El S tano De Las Calaverasó

Fecha: 8 Junio 1998

Por: Tec. Ismael Zamora C.

PROLOGO

Los altares de día de muertos son una tradición arraigada en nuestra mestiza religión, la

gente los elabora por devoción o por competencia, por temor o por fe; sin embargo, no

todos los altares están a la vista de todos, hay muertos quienes tienen sus altares en lugares

inimaginables, únicamente accesibles para ciertas personas, con un cierto don de

comunicarse con los muertos.

El presente es el relato de Martha, Rebeca y un alma que pide perdón, ese perdón

cristiano que tanto se pregona de boca y que pocas veces sale del corazón. Entremos en

esos misteriosos sucesos que suelen ocurrir en un lugar llamado: San Andrés de Chochones

hoy Salvatierra.

ÍNDICE

Sótano de las calaveras. ..........................................................................................................7

S tano de las calaveras. ó

1898, 8 de julio, cae la fresca noche sobre esta ciudad del valle Tlaxcalli, granero del joven país; en una de las casas de este pueblo llamado Salvatierra una dama reza postrada de rodillas antes de ir a dormir, tal es la costumbre en su familia, ha orado al Señor su Dios por un buen sueño y la aleje de las imágenes aterradoras, esta, la última noche del mes de octubre. La joven dama se levanta lentamente y se dirige a su lecho dibujando 3 cruces en su cuerpo, se acomoda bajo las blancas sábanas, tan tibias; sombras mundanas cubren su cuerpo al apagar la vela, la cual reposa sobre el buró café junto a su perfumada cama hecha por su padre con la madera que le ha sobrado de los trabajos que elabora para la gente adinerada del pueblo, cierra los ojos al mundo que ha quedado sin luz ya confiada en un mañana que no sabe que le regalará.

Sombras del más allá guían su mente a vagar en el jamás, sobre el límite de lo vivo y lo muerto, en estas calles de San Elías hay algo vagando; algo ronda allá abajo en la tierra del quizá. La dama da un vistazo a lo oscuro y le parece escuchar pasos a lo lejos, un destello aparece por entre el piso polvoso; Ella, la dama llamada Martha, va llena de curiosidad al sótano de su casa, ¿por qué?, a las mujeres no hay que entenderlas... de pronto, siente caer en un pozo profundo, y del sobresalto vuelve al mundo de los despiertos. Ha soñado otra vez ese episodio trunco, es el sueño que le persigue cada 9 noches desde hace 9 meses. 1 noviembre de 1898, Martha visita a su amiga Rebeca calle abajo, ambas entran a la casa colonial en el Este de la ciudad - cerca del respiradero de uno de los túneles que no existen en Salvatierra- charlan en voz baja de cosas que les hacen reír; llevan tantos años de amistad que saben como alegrarse la una a la otra. Pasan al recibidor, ahí les ofrecen un vaso de agua, el lugar es fresco, demasiado quizá para estar tan lejos del río Tololtlan, el sol brilla y no obstante, ahí en la sombra hay un frío extraño; de pronto, Rebeca se pone de pie y va hasta la ventana, palidece, regresa frente a su amiga.

- Ven conmigo un momento al sótano- Rebeca la invita con una sonrisa enigmática reflejada en el rostro – acabo de recordar que mi padre me pidió le trajera un buen vino desde hace rato y no se lo he traído.

- Bien, vamos.

Ambas entran iluminadas por una vela blanca, de esas que venden en la calle Real, deben bajar con cuidado pues el suelo está un poco húmedo, fango rojo mancha levemente las zapatillas de las doncellas, ese lugar parece más una cueva que una cava, las paredes son de roca y el suelo fangoso, al fondo se encuentra un mueble de madera donde reposan los vinos en botellas verde oscuro, sin rastro del polvo de los años, no hay humedad sino frío, Rebeca extrae la única botella polvorienta del estante, se la da a su amiga y le susurra al oído:

- Espérame aquí un momento Martha, te voy a mostrar un secreto - Ruidos extraños parecen escucharse tras la pared rocosa, Martha echa un vistazo entre las sombras sin distinguir algo.

- Mira amiga, de este lado hay “algo” - Rebeca abre una puerta disimulada en la pared muy lentamente, acerca su vela blanca para descubrir… un altar queda al descubierto.

Rebeca enciende las 14 veladoras colocadas en los extremos de los 7 niveles; Martha siente un miedo frío que la invade al observar aquellas calaveras alineadas de una manera casi sacra, cada una tiene el

nombre de un ser humano en la frente, a leerlo le parece ver el rostro infantil de la víctima. Al pie del altar hay aserrín cubriendo el fango, un camino está trazado recto con piedras de río y sal; en el altar hay frutas, vino, ropa, utensilios de trabajo, y en el último nivel una fotografía... un militar. De pronto, Martha se da cuenta que la amiga la ha dejado sola, no se percató cuando desapareció de su lado; el sótano se ilumina de súbito con la luz de 7 antorchas, incrustadas en la pared tras el altar, alumbrando las calaveras en todo su esplendor, a Martha le parece ver sangrar los nombres en las frentes pálidas. De entre las sombras surge un hombre, vestido en indumentaria militar española.

- Martha, no temas, mi nombre es Agustín; he estado vagando entre el mundo de los muertos y el de los vivientes por 81 años, sé que tú puedes ayudarme a descansar en paz.

- ¿Yo? - Sí, por mí nadie rezó cuando morí; eso es lo que necesito de ti, ora por mi alma en una misa

sacra dominical, ya que las demás misas entre semana no son validas ante la orden Papal. Yo maté a 7 niños indígenas por error y cargué con esa culpa hasta morir, la gente jamás me perdonó el infanticidio imprudencial, y nadie se atrevió a pedir por el descanso de mi alma; si lo haces tú, con sinceridad, yo podré descansar.

De la nada de la habitación surge un viento helado y las antorchas se apagan, olor a incienso viejo invade el sótano, entre la penumbra a Martha le parece ver que los nombres han dejado de sangrar, si no estuviese tan mareada podría ella jurar que escuchó voces de niños llorando en el altar. Las fuerzas le abandonan y siente caer otra vez en el abismo profundo y negro, esa caída del alma que hace despertar al cuerpo, Martha despierta en su lecho, la cama de madera hecha por su padre.

Lo único cierto es que el sueño apareció en el lecho de la dama llamada Martha, lo incierto es dónde ocurrió la petición del alma sin descanso, el cálido lecho de una joven o el frío de un sótano de calaveras.

Es 1898, un 17 de diciembre, en el valle de Tlaxcalli la niebla cubre las cimas circundantes a la capilla del padre Prisciliano en el barrio de Indios; dentro, Martha reza por el alivio de aquella alma la cual le rogó por una plegaria, “Agustín” es el nombre que la ha perseguido por días, es por su alma que la dama sincera derrama un par de lágrimas, luego piensa en los niños asesinados y sus dedos se crispan tomando el rosario con más fuerza. Sus ojos cerrados ven como el consuelo va alcanzando al alma ya no olvidada de Agustín y no ve la lágrima corriendo en la pasta de caña; si tan sólo hubiera abierto los ojos durante su plegaria hubiera visto el rostro de aquel, a quien ella tanto anhela conocer, observándola con ternura. Él a quien llaman, Alá, Jahvé, Dios, Jesús, le miró como diciendo: “No dudes, sí te escucho”, si tan sólo sus oídos se hubieran abierto, al Divino hubiera escuchado: “En verdad un día estarás conmigo en mi jardín”. Terminada la sacra misa sale del templo blanco rumbo al Este, se persigna ante la cruz pétrea en el atrio y pide por última vez por el descanso eterno de Agustín; con cada paso que la aleja del barrio de indios se va borrando de su mente el nombre de aquel quien le habló en sueños.

Es un nuevo día, Martha visita a su amiga Rebeca, entre bromas le pregunta acerca del sótano de su casa y de las calaveras que ahí se encuentran.

- No hay sótano en la casa, y nunca ha habido uno amiga. ¿Por qué lo preguntas?

- Olvídalo, mejor invítame un té y te platico lo que soñé - una paz inexplicable le invade dentro mientras relata su sueño.

Luego de tomar el aromático té de hierbabuena caminan por la vieja casa mientras Martha le sigue contando su sueño extraño, disimuladamente busca rastros que le digan que fue verdad lo que soñó, pero todo luce tan “normal” cómo cualquier día de diciembre. Ya en la puerta de madera, Rebeca despide a su amiga con una risa enigmática iluminando su rostro, le da un beso en la mejilla y al verla empezar a alejarse le dice “Adiós”, con un tono más de agradecimiento que de deseo de volver a verla.

De existir el sótano de las calaveras, Agustín ya no vagará ahí, su alma alcanzó ya el reposo eterno; mientras en su corazón, Martha conservará el recuerdo de alguien, cuyo nombre ha olvidado; sin embargo, la paz que alcanzó ese día ya no la abandonará, si tan sólo supiera que un día llegará a conocer a Él a quien tanto anhela, si tan sólo supiera que su alma será guiada por 7 pequeños espíritus que si supieron perdonar, si tan sólo hubiese sabido que ese día era hoy; nadie supo porqué, sólo la encontraron postrada en su lecho con una paz indescriptible.

Fin.

THE BASEMENT OF THE SKULLS

DATE: June 8, 1998

BY: Tec Ismael ZAMORA C.

PROLOGUE

The Day of the Dead Altars are a tradition rooted in our mixed religion, people prepared for devotion or for competition, out of fear or faith, but not all the altars are visible to all, there are dead who have their altars in unimaginable places, accessible only to certain people, with a gift of communicating with the dead.

This is the story of Martha, Rebecca and a soul that asks for forgiveness, that forgiveness is proclaimed Christian who both mouth and rarely leaves the heart.Dive into the mysterious events that usually occur in a place called: San Andrés de Chochones, now Salvatierra.

1898, July 8th, the cool night falls on this city from the Tlaxcalli Valley, breadbasket of the young country, in one of the houses at this town called Salvatierra prays a lady kneeling prostrate before going to sleep, as is the custom in family, prayed to the Lord her God for a good sleep and take frightening images away from her, the last night of October. The young lady stands up and walks slowly to her bed drawing 3 crosses on her body, fits under the white sheets, as warm, worldly shadows covering her body to blow out the candle, which sits on the desk with his scented coffee bed by his father with wood that has left the work it produces for the rich people of the village, close her eyes to the world that has run out of light and reliant on a morning not knowing that it’ll give away.

Shadows of the beyond guide her mind to wander in the never, on the edge of the living and the dead, on the streets of St. Elias anything wandering, something round down there in the land of the maybe. The lady looks at the dark and think she heard footsteps in the distance, a flash appears between the dusty floor, She, the lady named Martha, is full of curiosity an She goes to the basement of his house, why?, The Women are not to be understood ...suddenly she feels as falling into a deep well, and the shock returns her to the waking world. She dreamed that episode again truncated, is the dream that haunts her every 9 nights, for 9 months along. November 1st, 1898, Martha visits her friend Rebecca down the street, enter both into the colonial house at the east of the city - near the vent of one of the tunnels that don’t exist in Salvatierra, chatting quietly about things that make them laugh, they have many years of friendship and they know how make happy one another. They go into the hall, there are offered a glass of water, the place is cool, too

perhaps to be so far from the river Tololtlan, the sun shines and yet there in the shade there is a strange chill, and suddenly, Rebecca becomes up and goes to the window, pale, back in front of her friend.- Come with me for a moment to the basement, Rebecca invites Martha with an enigmatic smile on her face - I just remembered that my father asked me to bring him a good wine in a while and I have not brought.- Well, let´s go. Both go down illuminated by a white candle, the kind they sell in the Calle Real, they must come down with care as the soil is slightly moist, slightly red mud stain the shoes of the girls, this place looks more like a cave than a cellar, the rock walls and the ground muddy, the bottom is a piece of furniture where lie the dark green wine bottles, with no trace of the dust of years, there is no cold but moisture reigns, Rebecca extracted a dusty single bottle rack, gives it to her friend and whispers in her ear:- Wait here a moment Martha, I'll show you a secret - Strange noises heard behind the wall seem rocky, Martha check out the shadows without distinguishing anything.- Look friend, on this side there is "something" - Rebecca opens a door hidden in the wall very slowly, about the white candle to discover ... an altar is exposed.

Rebecca lit the 14 candles placed at the ends of the 7 levels; Martha feels a cold fear that comes over to see those skulls lined up in an almost sacred way, each one has the name of a man on the forehead, reading she thinks to see the face of the small victims. At the foot of the altar is sawdust covering the mud, a path is drawn straight from river stones and salt, on the altar there are fruits, wine, clothing, work tools, and the last at a photograph ... a soldier. Suddenly, Martha realizes that her friend has left her alone, did not realize when she disappeared from her side, the basement is lit suddenly with light of 7 torches, imbedded in the wall behind the altar, lighting the skulls at all their splendor, Martha seems to see the names bleed on the pale brows. From the shadows comes a man dressed in military Spanish clothing.- Martha, don’t fear, my name is Agustin, I've been wandering between the world of the dead and the living for 81 years, I know you can help me to rest in peace.- Me?- Yes, no one prayed for me when I died, that's what I need from you, pray for my soul in a sacred Sunday Mass, as the other weekday Masses are not valid before the Papal order. I killed 7 Indian children by mistake and I carried that guilt to death, people never forgave me that negligent infanticide, and no one dared to ask for the repose of my soul, if you do it, honestly, I may rest.

From nothing in the room comes a cold wind and the torches are extinguished, old smell of incense fills the basement, through the gloom Martha seems names have stopped bleeding, if she wasn’t so dizzy she could swear she heard voices of children crying at the altar. The forces abandoned her and fall again into the deep and black abyss, the fall of the soul that awakens the body, Martha wakes up in her bed, wooden bed made by his father.

The only certainty is that the dream appeared in the bed of the lady called Martha, it is uncertain where the request came restless soul, a warm bed of a girl or a cold basement of skulls.

It's 1898, December 17th, at the valley of Tlaxcalli mist covers the peaks surrounding the chapel of Priscillian father in the neighborhood of Indians, there in, Martha prays for the relief of that soul which begged for a prayer, " Augustine "is the name that has haunted her for days, is for his soul sincere lady

that spilled a few tears, then she thinks of the children killed and her fingers grip taking the rosary with more force. Her eyes are closed but see how the comfort is now reaching the forgotten soul of Augustine and she doesn’t see the tears running on the cane pulp, if only she had opened her eyes during prayer she could seen the face of Him, whom she longs to know, watching her tenderly. He who is called Allah, Yahweh, God, Jesus looked at her as saying: "No doubt, yes I hear you", if only her ears had been opened, to the Divine she had heard saying: "In truth one day you shall be with me in my garden ". After the sacred white mass she goes out from the temple toward to the east, crosses herself before the stone cross in the courtyard and asked one last time for the eternal rest of Augustine, with each step away from the neighborhood of the Indians is fading from her mind the name of him who spoke to her in dreams.

It's a new day, Martha visits her friend Rebecca, jokingly asked about the basement of her home and the skulls found there.- There is no basement at the house, and there was never my friend. Why you ask?- Forget it, better invite me tea and I tell what I dreamed - an inexplicable peace invades her as she recounts in her dream.

After taking the fragrant mint tea walk through the old house while Martha is telling her strange dream, secretly searches for traces to be told that it was true what she dreamed, but everything looks so "normal" as any day in December. At the door of wood, her friend Rebecca dismisses with a laugh enigmatic illuminating her face, kisses her on the cheek and started to walk away seeing her says, "Goodbye" with a tone of appreciation of desire to return to see her.

If the basement of the skulls really exists, Augustine won’t wander there, his soul rest eternally already, while in her heart, Martha kept the memory of someone, whose name has been forgotten, but the peace that reached that day and not leave her, if only she knew that one day come to know Him who longs, if only she knew that her soul will be led by 7 small minds that if they learned to forgive, if only she had known that that day was today, no one knew why, just found her prostrate on her bed with an indescribable peace, lifeless.

End

that spilled a few tears, then she thinks of the children killed and her fingers grip taking the rosary with more force. Her eyes are closed but see how the comfort is now reaching the forgotten soul of Augustine and she doesn’t see the tears running on the cane pulp, if only she had opened her eyes during prayer she could seen the face of Him, whom she longs to know, watching her tenderly. He who is called Allah, Yahweh, God, Jesus looked at her as saying: "No doubt, yes I hear you", if only her ears had been opened, to the Divine she had heard saying: "In truth one day you shall be with me in my garden ". After the sacred white mass she goes out from the temple toward to the east, crosses herself before the stone cross in the courtyard and asked one last time for the eternal rest of Augustine, with each step away from the neighborhood of the Indians is fading from her mind the name of him who spoke to her in dreams.

It's a new day, Martha visits her friend Rebecca, jokingly asked about the basement of her home and the skulls found there.- There is no basement at the house, and there was never my friend. Why you ask?- Forget it, better invite me tea and I tell what I dreamed - an inexplicable peace invades her as she recounts in her dream.

After taking the fragrant mint tea walk through the old house while Martha is telling her strange dream, secretly searches for traces to be told that it was true what she dreamed, but everything looks so "normal" as any day in December. At the door of wood, her friend Rebecca dismisses with a laugh enigmatic illuminating her face, kisses her on the cheek and started to walk away seeing her says, "Goodbye" with a tone of appreciation of desire to return to see her.

If the basement of the skulls really exists, Augustine won’t wander there, his soul rest eternally already, while in her heart, Martha kept the memory of someone, whose name has been forgotten, but the peace that reached that day and not leave her, if only she knew that one day come to know Him who longs, if only she knew that her soul will be led by 7 small minds that if they learned to forgive, if only she had known that that day was today, no one knew why, just found her prostrate on her bed with an indescribable peace, lifeless.

End