The Hotel Bella Muerte: Sarah's Story Part 1

My mouth hung agape at the words Mary had just spoken. I didn’t know what to say, what to think. Could it really be that after all my digging and searching I had found her, Sarah, just like that? Was it really so simple? I froze in place, saying nothing for a few moments. We both stood there for what seemed like an eternity as we stared at each other with bewildered and questioning glances. Mary, or should I say Sarah, took a deep inhale in and a slow, long exhale out as she passed me by through the entryway of her home. I watched her the whole time, not daring to say a word, and followed after her immediately lest she disappear on me like a ghost. She walked to her kitchen and began to quietly and absentmindedly make a pot of coffee.

“Would you like a cup?” She asked gesturing for me to sit at her kitchen table as she pulled two cups from the cupboard.

“I think I had better, I have a feeling this’ll be a long night.” I answered her as I moved out from under the archway to the table seat nearest to the window.

After making two cups of coffee, she herself sat down across from me, and we began to silently drink from our mugs. It gave me the opportunity to look around at her house. It was beautiful, small and very homely, perfectly comfortable and warm. You could see many decorative trinkets, a few kachina dolls, and the like sitting on shelves, small tables, and countertops. It must have taken her a number of years to collect them all and it spoke to not only her heritage but to the love of her tribe, culture, and people. I went to take another sip of my coffee when she broke the silence and began to speak. It seemed as though she was struggling to find the proper words or place to start. After about forty years removed from having lived at the residential school, I imagined it would be hard to pick a starting point of one of your life’s darkest moments. I merely sat as she fumbled over her words, trying to find footing and make sense, as tears began to form in her eyes. I slowly reached a reassuring hand across the table and placed it on hers, giving it a firm squeeze. She stopped speaking immediately and simply broke down into tears that had been long suppressed. After a few moments of just letting herself feel all of her emotions, she was able to collect herself and her thoughts. Then looking at me through reddened, puffy, eyes, she began to tell me her story, her truth.

She took in another deep, cleansing breath and started speaking, “I’m sorry for crying, it’s just……it’s been so long since I have had to revisit these events, not since I married my husband at the age of 31. I haven’t told another soul since and I’ve always pushed it far into the back of my mind, though not a day goes by that I don’t think of it. Time works in funny ways when it comes to wounds of the past. You think they are healed till someone pokes at them, then you find they aren’t.”

“No need to be sorry,. I can’t tell you I understand your pain, since it’s yours alone to bear, but I do understand this must be very painful for you. Take all the time you need and don’t worry if things get out of order or your thoughts are scattered. We have all the time in the world, when you are ready of course.” I told her as I patted the back of her hand and then drew mine back to my side of the table.

“Well……I suppose I should start at the beginning, at least what I consider the beginning to be.” Sarah started. It was early winter and quite cold already when I first came to that horrible place. I’m sure by now you know a good bit about it and how life was there, so I’ll spare you some of the smaller details. Everything was a blur, time seemed to both stand still and fly by at the time. I had been told by my mother that I was going away for school where I could learn many different things that she wouldn’t be able to teach me. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had taught myself to read, write, and do most normal everyday math. I loved to read, it was my escape from the reality of a disinterested parent and poor life. When I read I could go anywhere and be anything I wanted to be. I could never wait to get my hands on a new book, and I must have read and re-read the books I did have a hundred times! My mother said there would be many books I could read from at this school I would be going to. I was so excited. At the time my mother made it sound like this would be a wonderful school, and I would have many friends, and that the teachers were really nice. What she didn’t tell me was that I would never be coming home again, that I would never see her again, or even prepare me for how life would really be at this school. I believed everything she told me, and took it to be true, but I wasn’t ready for how hard life and living was about to become.

The school was harsh and cruel, and so were the nuns that ran it. They took our heritage, our culture, our beliefs, and our history away from us and scorned us greatly. They hurt us in ways that will never be repairable for generations, if ever. After entering the school and experiencing first hand all the abuse and deplorable living conditions, I quickly became depressed and tired of living. I quickly stopped sleeping much, slowly stopped eating, and soon after drinking. I didn’t want to live in a world that stripped me of myself. I kept mostly to myself and made no friends. I just…..wanted to stop living. I got very sick soon after, as did many of the others due to the unsanitary, cramped living conditions. I watched other girls die in beds next to me, because no one cared to help them. It was as if the people who ran the school made a silent pact to let the weak ones die. Many who died had sisters, cousins, or friends at the school. There was always crying in that place, at least until they realized or were shamed into the fact that their tears would do them no good. Sorrow turned into numbness, and numbness turned into indifference. Pretty soon many of the girls became like the nuns, harsh and uncaring. The other remaining girls were like me, shadows of who they used to be. There was no joy or laughter in that place. There was only a dark and restless cloud that hung over it all the time.

Despite being as sick as I and soon many of the other girls were, they forced us to continue our schooling until we were too weak to continue. At that point they left us in the dormitory beds to rot, not even bothering to separate the sick from the healthy. I spent many days wasting away from my illness and had resigned myself that this was how I was going to leave this earth. The others were dropping like flies around me and it seemed for a while like we would all perish……then one day something changed. A new nun had come to work at the school. It was Sister Matilda. I remember hearing her voice first. It was kind and gentle; not something I had heard in a long time. It seemed so out of place for that school. I had been falling in and out of consciousness due to the high fever I had and her voice called me back from that endless darkness I had been wandering in. She was by my bedside holding a cool cloth to my forehead, trying to bring down the fever, and speaking or humming in calming, hushed, and comforting tones. The damp cloth felt so soothing as did her voice. It reminded me of my grandmother, before she died and left me to the care of my mother, when I had been sick back home. I remembered overhearing one of the other nuns tell her to just leave me be, that I was too far gone to be saved, and that I would just die anyways. Sister Matilda only paused for a moment, but then continued on anyway. She never left, going from girl to girl like a bee from flower to flower, nursing us all back to health. Thanks to her support, caring kindness, and help I slowly began to get better and even began to heal. Without her I would have surely died.”

Sarah paused a moment to take her first sip from her now cold cup of coffee, then a slow smile began to build on her face. “It’s funny, how one small act of kindness, a lending hand, and a touch of humanity in an otherwise monochrome world can make all the difference and even bring a little color back to your life. I distinctly remember the day I decided to live again. It was mid spring and by that time and I felt as if I had been reborn with the rest of the world. Sister Matilda and I spent the afternoons together reading various books and stories outside in the warm sun. It was our special time, just me and her, and I greatly appreciated it. We saw the new bus arrive with the schools newest victims, one girl looking particularly depressed and scared. It was right then I knew what my purpose was and chose to become a survivor. I knew why I had been given a second chance at life. I chose to live, not for myself, but for others like that girl who had just come off that bus. I never wanted other girls who came to that awful place to ever feel the level of despair or loneliness I had. So, from that day forward, I made a promise to myself to always be kind, gentle and caring towards others in an otherwise hateful and spiteful atmosphere. Soon the other girls noticed a change in me, as did the nuns and caretakers. All the girls came to love me and the people who worked there came to as well……well I shouldn’t say love……more like they tolerated me with respect rather than abhorrence. There were many times I faltered over the years, and some days I wanted to give up, but no matter how bad a day I’d had or how hard things got, I never gave up or gave in. I always tried to persevere through it all. Then one summer several years after I first got there, everything changed.”

I watched as a warm, dreamy smile spread across her face. Her eyes instantly lit up and an old spark grew within them. She sat forward a little in her seat and looked as if she was somewhere far, far away from where we were currently sitting at her kitchen table. I didn’t know how the story would unfold next, but however it turned out; I knew this at least was a part of the story that held happy memories for her. I finished the remaining coffee in my cup and readied myself for the next part of the story.

“That summer was a hot one, but beautiful. The days were long and Sister Matilda recommended I be put on the cleaning crew for the school. It gave me an outlet and I enjoyed making dirty, old things like new. At first, myself and some other girls that were chosen, only cleaned up the girls school, but after a while we wound up being sent over to clean the boy’s school as well since we did such a good job. It was a nice change of pace and the boy’s school was larger and held a bigger library than the girl’s school. I was told by the head priest of the boy’s school that as long as I did a good job and it didn’t interfere with my work, I could borrow any book I would like. We had a set schedule and we had to adhere to it but there was a little wiggle room.

I remember one day I was cleaning the church hall by myself when a boy, about my age, came in. He looked heavily depressed and anxious, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was being pushed towards the edge. It was a sight I had seen before and had come to recognize. It was a look of hopelessness and despair. He walked to the front of the church, past the pews, and knelt down to pray. I didn’t want to disturb him so I continued my duties as quietly as I possibly could so as not to be heard. He prayed for a long time, never opening his eyes or moving. After what seemed like ages he finally finished, rose, and began to turn around to leave the church when he noticed me for the first time, and our eyes met. It was only for a moment, but the utter sadness and worry etched on his face was immense; it made him seem much older than he should have been. I felt so sorry for him and whatever he must have been going through. I knew all too well that in the hardest of times all it took to help make someone’s day a little better and easier was a smile and a kind word. As he looked at me I gave him the warmest, most understanding smile I could and told him that whatever he had prayed for, I hoped it would come true. His eyes narrowed for a moment as if he didn’t comprehend my words, but quickly they gave way to surprised gratitude. I could tell it had been a long time since he had heard any words with genuine kindness in them. Then, without saying a word he simply nodded in my direction and looked away quickly as a deep, rosy blush began to creep on his face, and he headed out of the door at a brisk pace.

This continued on for several weeks. He would come in at the same time I was cleaning to pray. But each time he came in, he would sneak glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. The glances turned to long stares, the stares turned to quick, quiet hellos, the hellos to short conversations, and then before I knew it, we were talking openly. He took a minute to open up, but when he did at last, he would speak at length about many different things.

Over the weeks we began to become close rather fast. He was so smart and kind, despite being worn down by that school. He always took the time to compliment me, talked to me about the things that mattered, and spent time helping me with my tasks so that we had longer to sit and talk. It made me feel special, like I was wanted and like I mattered. I could tell, even though no one had paid me that kind of attention before that he had a crush on me and I soaked it up like a sponge. He was very handsome, sweet, funny, intelligent and he even had a little bit of a defiant streak in him. So before I knew it, I came to fall for him quickly. We told each other everything and shared many laughs and good times in an otherwise dull and dreary world. He was a light in my life and he will always remain one of the brightest.

Time went on and we spent all the time we could together in that church hall. He was my first love, first kiss, first everything, and I loved him all the more for it. We always met in secret, but the problem with secrets is they don’t always stay that way. Soon others noticed our closeness and the time we spent together, one of them being the head priest of the school. He was a strict man, but seemingly kind. Not everything was as it seemed though. Behind closed doors, out of the way of prying eyes, he was an evil man. He took delight in the pain of others for his own gratification. He took my pain for his own gratification.”

At this point in the conversation, Sarah began to shift uneasily in her seat, trying to get away from the memories of the past. She paused for long while, trying to think of how to proceed, but the words she was looking for wouldn’t come. So we sat in an impregnated silence for what seemed like an age. I didn’t want to push, so I waited until she became settled enough to continue. Tears began to form once more in her eyes, cascading down her full cheeks onto the table in one, small puddle. She didn’t even bother to wipe them away; it was as if she had froze in place, not to be bothered by the world around her. I wanted to reach out and touch her, to let her know everything would be alright, but something told me that in that moment it would be a bad idea. She suddenly continued, with tears still streaming down her face, and with a choked, cracking voice started the next part of the story………