Harpy and the Fer-de-lance

.... by D. Grant DeMan

A deluge preceding The Miracle of Sanyta Catalina Losos Ranchos summoned a flooding of the Paraná. For forty days iron clouds gripped the sky inviting an infestation of Fer-de-lance -- dreaded Barba Amarilla -- serpents to our valley. While most were not true Fer-de-lance, many people claimed them to be of that most ferocious yellow-chinned species from which one touch of fang venom insures immediate terrifying death.

Previously a dying whore had brought her daughter, Lupé, to the Convento de Sanyta Catalina where I have blessingly been cloistered since the revolution. Here she remained in a lamentable state though the sisters prayerfully tended her infirmities with remarkable zeal and affection. Daily we carried food to her cell where she lay wrapped in blankets - those soulful black eyes watching. Her tiny mouth not uttering even a whimper, as she took in the victual.

Then came the procession. After the rains we watched them descending the mountain as a snake stalks, inching down from El Raptor to the edge of the forest, on llamas, burros and mules, the one known as Ricardo the Magnificent high on his black Paso Fino stallion, El Diablo. Hallowed behind him, affixed to the saddle, one admired a curved woven vine and leather perch upon which ruled the mighty Celaeno, a Harpy eagle of the most awesome proportions, an entity from which storied legend has materialized, an animal rumored to be also a fearsome god.

Her eyes glowing from the viscera of Hell can burn holes in your soul, I've heard. One dare not look for fear of eternal damnation. But I, for one, do not give credence to that. The Padre at Santa Lucia del Monte, Father José told me as much: "These are foolish Godless superstitions, Maria. A bird is a bird. The Lord made flying creatures as he did you and me. But it is said that the Fer-de-lance is the devil incarnate, himself." He chuckled. Though I do believe the Padre, I chose to avert my eyes from those of Celaeno nevertheless.

A Sister of Maria Gracia Eternalé, of course, avoids staring in any situation, though I failed to turn aside from the approaching pageant, no matter the sin in that. The image of Señor Ricardo alone was indeed a most resplendent vision to behold. We were honored with his visit to the convent while Caeleno hunted black-feathered curassows nearby.

Later in the courtyard I became startled when a haunting shadow thundered across Lupé's tower window to a hurricane of echoing clicks, pealing like the harp chimes of Heaven as it departed. For some time I believed it a hallucination, as when I perceived the Angel of Death hovering over my declining father. Perhaps it was the Harpy, though I wondered about the business of a great bird within that place -- a puzzle I immediately relegated to Our Lord in prayer and meditation during vespers.

The following day I chose to deliver the meal and inquired, "I heard a disturbance here last evening, which gave rise to a concern for your safety, Lupé." She did not reply. I placed the bowl upon her table and left, but as the days passed I noticed she had gathered her blanket in a ball that she guarded with care.

Finally she spoke: "Sister Maria, one night I was awakened by an Angel who laid before me a large egg with instructions to protect it with warmth and devotion. Now you witness from that egg has hatched a bird for which I must also care, and in turn Podarge - for that is it's name - shall shield me from hurt, as my own Guardian Angel."

About to dissuade her, I said nothing, overwhelmed by her first words within the convent, and so continued to provide also for our guest, Podarge, who grew into a bold mountain corsair, returning with various prey.

The improvement in Lupé was miraculous. She soon joined us in service, prayer and devotion to the Stations of the Cross. She acquired a small stove, and one day I found her placing within boiling water a piece of curassow meat retrieved from within the head of the unfortunate bird, its remains littering the room. "I make from the head, the brain, a soup which shall sustain me," she whispered, "As instructed by Caelaeno, the mother of Podarge my Angel." Naturally I refused to believe in such talismáns, and told her so.

Suddenly on the afternoon of the fifth of November it happened. As Lupé crossed to enter the chapel a slithering rustled from the Pampas and seven feet of saffron-chinned Fer-de-lance reared and struck, the fangs, snapping like razors, tore into her tiny leg. So fast was it that the account now has many variations. Podarge clamped her talons like giant shears and, with a beak of blue steel, ripped the life from that coil of wickedness.

Immediately we secured our young ward in her room and prayed for her soul, as the venom meant sure death. There, before our eyes appeared a vision, bathed in dedicated warmth. Though few absolutely believe, we witnessed the wound fade as Lupé rose, gently placing her hands upon us. "Do not concern yourselves, Sisters, for no harm has befallen me. Praise the Lord, and Guardian Angel Podarge!"

Doctor Gomez, having found the girl of perfect health, said to me: "Perhaps there is anti-venom protection within the brain of a curassow. I shall write the authorities."

My heart tells me he shall find sparse evidence in that direction, for we surmise Heaven had intervened, yet know not through what process. After all it is written, "He performs his works in mysterious manner." Does it not? Perplexing though it is that an Angel of the Lord might don an eagle's garment, all things are possible through Him. Observe please that not one live Fer-de-lance has been seen since that time. You may observe the skin of the serpent in question, which resides under glass in our vestry.

Podarge now accompanies little Catrina who arrived with a withered arm and is brewing more healing curassow broth.

Lupé remained with us, her brilliance and demeanor prompting an opening of our fund chest and, with much aid from Senor Ricardo, she studies at Laval University in Quebec, Canada where she shall, God willing, one day become a physician for our people. Thus shall The Miracle of Sanyta Catalina Losos Ranchos be completely fulfilled.

Amen.

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