Taino Story

By Anonymous

My tough feet patter across the packed dirt, crushing sharp wild grass, tiny blades digging into my calves as I run. Sweat beads drip down my forehead under the flaming sun. I stare at my basket, brimming with roots and dirt, barely clutching to the waxy lumps placed carefully in my woven basket. The clouds parted in the scarlet sky as the bright sun dipped beneath the tall, thick trees. The birds sang their high-pitched, pleasant song, as if they were taunting the boys who hunted them during the day, happy to survive another evening. 

I glance at the burbling stream, shimmering in the shifting, dying light. I slow down, turning towards the flow of the river, sliding onto a cool, wet rock with moss taking over at least half of its gray surface. I happily position my body to face the forest, dipping my hot, sore feet in the cool refreshing water and letting the water flow through my squirming toes. I stare down at the fast-moving river, the occasional fish darting around, too quick to catch as it moves in harmony with the current, the sun reflecting off of its silver scales and leaving a bright ghost on the inside of my eyelids when I blink.

I sat there for a while, watching the sun slowly dance beneath the horizon until it was no more than a tiny dot, seeming to say, Goodbye, I am tired today, but don’t worry! I will see you again tomorrow. I lay back against my rock, the cold wetness seeping into my bones and making me shiver. I close my eyes, leaning back and imagining what I will do tomorrow. My swollen feet are healed and ready to walk again, screaming at me let’s go! I’m ready to go! I smile and pull my knees to my chest, staring up at the stars peeking up at me from the sky.  I finally feel relaxed. My eyes feel heavy. I should go back home. I hear a splash and the pattering of footsteps. It’s probably just another boy realizing how late it is. But boys don’t yell for help as loud as they can. 

Wait. My eyes snap open. I stand up, jogging over to the frantic, sweating girl yelling for help. She looks at me, her eyes wide. “There's a canoe- but it’s so big, it looks like a giant fish covered in cloth and people- I need your help, please-” I gasp, taking the girl’s hand. “Show me where it is.”

“Shouldn't we tell an elder?”

“Later.”

She nods, her long, black hair swirling around her as if trying to pull her toward the sea. She takes a shaky breath and leads me across the island toward the east coast. Her figure is small and slim but she walks with confidence as if she is trying to reassure herself. We break through the thick trees, sand immediately spilling through my toes. I pause to breathe in the salty, crisp air but she pulls me harder and I have no choice but to obey. As soon as I see the massive canoe I gasp. That girl was right.

It has a huge, wooden belly with cloth strung onto sticks in the middle of the boat. It conveys the message of power, even from afar. Why would anyone need that big canoe? I nod and take her hand and we sprint through the forest, running through the creek and up to the elder’s house. 

We call for help and the elder emerges. “That is fantastic,” He says, “We will have new friends.” We try to explain to him that we should not welcome him, but he pays us no mind and instructs us to go back to bed. Defeated, we decide we will see what the canoe’s people want tomorrow when they land. No use fretting about it now. I go home, restless and nervous, but somehow manage to sleep nonetheless.

I wake up the next morning and immediately jump out of bed. I run to the west shore and join the cluster of people greeting the strangers. They are unnaturally pale, with cloth covering their bodies in strange, dyed patterns. They carry sharp, shiny sticks that are unlike anything I have ever seen. I reach out and grab the stick, but immediately flinch back as a sharp pain echoes through my hands. A deep cut reveals itself, blood immediately dripping over my palm. 

The strangers laugh, staring at me, and offer their sticks to my people as well. No, I try to tell them. It hurts. But I am in too much pain that I bite my tongue and go to wash off my hand. I don’t like these strangers, but everyone else seems to. The day passes quickly, and soon it is time for our bonfire. The strangers sit by our people, touching our few jewels and gold. They are useless to us. We wonder why they only want useless things, and do not take interest in our ceremonies, our baskets, our wooden beads. Gold has no value to us. A stranger pulls me hard by my hand. I flinch as he squishes the flesh of my palm and my cut reopens. The man leads me across our island towards his canoe. I feel the soft sand under my feet and I pause to smell the salty, crisp air but he pulls me harder and I have no choice but to obey.

The canoe’s size almost hurts my eyes as he pulls me onto his boat. I join hundreds of others, chained to the floor. My eyes widened. What are they doing? If you can hear me, help. Please. I don’t have much more time.