A purpose. Everything has a purpose.
Pleased with the creation, God lied bellow the shadow of a leafy cedar.
“Lord, you brought me here to irradiate light to your kingdom, casting away the darkness for who will come after,” said the Sun.
“You know my wishes,” said God with deep voice. “You will be the inexhaustible light, that will leave its print in the shadow of the man that walk the day.”
My father told me that story, that was told to him by the eldest man in earth. Like him, I believe that the man has a purpose, an entrustment assigned by God to every one of us.
When I was a toddler I searched with devotion to understand God’s plan, to find my purpose and give meaning to my actions. But now undertake a meaningless travel, in a train absent of life, absent of destiny. I stand surrounded by unfamiliar people, that hardly can see their faces. It seems like if everybody hide something beyond their faces. We try to hide our fear being alone even in this crowd.
Raindrops filter through the moth-eaten celling feeling like tears. I till up my head to catch a few drops in effort to quench my thirst.
“You will be the faith that my people needs,” said God to the Sun. “A faith that will last until end of time.”
Finally a hunched old man broke the unbearable silence. “Someone help me please,” he said with faint voice. He was watching through a small hole at the side of the wagon that allowed a thin ray of light in.
“What do you need grandpa?” Said a young man beside him.
“Before this happened I had five windows to behold sunrise, now don’t even have a pin to make bigger this tiny light that comforts me.”
A pale woman came out from the shadows. “If my gown had had a pin that could help you, I would get rid of it,” said the woman emotionless. “But if had a sharp awl I would nail it to prevent your suffering.”
In that moment no one understood the words of the woman. It was not time yet.
“Milord, I should travel west,” said the Sun. “But, what will do the man when I am gone?”
“In your absence, the man will fear and be pray of his own demons.” Then God waived his hand and pronounced old words, too old to someone to understand them, and taking the reflection of the Sun over the ocean, He created the Moon.
“You will be the hope,” said God to the Moon. “The man that trust in you shall never be alone, you will be the mother of his children, and you will announce a new day.
Our mother is the first human being we known. My mother was a silent woman, but her eyes told too much, like if carried with the weight of truth. But yet, they renewed at each blink to give love.
Night is upon us and everybody sleep rocked by the train. During my vigil, I witness the cold wind frosting the water drops. The train suddenly stops at the rhythm of a whistle that wakes everybody. Through the holes the old man and all the curious that get into line witness the spectacle: armed soldiers running and shouting, waiting for us. Preparing everything in the place that would become our final destination. This barbed-wired camp which the snow can’t whiten the suffering that harbors.
That woman was right.
The soldiers open the neighbor wagon and drag all passengers out. Everybody in my wagon steps back hopping they could hide somewhere, even behind another human being. The future of all becomes uncertain. I dig my pocket and find the token I took when I left my family house to undertake this forced voyage. That day, in my way out I found a couple of dead woodswallow at the doorstep—the only luggage I took for my journey.
The door’s bolt is released and everybody is in panic. I take the woodswallows next to my pounding heart.
Finally they open the door and then understand that innocence, is what life is.
M. Ch. Landa