he understand anything
    about this war?
    Lieutenant Death

    I march beside an army of land crabs,
    their orange claws clacking like drums.
    Crocodiles leap from the swamps,
    while tree rats stare down at them, haunted.

    Green parrots swoop
    above the swollen trunks
    of potbellied palm trees.

    Vultures nest in tunnels of mud.
    A hummingbird hovers beside my ear.
    Pink flamingos flock past me, cackling.
    At night, a bat sips nectar
    from white flowers
    the size of my fist.

    Fever seizes my mind.
    Panic, anger, then fear again…
    So many years in this jungle,
    and now, here I am,
    alone…lost…alone….
    José

    We no longer have enough food
    for so many patients.

    Silvia and I go out to gather
    wild yams and honey.

    The child tells me her grandmother
    showed her how to cure sadness
    by sucking the juice of an orange,
    while standing on a beach.

    Toss the peels