The Attempt by Natalie

The Attempt

by Natalie

Yatzil dug her face deep into her woven blanket. Tears rolled down her face that were filled with sadness and depression. The young girl rubbed her eyes trying to hold back more of the tears that had stained her cheeks. Yatzil looked out her window down at the small town bellow. There were pyramids, people walking around the streets, and then she saw a place that just made her want to cry again. The temples. Not just an ordinary temple, the temple were they sacrificed people. Yatzil wondered if she would ever get used to this new life. Yatzil did not like this new town that her father and mother her brought her to; she had no friends, she was tired of just being taught to take care of the house, and worst of all her father was going to get sacrificed. Yatzil sighed and decided she could not really do much about this problem.

Even though Yatzil’s mother was in distress as well she did not show this; instead she drained the sad thoughts with happy thoughts. “Hello dearling! Go out and play on this beautiful day. It’s sunny, and you could find some new friends,” Malinalli exclaimed. Malinalli was well known throughout the village. Malinalli was a weaver, but was also Yatzil’s mother. Malinalli wove many blankets, cloths, and other things. Yatzil looked up at her mother who had beautiful deep black silky hair, and smooth fair skin.Then she looked back at the ground.

“I think I’ll just take a walk,” Yatzil mumbled. Yatzil thought her mother already knew that she would never be a friend to anyone.

“Could you please go get me some things from the market,” her mother exclaimed. Little Yatzil nodded, and gathered up some things to use for trading with. As she walked out of the small house she looked at the busy town. It was odd. Everybody was running around trading things, and talking. It was so small yet it seemed so big. The young girl walked along the street through the buzzing people. All of them seemed to know each other and be friends, and they all seemed so happy. Yatzil went up to the first stand she saw. “Here,” Yatzil said handing the man a hand woven blanket, “ I’ll do 2 stalks of corn.” The man looked the blanket over and smiled.

“Eh little girl. I have plenty of ye’ mom’s weavings! What else ye’ have in the basket?” said the man who fingered the blanket. Yatzil showed him the basket of things. The man picked up a small pot out of the basket, and handed the young girl the stalks of corn. Yatzil had learned many trading tricks from her father, and from what she could tell this was a good trade. Yatzil replaced the spot from the pot and put the corn. She couldn’t wait until her mother would make her homemade corn tortillas filled with beans. Next she went to get the beans and get more thread so her mother could make more weavings.

By the time Yatzil had returned home she had forgotten about her father who was going to get sacrificed on one of the temples. “Thank you, my darling Yatzil,” her mother exclaimed in her soft sweet voice when Yatzil handed the beans, corn, and thread. Yatzil smiled and nodded. After that Yatzil went and sat by the door of the house to carve in the dirt. Yatzil loved to make up stories by drawing pictures.

“What are you doing,” a young voice inquiried. Yatzil looked up from her drawings.

“Drawing a story,” Yatzil replied quietly to the girl. The girl was about Yatzil’s age, and had beautiful eyes with long braided hair that was a deep brown.

“Cool! Can I help? I could write some hieroglyphs, and you could draw!” the excited girl said.

“I don’t know what hieroglyphs are,” Yatiz said.

“There a type of writing! I could teach you some symbols, there’s over 200 of them!” replied the girl eagerly.

Soon after Yatzil started to draw and make creations with the girl (who she found her name was Citlali) the girl asked, “ you seem sad. What’s wrong?”

“You promise not to tell anyone?” Yatzil questioned as the girl nodded. “ Well you see… my father… is going to get sacrificed.” Yatzil choked back the tears burning in her eyes. Citlali looked at her for a second.

“I can fix that with a plan!” Citlali told Yatzil.

“What do you mean?”

“ I’ll show you,” the girl said as she smiled. “ You see we’ll dress up as boys and go to the tower. Then we’ll write a note from the emperor saying something about not sacrificing your father.”

Yatzil and Citlali quickly and swiftly ran into the small house Yatzil had been raised in. Yatzil showed Citlali a room were they kept things to trade with. “We could use this,” exclaimed Citlali as she picked up two matching pieces of clothing. They were woven by Yatzil’s mother. They looked like tunics. They had small belts around the waist.

“Perfect,” Yatzil said.

“Next is our hair!” Citlali cried. Together the girls started wrapping their hair up so it looked like a boys.

“You know this reminds me of a time I got my father out of becoming a prisoner. I broke him out of his chains, and brought him back home, then we moved here. He says I’m very sneaky,” Citlali said.

“What time is he supposed to get sacrificed?” asked Citlali.

“Soon! We must hurry to the temple!” Yatzil exclaimed nervously.

Finally the two young girls reached the temple Yatzil cringed when she saw her father being led out from a hall and onto the top of the temple. Yatzil’s father was in chains, and his face was pale. “Write the letter now,” Yatzil said to Citlali. Citlali looked at the paper.

“What do I write?” Citlali asked.

Yatzil gave a pained look toward Citlali and then said, “ Just say that Kaabil is a good man and he shouldn’t be sacrificed, or something like that.” Citlali’s hand swiftly ran along the paper. Finally Citlali handed Yatzil the paper. The two girls tied the paper up with a string and Yatzil grasped it in her hand. Her face was red, and her eyes looked scared. She then went up the man who pushed her father down onto a platform. Yatzil almost screamed, but held it back and said, “ Sir wait...um a note. From the emperor,” Yatzil yelled as she quickly ran up the steps of the temple. The man snatched the paper up. His face grew stern and looked at Yatzil inquisitively.

“ I don’t know if this is a true note from the emperor,” said the man with a stirn voice.

“ Oh yes sir it is!” Yatzil replied franticly.

“If this were true the emperor would have come himself,” the men replied. “Anyways, this man will have to wait here for the man who brings the spear.” Yatzil looked terrified, and nodded slowly. She couldn’t do anything about her father, nothing!

Then Yatzil cried, “ Citlali, I’m going home!” Yatzil ran and ran. On her way home tears fell from her deep brown eyes. People looked at her, but she didn’t care. She cared about her father. Soon Yatzil arrived home in tears. Yatzil sat at the edge of the door of her house and yelled, “ It’s just not fair!” She then pushed her face into her hands and sobbed.

When Yatzil stopped crying she opened the door to her house. Her mother was flipping corn tortillas, and her face was downcast. “ Oh hello my little Yatzil,” Mother said a little surprised. Then Yatzil started into tears again. Her tears flowed down her face like waterfalls. She looked at her mother with her costume still on.

“I… I… thought I could-,” Yatzil stuttered.

“Yatzil dear. I know what happend. Calm down get your regular clothes on and I’ll talk to you,” Mother said in her sweet voice.

After Yatzil had changed she came down back to her mother.

“Darling, the entire idea that your father is no longer going to be living with me is very sad, but I think about it this way; even if we can’t see your father we will always be with him,” spoke Yatzil’s mother softly. Yatzil nodded with tears still dropping from her eyes with sadness. Right then the door of the house burst open. A man stepped in the door with deep black hair and dark eyes; the man had a relieved expression on his face.

“Dad!” Yatzil cried out as she ran to embrace her father. For several minutes father and daughter embraced in love.

“How did you escape?” Yatzil asked.

“Citlali helped me,” the father said as he looked down at his daughter. That was when Yatzil dug her face back into her father's arms and once again tears fell from her eyes; though these tears were not tears of sadness they were tears of joy.