FELIPE FANFICTION FLASHBACKS
Author's Note: Because the series gave us so little information about Felipe's background, I was obliged to make up a lot of details about his past. The show didn't even reveal his last name, the names of his parents, where his family had lived (except that they apparently lived in Mexico, north of Guadalajara and Mexico City), or what they had done for a living. I have assumed, from the start, that they were peons, and--building on the scant information provided in the flashbacks that aired in "Family Business" and "The Word"--I have created his background accordingly (a process that took years of research and plotting). Here, on this page, is the background information I have created on Felipe and his family, leading up to the events of "Sacrificial Love." K.G.
An impoverished peon family struggled to survive in central Mexico. The Cortez family--by race, a family of mestizos--lived on a small, 2-acre farm that was located 2 miles from San Miguel de Bajio, a pueblo in central Mexico that was north of Guadalajara and Mexico City. San Miguel consisted of 3 plazas with several narrow streets. One was paved with cobblestones, and had a gazebo and water fountain in the middle. Caballeros and their families used that plaza. Another consisted of mere dirt, and had only a fountain. Peons used that one on market day. Since San Miguel was located in central Mexico, it often rained during the summer months.
Juan Cortez was a peon. Juan worked for Don Esteban de la Curillo, a wealthy landowner who owned thousands of acres in the vicinity (as did a number of other local caballeros). During certain months of the year, Juan labored in Don Esteban's fields, to pay off the debt he had inherited from his father and his father's father (and which he would pass onto his own offspring). The rest of the year, the impoverished farmer worked in his own corn patch on his own 2-acre rented plot of land, and gave the patrón a percentage of his own crops as payment for his rent. Juan barely eked out a living from his plot of land.
Consuela, who was born and raised in another village, was not given the option of choosing whether to marry Juan. Her widowed father, who was the only other member of Consuela's family still living, wanted her to have someone take care of her, so he and Juan's parents arranged their marriage. Unfortunately for his daughter, he made a bad choice in Juan. Consuela came to San Miguel to live with Juan in marriage, less than a year after it was all arranged. Consuela's father died just a year after she got married, and six years before her only son was born.
In one respect, though, Juan did take care of his wife. Juan was a hard worker, and a good one. He worked hard from dawn to dusk to support his wife (and, later, his only son), whom he protected whenever danger threatened. Juan had to work long hours just to pay off the debts that his father and grandfather had also had to pay off. A peon never really did manage to pay off the debt; he just left it to his own children. And then his children, in turn, left it to their children. One day, Juan knew, any children he had would inherit his debt. He did his best to keep his family safe, too. Whenever danger threatened, he'd protect them. He owned 2 sets of unbleached, homespun cotton trousers--a white pair and a brown pair. He owned a wide-brimmed straw sombrero, a poncho, a serape, a white shirt, a gray cotton vest, a sash, and a dark-brown jacket.
His wife, Consuela, also worked hard. She kept the hut, grew an herb garden, and when the time came, brought up their only son. A pious, devout Christian woman, she knelt in front of the family altar every evening, and prayed with great reverence. She went to Mass and confession faithfully. She owned a rosary her mother had bequeathed her, and which her grandmother had bequeathed to her mother. She prayed with it every evening after supper. She was sweet and loving. Unfortunately, she was scared of her husband, and did her best not to incite him to violence. She yearned for a child very much. Consuela wore no hats, but she did own a yellow woolen shawl, and a black one she used as a prayer shawl at church. She owned a green skirt.
Every day, she sat on her knees, grinding corn. Twice a day, she knelt at the firepit to make the tortillas, refried beans, and pepper sauce the family ate for its meals. She made dye out of herbs and stones; she spun thread, wove that thread into cloth, and with that cloth, she sewed the family's clothes. She also wove straw into baskets, hats, and other items, to take to the weekly village market and use it for barter. She was so different from her husband, so saintly, sweet, loving, gentle, kind, pious, and devout. Yet, she was not educated. Neither she nor Juan had ever been to school, so neither could read or write; they were totally illiterate. They owned no books, not even a Bible or a chapbook, nor did they own any writing materials. Nor did they own any cards or board games. Books, writing materials, and games were luxuries they couldn't afford.
Juan was messed up inside. He didn't know how to give or receive love. He was so boorish, so overbearing, so quick-tempered, so difficult to please, so tyrannical. He was most unpleasant to live with, especially when drunk. He barked harsh commands at his wife; he was always a tyrant. It took so little to make Juan mad and his temper would flare into violence. Consuela never knew what was going to set her husband off--he could explode over anything. Then he'd yell at his wife--sometimes, he'd hit her. He shouted at and struck Consuela reguarly. Consuela was scared of him. He hit her a lot--much of the time, for no good reason.
Juan drank excessively. Every day, Juan drank pulque, an alcoholic beverage distilled from the juice of the maguey cactus. The mestizo farmer would squat down on a sitting mat made of reeds, on the hut's hard-packed dirt floor, and cross his legs, Indian-style. He would grasp the clay jug his pulque was kept in; he would pour some into his clay cup. He would gulp it down, then pour some more.
As Juan continued to drink, he would start talking loudly, accusing Consuela of not cleaning the house properly or of failing to do something else well enough to please him. Juan was more likely to become violent then than at any other time, though he could--and did--become violent anytime for any reason.
Their patrón, Don Esteban, was mean-spirited, snobbish, high-and-mighty, and supercilious. He was never good to the people who worked for him, but exploited, overworked, underpaid, and abused all his peons. He cared nothing for their welfare, only what they could do for him. For example, he would order his overseer to whip uncooperative peons publicly. He would refuse to let a struggling peon have any food. Sometimes, he would visit a peon's wattle-and-daub or adobe hut for the express purpose of assaulting and raping any woman or older girl who lived there. And sometimes, he had a peon jailed for no good reason at all.
The other caballeros in and around San Miguel weren't much better, if any. They considered the peons as inferior, beneath their notice, and unworthy of their attention, fit only to labor for them and serve them humbly. The Cortez family did not like Don Esteban.
The Cortezes lived in a small, 1-room, wattle-and-daub hut with a hard-packed dirt floor, a straw-thatch roof, and no windows. Rafters spanned the ceiling below the roof, supporting the thick thatch of straw that rested on them. The Cortezes sat, ate, and slept on reed mats. The entrance had no door, only a reed hanging that Juan rolled up toward the overhang of thatch during the day.
The firepit consisted of a circle of stones in which firewood was arranged. It rested on the hard-packed dirt floor in the left-hand corner of the back wall. Consuela's comal lay directly over the blazing, crackling fire. The smoke drifted upward toward the thatch and out the doorway. Consuela's grinding stone lay next to the firepit. A wooden chest stood against the back wall; a small crate that served as the family altar stood next to it. Reed baskets lined the wall on both sides of the crate and chest. One of the sleeping mats, made of reeds, leaned against the right wall. Juan and Consuela shared that one.
The sleeping mats, made of reeds, were stacked in 1 corner, ready to roll out at bedtime. The small, thin sitting mats, also made of reeds, lay on the hard-packed dirt floor here and there. Since the hut had no candles, windows, lamps, or fireplace, the only light came through the narrow entrance and from the firepit in the corner of the room. At night, a lit torch would hang outside, next to the doorway.
Outside, a corn patch grew corn and beans. Consuela's herb garden grew chili peppers for flavoring, and bitter herbs for medicine. A dark-brown family burro and 2 goats were the Cortez family's only animals. Sometimes, the crops failed, and their stomachs ached with hunger.
The Cortezes' near neighbors were Paco and Alicia Lopez. Paco was also 1 of Don Esteban's peons. Paco and Juan labored side-by-side in the patrón's fields. Paco, his wife Alicia, and their orphaned nephew, Rafael, lived on a neighboring tenant farm on the other side of the hill from the Cortez farm. Like the Cortez hut, the Lopez hut was made of wattle and daub, and the corn patch lay in the front yard. Paco had a stocky figure and brown eyes that twinkled frequently. He had a kind disposition and a gift for music and storytelling. He was a good father to his own nephew, when he and Alicia took Rafael in after the death of his parents. Since the Cortez family had no living relatives, the Lopez family was the closest thing to a relative they had.
Juan Cortez and Paco Lopez were as different as night and day. Juan was mean, boorish, irritable, nervous, grumpy, hot-tempered, irascible, and tyrannical and oppressive toward his wife (and, later, his son). Not even the most charitable priest could have called him a gentleman in his manners. Paco, on the other hand, was kind, truly good, godly, even-tempered, patient, good, devout, and always happy. Paco was innately wise. He was good to his wife (and, later, his nephew, as well), and he worked hard to support them. Unlike Juan, he believed in a man never neglecting his prayers. Others respected and admired him for his goodness and wisdom, his joy in living, and for his storytelling and musical abilities. He brought laughter, joy, and singing into the lives of the people who knew him. There seemed to be no end to the number of songs Paco could play on his mandolin.
The Cortezes would help the Lopezes plant their crops, and vice-versa. On the days the 2 families worked together, Paco would sing as he worked, and inspire everyone else to sing with him. In between songs, he would tell stories to his wife and the Cortezes.
On Saturdays, Consuela went to confession with the Lopezes; on Sundays, she attended Mass with them. (Juan never went to confession or church--except at Easter.) The village priest, Padre Pablo, was kindhearted. He was a man of God, a holy man and a truly good one. He was good to children, and he helped peons in every way he could. He was also a talented storyteller.
The 2 families would spend Sundays together, then on Sunday evenings, they would go back to town, to socialize with others. They also went to market day together, every week. On market day, market vendors lined the edges of the peons' plaza. The noisy crowd would chatter nonstop as the 2 families selected a stretch of empty ground to display their goods on. The 2 women, Consuela and Alicia, would spread woolen blankets on the bare ground, and arrange their goods so that every passerby would see them.
The Cortezes and the Lopezes also participated in fiestas together. Once a year, they participated in the yearly fiesta honoring the pueblo's patron saint, the Archangel Michael. They always celebrated Christmas and other special events together. The Cortezes and the Lopezes would eat together on Christmas Day, and spend Christmas Day celebrating. Pretty flowers would decorate the church during the yearly Christmas mass, officiated by Padre Pablo. The 2 families ate together on Epiphany, as well. And many times, they would visit one another just for the fun of it. During those visits, Paco would not only tell stories, sing, and play his mandolin, he would tell jokes that made everyone laugh, even Juan.
Once, before Juan and Consuela had any children, Don Esteban visited the Cortez, intending to rape Consuela. Fortunately, she was able to escape, and to hide till he left. Since so many of the don's peon women were unable to escape when he set his sights on them, Consuela was well aware that she was lucky. Don Esteban never returned to the Cortez hut after that, much to Consuela's and Juan's relief.
A son was born to Juan and Consuela on June 1, 1808. He was Juan and Consuela's only child. Since they couldn't afford a doctor, a midwife assisted in his birth. The baby had wavy brown hair. They named him Felipe, and Paco Lopez was named his godfather. Padre Pablo christened him soon after his birth, and knew him from that time forth. He talked with Consuela about her son all the time, and she sought his advice on how to raise her son. Felipe's eyes soon turned brown.
By nature, Felipe was a good boy, sweet, gentle, affectionate, compliant, bright, intelligent, and lovable. He had brown hair and expressive, deer-like, brown eyes that took everything in. His mind was very sharp. Under his mother's, godfather's, and priest's influence, he grew to be devout. And he was easy to love and anxious to please his parents. He felt loved and secure with his mother, though not with his father. He was devoted to Consuela--she was his security.
Consuela was a loving, devoted mother. She took good care of her son. She was always kind and gentle, yet firm. She made him a woolen poncho and a woolen serape, a wide-brimmed straw sombrero, and a pair of woven leather sandals, to go with his regular homespun cotton clothes. She would dab water on his knees when he fell down and skinned them. She would sing him to sleep at bedtime. She would pray with him in the evenings, after supper (Juan never joined them for prayer). She would comfort him when he had a nightmare. When Felipe was old enough, she taught him to pray with the rosary; after that, he prayed with her every night. She also taught him to examine his conscience during those times.
Every day, Juan continued to drink pulque. As he always had, the mestizo farmer would squat down on a sitting mat made of reeds, on the hut's hard-packed dirt floor, and cross his legs, Indian-style. He would grasp the clay jug his pulque was kept in; he would pour some into his clay cup. He would gulp it down, then pour some more.
As Juan continued to drink, he would start talking loudly, accusing Consuela of not cleaning the house properly or of failing to do something else well enough to please him. Then he would accuse Felipe of not obeying him quickly enough, of not doing his chores quickly enough or well enough, of being disrespectful. Juan's voice would become slurred, and his gnarled, callused, workworn hands would become clumsy.
All the while, Felipe would sit quietly in the corner, saying nothing, because to do or say anything at such times was to invite attack. Juan was more likely to become violent then than at any other time, though he could--and did--become violent anytime for any reason. He always scared and frightened his only son; he scared Felipe a lot. Felipe was so afraid of him. It took so little to make Juan mad and his temper would flare, so he was always shouting at Felipe and hitting him. Felipe and Consuela never knew what was going to set Juan off--he could explode over anything. Then he'd yell at his family; sometimes, he'd hit them. He not only shouted at and whipped and/or slapped Felipe, he also shouted at and hit Consuela. He kept a leather strap in the barn, to use when he decided to.
Juan barked harsh commands at his wife and son; he was always a tyrant. Felipe was accustomed to seeing a harsh expression on his father's face. Both Felipe and his mother were scared of him. Juan was never there when Felipe needed him. Juan treated him badly, and hurt thim time and again. He was impossible to please.
Juan hit his family a lot--much of the time, for no good reason. He terrified his son repeatedly, hollered at him, called him names, slapped his face, and whipped the little boy with the leather strap. Too often, in a fit of rage, Juan would slap Felipe and thrash him with a leather strap in a fit of rage, or he would beat his wife for displeasing him in some way. Juan would strike his son's face and/or beat him with the strap because Felipe had dropped, spilled, or broken something. Or because Felipe had forgotten to do some chore, or had failed ot do his chores to his father's satisfaction. Or because Juan had accused Felipe of something Felipe hadn't done. Whenever he used it on Felipe, he would give his son 12 blows with it, which would cause sheer agony during the beating and afterward, and which would leave Felipe's back, legs, and hips riddled with red, raw stripes that would be tender and slowly turn bluish-purple.
Felipe feared and resented his father, yet obeyed him without question, and yearned to please him and win his love. One of the 1st lessons Felipe learned was to stay out of his father's way as much as possible, and to instantly obey him without asking any questions. He feared Juan too much to do otherwise. Felipe usually sat quietly in the corner when his father was home. Felipe didn't dare chatter or move around at those times; he might accidentally make his papa angry, and then Juan would get violent. He and his mother never really felt that Juan loved them.
Juan detested sickness and sick boys, so he never nursed Felipe when he was sick. Every time Felipe was hurt or fell ill, his father would treat him like a bother, leaving his wife to nurse their sick or injured son. Whenever Felipe was sick, his mother would rock him and sing to him. She'd also prepare for him foul-tasting potions she made him swallow. He hated them. Whenever his father slapped his son's face and/or thrashed him with the strap, Consuela would rub homemade salve on his his face, legs, and back. Once, Felipe had an earache. It hurt terribly.
Sometimes, soldiers would arrest Juan for creating a public disturbance and take him to jail. At those times, Juan would have to stay in jail for varying lengths of time.
If it hadn't been for Consuela, the Lopezes, and Padre Pablo, Felipe couldn't have endured life with his father. The priest helped Felipe cope with his father when Juan hurt him.
Felipe did his share of the farm work from a very early age. He had to do chores every day--milking the she-goat, working in the corn patch or the herb garden, fetching wood for his mother, and doing other chores. Every day, from spring till fall, Felipe would work in the corn patch with his father, planting, weeding, watering, and harvesting. Felipe would milk the she-goat or feed the 2 goats, twice a day, while his father fed and groomed the burro. Felipe helped care for their burro and goasts and played with them. He never had direct contact with a horse, though, nor did he ever have a chance to learn to ride. He was never on a horse. When the crops failed, the Cortez family would go hungry, to the point that their stomachs ached incessantly. Felipe came to realize, as he grew older, that one day, he would inherit the tenant farm (and the familial debt) when his father died. Needless to say, the little boy harborded no dreams of living like a caballero.
Felipe never learned to amuse himself indoors when it rained, even though it rained a lot in San Miguel de Bajio. If he couldn't play outside, he'd either do some indoor chore, sit in the corner, or throw on his wide-brimmed straw sombrero and his woolen poncho to run out to the barn and play with the goats.
No effort was made by Felipe's parents or the church to teach him to read or write. Since the church had no school for peons--only the catechism class--Felipe had no chance to receive book learning. And his father wouldn't have let Felipe learn to read even if there had been a school--Juan hated the very thought. Had the opportunity arisen, Juan would have flatly refused to even consider it. Neither Juan nor Consuela saw any use for letting their son get an education, and the opportunity was never offered anyway, so it was never discussed. As a result, like his parents, Felipe didn't even learn to recognize, recite, or write the alphabet, let alone read or write words. He could count to 10 on his fingers--and could count objects up to the same number--but he could neither read or write numbers nor add and subtract, nor could he tell time.
Felipe and Rafael Lopez were the same age, and knew each other from babyhood. Paco was like an uncle to Felipe, and was the kindest man Felipe knew. Felipe was privileged to know him, and loved the kindhearted farmer. Not only was Paco considerably nicer to Felipe than his own father, he was a wonderful, talented singer and musician. Felipe never spent any time with him when Godfather Lopez did not sing to him, play his mandolin, and/or tell him a folk story--one of many he knew by heart--or a story about his own family. Of course, Consuela told her son stories, too. Most of them were stories of her own childhood, or the childhoods of her long-deceased parents. Moreover, Paco and Consuela taught Felipe a number of lively folk dances. Felipe always went to his mother, godfather, or the priest when he had a problem, because he didn't dare got to his own father. They were his favorite people.
When the 2 families worked together, helping each other plant their crops, Paco would sing as he worked, and inspire everyone else to sing with him. In between songs, he would tell stories. When the workday was over, Paco's wife, Alicia, would bring Rafael to visit. Paco would tell the boys a story, then he would play lively fiesta songs, mournful ballads, and solemn church hymns on his mandolin. Everyone would sing, including Felipe and Rafael. The music, singing, and storytelling always cheered Felipe up.
Rafael played with Felipe, and Paco told the 2 boys many stories and played them songs on his mandolin. Rafael was quite a character. An impulsive, rambunctious boy with a big mouth who got into trouble a lot, Rafael teased Felipe and played with him whenever they got together. Sometimes, he annoyed Felipe. But they were such good friends, and they played together a lot. Rafael would climb the nearest tree, looking for a branch to make a toy out of. When the 2 boys played in the creek, sometimes Rafael would splash Felipe, then dart off, laughing, when Felipe splashed him back. Sometimes, they would fight over a plaything or something else. Although they had dreams, as all little boys do, not in their wildest dreams did either boy expect to become a nobleman.
Once, Rafael jumped out of a bush to scare Felipe. Sometimes, Rafael would jump off a haystack to scare Felipe--which he succeeded in doing. Sometimes, they would lie on their stomachs to watch a snake slither past them. Sometimes, they'd throw rocks into a stream, attempting to make the rocks skip on the surface. Or they'd fling pebbles at nearby trees with their slingshots, as they grew older. They played hide-and-seek, tag, bullfighters, and other games.
On Saturdays, Consuela and Felipe went to confession with the Lopezes; on Sunday, they attended church together. The 2 families would spend Sundays together, then on Sunday evenings, they would go back to town, to socialize with others. Whether they went to confession or Mass, Felipe and Rafael felt left out. While everyone else took their turns entering the tiny cubicle to confess their sins and receive absolution, Felipe and Rafael, who found it boring to stand inside and wait, would amble outside and roam the plaza with the other young children. And when it was time to have communion during Mass, Felipe and Rafael would remain standing in their place in the back of the nave--the big room where the congregation worshipped, during Mass--and pray silently, as Felipe's mother and Rafael's aunt and uncle told them to do. While the 2 little boys were praying, Consuela and the Lopezes would approach the front, one at a time, to eat the Host and drink the wine. Being left out grated on the Felipe and Rafael.
Felipe loved the kind, godly priest, who was good to children and who helped peons in every way he could. Whenever Felipe went to town with his mother, he would visit Padre Pablo. The priest, who was a great friend of Felipe's, always made him feel better. Whenever he was with the priest, Felipe felt that everything would be all right. It had to be; Padre Pablo was a man of God! Like Godfather Lopez, the padre was a talented storyteller. He often told Felipe and Rafael Bible stories--stories about God and Jesus--and stories about saints.
The 2 families went to market day together, every week. Felipe loved to visit town, but not to help his mother sell or barter her goods. The 2 families also participated in fiestas together. At such times, Felipe and Rafael had fun attending bullfights, listening to the lively music, dancing, and eating tamales they'd trade with a vendor for. Felipe loved fiestas. They always provided a marvelous opportunity to escape the tedium and drudgery that filled his family's days. Once a year, the family participated in the yearly fiesta honoring the pueblo's patron saint, the Archangel Michael.
The 2 families always celebrated Christmas and other special events together. Christmas was always a joyous occasion. On Guadalupe Day, they would take part in the village festivities. During the Guadalupe Day fiesta, Padre Pablo would talk about the Virgin of Guadalupe's appearance to Juan Diego during Mass, and tell the congregation to renew their efforts to be true workers for Christ. Then, following Mass, there would be a procession. Everyone, including Felipe and Rafael, would carry a rose and lighted candle in that procession, and sing,
"Good morning, white dove.
Today, I come to greet thee,
Greeting thy beauty in your celestial reign,
In your celestial reign."
The procession would come to a standstill in front of a shrine next to the church wall, built by volunteers the day before. One by one, each participant would insert his candle into a sconce and lay his rose next to it. Soon, little flickering flames atop snow-white candles would dot the shrine, by then covered with roses. The roses, Felipe learned, stood for the ones Juan Diego had picked on the Hill of Tepeyec, to prove to the bishop that the vision really had occurred. Felipe came to know the story well; his mother, priest, and godparents told it to him countless times. On the Virgin's orders, Juan Diego had gone to the bishop to relay her message, and the bishop had said he wanted proof of the visitation. So Juan Diego had relayed the bishop's response to the Virgin, and she had instructed him to pick roses off the Hill of Tepeyec and take them to the bishop.
Also, for 9 days, Felipe and Rafael would take part in the posadas in town. During each one, they would take part in the procession, during which the "innkeeper" would say, "No posada! No shelter." When the "innkeeper" finally said, "Welcome, holy pilgrims," a lively, joyous fiesta would begin. As part of the festivities, the 2 boys would take their turns attempting to break the piñata (each would swing his stick at the piñata, blindfolded), and then get their share of the candy that cascaded on the patio floor, clattering as it scattered all over the patio's cobblestones. The candy Felipe would pop into his mouth was sweet and delicious.
The Cortezes and the Lopezes would eat together on Christmas Day, and spend Christmas Day celebrating. Pretty flowers would decorate the church during the yearly Christmas mass, officiated by Padre Pablo. On the night before Epiphany--the night of January 5th--Felipe would lay his woven-leather sandals in front of the doorway, fully expecting the 3 Wise Men to stop by and fill them. The next morning, he would wake up to find his sandals filled with candy. The 2 families ate together on Epiphany, as well.
And many times, the 2 families would visit one another just for the fun of it. Felipe welcomed every chance he received to visit his godparents. Godfather Lopez would not only tell stories, sing, and play his mandolin, he would tell jokes that made everyone laugh, even Juan. Godfather Lopez made Felipe feel safe and loved whenever he was around, and Rafael was a marvelous playmate.
Because there was a revolution going on, Felipe periodically heard the distant boom! of a cannon. At least once a week, he saw a group of soldiers marching in the distance, shouldering muskets. Such events reminded him that there was a revolution going on. Felipe never saw swordsmanship being practiced, though.
From his earliest years, Felipe saw caballeros and doñas from a distance in and around San Miguel de Bajio. But none of them ever deigned to even approach him or his parents, let alone speak to or touch them. He never entered a hacienda, or even saw one, not even his patrón's. (He knew, of course, that caballeros lived in haciendas.) He never saw a caballero or doña up close, not even his father's patrón, Don Esteban. Felipe's parents warned him against trying to approach a don.
"Caballeros don't like peons, Felipe," his mother warned him repeatedly. "We're not equal to them, so they look down on us. They would be very angry if a peasant boy dared speak to one. Keep away from them, or they'll hurt you!"
"Si, Mommy," Felipe would say. He kept his word; he was careful to watch rich landowners only from a distance. He never dared to approach one, let alone talk to a don or doña. Needless to say, he never touched the clothes of a rich gentleman!
Sometimes, though, Felipe and Rafael would hide in a wooden crate that lay against a wall where the street ended at the caballeros' plaza. There, the 2 fascinated boys would watch the caballeros, the doñas, and their children who were attended by their niñeras. To a little peasant boy, the lives of the rich aristocrats seemed so fancy, so rich. Certainly, their clothes were rich and fancy. On market day, whenever a caballero wanted to purchase some item from 1 of the vendors, he would send 1 of his servants to make the purchase. That way, he didn't have to sully his hands by dealing directly with a lowly peasant. Consuela sometimes sold her straw-woven items that way.
Once, Felipe accidently spilled a cup of goat's milk. Enraged, Juan shouted, "You little clumsy; you stupid, careless idiot! Can't you do nothin' right?!" Felipe cowered as his father shouted. He knew full well what to expect next: a slap, a thrashing, or both. Convulsive sobs of terror rose in his throat, which he fought to swallow. With difficulty, he managed to choke them down.
On another occasion, when Felipe was 4 years old, his father falsely accused him of taking his pulque. Juan was convinced that Felipe had taken and hidden it. That was not true--Felipe didn't even like pulque. Unfortunately, it did the little boy no good to tell his father that. Enraged, Juan tried to beat a confession out of Felipe.
The beating was so severe, Felipe lost consciousness and nearly died of his injuries afterwards. For the next 3 days, the badly-beaten mestizo boy lay comatose on his reed mat. When Felipe finally regained consciousness, he was delirious with fever for days and days.
It took Felipe weeks to recover. All the time the little boy lay recovering from his injuries, his mother nursed him.
Juan never apologized, or acted as if he were sorry. He merely told Felipe afterward, "If you'd told me the truth, I wouldn't have had to hit you."
On still another occasion, the following spring, Juan lost the corn crop. The day it happened, Juan entered the hut, grumbling. "I've got to replant the whole corn crop!" He glared at Consuela as he spoke.
The 4-year-old boy crouched in the corner, not daring to move or make a sound lest he inadvertently provoke his father into a violent outburst. He gazed fearfully up at his angry father, who stood with clenched fists, pursing his lips and shaking his head. Would his father strike him?
"Consuela, you and Felipe'll have to help me." Juan looked sternly at his son for an instant, then turned back to his wife. "Time's too short. I can't do it alone."
"Si. We will."
"Si, Papá." Felipe scratched his arm.
The family worked together to replant the corn. It took days of backbreaking labor to finish the job.
Months later, when Felipe was five years old, he forgot to close the barn door; as a result, the goats wandered outside. When Juan found out, he flew into 1 of his rages.
"You come here!" Juan shouted. "Right this minute, boy!"
Felipe jumped up, then froze. He looked beseechingly at his father, who simply pointed at the ground at his feet.
"You're goin' to get it!" Juan shouted. "How dare you let the goats of the barn without askin' me first?! A big boy, five years old, is old enough to do as he's told!"
Felipe slowly approached his enraged father, dragging his feet. He knew he was going to be thrashed. As he came close, he threw his arms over his face. Juan grabbed the terrified boy by the ear. "Ow!" Felipe cried, as his father's fingernails dug into his ear lobe. Why did I forget and leave the barn door open? he thought. Out loud, he cried, "I'm sorry, Papá. I didn't mean to do it. I forgot!"
Juan did not answer. He simply dragged his son by the ear toward the barn, Felipe whimpering. His father jerked him across the threshold. Shouting at Felipe nonstop, Juan slapped the boy's face so hard that Felipe saw an explosion of stars after each slap. The pain following each slap was excruciating. All the while, his left ear lobe throbbed.
With trembling hands, Juan finally picked up the leather strap he kept for such occasions. Felipe backed against the wattle-and-daub wall and started screaming. His father marched toward him, left hand clenched, right hand gripping the strap, and fury fixed on his now-purple face. Felipe covered his throbbing face with his hands; as the belt flew toward his body, the little boy screamed in terror.
On yet another occasion, the 5-year-old boy was beaten brutally again.
"Felipe!" Juan stood in the doorway of the hut, just underneath the straw thatch that covered the roof, and looked sternly down at the little boy. "Pour me some pulque. And don't spill it like you did, last time!"
"S--Si, Papá!"
Felipe bent over and picked up the clay jug and his father's dark-brown clay cup. He carefully poured soe of the pulque into it. He knew to be careful; his father had whipped him before, for spilling the pulque.
As Juan squatted down on a sitting mat, Felipe slowly carried the cup with both hands to his father. The only light in the hut poured through the doorway, forming a solid bar of sunlight on the dirt floor. Juan sat cross-legged on the mat.
The little boy held out the cup; when his father took hold of it, the cup slipped through Juan's hands and bounced off his leg trouser leg. Pulque spilled on the farmer's white, unbleached, homespun cotton trousers and onto the dirt floor.
With his face contorted with rage, Juan leaped to his feet and slapped Felipe, who screamed and staggered backward. "You little clumsy; I told you not to spill it!"
Juan's face had turned red, then purple; a vein pulsated in his neck. He slapped Felipe again, then grabbed his son's right ear lobe.
"Ow!" the little boy cried, as pain exploded in his ear. His mother stared at the terrified boy and his enraged father in horror.
"You're goin' to get it, young man! Come with me!"
Juan dragged his whimpering son outside and toward the wattle-and-daub barn. Inside the barn, which housed the two goats and the burro, he released the little boy's ear, only to grab Felipe's upper arm. With a vicious yank that made Felipe's shoulder feel as if it were being pulled right out of its socket, Juan jerked his son down to the ground.
The landing knocked the breath out of Felipe, who winced in pain and rubbed his throbbing ear lobe. His face throbbed incessantly where Juan had struck it.
As Felipe lay trembling on his stomach, he prayed silently that his father would not be able to find the leather strap, or that he would be too tired to whip his son. Even as Felipe prayed, he knew from experience that his prayer would go unanswered. Not only would Juan find the strap in its usual spot, he would give his son 10 blows, then 2 more, with it. The blows would leave Felipe's back, legs, and hips riddled with red, raw stripes that would be tender to the touch and slowly turn purple. And Felipe would be in sheer agony during the beating and afterward. The terrified boy squeezed his eyes shut.
A clinking sound told Felipe that his father had found the leather strap and lifted it off its peg. A wide strip of metal lined the end that hung from the nail; a hole was bored through the metal strip. As the peon strode toward his son, Felipe listened to the thuds of his father's woven-leather sandals.
"You will obey me, Felipe!" Juan shouted, as a whish! told the little boy that his father was flinging the strap backward. "You will do what I say, even if it kills you!" A swoosh! told Felipe that his father was swinging the strap toward the boy's back. Felipe tensed every muscle and screamed in terror.
While he was 5 years old, Felipe stopped sucking his thumb, only to take up sucking his index finger. Whenever he was nervous or frightened, he would thrust his finger into his mouth, to suck it. Also, that same year, Consuela made for Juan a wide-brimmed straw gray felt sombrero. She made the felt herself, then shaped it into a hat. After that, Juan alternated between his 2 sombreros, his straw hat and his felt hat. Felipe, on the other hand, continued to own just a single wide-brimmed straw sombrero.
Months after the previously described beating, the following spring, Felipe and his parents helped the Lopezes plant their corn patch. It was April, 1814, and Felipe's 6th birthday was 2 months away. (Rafael's birthday was just a few weeks away.)
"Tell me about Juan Diego, Godfather Lopez," Felipe begged.
Godfather Lopez leaned on his digging stick and gazed down at his godson. His eyes twinkled.
"Well, Felipe, I'll tell you the story, but we must keep workin'." He gripped the digging stick and motioned to the two 5-year-old boys to keep working. "Juan Diego was an Indian, like the Spaniards say. He was a good farmer and he took care of his uncle Bernardino like a good son." As he paused, Felipe squatted to shove an ear of corn ito the hole his father had just dug.
Paco nodded. "That a boy. Well, 1 day, when he was climbin' a hill, a woman appeared to him; she told him she was the Mother of the Indians. And she told Juan Diego to build her a church on that hill."
As Felipe and Rafael worked, they listened to the story Paco told them about Juan Diego's visit to the bishop, the bishop disbelief of his message, and the proof Juan Diego eventually gave the bishop of the authenticity of his vision: the roses that had tumbled from his cloak (otherwise known as a tilma), and the portrait of the Virgin of Guadalupe that had miraculously appeared on the tilma itself.
On another occasion, Felipe's godfather Lopez told the little boy a story about a time when he was lost, long before. To attraction of rescuers, Paco had made a signal fire. Felipe always remembered that story.
One summer evening, when Felipe was six, the little boy helped his father weed the corn patch. When they were finished, his father rested on a straw mat inside the hut. It would soon be time to milk the she-goat and do the barn chores. Consuela prepared some cornmeal to make some tortillas for supper. The family burro grazed outside, munching on grass. Felipe sat outside, petting one of the goats and watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
Suddenly, his mother stepped through the hut's narrow entrance. "Felipe!" she called. "Bring me some wood, son; I've got to make supper."
"Si, Mommy!"
Felipe leaped to his feet and darted toward the woodpile. He gathered several pieces of wood and lugged them toward the hut; their rough bark pressed his homespun cotton shirt against his chest. As he stepped through the hut's entrance, Felipe tripped and fell. The wood scattered everywhere.
Swearing, his father jumped up from his straw mat and grabbed Felipe by the ear. "Santa Maria, you stupid, careless boy, can't you do nothin' right?!" he shouted.
Juan clouted Felipe on the back of the head. The blow stung. "Ow!" Felipe cried.
"Now, you pick up every stick of wood you dropped, and put 'em in the firepit!" Juan stormed outside.
Tears trickled down the little boy's cheeks as, snuffling, he picked up the pieces of wood and carried them toward the right-hand corner of the hut. Felipe carefully arranged the wood inside the firepit. Even as he struggled not to cry, he knew he had been lucky. His father might have dragged him to the barn and whipped him with the leather strap. He had done just that on countless occasions.
On another occasion that year, Felipe sat against the wall of his parents' barn, daydreaming. Raindrops glistened on the blades of grass crushed under his weight. A shower had passed through the area not long before.
"Felipe!"
Felipe did not respond at first.
"Felipe!"
The little boy raised his head. To his delight, Rafael Lopez was loping toward him, his coal-black hair disheveled.
"Guess what!" Rafael raced up to him. "Uncle Paco says you can spend the night!"
A delighted Felipe leaped to his feet. A chance to spend the night at the Lopez hut was always fun. "Mommy!"
Consuela stepped out the doorway of their hut, rubbing her hands on her apron. "What is it, son?"
The two six-year-old boys darted toward her. "Señora Cortez, tio mio said Felipe could spend the night with us. Can he? Por favor?" Rafael hopped from one foot to the other.
Consuela laughed. "Si, he can. But he must come back first thing in the morning and do his chores. His papá will be angry if he don't."
"Si, Mommy." Felipe wrapped his arms around her and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.
"Race you to the hill!" Laughing, Rafael took off toward the summit of the hill dividing the two farms. Felipe rushed behind.
On the night before Epiphany, while Felipe was still six, he squatted in a corner of the hut, playing with a twig he'd found outside. All evening, he sat cross-legged in that spot, getting up only to pray the rosary with his mother. Felipe didn't dare chatter or move around; he might accidently make his papá angry, and then Juan would get violent. Since it was the evening of January 5, that night, of all nights, just had to go well!
"Felipe, it's bedtime." Consuela bent over the boy and touched his shoulder.
"Si, Mamá."
Felipe jumped to his feet and loped toward the other corner, where the rolled-up sleeping mats leaned against the wall. Silently, he unrolled his reed mat and spread it on the dirt floor. He removed his white cotton shirt, his matching cottons trousers, and his woolen sash, and hung them up on nails. He had already set his woven-leather sandals on the dirt floor underneath those nails, as usual. Now he shoved the sandals directly underneath his dangling clothes.
"Mijo."
The little boy whirled around. His mother gazed at him with an amused expression etched on her face. Next to her, Juan crouched on a reed sitting mat, gulping the rest of his pulque. The flames dancing in the firepit made flickering beams of light on the walls. Consuela had draped her yellow woolen shawl around her shoulders; their edges trailed on the floor as she leaned forward.
"Felipe, hijo mio, aren't you forgettin' somethin'?"
Felipe giggled. He sure had--his sandals! He picked them up, trotted across the one-room hut, and laid them in front of the doorway. The reed hanging dangled as it always did at night. Overhead, the thick thatch of straw that formed the roof rested on the low ceiling's rafters.
"The Three Wise Men won't know where to find your sandals if you don't put 'em in the doorway, my son." Laughing, Consuela rose to her feet and kissed Felipe on his soft cheek. "Buenas noches, niño."
"Buenas noches, Mommy. Buenas noches, Papá." Juan grunted a response.
With a broad smile, Felipe huddled on his mat and said his prayers. He could hardly wait for morning to come!
Months later, the following spring, the two families sat outside outside the Lopez hut, enjoying the early-spring weather and chatting. Their conversation turned to their patrón. "Don Esteban's a cruel man." Godfather Lopez shook his head. "He treats us like dirt, then turns around and acts like he's doin' us a favor, just lettin' us live."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. For a moment, he gazed at the new stalks of corn just rising out of the ground.
Consuela sighed. "He tried to ravish me once, years ago. Before Felipe was born." She glanced at her six-year-old son as she spoke. "Thank Heavens I was able to escape and hide till he left!" She brushed back her long, dark-brown hair as she spoke.
Paco touched her arm. "You were lucky. There've been so many women who didn't get away."
"I know." Consuela glanced down at Felipe as she spoke and shuddered. Felipe leaned against her side and scratched his neck.
Juan pressed his lips into a tight line. "Good thing he's never been back to us since. I hope he never does!" He spat on the ground, to show what he thought of Don Esteban.
Felipe looked at Rafael and shuddered. He hoped Don Esteban never would, either!
Another time, during that same spring, Paco carefully explained to Felipe, in terms an almost-7-year-old could understand, what it meant to be a peon. He explained it till Felipe comprehended it fully. His father, Juan, had to work long hours just to pay off the debts that Felipe's grandfather and great-grandfather had also had to pay off. A peon never really did manage to pay off the debt; he just left it to his own children. And then his children, in turn, left it to their children. The debt his father owed would one day be Felipe's own, and he would have to work long hours to pay part of it off, until one day he bequeathed it to his own children. A peon wasn't free.
In late April, Padre Pablo made Rafael learn the lesson of sacrifice, in preparation for his first communion. When he learned it, he was allowed to participate in confession and communion for the first time. After that, only Felipe was left out.
Now that you've read the flashbacks and background information, read "Sacrificial Love."