Long ago, in the 1400's, Chuleta, as a slave, was purchased by one of the richest captains in history.  The captain had stopped in with his mates to take a rest and visit the local brothel, since it had been so long since they had seen a woman.  Chuleta was the slave of a very wealthy councilman.  The councilman had long grown tired of Chuleta as the poor behavior, disobeyed orders and signs of aggression was enough already.  The councilman spotted the well dressed captain, stumbling out of the brothel with his mates.  He approached the captain, with Chuleta at his side, and made an offer.  He knew he wanted to be rid of the slave, yet knew he could make a pretty penny.  The drunken captain looked Chuleta up and down through slitted eyes, and agreed.  He liked what he saw, and knew he could use a slave like this on his ship.  He paid off the councilman and ordered a couple of his mates to escort Chuleta back to the ship.  As they walked, the councilman skipped and whistled down through the village square.  That sound echoed in Chuleta’s head.  How could the councilman give up his slave after all the work that had been done?  However, the councilman did not know how lucky he was to be rid of Chuleta.  Why was Chuleta alone you wonder?  Because Chuleta’s family was killed off, one by one.  You wonder who killed them?  I think you can come to that conclusion yourself.

A month went by on the captain’s ship.  One evening, they were out at sea, and they saw a storm brewing off in the distance.  The captain ordered the crew to turn the sail, get prepared for the storm that was soon going to hit.  They could do nothing but prepare themselves for the blow.  One of the sailors approached the captain in anger.  “Captain, Chuleta does nothing!  What kind of slave is that?  Chuleta is sitting down in the cabin with head in hands!”  The captain ordered the sailor to continue his business, and proceeded to go down to the cabin to confront the disobedient slave.  The captain himself was tired of Chuleta’s actions, and aggression.  He just could not get control and was tired of it.

However, as he got down there, Chuleta was no where to be found.  As he turned to leave, he heard a horrendous scream, then another a second later.  He turned to the wall that held his precious sword his grandfather had left him.  It was missing.  The captain hurried up the cabin stairs, and as he got to the deck, he saw a bloodbath.  All of his mates were slaughtered, blood spilling over the deck.  At the head of the ship, Chuleta stood, looking into the storm that was approaching.  “Chuleta, stop.  What is it that you have done?  How could you be so selfish?!”  Chuleta turned, and before anyone could take a breath, Chuleta threw the sword with fury, and watched as it pinned the Captain to the ship deck by his throat.  Chuleta was free, but alone on a ship that was about to be torn to bits by an angry storm.  All that could be done was to huddle on the deck of the ship and hold onto a secure rope.  Little did Chuleta know that someone survived and had huddled into the food pantry down below the ship, bleeding, but alive.  That was my ancestor, and yours too my children.

The storm turned the ship inside out that night.  Chuleta fought for life, as well as our ancestor did.  By morning, the ship was in pieces, they had hung on for dear life on the planks and small pieces of wood.  Our ancestor lay there, weak and hurt, knowing the bodies of his mates lay below him now.  He watched as Chuleta came to, and make way to a nearby island.  Our ancestor followed, being sure to be very quiet to not get attention.

Chuleta landed on the island, exhausted.  The island projected wonderful aromas, there must be people here, and food nearby.  There was also chanting, a strange chanting that they had never heard before.  Chuleta ran towards the chanting, excited to begin a new life.  Our ancestor looked on as Chuleta ran.  Exhausted as well, our ancestor laid down for a moment, catching his breath, examining his wounds.  As he looked over, he saw something.  A flag?  A tattered remnant of a flag.  Wait, he thought to himself.  It can’t be.  Was Christopher Columbus here?  Indeed, it was a flag of his.  But why is it torn up?  He thought to himself.  Just then, it clicked.  He recognized the chanting, the stories told from Christopher Columbus when he returned to Spain.  He remembered stopping for a rest with his mates and Captain.  He remembered Christopher speaking of inhumane people, eating each other, and roasting each other, with no remorse.  He learned he was next on the menu.  He was able to gain his freedom by leaving them hogs, hens and a rooster in his place to last them as long as they needed.  He was lucky to be able to escape to tell the tale.

Our ancestor followed behind Chuleta, at a safe distance of course.  Chuleta walked straight into the village, not knowing the tale of the island.  The village people welcomed Chuleta, the kind of welcome never experienced before.  Chuleta knew that the death of the captain and the captain’s mates were for the best.  Chuleta drank with the village people and ate until falling asleep with a full stomach and a happy heart.  This went on for 2 weeks more.

Our ancestor, on the other hand, lived off the fruits of the forest surrounding the village, watching every day, depending on the survival tips the captain had taught them over the years.  He wondered why the people were so kind, knowing the stories of Christopher.  Perhaps the stories were false?  Our ancestor started to wonder.

Our ancestor was awoken by treacherous screams late one night.  He rubbed his eyes and saw the glow of a fire.  He peered through the trees and saw the village people dancing around a fire gleefully.  He looked to the left and saw Chuleta hanging from a spit, being carried over to the fire by the village people.  Chuleta had filled in a bit over the last few weeks, and looked very meaty.  Our ancestor looked on in horror as they placed the spit over the fire, Chuleta screaming like no human ever should.  Our ancestor watched as they roasted the live human feast, looking on while the village people chanted “CHULETA!  CHULETA!”  They basted him with pig’s blood.  Our ancestor knew at that moment, that they were tired of the hogs and hens Christopher had left them.  They wanted HUMAN meat.  Chuleta had walked right into their trap…And then no more, straight down to hell, roasting like a porkchop in the pit, until Lucifer himself pulled Chuleta out.  He saw the evil in Chuleta’s eyes, and knew that this was a good soldier to have on his side for the upcoming war.

As for our ancestor, you ask?  He escaped.  He quietly built a small raft out of the boards that floated ashore, while living off of the forest.  A few moons later, he was able to set sail on that small raft.  He was spotted by a charter ship, half dead.  A couple of days later, he was well enough to tell the story and they sailed home.  Once on land, he made himself at home, met a wonderful woman and made a family.  That’s how I sit here today, telling you this story.  It has been passed down through each generation, and now you all will be able to pass it along to your children, and your grandchildren.  And so this story will live on forever.