Amamitepec,

12-Flint

Pam!

Pam!

Pam!

A sound I have grown to both hate and adore. But is all I have ever known. 

The time-consuming chore of amatl making, paper making. At least the repetitive process calms my racing thoughts. As if I am just a tool. Like the way one might cut wood or weave cloth. In any case, today was nothing special.

No, no. In any case, today was supposed to be nothing special. 

Pam!

Pam!

"Yolotl! Yolotl! Is it true you took down that buck alllll on your own?" The words of the younger ones amongst me cause my brow to furrow. 

"Focus on your pounding, Tlacoton." I tell the young girl, grabbing her rock in my calloused hand and thrusting it back onto the slab myself. Her eyes widened at me, and she quickly snatched up the rock and continued the motions. She was getting faster and smoother every day. Perhaps someday soon she would be able to finally finish before the sun sets for once.

"Ooo! Did you ask him, Tlaco? Did you?" a different child exclaimed, carrying a load of tree bark to the boiling pot in the center of the patio. After a rather loud and awkward splash, I heard the pattering of his bare feet on the ground as he came to stand over his friend's shoulder. 

It was a bit annoying.

"Will you two calm yourself and focus on your work?" Another apprentice, who had apparently heard all the noise, called.

"This is so boooooriiing though! Can't we talk and work at the same time, Xoco?"

Please don't. I silently told myself with a sigh, rubbing my face with an exasperated groan. This was supposed to be a quick run, in and out of town before my day was wasted. Now I had little brats chattering at me as I was leaving a workshop where children were still learning to make paper. If I had the choice, I would have chosen another of the dozens of workshops within town but my last customer on my list is rather...particular about his paper.

If he knew who made it, do you think he'd have a change of heart and take pity on me? Poton, the young boy was still standing over the girl, his hand reaching to turn her head. She stopped the rock for a brief moment, just so she wouldn't whack her own hand as her friend forced her to face him.

"Well?" The boy continued, impatient as he is curious. His dark eyes shined excitedly, awaiting her words.

"Fine. Yes, I did talk to him, and he confirmed that he took that beast on all by himself. " The young girl finally said with an irritated tone as she pushed her friend away from her so she could continue her work. 

I confirmed no such thing.

"What? Really? Can I see it, Yolotl? Where are you keeping it?" Poton pestered, not hesitating for a moment to come right into my space, eagerly tugging on my cape. I continued to beat the pulp, adding some more fibrous weeds as the bark is becoming too soft.

 "Come on. I know you had the blood drained. It's been a week! Can I see it yet?" 

As if a ploy, Tlacoton stopped her pounding yet again, those wide eyes staring up at me. If not for Poton mimicking her, I might have gone home right then and there. 

Those damn brats. Beady eyed and tiny. 

Like vultures.

"Too late. I already sold it off." I huffed out. That was only a half-truth. Most of my venison was given to my mother and friends but yes, I did sell a couple of strips off to people I know would not hoard them.

It's a shame meat is starting to get so scarce. With all the blood loss and predator damage, a stag like that one would have cost quite a bit of valuable obsidian or other supplies, but this hunt was surprisingly easy to shoot down. It only took two arrows this time! Though as good as the meat tastes, it does not feel worth it.

"Ehh? No way!! Then it's gotta be around here!" Poton exclaimed, glancing around the room. 

"Your uncle would never pass up a chance to hang fresh trophies!"

 Xoco, the apprentice and only one with a sense of responsibility in this household, sighed, watching as Poton left his bark in the pot to rifle through the reed chests lying around their home, Tlacoton copying him. We both shared a look of utter defeat. Why would the trophy be inside those chests? I literally just told them what happened to the damn deer.

She, at last, went to stir the stew of bark and ash, wiping at her face, wet with sweat.

"I'm sorry, Yolotzin, we're a bit behind today." She apologized with a guilty chuckle, causing me to pause and let the rhythmic pounding sound rest.

"You look stressed," I say. "You were one of the first ones done the other day. What gives?"

The girl huffed a sigh, resting her own arms as the smell of hot wood and ground bark stung the air around us.

"Master Caltecatzin has been..." She leaned in and covered her mouth before she continued her sentence.  "Sick. One of those illnesses running rampant down in the valley. Ever since he got back. Lady Mocel and the elder children have been busy taking care of him, so the work gets split between those remaining here with me and well..." 

No words needed. I get it. I grimaced, glancing at the open doorways leading into the yard where Poton was currently stomping on a basket and making a big racket and Tlacoton giggling as he was undoubtedly up to no good.

"But please," the apprentice continued, leaning further into my ear, "Don't tell a soul about it. Master would hate it if he knew people were gossiping."

I shrugged, giving her a disinterested glance before putting her at ease.

"Sure. I see no reason to spread around whatever nonsense." I responded, taking the long stick grasped in her skinny fingers and taking over the process of stirring the strips of bark within the large pot. I lazily nod my head towards the inside of their home.

"I'll keep an eye on your bark, go get what I need for my last run. Please."

Her shoulders relaxed, and that kind, relieved smile that got the old ones around her wrapped around her pinky finger, appeared on her round, rosy face.

"I'll be quick, Yolotzin." She said, scurrying past Poton and his newly made mess. I watched the young boy with amusement, glancing from the corner of my eye at the squabbling duo. Poton and Tlacoton, little creatures with missing teeth and bright smiles that I had a soft spot for.

Though, I would rather step in a dog's feces than admit it. Matter of fact, I hope nobody noticed that slight smile that dared tug at the corners of my lips as I watched them play. It might taint my image.

Joke.

They always had this bright joy in their eyes and an attitude of great wonder in them. I was like them once too, playing around in the dirt and muddling around in streams with frogs. Used to practice my sling skills on turkeys right infront of me yet missed by a wide range because I couldn't stop laughing. Then I'd chase them around because in my childlike mind they had made fun of me, with their gobbling and running in circles. I'd jump, stomp, scream, fall flat on my behind only to run right after them.

There were no worries, no responsibilities. Only a young, imaginative child.

And while they've yet to fully lose that, I feel as though those innocent eyes would never see me as they do now once they learn why I no longer chase turkey but deer instead. It was no longer a fun game, a test to see if I could be swift and accurate with my makeshift toy turned weapon. 

It was a necessity. A test of survival and perseverance.

Facing an animal much faster, taller, and bigger than a turkey is something these little brats should have no reason to ever comprehend. I sure as hell wish I had not experienced it. But mother's hands struggled to even grasp the cotton she spun, and weaving thread was a dreamy idea in her deteriorating state of health. 

I cannot quit yet. I can't fail now.

My gut dropped at the mere thought, that constant tight squeeze in the middle of my core twisting my insides up as though it were tying my organs together. I glanced at the two energetic youngsters with a sick feeling I hoped was not reflected on my face.

Once a few years pass, when that youthful imagination starts to fade and they are introduced to a world of cold reality, then those bright eyes may become empty like those of the adults around me. That innocence may become lost just like everything else.

I suddenly snapped to attention at a tap against my knee. Poton was staring up at me curiously. His frizzy hair and dirty face did not change the twinkle in his big black orbs that reminded me too much of someone else.

I had almost forgotten I was tending to the fire and stirring the stew. I finished mixing it with one more aggressive circular swish before prodding the contents with my stick and setting the long utensil to rest against the lip of the clay pot.

"What? What do you want?" I sighed, tying my headband tighter around my head, pulling at my long black hair, tied back into a low ponytail.

"Do you think I could do the same thing as you? Are you really really tough? My older brother says your father was a good hunter." He replied. The kid was bold, that much was clear to me.

‘Was.’ 

That word again. Was…I only hope he couldn't see the wince that crossed my expression when his words hit me. He didn't notice, not even a subtle glimmer in the corners of my eyes or the slightest grimace was present on me. I wiped at my temple with my wrist, where sweat from the steam in the air and heat of the coals under my tree bark stew collected. Tlacoton wrapped her stubby arms around my waist, pressing her chubby cheek against it curiously.

"How about me, Yolotl!" She paused her tiny mind running like a beehive to find the right words, with the cutest little concentrated expression.

"Yolo-tzin!" She finally spit out, looking up at me in pure admiration and excitement. Poton copied her expression and now I had two baby faces sticking their bottom lips out and beaming up at me.

What a pain. 

What a precious pain...

"I bet you both would be lucky to even catch a fly let alone shoot down an entire stag with a dozen arrows." I answer them both, scooping up Tlacoton by her armpits and flinging her towards her friend as she squirmed and complained. I ushered the two off with my foot and watched them giggle and kick each other around.

Now I didn't have to look into their faces. The sight of their cheer, the hopeful naivety and ignorant bliss. So precious yet utterly nauseating to view.

It would be ruined eventually, by the weight of life and its trials. There would be no turning back after that. Once you were introduced to it, all of those emotions would fade away, and you would become desensitized to the worst of life. But our life. We don't have the option.

We have no choice. To be human is to suffer. And in order to be happy you must suffer; one cannot exist without the other. 

Some crap like that.  It’s what the village elders always go on and on about. 

If a storm does not come, no new blossom will come after.

The stronger the winds, the fuller the fields become.

But they're just saying this to justify hardship. They don't know what the hell they're talking about. Though I'd be lying if I said I knew better.

Because the fact remains that they had a point. Pain begets happiness and you will forever suffer until you learn that and allow it to happen.

I do not wish for either of those little ones to deal with that harsh truth just yet. Maybe someday.

Not now.

"Ah, Yolotzin. Here you go. A bundle of plain amatl and a bundle of dyed cotton. Thank you for your business."

 Xoco had returned and took it upon herself to pass me the ordered supply of paper bundled in thick rope. She handed it to me with such a cheery smile on her round face and those curly dark bangs of hers framing her cheeks made it a difficult task for me to try and refuse her help. Not with a face like that.

"And thank you as well." I muttered as I gave in and heaved  the bag over my shoulder. My face still scrunched up and my nose flared, which seemed to bring Xoco joy. That was just how I am. A complete and utter asshole, unable to express my own gratitude in a normal manner.

If I can't get the message across in words or tone of voice then I may as well not bother speaking.

So, while I attempted to act and look grateful as much as possible, the young apprentice was also well aware of my grumpiness and discomfort with interactions. Xoco simply smiled softly, bidding me farewell as I stepped onto the street to continue with my runs, heading towards my final client.

It's a little disheartening, leaving their workshop with some of the little kids now noisily trying to follow me outside.

“Yolo-tzin! Have a safe trip!”

“Yes! Be careful, big brother! Take care!”

Ugh. Those snotty kids knew just how to make my heart race didn't they? I tossed my free hand over my shoulder and sent a half-ass wave their way. They wouldn't see me much today but they should understand my gestures.

It seemed to work, as they scampered back into the shop, having returned to the monotonous rhythmic sound of pulp being ground. Now then. Onto my last visit.

With a much more peaceful mind, my body kicked into gear. One step, two steps, then three, I made my way down the hill and to the north side of town, right by the stream. Where most people did their fishing, bathing and anything of the sort, or those with less luxurious ways of making a living. Like farmers or day laborers who cleaned the irrigation channels. 

What an odd choice for a nobleman to set up a retreat here of all places. So far from the plaza and marketplace. Though, I do suppose he could always send a servant to fetch whatever his heart desired. Or he could have some fool deliver it straight to him.

That's me. I'm the fool.