Tiny Eden, Volume: 2, "Carlos' Story"

By Guenter Heyes

Carlos is one of the main characters in the Tiny Eden Story. Readers will "meet him" within the 3rd chapter and will rapidly embrace this boy into their hearts. He enters the story as the "Boy-POW" from the "Youth Militia" that the Sect loves to deploy as cannon-fodder in their genocidal wars. He is an endearing character who however has a brutal past to overcome.

The first few chapters are not for the faint hearten! With brutal accuracy, Carlos brings the reader into the daily lives of the Sect. He opens the reader a window into a cult, we common mortals hardly every begin to understand. He explains what being "Mind-F***ed" really means!

However, he also lets us experience his triumph, his freedom and his undying love to those who have helped him as well to those who had no chance. It is a sad beginning and yet a triumphal ending. When boys dream and make the dreams come true. ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guenter Heyes
• Release date: May 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310255793

Guenter Heyes

Günter Heyes is the Pen Name of the author who wishes to use this name for the entire 8-9 book series of Tiny Eden. Günter was born in Austria, Europe and is now living in Montreal, Canada. He is in his 50's of age and has been in his life pretty much the character as he describes himself in the book. An accomplished Pilot and Mechanical Engineer. He is also a political activist. Günter Heyes is deeply concerned about social justice, the environment and foremost about human rights. He is also an atheist and pretty much everything the good old god-fearing right wing - hates. His political insights come from his past involvement with his country's Military Intelligence Service and naturally with his consequent exposure to the double-faced lies of big politics during his services. In the book, all his past experiences are well blended into the story. It often makes the reader wonder If this book is not fiction but truth after all? Well! It IS Real to a degree! Most of the Tiny Eden Story contains True Events that have been skillfully woven into the general content of the story. Günter's books have one common thread throughout! "Kill the dreams of a child today and you have created the Dictator or Terrorist for tomorrow... "

Book preview

Tiny Eden – Volume 2

Carlos’ Story

As told by

Capt. Günter K. Heyes; Based on his Diaries

Edited by Ian Wallace - ©2010 & Dima Petrov - ©2015

Copyright ©2004 Günter Heyes

Copyright ©2008 Günter Heyes, tinyeden.org

Copyright ©2015 Shmashwords edition

ISBN: 9781310255793

All events and characters are fictional. However many events described are based on true events. However I have tried my best to change the names and locations of the persons and events to such a degree that identification of the actual people remains close to impossible.

"Give me love and courage and a little bit of heart, so

that the hatred of the enemy can never have of me a part.

You ask what I expect, and you worry that I'll say, that

more wealth and riches is that only what makes me stay.

Yet when storms cross the land and fear is in my heart,

had not your arms held me safe as if I am of you a part.

With your honest voices when you failed in life of worry,

you had hugged me close to you and claimed you were sorry

When I failed in my exploring and wrong judgement of my

own, despite defeat in trying, I found in your arms my home.

You have taught me all there is to know between love,

right and wrong, so for you I have dedicated this very simple song.

Thank you for giving me love and courage and a bit of

heart, because of this now, love is always of me a part.

Give me love and courage and a little bit of heart, so

that the hatred of the enemy can never have of me a part"

(Old native song claimed to be from the Patagonian tribes)

1 - Childhood memories

The vision was blurred for me. The din of chanting was in my ears. Some one rubbed his knuckles painfully across my scalp. My lips opened again and my vocal cords let go of a hoarse voice, which was to be a chant.

The vision before me; as blurred as it was, the shadowy semblance of a body, moved up as if to straighten herself. I then saw some movement, - I closed my eyes...

Voices screamed in rage, Devil, - they raged, possessed, - they chanted. I opened again my eyes, and saw the body through my tears immobile and at rest. One last cry from my chest escaped out of tune with the chants, before I closed my eyes again, this time refusing at all costs to open them again...

She is of the devil's, so must be the boy... they whispered.

She broke her own neck, she sure is of the devil’s... someone else exclaimed with a hissing voice.

Once more the knuckles rubbed painfully across my scalp.

Bastard, Devil’s brood! the voice exclaimed, that also belonged to the same person who had hurt me with his knuckles. The voice was directed into my ears, and a strong hand squeezed my shoulder and propelled me outwards into the square.

Exorcise him. If she was of the devil's, how much of him is in this Bastard. He is not my son; he is a devil’s bastard, who disguised himself as son!

The stiff breeze of Patagonia's early spring dried off my tears. My eyes hurt. My ears refused to listen any longer to the din of voices and chants. My muscles refused to feel touch and hits, just numbness was all I remember from this day, - when they hung my Mother.

I remember little. I remember moments, rather than sequences of events. I remember being told, that I shall serve God in his sacred site in Saint Paul. I shall there prove to be a child of his calling, - or, so I was assured, the devil will be exposed in me at a much earlier date as he had managed to be seen in my mother. I shall either be a servant of God, or I shall never live the day, where I shall spend my seed of life on an unsuspecting virgin of God, to create another bastard as me.

All night they prayed for me. All night I inhaled the sickening incense. All night, I was kept awake with wet towels slapped into my face. All night they chanted.

At dawn I was told, that I should serve the virgin boy Johannes. I shall be his servant for all the time until either I shall be one of God's or be exposed as one of the Devil's.

The virgin boy was to go to St. Paul's and learn the secrets of God's plan for his mission. The virgin boy was to be trained and enlightened by God, to succeed his holy father, the Supreme Elder Jean Marie. The man who has his entire life devoted to God. Who in his infinite wisdom graciously presides over this humble colony of Santa Maria de Trinidad. The man who is so much loved by God, that he was blessed with a son of virgin birth. A son, not just of the father's, but a son who was conceived without the being of a mother. God was his mother, since God can be both in his infinite wisdom and powers. The virgin boy Johannes, - was called by me simply John, - he was my only friend.

All that I can remember of Sta. Maria were the moments in which I had happiness. Few moments are there for me to remember.

John and I had a secret pact. We had sworn without saying a word, to never ever betray one another. We had not needed words; the examples of what happens to an open mouth were plenty here in Sta. Maria. The soft padded sling, that suspended you until you were tiptoe and would drain the air and life of you in long agonizing hours, was not for Adulteresses as my mother, but also for boys my age and all of us who could not control the devil of the flesh and the lust he churned in us. Only the virgin boy Johannes was without sin, except he liked to hide behind secluded bushes and places to test his own resistance to this devilish urge, by touching himself.

I know this ever since the days shortly after the virgin boy without sin had arrived here from a far away land. There his father lived at times. I was looking for my cat one day. I looked for it near the granary, where it usually was hunting for mice. I heard some noise, some sound of leaves and breathing. Could have been the wind, but it was not. When I rounded the corner, I saw the virgin boy exploring himself.

He was so much like a God. White in skin and blond, with sparkling blue eyes.

He stared at me with a sense of panic and fear. He covered up in a flash as I asked if he had seen my cat.

His face was crimson, eyes sparkling and so holy and void of all sin that I was awed. He shook his head and offered to help me find my cat. So we strolled about and located another noise in the room where they kept spares for the machines. Was my cat there hunting for mice?

Again it was not the cat, but Elder Saul. He was also the man who executed the ones who betrayed God. Elder Saul was an important man. He was holy in the eyes of God and called to do his duty by giving the sinner a chance to redeem himself in the hours it took to draw his last breath in the padded sling. Never had Elder Saul had a sinner, who did not repent in the last minutes of life, -so he had claimed, - except my mother.

Elder Saul was busy and devoted to the examination of a boy, if he has been invaded by the devil of the flesh in the darkest places. Through the cracks of the boards, John and I watched the examination.

John glanced at me; crimson face and gentle smile. We said no words; we sneaked stealthily out from the shed and looked for my cat elsewhere.

All this afternoon we did not talk one single word. I was worried that the virgin boy was unable to talk. But he was gifted with the power of speech, as I found out a day later in the Sabbath chants in the evening.

The virgin boy had the voice of angels, and Elder Saint Jean Marie was pleased with this voice and was gracefully smiling at us. Everyone liked the virgin boy, even if they did not smile so often. He had to be liked.

In school he excelled all of us. He knew the bible better than our teachers, and though he never really said the answers, he did think them and thus send the thought to the teacher and the teacher had to realize in his humbleness, that God guided the virgin boy in thought.

One day the devil tricked me in forcing my lips to voice the wrong answer, but as the teacher was about to fetch the switch, the virgin boy explained that he had seen the temptation and that in thought I had the right answer.

The teacher looked surprised and awed, and he humbly lowered his head and admitted his mistake and thus marked my answer as correct. I smiled at the virgin boy, and he smiled back briefly.

Elder Saul heard about this, and thought it odd for the virgin boy to be so much blessed with divine powers at a time when he was not even yet anointed and had not yet displayed the wrath of God in the ceremony described. Also the virgin boy was still uncircumcised, so how can he have such wisdom, if god's enlightenment shall usually enter the person’s soul through the holy pain of circumcision?

Yet the enlightenment of John was awe inspiring, for the many in the colony at least. John was enlightened by what he and I saw. We did not spend all time together, yet we did exchange all our thoughts and all we had seen throughout the day. So John knew what I had seen, and kept silent as how he knew.

Markus was sick with some unmentionable illness, and Elder Saul thought that Markus was possessed and should be given the chance to redeem himself one last time.

Markus will recover, if he will be given less examinations. John said to Elder Saul and looked him square into the eyes, not flinching, not smiling and eyes void of the usual sparkle.

Examinations of devil’s entry are only to be done by my father, Elder Saul, have you forgotten this rule? said John. Elder Saul was suddenly afflicted with the sickness of extreme paleness. I snickered, and he flashed crimson and opened his mouth to shout at me, yet again the virgin boy explained what he had seen in thought and thus Elder Saul was afflicted with the sudden pain and need to relieve his lunch on a secluded spot.

Markus did recover well, and exactly as John had predicted. Yet John had been unable to predict that now Elder Saul was gifted with the holy eyes of knowing all that I did, including my mother.

My mother was a woman of kindness. Often it was claimed that her kindness was weakness. She was short and stocky, bronze coloured and from the people of heathen origin. She had been saved by the love and devotion my father had for her, and she was shown this devotion with solid slaps in her face, each time my father thought she was loosing it. He thought that often.

He also thought that the more he would hit me, the whiter my skin will become and thus remove the signs of my partial heritage.

My mother was weak, she never had the strength to hit; yet her hand would often reach for my face in total divine rage, and then all she managed was a gentle stroke over my cheeks. She was weak, and I enjoyed her weakness and her punishments.

When I was really misbehaving in thought, she would punish me to sit on her lap and her gentle arms would hold me and her voice would sing songs of soothing.

My mother also was very wise, and she knew many plants and their secrets. She knew how to heal bodies bereaved by evil and pain. Often she would whisper to me that no one was to know what she knew, or God would punish her. They did finally punish her.

She was supposed to be strong and refuse the malicious smile the stranger bestowed on her, as he passed through town and asked for directions.

She wanted to hit him, but her hand again was weak and came to rest softly on his upper arm. Elder Saul had seen it and had seen also in thought that she had permitted the devil of the flesh to enter her and toy with the thought of seeking love in another man's heart. This had been one too many of those weak behaviours of hers, and it was now proven that she had lost faith and the love for my father.

In her defence she claimed that the loving corrective slaps she received from my father were not really done in love, and questioned even if love was to be of force. She thus had proclaimed her doubts in god's divine law as given to us by the Supreme Elder Saint Jean Marie. Thus her fate was sealed, and as her final offer for redemption was spoken out upon her. She exclaimed in an anger I had never known in her, that God is Love, not pain and not fear. I cried as I heard her mistaken understanding of God's will. I never again would be able to feel her gentleness and these hugs and holding and these soft songs and the smell of flowers and herbs and her secret ancient voice of her heathen past.

No, I was not permitted to say a final good bye to her, nor to touch her or assure her that I shall say my prayers for her heavenly bliss. At the hanging my father hurt me lots.

Rubbing his knuckles across my scalp, it was a rubbing of such intense heat, and such intense force and hate and anger, that I knew, I was no longer his. I felt great to know this.

So John was to go to Saint Paul to be prepped for his final divine mission. I shall serve him, he insisted.

To spare us the horror of a satanic world and shield our eyes from such evil, the windows of the bus were taped shut. Later in the train, the coach as well had taped windows. John however thought that one should look evil in the eye and made a small hole into the covering so I could see the world as well, in all her satanic glory.

I saw little but land and more land and lots of land. Cities and towns we drove through at night and only our final destiny was in daytime. Yet we waited until darkness came and holding flares and praying aloud, we marched down through empty streets to a harbor and to the sea. We boarded a ship and were confined to the deep damp holds inside, again not to be tempted.

Markus was with us, and he had healed as predicted by John. He will go to Saint Paul to be made a member of the Divine Purification Movement.

He was excited and was telling us that he will be given the powers by God to deal out death to the heathens. He smiled and suddenly he turned pale and streaked for the toilet.

He never reached it in time before the content of his stomach spilled on the floor. The acid stench was awful, but was soon increasing as more and more of us had lost control of our stomachs. The evil hands of the sea’s devil shook the ship, he even screamed with thundering voices throughout the ship. We prayed the rosary and we prayed and barfed, but prayed for as long as it took to calm the storm.

I cried out in awe as a few days later we went on deck to breathe fresh air. All I saw was blue sea and blue sky and no end in sight at all. I was worried that we shall by mistake drive over the edge of the earth and fall into hell. However God was on our side and we were spared this fate.

Days later it was hot and sticky in the holds. The stench of vomit had been cleaned out, but again it now was replaced with the stench of unwashed feet, and sweat and bad breath. Yet we were to remain below, as we entered again a place of worldly hell.

We heard the screams and the moans of the ones who refused to be converted to the sanctity of the true gods almighty powers. Yet we did not see them. Some days later it got cooler again and we again breathed air from the empty ocean we sailed on. We sailed on for few more days, and the swells challenged our stomachs and us once more. The rain washed over the deck and the fury of a storm forced us again to call out to God.

As John did in his holy virgin voice call out once more with the clearness of an angel, a last thunderclap was heard and suddenly the ship sailed in smooth waters. We were awed at his powers. We had reached our destination. The rain still pounded the deck, and gale force winds howled like a pack of hungry wolves in the tackles and masts and superstructure of ship. Yet we sailed calm in waters seemingly unchallenged by the storm.

We were commanded on deck and now for the first time since leaving our so holy enclave in Patagonia, were we seeing our own new holy land that shall be our home and our teaching ground to wisdom and sainthood.

We faced the storm, and although the wetness of the rain beating our faces was quite painful, it was soothing to expose our noses to the fresh scent of sea and forest; noses that had endured the odours of vomit and unwashed feet for so long.

Below in the open holds they stood. Huddled like brown masses of evil, like a sea of brown rats, black eyes cast in obedience downwards and yet their evil glances would sway in our directions when least expected. They stank!

Ahead of the bow were the Promised Land, the Third Trinity, and the holy city of Saint Paul. Fearsome were the walls that contained the wisdom of God in them, fearsome the towers at which the sentinels of the faith stood watch, fearsome the size of the holy city, and so fearsome the dark foreboding forest that stretched beyond.

There, we knew, were the last remnants of the most evil people, the embodiment of Satan in person and multitude. There, we knew beyond those walls that sheltered the faithful were the temptations of all that did not fear God. Here we will prove ourselves worthy of your glory, O God.

In rain we marched past the stinking masses of those evil ones who shall serve us and entered the hallowed confines of this magnificent city of God. We marched praying and singing into the hall. Concealed behind curtains we washed off all that still bound us to the world we had left behind.

Hardly had I cleaned and dried off, was I called to see Elder Elias. He was a man of fearsome stature, with a flowing beard that was like that of God, with eyes that flashed with holy anger and a voice that sounded like thunder.

He commanded to know if I have been visited by the devil and I dutifully said that I was not aware of such visits.

We shall see, Carlos, son of the adulteress, we shall see if your devil mother has given you her blood or if the glory of God has prevented same. I shall keep my eyes cast upon you in holy worry and in vigilance. I shall see that you shall serve the virgin boy to redeem yourself. I shall watch upon you and will correct you with holy anger each time you trespass on the commandments. On the day of passage to man, we shall see if you are man of God or man of devil. Go, now to serve your master.

I bowed my head and retreated with my eyes cast down, as he yelled in holy anger once more.

Come here, son of the adulteress!- I did as told.

I shall teach you now, what the holy anger given to me by God shall feel like.

More I do not remember. I awoke in a bed, a bunk bed in some small cell. My mouth tasted my own blood. My tongue felt the absence of part of my front tooth. My face felt like burning coals. My eyes saw sparkling blue and then I saw his face. John was watching me. His hand moved a wet cloth on my burning face and his eyes had lost the sparkle they usually had.

This was not god's will, Carlos. John said.

What happened?

Elder Elias struck you in claimed holy anger. I know he is not right.

John! He is the holy elder of the Third Trinity! You can’t say this about him!

My Father is the Saint of all the Trinities, Elias was wrong!

John went for the basin and soaked the cloth with fresh cold water. He again wiped across my burning cheeks and he bent down close to me and whispered:

We, have a pact, Carlos. You see and you only tell me. You and I. Please Carlos, you and I will find the truth and God.

I managed to smile and the sparkle returned into John's eyes. He helped me up and then showed me the town.

We strolled along the huge walkways on top of the walls and I saw far into a foreboding evil land. Our God has helped our people to clear land and have crops and plant all fruits this earth can bring forth. The sun was shining across this land. The storms still shook the trees, and had John's hair pointing straight away from his face.

Far in the distance, the many of the heathen our so glorious people had made to serve them, toiled with their pitiful sinful bodies the land that was to nourish us. Never before have I seen the greatness of such land and the will of God brought before my eyes in such splendour!

This evening in the huge cathedral I found my voice to be this of joy and I sang the hymns with pride. Deep inside I hoped the devil was not in my blood as they all feared. Why did I the in the middle of the most magnificent song happen to cough? Why was then a tear in my eyes, as I doubted the truth that my so kind mother was of the devil’s will?

Why did you cough? Why did you shed tears?

In my thought I saw him awed at the glory of God revealed to him in this magnificent cathedral and among the souls and prayers of such an army of the faithful. John replied to Elder Elias before I had even a chance to utter a word.

You? You see in thought? John this is the gift only to the Holy men. You are a child - thought still!!!

I am of virgin birth; I am also with power by God able to see thought. Though child I am, I still am Child of God. John replied and added cautiously -

Doubt if you wish Elder Elias and ask Saint Jean Marie if I am able to be of power to see thought, what will he answer you?

Go to your room son of the whore. John shall speak to me in my chambers. I was ordered.

I lay awake in my bed and in the light of the flickering candle I saw the shadows of the devil being held at bay. John was not here yet and the hours dragged on.

As the candle had burnt to half, the door opened and a body was thrown in, hitting the floor hard and having the boards moan and creak. I looked at the body and I was seeing the eyes of the devil or so it seemed and the beautiful face of the virgin boy was soiled in his own blood.

I jumped out of bed and helped John to his upper bunk, and I washed his face and cleaned his blood-clotted hair. He sobbed and he dug his arms in fear into my shoulder and sobbed some more.

Oh, Carlos, Elias wishes to have his son be claimed the virgin boy, my father does not know!!!

In the light of the candle I saw fear in the eyes of this so strong virgin boy.

I have no power, Carlos. They took my gift to see thought!

What about me then, John?

Pray to God, Carlos, You and I are alone! We have no one but each other. Please do not tell what you seen me do at the granary!

Never!!! John, I will not tell.

Team?

Team, John.

I am scared, Carlos.

Me too.

John had lost his powers. Over the next few weeks we were beaten and were told the devil had taken over our hands and when we sleep we had hands move below the covers and we would then abuse our holy parts that shall be spender of Christian life.

For each such devilish move we would be beaten awake and would with our bare knees kneel on chopped wooden logs and kept there until we slept kneeling.

We would be hauled out the next day and worked with a brutality of a holy anger unleashed on us by the words of the wise and almighty Elder Elias.

We would crawl into church and with wet rags whipping our faces would chant and pray. We were doing so until our hands had been freed of the devils urges to touch ourselves where we ought not touch.

Searing pain made me howl out in fear, as elder Elias checked for the presence in my darkest most places. I cried and spilled tears, so did John. No matter how much he protested that this examination was his father's duty only. Again and again we were tested for the devil's presence. However by the grace of god we were found to be without the devil's presence.

John had lost the sparkle in his eyes. Fear was there now instead. Was he not the virgin boy after all? Was the pale podgy boy with the flaming red hair and the abundance of freckles on his nose the true virgin boy?

The stage was set for the ceremony that would bring Markus from the ranks of boys to the rank of holy men, - if he passes the test; if God shall grant him the powers of holy anger. We wished so deeply for Markus to be granted this power and be redeemed for all he had been accused of. Oh, so proud was he on this morning of the Sabbath as he stepped up the stage in the town's square. He recited the holy oath of the movement of true believers and he turned his back to us and faced the Elders.

I saw as hands moved to the places one is never to touch on his own and they held his hands and his legs and yet I saw him buckle in his knees as the most horrible cry escaped his throat and he was turned to face us and there I only saw blood for a brief moment before a hand covered his shame.

A whip was passed to him and the chants began and he was pointed to the side of the stage where they had bound a boy between two poles, and the drums rolled and the count began:

ONE! Markus hand made a feeble attempt to lift the whip and nothing happened.

TWO! counted the voices in the choir and Markus whipped at the boy feebly.

THREE! and Markus in the fury of chants and voices lifted his arm and with an unbelievable force lashed out at the brown body at the poles. The end of the whip came down on him with a slapping sound and a voice of unheard evil in sheer terror howled out to the heavens in vain.

FOUR! and Markus yelled in pain as he made a move that hurt his shame that sure was still bleeding and let the whip again go at the boy and another evil cry was heard and made my spine tingle.

FIVE! and Markus lashed out once more and I saw now the third deep purple streak emerge across the boys back

SIX! and another slap and another howl.

NINE! and the boy no longer waited for the next hit he just kept on howling in the fear the devil has when sent back to hell.

EIGHTEEN! and the howling had stopped; whimpering was rather drowned out in the din of chants.

TWENTY TWO! and the boy let his head fall on his chest and just hung there in these poles and on those ropes, not saying a word, not howling nor whimpering.

TWENTY NINE! and Markus seemed to loose his power. The whip hardly made any marks any longer.

THIRTY! and the soldiers began to move onto the stage. They were visibly readying their rifles that shone silvery in the sun.

Markus looked at the soldiers and he cringed. He exclaimed with holy anger that the devil has to die!!!

THIRTY-TWO! He lashed out once more with a sudden onslaught of fury. He lashed out at the neck of the boy and he lashed out with such a force, that the boy’s head whipped backwards. The whip had curled around the boy’s neck and Markus eager to repeat the lashing, pulled with a sudden force. A last move of the head and a sudden streak of blood escaped the neck. The boy not only let his head fall to his chest, he let it hang in a funny way to his side, and his limbs shook in a frenzy of cold nerves and the blood stopped and the crowd cheered, and John vomited.

So this was the rite of passage, to become a man of God, to kill the heathens in holy anger. So this was it, we had to watch two times more this day. Markus had become a man of God, though he did walk funny for a few days.

Miguel was not to be chosen man of God. He was secretly invaded by the Devil. When they removed the skin of the boy on his grown manhood, he cried in such unbelievable agony, and had tears clouding his eyes to such a degree that he could not lift the whip at all. They counted down the 39 lashes and while we counted and chanted, Miguel just knelt there holding his groins and crying.

THIRTY-FIVE! and the soldiers walked onto the stage, and Miguel did not see them.

THIRTY-SIX! and Miguel finally turned to see them.

THIRTY-SEVEN! and Miguel shook his head in pain and tears flowing like streams of melting ice.

THIRTY-EIGHT! and they placed sandbags before him, and Miguel managed to scream a painful NO!

THIRTY-NINE! and Miguel just cried and they kicked him down on the sand bags and boots resting in his back, the muzzles pressed into his neck and 5 shots thundered and I saw some dark stuff splatter about, and the carcass was kicked off the stage, while a final shot killed the slave boy. John vomited a second time.

We learned to march; we learned to shoot, to build camp, to attack, to move about in order with eagerness and courage. Courage until one day Timothy slipped off the log that was a bridge across a brook. He fell into the water below, his hip hitting a rock. They carried him home. The doctor looked at Timothy and shook his head. They wheeled out the bed into the Plaza and announced that God had not desired to have recklessness be rewarded. They shot Timothy in the bed in the Plaza. They dug him in like a dog as they had dug in Miguel.

When winter arrived after a beautiful summer and so much of a nice colourful fall, we learned of a new horror to be faced.

By now John and I had experience digging graves. Oh, we were good in it and yet we were afraid to see that the many we laid to rest had been secretly in pact with the devil. The heathens would die and be buried by their own kind, but the ones who had pretended to be children of God yet were the devils brood, we buried.

After harvest the many that in their punishment for having not been blessed with the good news of our faith, and had paid us back with the force of their arms in holy work of redemption, were now called one final time to carry out the work on a large grave. Then they were lined up and removed of all clothing.

Just the skin then held the bones in one place and we saw the magnificent force of a machine-gun being used in the holy anger of redemption for sinners. John vomited again, and he must have had an influence since I too vomited with him.

The winter came and tested our faith once more. Satan unleashed all powers of the underworlds and had it snow and hail and blow ice across the land for five solid days. Neither sun nor any light other than the candles in the cathedral was available.

We prayed for five days, we cried for five days and even the elders at some point would cry out in sheer fear. So powerful was the force of the devil that even Elder Elias did at times exclaim for mercy to the heavens and plead to God to spare us of his chosen. So furious was this storm that the Elder Elias saw in thought that someone must have abused himself and permitted the devil of the flesh to invade him.

No sooner was the storm over, as the soldiers began searching our bunks and linen. They found nothing at John's and mine though, but they found something at Alessandrio's bunk.

What they actually found I had little idea. It was a small stain, a bit yellowish, but sure not pee since this would have made it much larger.

They took the boy and had him shovel his way to the cemetery. There they shot him. We shovelled for weeks and five more of us were shot for being cold and slacking off. Thirty more of the heathens were denied food and forced into redemptive death.

Markus was changed. He was no longer singing the praises of the lord that loud as he used to. His smile no longer adorned his face; rather the seriousness of a coming man was with him. He claimed to have been blessed to be permitted to become a man earlier in life than as others are at 14, yet John did not really believe him.

Markus was now group leader and we were in his detail. He was kind though and hardly did his voice flare in anger, kind also to the many heathens.

These were of strange forces and looks and powers. Dark brown and yet had the same blue eyes that I so much loved to see in John. When they spoke to each other, they spoke in a soft soothing voice, so similar to my mother and yet so strange.

The brown masses that had been hauled from the streets of the big cities of sin had all been sent to their rightful places in hell at end of harvest.

Those however, the heathens captured in those foreboding woods, subdued by the heroes of our armed forces commanded by God and guided with the might and protection of the archangel Michael, those were kept alive and were to pay God tribute by serving us rightful and just ones.

I had received my ration of an apple for this day. I was on my way from the garrison of the armed young people to the school. I passed the detail of heathens cleaning the street.

They sure looked like the devil had taken possession. I felt my laces of my boot being open and so I stopped. I placed my apple in the snow and tied my laces.

I saw eyes burning on me, I have no idea who he was, and only in a moment of absentmindedness the devil tricked me into the feeling of compassion. I held my laces and looked for the guards. They were huddled around the fire in the square. I looked once more at those eyes. Soft eyes, face of skin and skull ... I walked away and left the apple there.

The devil seemed to play tricks on me; I seemed to forget my apples always somewhere. I told John and he smiled and said that he too suffered from the same problem. John was my best friend. I have no idea if this friendship was because of us both being alone and doubted or if it was genuine. Markus was nice too; he too seemed to forget food near the heathens so very often.

I learned and so did John. I listened and I learned not to cry when the switch descended on my hands for the wrong answers.

I had turned 11 in March so had John. We were each morning awoken and had to face the wall as they checked our sheets. Every week they checked us if we had grown in unmentionable places to man.

What are they checking the sheets for? I asked Markus once.

When you become man, you have the seed of life. If the devil tricks you the seed will spill on the sheet. You never know when this will happen.

Did it ever happen to you?

Yes, but I used a cloth to catch it. Do this too, just so you be saved.

Markus, does it hurt when they make you to man?

The pain of Christ was bigger than this so I carried it with joy, this little pain.

Sure you did, we all attest to your glory and courage, Markus.

Winter passed and new days began and new season. The land was alive with birds and warmth and flowers. Why? I asked were the flowers not on our side, but grew in the land of the heathens only?

New ships came and also aircraft. Oh, how majestic they were with their engine roaring and paying tribute to the powers of imagination given to man by God. Oh, this glory of a God so loving to us and so fear inspiring that we would not be guided into any temptation within the evils of this world. Was this not awesome?

John hardly shared my awe. In the land he had grown up in he had seen much more. Planes that roar like thunder and use no propellers, boxes that showed images moving about and even pictures that talk. He had seen much and yet he was not sure if it was just a bad dream

Our glorious soldiers took up arms again and went out in ships and planes and on foot to move the many of heathen faith into the fear of God or into the arms of their beloved devil. Every so often they would return with captives that shall serve us.

We now were strong and experienced enough to walk the walls and guard the many who are to serve us. Strong was maybe the wrong word, since each time I fired the K-98 I would feel so much pain from its recoil.

One day they trained us on bayonets. The tied a pig to a post and we charged it, it screamed so eerily that I fainted.

Carlos, if you cannot kill, they will kill you. If you turn 14, 39 lashes or they kill you! Markus hissed into my ears as I recovered from the fainting.

I threw up as my eyes caught sight of the bloodied mass of stabbed meat that was prior to my fainting, a squeaky pig. Markus shook my shoulder and his finger briefly moved to his lips.

You have to kill, or you get killed! he insisted once more.

I have three more years, Markus.

Summer came and went and harvest time was on. John and I were on the wall watching the domestic detail in the square. It was an hour before the Ave Maria, when I heard the machine-gun fire from the south-eastern detail near the forest of the heathen.

I heard the guns but did not see much. Yet an hour later they brought in 11 dead heathens who had tried to escape. They also carried in the guard; the pick was so deep embedded in his skull that it had lodged through the head and neck into the shoulder. John looked awed; he knew the power of the devil was here for us to see.

A detail had 12 workers, yet only 11 had been returned in death, - where was the 12th?

I recall of my time in Patagonia, as well as here, very little - moments rather than actual sequences. Can I remember more? Maybe, I just do not want to remember. John and I turned 12 and another winter came soon after.

We were again on shovelling detail. It was very cold and much more of the snow than there had been the year before. I fell sick with the cold given to me by the deadly devils-breath of a heathen. John too was tempted by the devil and fell ill with fever. Why were we so much tempted?

We recovered two days before they would have found us to be with the devil forever. We had been spared by the grace of God! We fell ill a week later again. Our lungs were burning ovens inside an aching rib cage. This time we had four weeks to fight the devil. We grew very ill and at the third week they moved us into the cathedral and we prayed for a miracle.

We had three days left for life. In the heat and delirium of my fever I saw my mother. The devil sure played my mind. I knew now I was doomed, I had her blood I had her devilish mind, and I closed my eyes and I smiled.

I felt the warm hand of her on my cheek. I opened my eyes. It must have been way past witching hour. All that was in cathedral was John and I and God.

Candles flickered and I saw this pair of blue sparkling eyes soft in the light of candles. A few drops of some bitter fluid was dropped into my mouth, I closed my eyes again. - I opened them wide, and tried to get up.

I stared at the devil in form and shape of the boy who had looked at me then last year; he who had cast the spell on me to always forget my food near their brood. Now he gives me the liquid of death. Oh, Lord, shall I die a sinner? He hushed away into the dim night of the cathedral. I slept.

At noon the church-bells chimed me to waking state. The doctor looks with puzzled expression at me.

A Miracle, Carlos, a Miracle happened! He exclaims.

I look at John who too is in same saved health as I. His hand moves across his lips, bent shape, with the portion of the back of his hand that is between thumb and index finger. Right hand and moving from right to left.

"I saw the virgin Mary in my dreams.