The Knight´s Legacy

Nahuelkir

Nahuelkir was guiding the heavy cart with a sleepy expression. In the previous two days they had hardly rested on their long journey to the farm that belonged to Tomás. This was actually a piece of land of five square miles that the National Government had given him five years ago for his involvement in the expedition of the Riflemen of Chubut. The same Nahuelkir had obtained a piece of adjacent land, and both young people joined their efforts in order to raise sheep in that limited extension. They were now returning from the uncertain border with Chile, where they had gone to acquire tools for working wood, as well as nails, with the aim of raising some precarious constructions from the beech and ñires of forests neighboring to their properties, taking advantage of the approaching summer before the long Patagonian winter snow covered the steppe.

Nahuelkir stretched and tried to regain full control of his senses, because he was about to wade the river and realized that its level was higher and its speed was much faster than a week before when they had crossed it in the opposite direction. He confirmed that beside him  Tomás was slept, and decided not to wake him at that moment. The two old horses entered snarling the very cold water, which soon covered the front wheels of the cart up to more than half of their diameter. Tomás awoke with the jolts of the cart, turning over stones covered by water, increasingly larger as they approached the middle of the river.

“I do not like the way the level of waters is growing.” Said Tomás somewhat alarmed.

“Anyway it will give us time to reach the opposite shore.”Responded with feigned calm Nahuelkir whipping the horses.

Waters became increasingly more sparkling and small eddies appeared in the centre of the flow while the noise of fluid was increased by the minute. When they were arriving almost exactly to the center of the stream a great noise of broken wood came to their ears and the cart leaned dangerously toward the right side.

“We broke a wheel!” He exclaimed Nahuelkir, while trying to control the beasts that bulging, only could splash about in the foam.

“I will try to guide the horses.” Cried Tomás, overcoming with his voice background noise. He then jumped into the stream and moved towards the front part of the cart. Struggling with difficulties with the current, he took the flanges of the horses and began to pull towards the opposite shore, waiting for the beasts to unite their forces to hist. At that time a new deafening noise was heard as that produced by an explosion. Thomas looked back, but the cart was blocking his view of the upper course of the river. He looked at Nahuelkir and read the explanation on his lips, since he could not hear it.

“Flood.”

Indeed, one of the fearsome spring avenues of the Andean rivers took place at that time. A flood of water, logs and stones descended destroying everything that was in the flanged riverbed and impacted on the cart, turning it back and spinning it as a toy. Woods, luggage, men and animals were dragged out by the aquatic chaos. Nahuelkir was ejected from the boom of wagon and could barely grasp   a piece of wood with which he reached Tomás just at the moment that his head collided with a semi-submerged rock and lost knowledge. Nahuelkir clung strongly his friend and managed to tie a rope he was carrying in his hand around the inert body. Both youth were pushed a long distance, hurting their bodies with rocks of the river bottom. At times both were fully covered by the raging waters and there were moments when they could breathe and spit out the water they had swallowed. In the desperate situation, Nahuelkir believed having seen a shadow on the shore of which had departed, but the fleeting vision was also covered by the liquid. A box that carried the cart struck against his face that got covered with blood, and then he believed all was lost and was to surrender to their fate, unable to fight any longer. At that moment he felt a blow against his body and look at his chest, there he saw a rope that was already sliding into the water. He instinctively grabbed it forcefully before losing it and after a few seconds he realized that the rope was being driven toward the shore, and with it the bodies of Tomás and his own bound to the same rope. They were painstakingly brought to the coast, and soon their bodies rolled over the pebbles, which filled them with lacerations. Nahuelkir, semi unconscious state understood that they were saved against all odds. He lay face down on the shore and had no strength to move, but someone turned him up. He saw backlit a typically Indian face, and then lost consciousness.

Tomás woke up and realized he was lying on a sheep skin, completely naked and covered with sores. Nahuelkir was in silence beside him.

“What happened?” Asked Tomás still mired in lethargy; he tried to move but his body responded with pain; then he blinked, while something stirred in his mind. Suddenly recalling the ordeal he added “ How could we get out of the river?”

“This old man towed us with his mule and a rope made of horsehair and pony tails. It is a Mapuche Indian coming from Chile with his cargo of pine nuts.”

Tomás tried to sit up a bit but the pains of his wounds made him scream.

“Stay still. You must not move, we're going to take on a stretcher made with two logs and carried by mule.”

In that moment the Mapuche elderly approached and bent over the injured.

“We owe you our lives, I want to thank you.” Whispered Tomás.

“He cannot understand you. I could barely communicate with him.” Said Nahuelkir.

“Ask him his name.”

Nahuelkir did so, and then transmitted the answer to his friend.

“Llanquinao. Llanquinao is his name.”

Tomás lost consciousness again and could never see clearly the face of who had saved them, but his memory had recorded his name. In the harsh Patagonian environment men depend critically on the scarce aid that is available in those solitary places. A help or an affront are transmitted through generations.