Resolution

My name is Chenoa Arrow, meaning White Dove in my language. It has been three years since my mother contracted measles. It was only days after she got sick that the mission’s leader urged Mam to get baptized. Within a couple of hours, she went from “mam” to “madre.” This is my madre’s story. The story of sickness, healers, and resolution. The resolution of Madre’s illness.

***

Two Fathers stood at our door, beckoning the children to come out of the room.

“I don’t want to go to school!” my younger brother, Alo, shouted. “My mother’s unwell!”

“We’ll get the healers,” soothed one of the Fathers. The other, a shorter one, slapped Alo’s cheek.

“Don’t talk back!” he hollered. Mam lay in bed. My stomach curled as I stared at her face, painted unnaturally with spots of red. Her hair was coated with sweat. I ducked behind the bed, inwardly refusing to go to school. I had to stay with Mam. “We’ll let that girl stay. She’s being difficult. ” spat the rude Father before ushering Alo and the others out the door.

Before long, a healer arrived. Her nametag read Maya, and her features suggested her Spanish heritage. She carried strange equipment. I was not okay with Mam being treated by a healer. We were used to our Yokut ways. Before being forced to move out of our home and into the mission, we were healed by Shamans, those who spoke to the Great Spirit.

Maya made a move to plug a thin tube into Mam’s nostrils. Instinctively, my foot reached up and knocked the tube to the ground. Maya gaped at me.

Back at the Yokut camp, I had carefully watched as the boys were taught how to fight and defend the women and girls of the tribe. My patience had been rewarded.

Swiftly, I pushed all of Maya’s tools on to the floor. My heart was beating. Maya called for the Fathers to ‘restrain’ me, as if I were a wild animal.

No, I was just a peaceful dove.

I heard the pounding footsteps of the Fathers racing towards me. Desperately, I grabbed a nearby cloth, soaked it with cold water, and lay it on Mam’s hot forehead. I stared at the equipment strewn across the floor as the fathers dragged me away. Later, they returned me to the room with a black eye.

“I can cure her,” Maya said sympathetically.

“W-what?” I sputtered. Maya smiled sadly.

“You were taken from your home, and now, your mother is frail and sick. It must be hard. I will cure her.” I nodded. I looked away as Maya injected Mam with a liquid. “Her symptoms and disease will be gone,” Maya promised. “I wish her the best.”

The healer left the room, her promise of the resolution of Madre’s sickness lingering in my mind.