My Life, and my Bloodline

My First Life

Okay my friends, this is the first time I share any of my written stories, please be patient with me…..

These works have not been edited, and I apologize if my story is to descriptive. I’m trying to paint a picture of a long ago gone era….

Please support my story, I promise it picks up!!!

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My First Life …….

This is my story, my heritage, and my life. I write this journal so that there is proof of my existence; my parents’ my brother and sisters, my blood. There are those that will attempt to cover my existence and my heritage, but they will never be able to achieve this evil intent.  If I should die, I hope and pray to the gods this journal does not end up in the wrong hands.

I am one of the last ones of my line, of my blood. I am the keeper of the treasure of our people, the treasure of our bloodline. Here is my story. 

I was born to this world, the new world, Nueva España in the lord’s year of 1895.  My name is Techiayotl Esperanza Sanchez; my Father Axayacatl Francisco Sanchez was the strongest, smartest, and most handsome man in the region!! Mother was a beautiful daughter of a high ranking Spanish military man. From their union they had four lovely children.

I was the second of four children; the oldest was my twin brother. His name Cuitlảhuac Francisco Sánchez .  Francisco is dark skinned and tall like Father,  with Father’s piercing green eyes. Myself, I share Francisco’s and Father’s greeneyes, I am also tall like my brother which is uncommon for a woman, especially of Indian descent. I have always loved my brother dearly we were inseparable. Looking at his beautiful face was like looking in the mirror, we had the same face, he looked as I would have looked if I had been born a man. 

My younger sisters completely favored my Mother’s family.  Maria Fernanda was 3 years younger, and finally the baby Carlota Isabella, was only 5 years old. My sisters didn’t have Indian names. Father insisted they did not carry his Indian blood, only Mother’s pure white blood. My Nana Nachita, always insisted that we were descendents of the Great Cuitlảhuac, the last great Aztec emperor.

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We were brought up in a strict society. Francisco was allowed so much more freedom than us girls from Father and Society. Due to our fragile nature, women were not allowed the same exciting lives as men. Clothing for women did not allow for us to run and enjoy life and adventures like men. We had to wear heavy restricting clothing, long pantalettes, crinolines, corsets, cumbersome hoops for our dresses, gloves, tall tight necklines, uncomfortable tight shoes, and suffocating hats. All cloths that made it impossible to move freely. Girls were not allowed to horseback ride without the cumbersome sidesaddle, and when we were allowed only at a trot.

My sisters and I were not allowed to play with the Indian children that lived at the Hacienda, or eat the delicious aromatic meals the Indians ate. We were raised as proper young ladies, daughters of an important cacique, leader among local indian families in the region. People that addressed us had to refer to us Doňa, never on a first name basis. We also had highly educated tutors that would teach us French, Latin, how to read and write, how to plan formal menus, the marriage of exquisite French wines with meals, bible study, praying the rosary, and other womanly tasks that had to be part of our education.

Looking back now, I see how I was always rebelling against myself. At times I would wear Francisco’s clothes, and a large hat. Than I would take his horse and go out riding throughout the Hacienda and lands beyond. I was an excellent rider, I would ride Francisco’s horse bareback, he didn’t even know. I was clever enough that I would stand on the horse’s back and ride standing as the horse was running full speed! So much freedom! Free to go about without restrictions, free to visit my Indian friends that lived on the Hacienda grounds, free to eat anything I wanted, although I knew my freedom was short lived. By the end of the day I had to be myself again.

One day on one of my adventures, I accidentally stumbled across a pack of wolves hunting. They had cornered a deer and her doe. The Mother fought and fought hard to protect her doe. Her grunts and shrieks were heart wrenching. I had my sling shot with me, my carbine, and my pocket knife. I felt a morale obligation to help the dear. I quickly grabbed my carbine, lifted it to my shoulder and carefully took aim. I realized this was a life and death situation. If I missed the wolves would probably come after me. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and shot at the wolves, I tried to reload and shoot but my carbine got stuck. The wolves scattered briefly. Long enough for me to stand in front of the deer, in a protective pose. I tried swinging at the wolves with my carbine, but it had no effect on them. The Mother deer and I had the doe between us. I pulled out my sling shot and started shooting at the wolves; they yelped in pain but continued to charge at us. Finally one of the wolves charged the deer, biting her belly, a second wolf grabbed her hind leg, and the deer went down. I quickly picked up my carbine, reloaded it and shot at the wolves. By then they had carried away the doe, the wolves scattered and left the wounded deer behind. She was a ripped up mess in a pool of blood, making the most pathetic grunts and moans. I know that at that moment she realized her baby was lost. I took the deer’s head in my arms and tried to comfort her. My poor awkward hands  tried to hold together her ripped out belly. The deer looked me straight in the eyes and gave an agonizing grunt. I know she was asking me to end her misery. I picked up my carbine, ready to shoot her in the head; but I realized I was out of gunpowder, and couldn’t shoot her. So I knew I would have to slit her throat. I took a quick breath, and braced myself. There was no other way; I had to get the job done. I picked up the deer head, tied my bandana around her eyes so she wouldn’t see what was coming, made a silent prayer of forgiveness and quickly slit her throat. The deer started kicking and grunting, the blood gurgling out of her neck. I couldn’t bear it any longer, I turned to the other side and started retching until my stomach was empty and there was nothing left to come up. By than the deer had stopped moving a deadly stillness had come over her. There was nothing left for me to do. I got back up on my horse, rode to a close by stream, and washed myself and my cloths of all the blood. Got back on my horse and headed for home.

That evening I went to bed early; I had no appetite for diner. Later that night my Nachita brought me chocolate, and some tamales to my room. She was worried about me.

Nachita asked me “Hijita, what is wrong with you? You look pale, and you have no appetite, are you not feeling well?”

"Nachita, I went out ridding today, and I came across some vicious wolves attacking a deer and her doe. I tried to save them, but the wolves killed the deer and her doe anyway"

"Ay, You meet death today you met Kisin the god of death, and you were not afraid of him. That is a sign my little one, it means that you will face Kisin, often throughout your life, but you will escape him often and win. For today you have shown Kisin that you are a warrior, but beware little one for Kisin is a jealous god, and he eventually will claim you as his!!"