Why does Manolin no longer fish with Santiago?

his parents have told him to fish with others

Which of the following never hung on Santiago's wall?

picture of Sacred heart of Jesus

Old Man and the Sea Day One

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

The old man and the sea

The Old Man and the Sea Study Guide

The Revolt of the Northern Earls (1569) Most people in the North remained loyal to the Catholic noble families who controlled the north and their Catholic faith. When Elizabeth came to power, she promoted ‘new men’ (Protestants) from the gentry and the powerful Catholic nobles lost their power and influence. This led them to organise the most serious rebellion of Elizabeth’s reign in 1569. Why did the Northern Earl’s revolt? The Earls had lost their power when Elizabeth became Queen (and wanted it back). They wanted Catholicism restored in England (and felt that ordinary Catholics would support it). Elizabeth was refusing to marry or to name an heir, causing uncertainty about England’s future. Mary Queen of Scots (if freed from prison) could replace Elizabeth and solve all these problems Who were the key players in the Revolt? Earl of Northumberland • A Catholic who had held an important position under Mary I. • He lost a lot of influence under Elizabeth (as she favoured Protestant gentry) • Elizabeth also took the rights to a valuable copper mine found on his lands Earl of Westmorland • From a rich Catholic family in the north Also the Duke of Norfolk’s brother in law Duke of Norfolk • England’s most senior Protestant noble, but he had very close links to old northern Catholic families, & was sympathetic to them & greedy for power. • He hated William Cecil & Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth’s favourite) who were Protestant and from the gentry • He planned to marry Mary QS, but later backed down and urged the earls to call off the rebellion. Mary also supported the plan to marry him What role did religion play? (7/10 – but only because it was linked to power) • Most northerners held onto their Catholic beliefs & although Elizabeth didn’t persecute them, they knew that she wanted their religion to gradually die out, so they supported the revolt. • In 1561 Elizabeth hired a strict Protestant as archbishop of Durham to promote Protestantism in the north, but he was unpopular & turned many northerners against the Protestant religion. What role did politics/power play? (9/10 – this was the most important cause of the revolt) • The Northern Earls lost a lot of their power/influence (even jobs/money under Elizabeth) • Northumberland was jealous of new Protestant families being given top jobs in the North • William Cecil & Robert Dudley were not from ancient noble families, but were very close to the Queen, so the northern Earls resented them getting top jobs in her Government • Elizabeth also confiscated large areas of land & the profits from their copper mines • It is possible, that had Elizabeth allowed the Catholic Northern Earls to keep their jobs, money and influence at court, they may have ‘tolerated’ her as a Protestant Queen (greedy/selfish). What role did Mary Queen of Scots and the Succession play? • Elizabeth was refusing to name an heir and it was becoming clear that she would not marry • If Mary Queen of Scots married the Duke of Norfolk, England would have an heir and England would be Catholic again. The country would be stable without people competing for power. • However, some of Elizabeth’s courtiers got worried that it might not work and that it might lead to charges of treason (punishable by death) • So by September 1569, Robert Dudley (Earl of Leicester) decided to tell Elizabeth about the plot. By this time it was much more serious than simply marrying Norfolk to Mary. • Mary QS had secretly asked Spain to send troops to help the rebellion & overthrow Elizabeth Plan for the Revolt of the Northern Earls (1569) • The Earls of Northumberland & Westmorland will raise rebel troops from their lands in the north and take control of Durham. • The rebels will then march south towards London to join with the Duke of Norfolk • 1000s of Spanish troops will land in England to support the rebel forces • The Duke of Norfolk & rebel forces will seize control of Government & overthrow Elizabeth • Mary Queen of Scots is to be freed, ready to marry the Duke of Norfolk Key Events of the Revolt • Once Elizabeth knew of the plot, Norfolk was arrested and sent to the Tower of London • The Northern Earls were worried they would be executed for their involvement and in a desperate attempt to avoid punishment, pushed ahead with the revolt • They raised an army of ordinary Catholics and took control of Durham cathedral • Catholic mass was celebrated across the north for 2 weeks. • They then headed south, to try and free Mary • Mary QSs was moved south to Coventry on the orders of Elizabeth, so she couldn’t escape • The rebellion failed as Spanish troops never arrived • Elizabeth’s friend (Earl of Sussex) had raised an army of 7,000 men to defend her throne. Results: • The rebellion was a serious threat to Elizabeth • She executed 450 rebels in the north • Northumberland was executed in 1572 & his head was put on a spike on the city gate • The Privy Council called for the Duke of Norfolk’s execution too, but Elizabeth released him. • Mary Queen of Scots was kept in prison for the next 14 years. • The failed plot also led the Pope to take action against Elizabeth • In 1570 he excommunicated Elizabeth from the Catholic Church • He also issued a Papal Bull (order) calling on all loyal Catholics to overthrow her hoping it would encourage another rebellion. • In 1571 Elizabeth called parliament to pass an Act making it treason to claim that she was not the rightful Queen and to bring in/print papal bulls in England. The Significance of the Revolt of the Northern Earls • It was the first and most serious rebellion by English Catholics against Elizabeth • Treason laws were made much harsher • It ended the influence of the powerful Catholic Earls in the North • It led to harsher treatment of Catholics, e.g. 1572 Elizabeth sent the Earl of Huntingdon (strict Protestant) to the north to carry out laws against Catholics (and suppress Catholicism). • Although Elizabeth’s brutal revenge on the rebels show how serious a threat it was, most Catholics in the north stayed loyal, but the Pope’s Papal Bull now put their loyalty in doubt There was little support for the revolt among the rest of the Catholic nobility and ordinary people. When faced with a choice between Elizabeth and their religion, most Catholics chose to support the Queen. 1569, was the last time English Catholics tried to remove Elizabeth by force. The future plots against her were always uncovered by Cecil & Walsingham, before they had a chance to get any public support. Despite this, the Northern Revolt & Papal Bull changed Elizabeth’s attitude towards Catholics who were now seen as potential traitors. From 1570, Elizabeth became less tolerant of recusants (people refusing to attend her church) & took increasingly tough measures against Catholics. The Ridolfi, Throckmorton & Babington plots • In the 1870s-80s, there were 3 Catholic plots to assassinate Elizabeth & replace her with Mary. • The plots were supported by France, Spain, the Pope and some Catholic nobles. • They reinforced the form Mary & from Catholics at home and abroad. Also the threat from Spain. The Ridolfi Plot (1571) • Ridolfi was an Italian banker living in England and a spy for the Pope. • He organised a plot to murder Eliz, marry Mary QS to the Duke of Norfolk & make her Queen. • The Pope & King Philip supported the plot & Philip told the Duke of Alba in the Netherlands to prepare 10,000 troops (but to only invade AFTER the English had overthrown Elizabeth). • The plot failed because Sir William Cecil intercepted coded letters & Norfolk was executed. • Mary was kept under closer watch. • Ridolfi was abroad when the plot was discovered and never returned to England. 1574: Catholic Priests and Priest Holes • From 1574 Catholic priests were smuggled into England to keep the religion alive. • They stayed with rich Catholic families, so Catholic families were kept under surveillance. • Catholic homes were raided – to find ‘priest holes’ where Catholic priests were hiding. • Catholic priests who were found could be hung, drawn and quartered (although not all were) • In 1581, Parliament also passed 2 new tougher laws against Catholics: • Recusants would be fined £20 (which would bankrupt most families) • Trying to convert people to Catholicism was now treason (punishable by death) The Throckmorton Plot (1583) • It aimed to assassinate Elizabeth and replace her with Mary. The French Duke of Guise (Mary’s cousin) would invade England with an army, funded by King Philip (Pope also supported it). • An Englishman, Throckmorton carried messages between Mary & Catholic plotters abroad. • Sir Walsingham (Secretary of State) uncovered the plot after his agents found the plans for the plot in Throckmorton’s house. Throckmorton confessed under torture and was executed. Significance: • The plots showed that Mary’s presence in England posed a serious threat • It also showed that France & Spain were a serious threat (& could invade) • Throckmorton’s papers showed a list of Catholic supporters in England, so the threat from English Catholics was also real • 1,000s of Catholics were imprisoned or kept under surveillance/house arrest • In 1585 another Act was passed to make helping Catholic priests punishable by death. • The Bond of Association was signed by the English nobles & gentry & forced them to promise to execute anyone who tried to overthrow the Queen. Weaknesses of the Plots The plots lacked public support & were uncovered by informers & spies before they had the chance to work King Philip was reluctant to destroy his alliance with Elizabeth (France was still a bigger rival) so is support for the plots was half-hearted, he rarely followed through on his promises to help the plotters or send an army The Babington Plot (1586) In 1586, Walsingham used his spy network to PROVE that Mary supported the Babington plot. His evidence persuaded Elizabeth to put Mary on trial & execute her for treason. • This was a plot to murder Elizabeth and put Mary on the throne • France would invade England with 60,000 men and Spain would also send an army • Babington was passing coded letters between Mary & her supporters in England & Europe. • But all of her letters were being intercepted and read by Walsingham. • Walsingham used his spies to follow every stage of the plot & had the letters decoded • One of Mary’s letters approved plans to murder the Queen and free Mary from prison • They also contained the names of 6 Catholics who planned to kill Elizabeth • They were arrested, hung, drawn and quartered for treason. • Mary had been implicated in plots before, but Elizabeth was always reluctant to execute her • But the proof found by Walsingham finally persuaded her to put Mary on trial • In October 1586, Mary was found guilty & was sentenced to death • But Elizabeth still hesitated, and did not sign the death warrant until February 1587. Significance 1) This plot was very significant because by 1585 England was effectively at war with Spain since Elizabeth had sent her army to help the Dutch Protestants fight the Spanish 2) This meant that Elizabeth’ situation was more dangerous than during previous plots. 3) Elizabeth’s government also became more determined to crush Catholicism 4) 1000s of recusants were arrested & 31 priests were executed 5) Mary’s execution removed the Catholic threat at home 6) English Catholics had no one to rally around, & lost hope of overthrowing Elizabeth 7) But Mary’s death increased the threat of a foreign invasion as England was at war with Spain and King Philip had been preparing an attack on England since 1585 8) Mary’s death made Philip even more determined to invade, Mary had left her claim to the English throne to King Philip upon her death Why was Mary Queen of Scots finally executed? 1 • A new Act in 1585 stated that in the event of Elizabeth’s assassination, Mary could be executed as long as she had been proved guilty & Walsingham had provided hard proof. 2 • Another reason was that by 1587, it was clear that Philip was planning to invade England • There were rumours that Spanish ships had landed in Wales & that Mary had escaped. This convinced Elizabeth that Mary had to be executed if she wanted to keep her throne. Walsingham’s Spy Network: • Walsingham (Secretary of State from 1573) had a network of spies all over England & abroad. He had spies in every English town, some were normal people paid to spy on neighbours. • He also had agents and spies in Spain, France, Germany and Italy • He hired mathematicians to crack written codes and people to open/seal letters secretly • He also pressured captured Catholic priests to spy on others for him in return for a pardon. • He used double agents to infiltrate Catholic networks - to help him discover traitors • But he only used torture against Catholic priests caught in England in the most serious cases • But 130 priests and 60 of their supporters were still executed during Elizabeth’s reign. Why did Relations with Spain get worse (1569-1588) • England had tried to stay on good terms with Spain, because Eliz wanted to avoid an expensive war that could lead to her being overthrown (English Catholics could support it) • But by the 1570s, Elizabeth wanted to have an empire of her own. • She also needed to make more money to defend her country and throne (by improving trade) • This religious, political and economic rivalry led to growing tensions between England & Spain Political and Religious Rivalry 1) Land abroad, gave countries wealth/power. By the 1580s, Eliz wanted an empire to rival Spain’s (especially as Spain had supported the Catholic plots against Eliz – even if it was half-hearted) 2) Religion was another cause of conflict. Philip opposed Elizabeth’s religious settlement 1559 3) Luckily for Elizabeth, in the 1550s Spain & France were competing to be the greatest European power and both wanted England as an ally against the other. 4) But from 1567, Spanish ships were sailing to the Netherlands with money for the Alba’s army 5) This alarmed English Protestants and Elizabeth’s Privy Council who put more and more pressure on her to send an army to help the Dutch Protestant rebels (in the Netherlands). Economic (commercial) Rivalry: The New World, privateers and Sir Francis Drake • Under Elizabeth, English merchants wanted to make big profits in the New World (Americas). • However, trading in the New World was difficult because of Spain’s power 1) Spain controlled most of the New World where there were huge profits to be made and anyone who wanted to trade there needed a licence from Spain (which it would not give): 2) But the Americas had valuable crops like tobacco, sugar, and also silver and gold 3) Elizabeth secretly encouraged privateers to trade illegally & raid Spanish ports & ships 4) At first Elizabeth denied responsibility for their actions, which delaye war with Spain Sir Francis Drake: Elizabeth sends Drake to rob Spanish colonies and ships (which infuriates Spain) 1) Spain’s support for the Ridolfi plot (1571) made her more willing to support Drake • In 1572 Eliz hired Drake to sail to the New World & steal £40,000 of Spanish silver • In 1577 she sent Drake back again with a secret mission to rob Spain’s colonies/ships • Drake brought back £400,000 of Spanish treasure & claimed an area of California in Elizabeth’s name (New Albion). He gave a lot of this money to Elizabeth • He boosted England’s finances at a time of growing concern over Spain’s threat • He became famous as the first Englishman to circumnavigate the globe. • Eliz knighted Drake as a reward, which infuriated Philip (as he saw Drake as a pirate) • Drake’s actions & his claim to California made it clear that England did not accept Spain’s domination of the New World. Elizabeth’s Support for the Dutch Rebels led to War with Spain (1585-88) • By the 1580s, tension between England & Spain had reached boiling point • At first, Eliz refused to send her army to help the Dutch rebels, because she wanted to avoid a war with Spain. So she tried to get the Spanish to leave the Netherlands in other INDIRECT ways: 1) By allowing Drake (& other English privateers) to attack and rob Spanish ships and colonies 2) By encouraging others (the French heir/mercenaries) to fight the Spanish in the Netherlands • In the 1570s, Elizabeth promised to marry the heir to the French throne (the Duke of Alencon) so that he would take an army to fight the Spanish in the Netherlands The Spanish Fury (1576) and the Pacification of Ghent (1576) • By 1576, the Spanish Govt in the Netherlands was bankrupt (the war was expensive) • After months without pay, Spain’s soldiers violently robbed Dutch towns in the “Spanish Fury” Spanish troops rebelling and robbing cities in the Netherlands in 1576. This united the Dutch Protestants & Catholics against Spain. They drew up the ‘Pacification of Ghent’ (demanding that): • Spanish troops leave the Netherlands • Spain allows the Dutch to rule themselves • The persecution of Dutch Protestants stops What did Elizabeth do? • Elizabeth sent £100,000 to help the Dutch rebels • In 1577 King Philip’s brother, Don Juan agreed to the rebels demands (but this was a trick) as just 6 months later Philip sent an even bigger army to attack the Dutch. • Elizabeth then hired a mercenary army of 6000 English & Scottish volunteers to help the Dutch. • But her plan backfired because the mercenaries destroyed Dutch Catholic churches, which caused the Catholics to make peace with Spain. • In 1578, her Privy Council urged Eliz to send her official army to help the Dutch, but she refused. The Dutch were disappointed & turned to France for help. The French Duke of Alencon arrived with an army to fight the Spanish, but by 1579 Spain had taken control again. • In 1580 Spain got even stronger after Philip won control of Portugal & its empire. • So Elizabeth gave the Duke of Alencon £70,000 to help him fight the Spanish • In 1582, Alencon took his army the Netherlands but failed to defeat Spain. • Elizabeth’s foreign policy in the Netherlands had failed & she had only managed to annoy Spain 1585: Why did Eliz finally decide to send her army to the Netherlands? (she lost her 2 main allies) • 1584 the Duke of Alencon died (so he could no longer fight the Spanish in the Netherlands) • 1 month later, William of Orange, the leader of the Dutch Protestant rebels was assassinated. • In 1585, Spain signed the Treaty of Joinville with France, agreeing to stamp out Protestantism in France/Europe meaning France & Spain were now allies against Protestantism • Elizabeth now felt she had no choice but to send her official army to the Netherlands • She signed the Treaty of Nonsuch with the Dutch rebels which promised them military help 1585: Robert Dudley’s campaign in the Netherlands was unsuccessful She sent 7,400 man army to the Netherlands led by Dudley. But he accepted the title of ‘Governor General’. Eliz was angry as it suggested that she had deposed King Philip so she told Dudley to resign this position. His army was defeated by the bigger Spanish Army as Eliz had not provided him with enough money to win. In 1587 Dudley resigned and returned to England. At the same time, Eliz had sent Drake to raid Spanish colonies in the New World to disrupt King Philip’s flow of money. Philip was furious and told the Pope he planned to invade England at the end of 1585. Drake singes the King of Spain’s beard 1587 • In 1587 Elizabeth ordered Drake to attack Spain’s most important port Cadiz • He destroyed 30 ships in 3 days – known as the ‘Singeing of the King of Spain’s Beard’ • He also stole lots of wood, meaning the Armada did not have quality barrels for food/water • Drake’s disruption delayed the Armada by a year (& meant that its food rotted in 1588). • This bought England more time to prepare for war. The Spanish Armada (1588) The Plan • By 1588, the Spanish Armada was ready to invade England • It had 130 ships with 8000 sailors & 18,000 soldiers • The Duke of Medina Sidonia would lead the Armada, but he had little experience at sea and didn’t want the job • The Armada would collect Parma’s army from France & sail to England under the protection of the Armada’s warships • Parma would march to London to depose Elizabeth & impose a Catholic government in England. 1) The Armada reached the English Channel The Armada set out in May 1588, but was delayed for a few weeks by bad weather In July the Armada was near England & signal fires were lit to warn Elizabeth English ships set sail to meet the Armada The Armada sailed up the channel in a crescent (half moon) formation, to use the large armed galleons to protect the weaker supply and army ships The English navy carried out a few minor raids, but did not inflict much damage Only 2 Spanish ships were lost (by accident) 2) The English attack the Spanish at Calais (with fire ships) and at Gravelines The Armada sailed up the English channel & anchored at Calais to wait for Parma’s army But Parma’s men didn't reach the coast in time (news had reached them too late) At midnight, the English sent 8 fireships into the Spanish ships causing panic They cut their anchors, broke formation & headed for the open sea (without Parma) The Spanish ships sailed to Gravelines, but bad weather stopped them returning to Calais The English attacked and the battle lasted many hours (5 Spanish ships were sunk) The rest were forced to sail away from France towards Scotland The English ships followed them to make sure they didn’t come back to collect Parma’s army 3) The Armada’s Journey back to Spain around Ireland was a disaster The Spanish called off the attack and returned to Spain around Scotland & Ireland Bad storms sank many ships and wrecked more on the Irish coast Many sailors died from starvation & disease – less than half the men made it back to Spain How did England defeat the Spanish Armada? !) Faster Ships • Years before the battle, England had started building smaller, faster ships (galleons) that could fire canon balls quicker & further than Spanish ships • Spanish ships were huge and slow to change direction. 2) Bad Planning & Communication (Spanish) • Philip’s plan to join with the Duke of Parma’s army in France was risky. • Parma had lots of small ships which took 48 hours to load, man and set sail. • It took too long (a week) for word to reach Parma that Medina was in the English Channel, by which time Medina had set sail to Calais. • Parma was not ready to set sail & the English were already ready to attack (leaving Medina with very little back up when anchored in France). 2) English Tactics were more effective • Spanish ships aimed to come alongside the English ones, jump on board & fight the enemy. But the English ships were faster & kept a safe distance. • They chased the Armada down the Channel, with heavy cannon fire, which forced the Spanish to arrive in France before Parma’s army was ready • As the Armada was waiting, the English sent fireships into the Spanish fleet. • This caused the Armada to panic, cut their anchors & sail away to the north • When the Spanish ships regrouped, the English attacked them in the Battle of Gravelines & the Armada was forced to sail north, chased by faster ships. 5) Bad Weather • Strong winds made it impossible for the Armada to return & pick up Parma’s army and storms wrecked or sunk Spanish ships as they tried to return home along the Scottish-Irish coasts. 2) Spanish Supplies • The Armada was not well supplied with food/weapons. Drake’s attack on Cadiz port in 1587 had destroyed food barrels. Delays in setting sail meant that by the time the English attacked the Armada it had been at sea for 10 weeks and had rotting food. 1000s died from starvation/disease. The consequences of the English victory? • Victory over the Spanish Armada gave Elizabeth a great propaganda victory • A new portrait was made, and a medal was made to commemorate her victory, it said “God blew and they were scattered”. • Elizabeth claimed that God was on the side of Protestantism • This led to a feeling of English pride and encouraged the Dutch rebels to renew their fight against the Spanish • The defeat of the Armada showed the strength of the English navy and gave England the confidence to trade and explore more widely at sea • Although Philip did not give up and continued the war for the rest of Elizabeth’s reign, the defeat had cost Spain dearly, both financially and in terms of its power • The Armada marked the start of a long decline in Spain’s power and fortunes. • English ships were sent on voyages of discovery and set up valuable new trade routes • By the end of Elizabeth’s reign, the navy was also trying to set up a new colony in Virginia • The English victory boosted Elizabeth’s popularity & strengthened the Protestant cause

G5 S1 W3 L1 - The Old Man And The Wolf

Reading Activity 3: The Old Man and His Kite

Name: Marco Ramirez - “I Am Not Batman” TW: language It’s the middle of the night. And the sky is glowing like mad radioactive red. And if you squint, you could maybe see the moon through a thick layer of cigarette smoke and airplane exhaust that covers the entire city like mosquito net that won’t let the angels in. And if you look up high enough you could see me-standing on the edge of a eighty seven story building. And up there-a place for gargoyles and broken clock towers that have stayed still and dead for maybe like a hundred years-up there is me. And I’m freakin Batman. And I gots Bat-mobiles and Bat-a-rangs and freakin Bat-caves like for real, and all it takes is a broom closet or a back room or a fire escape and Danny’s hand-me-down jeans are gone. And my navy blue polo shirt? – The one that looks kinda good on me but has a hole on it near the butt from when it got snagged on the chain linked fence behind Arturo’s but it isn’t even a big deal cause I tuck that part in and its like all good? –that blue polo shirt? – It’s gone too. And I get like, like transformational. And nobody pulls out a belt and whips Batman for talking back –-Or for not talking back –And nobody calls Batman simple –- Or stupid –- Or skinny –- And nobody fires Batman’s brother from the Eastern Taxi Company ‘cause they was making cutbacks, neither, ‘cause they got nothing but respect, and not like afraid-respect. Just like respect-respect. ‘Cause nobody’s afraid of you. Cause Batman doesn’t mean nobody harm. Ever. Cause all Batman really wants to do is save people and maybe pay Abuela’s bills one day and die happy and maybe get like mad famous. For real.…And kill the Joker. Tonight, like most nights, I’m all alone. And I’m watching…And I’m waiting… Like a eagle. Or like a –no, yea, like a eagle. And my cape is flappin’ in the wind (‘cause it’s freakin’ long), and my pointy ears are on, and that mask that covers like half my face is on too, and I got like bulletproof stuff all in my chest so no one could hurt me and nobody – nobody – is gonna come between Batman, And Justice. From where I am I could hear everything. Somewhere in the city there’s a old lady picking Styrofoam leftovers up outta a trash can and she’s putting a piece of sesame chicken someone spit out into her own mouth. And somewhere there’s a doctor with a whack haircut in a black lab coat trying to find a cure for the diseases that are gonna make us all extinct for real one day. And somewhere there’s a man, a man in a janitor’s uniform, stumbling home drunk and dizzy after spending half his paycheck on forty-ounce bottles of twist-off beer and the other half on a four hour visit to some lady’s house on a street where the lights have all been shot out by people who’d rather do what they do, in this city, in the dark. And half a block away from JanitorMan there’s a group of good-for-nothings who don’t know no better waiting to beat JanitorMan with rusted bicycle chains and imitation Lousiville Sluggers, and if they don’t find a cent on him – which they won’t – they’ll just pound at him till the muscles in their arms start burning, till there’s no more teeth to crack out. But they don’t count on me. They don’t count on no dark night (with a stomach full of grocery store brand macaroni-and-cheese and cut up Vienna sausages), Cause they’d rather believe I don’t exist, And from eighty-seven stories up I could hear one of the good-for-nothings say “Gimmethecash” real fast (like that) just “Gimmethefuckingcash” and I see JAnitorMan mumble something in drunk language and turn pale and from eighty-seven stories up I could hear his stomach trying to hurl its way out of his Dickies. So I swoop down like and fast and I’m like darkness. I’m like SWOOSH –- And I throw a Bat-a-rang at the one naked lightbulb –- And they’re all like “whoa-motherfucker-who-just-turned-out-the-lights?” –“What’s that over there?” –-“What?” –- “Gimme whatchou got old man” –- “Did anybody hear that?!” –- “No, really” –- “There ain’t. No. Bat.” – But then –- One out of three good-for-nothings gets it to the head! And number Two swings blindly into the dark cape before him but before his fist hits anything I grab a trash can lid and –-- Right into the gut, and number One comes back with a jump-kick but I know judo-karate too so I’m like –-- Twice –-- but before I can do any more damage suddenly we all hear a CLIC – CLIC –And suddenly everything gets quiet And the one good-for-nothing left standing grips a handgun and aims straight up, like he’s holding Jesus hostage, like he’s threatening maybe to blow a hole in the moon. And the good-for-nothing who got it to the head who tried to jump-kick me and the other good-for-nothing who got it in the gut is both scrambling back away from the dark figure before him. And the drunk man the JanitorMan is huddled in a corner, praying to Saint Anthony ‘cause that’s the only one he could remember. And there’s me, Eyes glowing white, cape blowing softly in the wind. Bulletporoof chest heaving. My heart beating right through it in a Morse code for “fuck with me, just once, come on, just try.” And the one good-for-nothing left standing, the one with the handgun, he laughs he lowers his arm, and he points it at me and gives the moon a break, and he aims it right between my pointy ears, like goalposts and he’s special teams. And JanitorMan is still calling Saint Anthony but he ain’t pickin’ up, And for a second it seems like…maybe I’m gonna lose. Naw. SHOO – SHOO! FUACATA! --“Don’t kill me man!” –“SNAP! – Wrist CRACK – Neck – SLASH! – Skin – meets – acid – “AHH!!” –And he’s on the floor. And I’m standing over him. And I got the gun in MY hands now. And I hate guns, I hate holding ‘em cause I’m Batman, and –Batman don’t like guns ‘cause his parents got iced by guns a long time ago – but for just a second, my eyes glow white, and I hold this thing, for I could speak to the good-for-nothing in a language he maybe understands…CLIC – CLIC…And the good-for-nothings become good-for-disappearing into whatever toxic-waste-chemical-sludge-shit-hole they crawled out of. And it’s just me and JanitorMan. And I pick him up. And I wipe sweat and cheap perfume off his forehead. And he begs me not to hurt him and I grab him tight by his JanitorMan shirt collar and I pull him to my face, and he’s taller than me, but the cape helps so he listens when I look him straight in the eyes and I say two words to him: “Go home.” And he does, checking behind his shoulder every ten feet. And I SWOOSH from building to building on his way there, ‘cause I know where he lives. And I watch his hands where he lives. And I watch his hands tremble as he pulls out his keychain and opens the door to his building. And I’m back in bed before he even walks in through the front door. And I hear him turn on the faucet and pour himself a glass of warm tap water And he puts the glass back in the sink. And I hear his footsteps, And they get slower as they get to my room. And he creaks my door open like mad slow. And he takes a step in, which he never does. And he’s staring off into nowhere, his face the color of sidewalks in summer, and I act like I’m just waking up, and I say, “What’s up, Pop?” And JanitorMan says nothing to me. But I see, in the dark, I see his arms go limp and his head turns back, like towards me, and he lifts it for I could see his face, For I could see his eyes, And his cheeks is dripping but not with sweat. And he just stands there, breathing, like he remembers my eyes glowing white. Like he remembers my bulletproof chest. Like he remembers he’s my pop. And for a long time I don’t say nothing. And he turns around, hand on the doorknob, and he ain’t looking up my way but I hear him mumble two words to me. “I’m sorry.” And I lean over and open my window just a crack.… If you look up high enough you could see me. And from where I am? I could hear everything.

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