This tale begins in the
mountains near a big estate where the master lived. A little man walked toward the big house of the hacienda where he, being a serf or
pongo
, had to go to fulfill his duty. He was a little man with old clothes and a frail body. The lord, the hacienda’s owner, couldn’t keep from laughing as the pongo saluted him in the hallway.
“Are you a thing or a man?,” he asked in front of all the women and men in his service. Humiliated, the pongo didn’t answer. “At least you know how to wash pots; at least you can handle a broom. Here, carry this thing away!”
Kneeling, the pongo kissed the master’s hand and humbly went into the kitchen. The other servants laughed at the way he looked. But others felt compassion for him. “Orphan of orphans, son of the wind. That cold in his eyes must be from the moon. In his heart there is only sadness,” said the cook.
Maybe it was his expression of fear, maybe his poor clothing, or maybe it was because he was so quiet that the master felt that his man deserved a special form of scorn. In the evening, when the servants gathered to say the Ave Maria, the master would torment the pongo in front of them all.
“I think you are a dog. Bark!” he was told. “On your fours” he was ordered. And the pongo obeyed his master and walked, imitating a dog, as the master roared with laughter.
Thus, every day, the master humiliated the pongo in front of his fellow servants. Then one evening, at the time of the Ave Maria, when the hallways of the hacienda were filled with people, the pongo approached the master.
“Father. My master, my owner. I had a dream last night that I want to tell you about.” The master didn’t wish to hear of it.
“A dream,” he said. “Do the pongos dream?”
“Yes, my father,” answered the pongo.
“Then speak if you are able!”
“Last night,” began the pongo, “I dreamed that we died, both you and me, and we appeared before God in heaven.”
“Both of us? Together?” bellowed the master half-angered, half-curious.”
“Yes, my master. We both arrived together at the foot of God who stared at us, looking deeply into our souls. You, as a rich and wealthy man, faced him. Me, so humble and simple, looked downward, feeling little and worthless."
“Looking at you, God spoke, ‘Bring before me the grandest angel in heaven and tell him to bring a gold cup filled with honey.’ Immediately a great angel appeared and covered your body, head to toe, with honey.”
“That’s the way it should be! For me always the best! And what for you?” said the master.
“Master, when you were bright in the sky, shining like a star, God said, ‘Of all the angels in heaven, bring me the most ordinary, the one who is least important. And tell him to bring a barrel full of shit.”
“Then and there an angel appeared, an angel of no value, with no strength to keep his wings in place. This pitiful angel reached into the barrel and covered me, all over, with shit.”
“Ha!” laughed the master. “That’s the way it should be for a pongo, an orphan of orphans. That’s just what you deserve. Continue -- or does the dream end there?”
“No, my master. Then our great God looked at us. He looked at you and he looked at me for a very long time. And his eyes penetrated the skies with a power that can turn night into day. Then he spoke to us.”
“Everything that the angels could do for the both of you has been done. And now lick each other, slowly, for the centuries to come. Amen.”
At that moment the oldest angel became the youngest and God ordered him to insure that his will be done for the ages.
-- An Indian folk tale from the highlands of Bolivia and Peru. As told by Osvaldo Torres.
