RAMARAMAL

Carlo M. J.
Copyright 2014 Carlo M. J.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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Chapter 1

December 18th, 1581. 3:00am

A mastiff was tearing apart the silence with deep, loud barks. This
black dog had something unique in his voice. He was shouting
with a very odd desperation, as if this would be an act of life or
death. The strangest thing of all was the way the dog gazed at his
master. Those eyes were furious and even deranged, loaded with
the kind of fear that only a human being could be able to feel, it
seemed as if this huge and powerful animal was terrified by some
invisible force that was in front of him. Even more, it looked as if
he was fully aware of this evil presences identity.
The dog was motionless in front of his master's bed, watching him
contort in-between his bed sheets, as if he was unable to do
anything else to help him except for barking with all his might in
order to awake him, in order to save him, in order to bring him
back from his trance. Suddenly, his masters body rose up
abruptly. The man seemed to be driven by an almost supernatural

force that was pulling his chest up and forward. Immediately

after, his torso contorted itself backward, forming a perfect arc,
as if an invisible hand was trying to break his spine in half.
Despite the pain he felt from head to toe, Diego could not move
his body, not even an inch. On the contrary, he stayed in that same
position for an unnaturally long period of time. His muscles gave
the impression of being supported by invisible threads that bound
him to the roof, keeping him from falling back on the bed. It was
as if he had been turned into one of those broken puppets, usually
left forgotten in the attic because they are worthless.
The minutes passed uncounted, until a deep breath escaped
throughout his parched mouth. This breath was so powerful that
it ended up overthrowing the deformed sculpture he had become.
Whatever force was holding Diego's body, finally let him free on
the linen sheets, which by this time, were completely soaked in
his own sweat. Soon, a new sculpture was created over the old
and chaotic mess which his bed had become. It was the naked
body of a 23 year old man. He had a slim and firm body, molded
by years of hard physical labor and a poor diet, probably
consisting of eggs, bread, cheese and some vegetables. His bed

was humble, like the rest of his room. This was easy to
distinguish, thanks to a very pale light projected from the moon.
This languid and simple light started to describe in light and
shadow all the stress experienced by every muscle on his face;
that beautiful mestizo face, a mixture of a Quechua native and
European blood that was reflecting a half-finished expression of
sorrow. It was a feeling caught between his lips and his forehead;
a feeling that revealed the kind of anxiety which occurs when a
deep fear takes you out of reality and introduces you into another
world. Nevertheless, his dark eyes seemed to have the insidious
desire to go back to the world of shadows he had just escaped
from. Those dark brown eyes possessed the same fire that can be
found in a brave man who searches the distance for the unknown.
Those eyes were provokers. They were alert; even more, they
were excited by fear.
It was just a dream. A dream and nothing more, he said to
himself in a tired voice. It was no doubt that his body was still
trying to recover its strength. Despite all, he seemed to be well
used to this kind of nighttime experience. Brasas! My friend,
come, come here boy! It is over! The nightmare is finally over.

His words still sounded tired. Immediately, his dog changed his
expression of fear for one of absolute devotion toward his master.
Hastily, Brasas took his huge mass of fur and muscle right to the
edge of the modest cot where Diego was laying down. Only you
are the witness to my dreams, my dear Brasas, he said as he ran
his fingers over his dogs noble square head. Dear friend, if you
would know what happens in any of these dreams, I know that
you would do anything, even giving your own life to save mine,
right Brasas? I know you would, my friend, I know you would!
All Spanish mastiffs have an incredibly sad face, and this one was
no exception. However, Brasas had something very special and
unique; perhaps it was a reflection of self-awareness, maybe even
a glimpse of an almost human soul. For Diego, this animal meant
much more than just a pet. Brasas was a real friend, a confident,
and even more; he was a brother.
Come on Brasas! Do not look at me like I am crazy, he tried to
smile as his two hands kept holding the mastiffs head, delighted
by squeezing his big velvet dog ears. Brasas adored that game of
raw caresses, and he usually responded to Diego with something
resembling a human smile. I know you are worried about what's

going on in my head. I swear! I am also scared, however, I cant

help wondering: why? Why do I have to dream that same
nightmare over and over again? Why? Once again, he gave
another sigh interrupting his confession, while his black long hair
fell over his face. If I could stay inside this dream a little more,
just a little bit more! Maybe I could find some answers, at least a
clue, or something to help me to understand this madness. My
dear Brasas, maybe I'm really going crazy, Diego paused. Yes!
That's it! I must be going crazy! Brasas kept staring at him, as
Diego screamed all his frustration out of his chest, directly to the
ceiling. I'm going crazy! Crazy!
Suddenly, the silence embraced him, shutting his mouth one more
time. It was the same silence and the same uncertainty of not
knowing how long he would be forced to experience that same
nightmare all over again. It was clear that he would have to face
those same demons again the very next night. Despite all odds,
and deep down, he knew better than anyone else that he could not
give up. The answer he was looking for was beyond the end of his
dreams; beyond the deadly blow he received every night, beyond
his own death.

But, how he would be able to find answers if he was stopped by

his own death every single time? Again and again, that scene was
the same. The feelings that raced through his chest were also the
same. It was as if he could not control at all that macabre
representation of his own hell. Again and again, he was forced to
witness that black beast swallowing his forest; even more, he was
forced to witness his worst enemy murdering him at the end. How
to remain in that dream a little more if he could not control the
threads that wove his nightmares? How then?
Two thuds were heard. Immediately, Brasas ran to the other end
of the room. It was obvious that he knew the author of that noise,
and the frantic and jovial movement of his tail said that he knew
the person waiting on the other side of the door was also a friend.
The door was opened, creaking like it was alive. Behind it, a
slightly overweight man entered the room without a hurry,
accompanied by a small oil lamp. Soon, the dim light coming
from the little iron burner spread a modest warm light around the
room. The room was a small shelter with gray walls completely
covered by sketches scattered in all directions. Slowly, the light
began to reveal the drawings made with charcoal, representing

human figures reflected in the most unusual postures. The

drawing strokes were very rough, but certain. At first glance, it
seemed that the paper had been attacked by the artist, and the
charcoal was used more like a dagger than a brush. In any case,
the drawings were brilliant, revealing a special talent, a talent
more intuitive than polite, vibrant and mature at the same time
a privileged mixture between wisdom and a nave passion.
Those drawings were crowded by faces that lived in deep
shadows and reflected an almost supernatural radiance. They
seemed to be ready to speak, or at least, wanting to come to life
only to escape from the paper. Those forms were living and dying
trapped in their two-dimensional universe. It was like an insult to
life, and yet, it was at the same time, a challenge to death.
On the opposite side of the room, there was a small table with a
gnawed piece of bread and a little cheese resting on a clay plate,
while something like red wine was left inside a sienna colored
jug. A few inches further away, two unlit candles and several
small pots containing different colored pigments, all waited their
turn as soldiers in a single line. Everything, absolutely everything,
seemed to be a battleground between the artist and the craftsman;

perhaps, this mess was just an attempt to make sense of the

masterpiece that was crying out loud its right to exist on that table.
Brushes with long and short bristles, dirty and clean rags, pieces
of coal and lime stone, all made their way throughout this existing
chaos; all warned of the duel between the man and the creator,
between the prophet and the crazy fool. Everything, absolutely
everything, was beautiful.
Diego watched the newcomer approaching him with the same
calm of the one who knows all the answers. His huge figure was
dressed in a very humble dark brown habit. Undoubtedly, it was
a piece of clothing worn during innumerable working hours under
the sun light. That was the unmistakable uniform of a Franciscan
monk. He, despite his already mentioned great height and girth,
had a rather friendly face. His light brown eyes looked straight
ahead with confidence. A frank and honest smile infused him with
some happiness and even beauty; along with a halo of gray hair
tinting his head a color reminiscent of a clean steel hue. His
eyebrows, thick beard and his round head, gave him an air of
wisdom and patience. This man possessed a beauty that came
from a noble soul, which had an exquisite scent which could

disguise any other physical odors, and make him clean, a friend,
even a father.
As a curious note, because of the brown of his clothes, his big
height and his heavy girth, this good man had earned the
nickname of Papa Bear. In fact, everyone in town knew him by
that name. It was beautiful to witness the way all the children in
town used to run to meet him, happily, all shouting his nickname
as soon as they saw him walking down the streets.
Papa Bear! Papa Bear!
However, this mountain of a man seemed to have eyes only for
his dear Diego. Papa Bear knew about his horrible nightmares.
Moreover, he had the custom of visiting Diegos room every
night, knowing that he would be awakened and cursing his bad
luck. Once Diego saw his friend next to him, he tried to force a
smile, however this futile intent only turned into tears. It was then
that Papa Bear broke the silence by saying with a strong
Andalusian accent, Calm down my son! Come on, change that
long face. I know you have had the same nightmare again, but
come on! It is just a dream, a dream and nothing more. Come on,
boy, lift those eyes and give to this old Franciscan a smile, as

before; do you remember? Although his voice sounded a bit

worn and rough, to the ears of this tormented artist, this was
simply the voice that his soul needed to hear.
But who was Papa Bear?
His name was Apostlico de las Ceras, and he was the Friar of
this small Franciscan congregation of a few good men with the
mission of helping the poor and needy in a fervent city called
Arequipa. All the Franciscans, including Diego, used to call him
simply Cerasa short and simple name for such a great and good
manhowever, he kept deep inside himself a dark past immersed
in war and death. It was a past where he was a young soldier,
covered in blood and dishonor. Maybe, this was the reason why
he joined the Franciscans, and the reason why he served God so
fervently. Maybe, this was his way of exorcising his own sins,
and at the same time, the only refuge to escape from his own
demons. In any regard, the kind of love this man felt for the young
painter more closely resembled that of a father than a Good
Samaritan. In fact, Ceras found Diego when he was just a
newborn, laying on the shore of a river called Chili, right on the
outskirts of this city of Arequipa. This was a whimsical story,

which was told every Easter night, as if this tale was a reminder
of the miracle that brought together the lives of these two
peoplethe lives of the painter and the soldier. It was a story of
hope: an abandoned newborn, left to his own fate in the middle of
the night, and the tormented apprentice of a monk, whose life was
one of bad memories and past battles. That night, both saved each
other; both found themselves in need of a hero and a purpose. This
miracle used to inject hope and faith in the hearts of all the monks,
while they shared the bread and the frugal broth that used to feed
them at night before bed. A night like this one, twenty-three years
ago, had changed their lives and made them both stronger. It was
hard to imagine, how the violent heart of a soldier had been healed
by the love of a child. Despite Ceras youth and inexperience, at
that time, he gladly accepted the mission that his own fate gave to
him that night. He would stop being the monk tormented by his
memories of war and death, becoming just Papa Bear. The young
monk had become the Friar of this congregation, and the infant
had grown into a man. Moreover, he was a gifted artist. Maybe it
was finally time for both of them to begin their final destination.

Papa Bear approached Diego and noticed his face was drenched
in sweat. Ceras looked at him fondly, as if trying to give him all
his strength in a single breath.
Diego! You are a strong man. I know that this will end soon; I
assure you, I know so. Abruptly, the painter stood up and stared
at the Friar's face. His deep black eyes revealed a very old pain,
an almost ancestral hopelessness as if this pain had come from a
long time ago. For a moment, Ceras could not recognize his
beloved Diego behind that gaze; it seemed that this pain was
coming since the beginning of time itself, even long before he was
born, even long before the world was created. Ceras asked
himself, what kind of dark force is trying to destroy Diegos
heart? Finally, the painter responded.
Ceras, Ive been dreaming the same nightmare for seven weeks.
I'm about to go crazy. I have lost the desire to sleep, and I cannot
even concentrate on my paintings. My whole life has become a
nightmare in just a few weeks. Ceras, when is this torture going
to end? Or is it
Ceras interrupted immediately. Or is it what? Diego could
manage to say no more. He simply began to walk aimlessly

throughout the room. Clearly, the painter was about to reach the
limit of his despair. Finally, his steps led him outside the window;
the show of a starry and cool night always used to calm him down.
He realized he needed to talk, and let all of his frustrations out;
after all, Ceras was more than a father, but also a guide and a
mentor.
Ceras, I cannot keep living with this uncertainty. I have to find
the answer, or at least the reason why I am having this dreams,
night after night. I think my only option is to get away for a while.
I need to leave these walls and your protection. Ceras looked sad.
I have to find a way to stay within this nightmare a little bit
longer. Maybe, the answer I am looking for lays beyond what has
been shown to me so far. Ceras said nothing, he only nodded his
head in approval. However, as a parent, he had to say something,
anything, even if his words were only nonsense.
I knew you would say something like this someday. Diego,
remember that the only source for answers is God. I'm sure he
knows why and whos the responsible for this heavy burden.
After all, he is the one who put you in my path. Diego, please, do
not lose your faith now. Never let the devil win this battle, never!

Diego pretended to be calm. It was no use alarming his beloved

mentor with any more troubles. He knew that despite all his
efforts, Ceras could not understand this nightmare, and its
meaning. This was entirely his problem, and no one elses.
Dear friend, for now I have to go far away; I just need to go to a
place I can be completely alone. I know that the answers to all my
questions will be found within my own soul.
So, are you going to the place I am thinking?
Yes, that's the only place I can think at this moment. Ceras, do
not worry about me. Something inside me is telling me that I must
do it alone. Otherwise, I am risking losing myself completely in
the shadows of my own fears. Dear friend, solitude and
meditation will be good for me, you'll see. Papa Bear did not
wait too long to react. He walked calmly toward the young artist,
only to take him into his arms and clasp him in a fathers embrace,
as a grizzly bear defending his cub from the impertinent world
and his ruthless reality. Then, his deep and loud voice was heard
once more, while Diegos face disappeared once again into the
arms of the Franciscan.

You batty boy! You are going to make me cry! Diego, you have
to trust in God, and you will see that everything is solved in less
time than you think; I want to see you again, running all over the
place full of life as before. Come, grant me a smile, the kind you
used to give me when you were a kid and you got in trouble,
remember? You jester! Diego raised his head, somewhat dazed.
Immediately, his eyes fixed on the face of his Papa Bear, just to
give him a smile from ear to eara fake smile, of course.
Yes, Ceras, I remember. You used to forgive all my tricks and
pranks. You always forgave me every time I smiled to you.
That is true, jester! I do remember very well who gave me the
nickname of Papa Bear. It was you, jester! Suddenly, their two
voices met in a single laugh. For a moment, all the frustration and
pain had been shot in the air and was bouncing off the walls in the
shape, or rather, in the sound of laughter.
Diego, The Lord knows that I dont have all the answers,
however, he has taught me the most important lesson of all.
Believe me, without this teaching, the world would be lost
forever.
Ceras, tell me, what is that lesson?

Faith, Diego. The same kind of faith that Christ feels for all
mankind. Because it is clear that he believes in us much more than
we do on him. His faith for us is infinite. So tell me son, if a holy
spirit as powerful as him has so much faith in us, who are we to

Diego interrupted, finishing the sentence, Who are we to lose our

faith? Yes! You're right, Papa Bear. Who am I to doubt Him, or
even more, to doubt myself?
Exactly. Please, Diego, never lose your faith in Him, since He
has all the answers. After all, when I was lost in my own doubts,
it was He who took me across the road to find you, and as you
know very well, my son, even though you've always thought that
I saved your life, it was you who saved mine. That is the most
important lesson that Christ has ever taught me. I owe Him and
you my whole life! Since I found you that night twenty-three
years ago, you are the one who has given meaning to my
existence. I believe that Christ was the architect for all this.
Diego said nothing. Was there anything else to say? He simply
turned his body to embrace his Papa Bear, feeling once again as
the child of his memories. Who knows? After all, only time would

have the last word. At least for now, Diego knew that he was not
alone in this world. He knew that Ceras and all his Franciscan
brothers loved him like a son, and they would be with him in
every step of the way. One more time, the painter tried to tighten
his embrace, holding his adoptive father with all his might,
perhaps with even more intensity than the fear he felt in his chest
for so many nights.
Finally, thanks to that warm and comforting gesture, Diego could
feel the wonderful gift of hope in his heart once again. Hope, a
feeling that seems to conquer anything, and yet, it does not give
us a solution; it only gives us a little more time, and with it,
perhaps the promise of an answer. Soon, Brasas too ran to meet
his master. This time, both father and son could not help but open
their arms to embrace their faithful furry friend, who, with his
canine ways, was reminding them that he was also part of this
tribe and would follow them faithfully until the end of his days.
Diego watched the two of them with a bit of melancholy. Despite
his personal hell, these two hearts were his only family. So,
unable to wait any longer, he smiled as before, as a child, as a son.

He embraced them with all his might, trying not to miss anything
from this warm feeling, and from this gift of hope.
Thank you, Papa Bear! Thank you, dear Brasas! Thank you both
so much!

"Hope is a breath of freedom to all the souls imprisoned in the

depths of fear."
Apostlico de las Ceras