Me llamo Maichak. No disfruto ser vocero de temas escabrosos, pero sé que la trama en torno al indio Genaro, no es veraz. Si siguiera vivo, muchos querrían hacer lo que al santo —cuyo nombre escogieron los misioneros para no llamarlo por su nombre indígena— y gustosos lo decapitarían.

Es cierta la fama que se ganó, de perder los estribos cuando bebía. Esto sucedía cuando algún töponken (los que nacen vestidos, los criollos) empezaba a brindarle y casi a obligarlo a beber aguardiente, para divertirse a costillas suyas.

Entonces se tornaba grosero, agresivo; lo que producía risas en el bar. Pero en casa, terminaba en violencia doméstica, a pesar de que Kaponokok (su verdadero nombre), se había ganado el prestigio de buena persona y buen esposo.

El creciente consumo alcohólico en la comunidad y más criollos alentándolo, perjudicaron su reputación, Por eso, al acusarlo de matar a su esposa, Wampachi, y a su hijo, lo atribuyeron a un trance etílico y celebraron su muerte.

— ¡Si no bebes esta botella, fondo blanco, no eres macho y tu mujer va a terminar montándote cachos con un criollo!— era de las bromas lanzadas en el bar del caserío, cerca de Jengibral.

Bien sé que la fantasía del desalmado es de las peores fábricas de mentiras y causa de injusticias. Decidí contar esta historia, ante afirmaciones que, aunque creíbles, distan de la realidad.

La frase enunciada en el bar, antes que partiera el indio, quedó grabada en los presentes y asumieron que Genaro había encontrado a Wampachi en brazos extraños, pero la realidad era otra. Próximo a la choza, sintió ruido y decidido, cargó la escopeta. Se acercó y vio un tigre de gran tamaño abalanzarse sobre su mujer.

Genaro no podía dispararle por temor a darle a su mujer y lo hizo al aire. Ella, de muerte herida por el zarpazo, gritó que el animal vino por el niño. Antes que el tigre derrumbara una pared de la choza para huir y la luz del mechero se apagara, vieron cerrarse los ojos de la mujer.

En la oscuridad, con un solo cartucho en la escopeta y su machete, Genaro tomó al hijo rumbo a una nueva colonia de misioneros. Los rugidos de dos tigres —seguramente pareja— los acompañó en el recorrido.

El primer disparo disipó la borrachera y los sentidos del indio sabían dónde estaban las fieras, cada vez más cerca.

Presintiendo perder su presa, los animales atacaron y Genaro ordenó a su hijo, correr. Este oyó los gritos del padre, quien disparó y blandiendo el machete empezó a espantarlos, corriendo tras ellos. El niño, en shock, no pudo explicar en la misión, ni quien era ni qué pasó.

Cuando hallaron los cuerpos, ella en la casa y él en las cercanías, animales y selva habían hecho estragos y solo dio pie a especulaciones que pronto se tornaron versión oficial.

Años más tarde, en la misión, el niño salió de la conmoción y lo primero que recordó fue a su padre llamándolo: ¡Maichak!

My name is Maichak. I do not enjoy being a spokesman for lurid topics, but I know that the plot around the Indian Genaro is not true. If he were still alive, many would want to do the same to him as to the saint -whose name the missionaries chose so as not to call him by his indigenous name- and would gladly behead him.

It is certain the fame that he earned, of losing his temper when he drank. This happened when some töponken (those who were born dressed, the Creoles) began to toast him and almost forced him to drink aguardiente, to have fun at his expense.

Then he would become rude, aggressive; which produced laughter in the bar. But at home, it would end in domestic violence, even though Kaponokok (his real name) had earned the reputation of being a good person and a good husband.

Growing alcohol consumption in the community and more creoles encouraging him, damaged his reputation. So, when he was accused of killing his wife, Wampachi, and his son, they attributed it to an alcoholic trance and celebrated his death.

— "If you don't drink this bottle, white bottom, you are not macho and your wife is going to end up cheating on you with a Creole," was one of the jokes thrown at the bar of the farmhouse, near Jengibral.

I know well that the fantasy of the heartless is one of the worst factories of lies and cause of injustice. I decided to tell this story in the face of statements that, although credible, are far from reality.

The phrase uttered in the bar, before the Indian left, stuck in the minds of those present and they assumed that Genaro had found Wampachi in the arms of strangers, but the reality was different. Near the hut, he heard a noise and decided to load his shotgun. He approached and saw a large tiger pounce on his wife.

Genaro could not shoot it for fear of hitting his wife and shot it in the air. She, mortally wounded by the claw, screamed that the animal had come for the child. Before the tiger broke down a wall of the hut to escape and the light of the lighter went out, they saw the woman's eyes close.

In the darkness, with only one cartridge in the shotgun and his machete, Genaro took the son on his way to a new missionary colony. The roars of two tigers - probably a couple - accompanied them on the journey.

The first shot dissipated the drunkenness and the Indian's senses knew where the beasts were, getting closer and closer.

Sensing the loss of their prey, the animals attacked and Genaro ordered his son to run. He heard the screams of his father, who fired and, brandishing his machete, began to scare them away, running after them. The boy, in shock, could not explain to the mission who he was or what happened.

When the bodies were found, she in the house and he nearby, animals and jungle had wreaked havoc and only gave rise to speculation that soon became the official version.

Years later, at the mission, the boy came out of the shock and the first thing he remembered was his father calling him: Maichak!

Imagen principal || Main image

Vote la-colmena for witness
By @ylich