The Spanish Galleon

My short Taino life

Karaya and Ni were known by their tribe as the Bimini Boys. They were twin brothers who were always challenging each other to feats of strength and endurance.

In another life hundreds of years ago I was Karaya. In the ancient and now forgotten Taino language, Karaya meant moon and Ni meant water. My twin brother and I were water and moon.

One day we were walking along the beach along the bay of our Caribbean island. To us, that island was the entire world and our entire world was surrounded by water.

As teenagers Ni and I were always competing with each other. We raced against each other to see who could run the fastest. We raced against each other to see who could climb a tree the fastest. We competed against each other to see who could catch the most fish. We competed to see who had the biggest muscles. We competed to see who could capture the attention of the most girls.

One day we were walking together along the beach of the island’s bay when we spotted a Spanish galleon sitting out in the bay. We had seen these ships before. They came from another world far beyond the horizon.

Ni and I had many swimming competitions. Often, we would swim out into the ocean as far as we could before turning back and swimming to the safety of our island. The one who swam the farthest out before turning back was the winner of the day. We both won the competition many times.

Seeing the Spanish galleon we looked at each other and no word needed to be spoken. As twins, we had our own silent language.

We both ran out into the water and began swimming towards the galleon. Who ever made it to the ship first was the winner. We had no fear of what awaited us on the ship.

We swam and swam and swam. Eventually, I slowed down to get bearings on my situation. My brother also stopped. Even though we had been swimming like crazy the Spanish galleon was just as far away as when we started. We both realized that the ship had proceeded to leave the bay and was now headed out to sea.

We both looked back at the shore of the island and it was dangerously far away; farther away than in any of our swimming competitions.

We could never catch up to the Spanish galleon. All we could do was swim back to shore and so we headed back in that direction.

But eventually all my strength left me. I could no longer swim. The last thing I saw before I surrendered to the water was my brother a good distance ahead of me. Surely he would make it back to shore.

I could no longer breathe air. My body collapsed. I could only breathe water. I sank.

My brother Ni walked the beach for several days waiting for me to return to shore but I never did. He kept looking up at the moon, beseeching it to return his twin. But neither the moon nor the water returned me to him.

That is, not for another twenty years. I was a young Spanish lad who signed on to a trans-Atlantic voyage across the mighty Atlantic ocean to the New World. We anchored in a bay of a beautiful island. We rowed to shore. We were told to slaughter all the native people so that we could claim the island for Spain.

I did as I was told. With my sword I killed numerous people. I did not realize it but I killed an older man who, in a previous life, had been my twin brother.

The moon and the water were reunited. And neither won.

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