“The indigenous Taino were ill-prepared for the arrival of Spanish settlers. There were not war-like people; they were welcoming and trusting. Many were eradicated and most survivors simply cowered before the advanced weaponry of the Conquistadors. A few brave warriors dared to defy the occupation, however.
Guarionex was a cacique, a trusted leader in his village of Magua when the settlers arrived in 1492. He led numerous rebellions against the Spanish who eventually captured him during a surprise night-time raid of his encampment. He was placed in chains and ushered onto a boat bound for Spain, where he was to be imprisoned.
“Here’s where the legend transcends the man, Detective. They say that Guarionex was locked in a cage for the journey and stashed in the bowels of the ship’s interior. While trapped here, he learned to communicate with the rodents who frequented his confines at night. A mutual bond and a common, unspoken language was formed, until they learned to work in tandem. He commanded the one dozen rats to cause havoc aboard the ship. This miniscule army tore through every container of rations, denying the crew food and drink. They chewed through vital knots in ropes, too quickly to be repaired, in a campaign of sabotage that would ultimately weaken the ship’s infrastructure and topple its sails.
“The boat would never make it to Spain, and its wreckage was never recovered. They say that Guarionex survived, that he ordered the surrounding sea life to free him from the sinking vessel, then carry him to the safety of a nearby uninhabited island. Here, he would achieve saint-like status to the Taino and live forever among the animals that he communicates with.”
Detective Amaral interjected and put a pause to the woman’s rambling tale. “What does this have to do with Providence now?”
“Why everything, of course,” she added with conviction. “The legend of Guarionex goes on to say that he lives on, and can be invoked at times of great need by those who conduct the proper ritual with the proper offering. You and I have met before, Detective. Have you figured out where?”
He thought the voice, laced with just a hint of a Dominican accent, had sounded faintly familiar. “You’re the widow of victim number one. I questioned you the night of his unfortunate…death.”
“That’s right. And have you deduced what I am trying to tell you?”
“You’re telling me that you summoned this ancient spirit. Is that it? You knew that your husband was coming home drunk, again, and he intended to beat you, again. In your desperation you performed a ritual which has now caused three deaths in my city. Do I have all of the facts, ma’am?”
“You have put the pieces together quite nicely, Detective.”
“You know, I should have you arrested.”
She stifled a giggle. “This is not meant as a confession. And you know well that any charges you’re envisioning against me will not stand up in court.”
“Then why call me? What do you want?”
“I simply wanted to share my secret with somebody who may understand.”
“There’s nothing about this that I understand. How do I stop him?”
“I have tried to reverse the spell, but where he sees opportunity and where evil exists, he will continue to strike.”
“So I just let him keep killing people?”
“He is drawn towards light and fire. Look for him there, but make no attempt to detain him. Simply refer to him by name and command him, in a strong tone, to return to his home.” With that, she hung up leaving Detective Amaral alone with the buzz of a dial tone.
* * *
It was a crisp November evening and the city was celebrating its final WaterFire of the season. Crowds were thick throughout downtown and the alluring aroma of crackling kindling pierced the night air. The Providence Police were out in full force and on high alert. Pairs of uniformed partners paced along paths and were posted at pivotal intersections. Even the Detectives were called in to log in overtime and stroll through the clusters of people while wearing plainclothes, looking for anything suspicious.
Amaral drifted through an assortment of jubilant faces illuminated by dancing flames that reflected off of the still waters of the Providence River. Haunting chamber music emanated from unseen speakers tucked beneath footbridges. He went unnoticed in jeans and a plain grey hoodie; a radio linked to central dispatch, and his service Glock, were tucked out of sight on his waistband.
To the casual observer, it certainly seemed like any other WaterFire, despite the heightened awareness and a city on edge. It was a cerebral and muted affair amid muffled chatter and ambient music. Food trucks and local artists pedaled their wares in intermittent bursts along the seemingly endless procession of pedestrians. The seasonal celebration drew masses from every corner of Rhode Island, from every socio-economic class, race and religion.
A handful of panhandlers were scattered throughout the crowd, seemingly unseen and largely ignored. Detective Amaral would zero in on one in particular. He was tall and skeleton-thin, but buried beneath layers of tattered clothing that didn’t seem of this era. He was crouched down low at the mouth of a footbridge near the Citizen’s Bank tower.
It seemed like the otherwise nondescript figure was chatting with a trio of baby bunnies, too young to even be away from their mother, and fresh from some nearby shrubs. Amaral sliced slowly through the sea of faces towards the man. It was as if he was whispering something into each of the rabbits’ ears, communicating somehow, while also listening to them collectively.
“Move,” Amaral ordered an embraced couple in his way then found himself just fifteen feet away from the mystery man shrouded in shadows, with no obstacle between them. “Guarionex!” He shouted the name with a sense of familiarity, as if they had met before.
The Taino manifestation looked up at the Detective, without fear or surprise, and for a while they simply held eye contact, as if each expected to see the other on this night. “It’s time to go back, Guarionex,” Amaral stated simply, just loud enough to be heard over the music. This was between them and no one else in the vicinity. “Your work here is done,” he continued confidently. “I will help protect the people of Providence going forward.”
The bronze-skinned, weathered face bearing strong indigenous features and straight dark hair nodded back at the Detective solemnly and briefly before turning to dart off into the enveloping darkness. He leapt into the adjacent water effortlessly and seemed to float away with ease. He wasn’t swimming, Amaral noted, but was ceremoniously carried away, it seemed, by unseen sea life along the current of the Providence River.
Photo by M.C.