I’m Rodrigo Mendoza. Spanish. I used to be a slave trader, a murder and a Jesuits. The first time I arrived at the Upper Rio de la Plata Region, I was sitting on this tree , waiting for Guarani Indians to be caught by traps. Now, I am sitting on the same tree and recall my memory about this place, people who lived here and my own story about courage.
As I mentioned above, I involved in the slave trade. I murdered my own brother because he stole my lover’s heart when I was away from home. I was a person with sins, but I would rather suffer penance than confession. I carried my heavy weapons, armors, helmet all the way and tried to declare that I would never give in to my faults. However, the journey is not only the torture on body, but also the torture on my soul. When I slipped and fell to the foot of the waterfall, fear and horror that Indians experienced arose from my heart; when my feet was slashed my sharp stones, the pain that my brother underwent reappeared on my skin.
One night, I closed my eyes. Horror had already brought away my last drop of energy. Cuts on my body were sealed with scars. Stars were shining above my head, comfort me with God’s bless and mercy. When I arrived at the destination, a Guarani Indian put his knife beside my neck. I dropped to my kneels, waiting for the knife wiped my throat.
But it didn’t.