The fury of the volcano

In the long summer afternoons of Patagonia, there was room for everyone at Raine's house, there were fishermen friends, villagers, coworkers, family.

It was only essential to drink mate and not much else, if someone wanted to tell a story, well but also. Fried cakes, bills, a pudding or cake there was always, the visitors brought them as a courtesy or the hostess baked them to entertain those who came around her house.

The intrigues came and went, sometimes we did not know if it was a legend, a recently invented tale, hoax or a story with real bases. The point was to tell, as an undeclared competition, everyone wanted to stand out and no one asked if what was heard was what had happened. An implicit pact that no one broke, that way the magic never ended.

Jorge was a regular member of the group that I hardly knew, he always had something to say, he was a born storyteller, mischievous, jovial, irate. That afternoon he told a story that is remembered for a long time, I will try in the next few lines to be as faithful as possible to his story.

In the Andes mountain range, all the high mountains are inhabited by the spirit of some brave chieftain who has already passed away. If this chief was killed in battle, better and if he also went against the Spanish invader, he was already considered extremely powerful and worthy guardian of the heights. Such was the case of this spirit that inhabited a volcano.

For many years his rest was not interrupted by any mortal, he passed without mishap in a peaceful and quiet place until one day everything changed; A group of Huilliche warriors began to climb the mountain who had been hunting choiques, huemules and guanacos, the main sources of food and clothing for their tolderías and rucas.

Not suspecting that the spirit of the great chieftain did not like to be interrupted his rest and invaded his domain, the warriors climbed high up the slopes. His anger was such that he ordered the volcano to put aside its centuries-long rest and start spewing lava, rocks and burning ash, as if this were not enough, the earth shook and huge cracks opened that inevitably swallowed the hunters and the boiling lava. it inexorably descended towards the tolderías.

As soon as the council of the tribe of the misfortune occurred, they met to confer and consult with the machi, the priestess and healer whose opinion was respected by all. The advice was drastic as was the fury of the volcano and of her guardian, to calm her anger, a maiden had to be sacrificed, but not just anyone, she had to be the most beautiful, appreciated and loved by the tribe. The chieftain's blood ran cold, the only possible candidate was his beloved youngest daughter Ligray. They were to throw her alive into the huge crater of boiling lava that had opened on top of the mountain, only then would they save the tribe from her. Despite her enormous sorrow, the chief had to accept the sacrifice for the good of his people.

The one designated to carry the beautiful girl had to be the youngest and bravest warrior who had received the initiation ritual, attributes and weapons from him. Mulik, such the name of the young man on whom the choice fell, was secretly in love with the chief's daughter and his sorrow was immeasurable. However, he accepted the mission in the belief that he at least would be close to his beloved until the last moment.

Mulik took the girl in her arms and ascended the slope of the angry volcano to an area where the winds blew with great violence and intensity, the young woman stoically endured her fate and did not complain throughout the journey. As soon as the young man deposited his beloved on the ground, an enormous white condor whose eyes blazed with the same fire of the volcano took the princess between his claws and without stopping his flight and despite the desperate cry of Mulik that he watched in horror, he rose with her and threw it into the crater. Immediately huge white clouds like the dress of the young martyr covered the sky and despite the fact that it was summer, a dense and copious snow covered the peak of the mountain and put out the fire.

The sacrifice of the young woman and the resignation and impotence of her secret lover forever appeased the anger of the spirit of the guardian of the mountain, since then on that great volcano peace reigns and an eternal white cloak like the dress of the Huilliche princess crowns the crater.

After this came other stories, none like the one I just related. The long shadows of the tall poplars indicated that it was time to return, I greeted the crowd and promised to return soon for other stories.

On the return trip to Esquel I remembered the figure of the imposing Lanín volcano, I imagined the figure of him and how the eternal mantle of snow on his crown moves to the sound of the wind, just as Ligray's white dress would.

@hosgug