Legends of the Azores

There is a legend in the Azorean islands that the archipelago, itself, was blessed

by the gods. The Ancients said it was Neptune who pulled the depths of the ocean oor high above sea level, so that he could claim for himself a kingdom of earth and soil. As his brothers descended into the depths of the Underworld or climbed the summit to Heaven, Neptune, weary of the salty depths of the sea, resided for time upon time on these islands. The soil began to grow lush with life; plants, owers, and trees of all kinds began to sprout. Birds began to ock towards this refuge hidden far away from the prying eyes of Man, and with the birds, the abundance of the Animal Kingdom would swim towards this home of a god. Yet surrounding these islands, the Sea would beckon. It would call out to Neptune. It would usher for the god to return once more into the watery abyss. It was a call that even a god could not ignore. The tides would crash themselves upon the shores of the islands, knocking on the chamber door of Neptune. The blue ocean tides, swelling themselves into massive waves, reached the edges of Neptunes terrestrial kingdom and fell prostrate onto the rocky shores, begging the god to return to his true home and kingdom. And so it went on for eons. Apollo would ride his chariot across the azure skies lighting the world with the

Suns brilliance. Luna would rise up amongst the stars, emanating as the most beautiful celestial body of the night. The two would follow each other. One riding in the sky of day. One ascending into the cloak of night. For years upon years upon years upon years, the two beings followed their dance until the two began to forget who had been leading whom. Was it the day that followed night or had it been night that followed day? So it was on at this time that Neptune stared into the blue abyss, listening to the supplicant cries of the tides that had ceaselessly crashed themselves upon the rocky shore, crushing the solid stone into grains of sand. It was on this day that Neptune forgot his weariness of the sea and dove into the crying tides - to rule the sea for eons more. So it would happen that the stories told around the re would become legend, and

from legend to myth, and from myth into the Abyss. This was one such story that fell into the abyss, for Neptune forgot his island kingdom. Apollo and Luna forgot why they had commenced their dance and sunk and rose as a matter of habit. The islands even forgot... It was on this day that Man dared tread foot on the kingdom of a god. It is said that the rst Roman legionaire - landing upon the sandy shores of the

Azores - fell to his knees, dropping his shield and gladius. He had been struck by the

beauty of the islands, and even went so far as to say that these islands were the gateway to the Great Kingdom of Atlantis. Those had been in the days far past, for the Azoreans today spare no thought to

Rome. Today, the Azoreans are Portuguese, etching out a living as shermen and farmers. There is only one farmer, however, who went by the name of Alexio and lived on Terceira Island in the Autonomous Region of the Azores. On this particular day, the sun was out shining in a cloudless blue sky. Beneath its gentle rays laid the lush green elds of the islet. Looking at the island from above, one received the impression of serenity. As a matter of fact, the elds almost looked like a patchwork quilt. There were a set of low, grey stonewalls that cut the vast landscape into smaller rectangular patches. Within these smaller patches was the occasional stone cottage, belonging to the farmers that tended the land. More so, one would nd the white and black-spotted cows or woolly sheep contently grazing on the vibrant vegetation that grew beneath their feet. Amongst his cattle on this day, Alexio the farmer was milking one of the more mature cows. As the frothy, white cream spurted into a wooden bucket, Alexio thought about his Uncle who was coming to visit from across the island. Spurt, spurt, spurt. Filling the bucket almost to its brim, Alexio deftly picked up the wooden handle of

the bucket and began to trod towards his cottage. Hopefully, Uncle would nd this fresh milk pleasing. The milk that came from this cow was always pleasing. Step by step with the bucket of milk gently swinging back and forth, Alexio was just about to enter his cottage when he heard a loud BANG. It was the rattle of Uncles old truck. Setting the bucket on a thick wooden table in the kitchen, Alexio strolled towards his front window in time to see his Uncle emerge from the dilapidated truck, clutching a thick loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. Quickly, Alexio opened the front door to nd his Uncle already at the entryway. Thinking of giving his Uncle a hug, Alexio opened his arms to have the loaf of bread shoved into his chest. Scanning his new surroundings, the Uncle sauntered into the cottage. To his left was the stone replace. On top of the mantel was a set of sepia

photographs that the Uncle soon recognized as pictures of himself, Alexio, and Alexios father and mother. Above those was the hunting rie that Alexios father had bequeathed before his wife and him had died. Towards the side of the replace, in a corner was a single bed with a thick quilt placed on top of it. The quilt had been something Alexios mother had knitted especially for him. On the other side of the

replace was a wooden bookshelf with an antique radio on top of it, and in the middle of the room, facing the replace was a plush, cushioned chair. To the Uncles right was a modest kitchen with a sink and tap, a compact oven and stove, a pantry, and an old refrigerator - the only other electrical appliance besides the radio. In the middle of the kitchen was the thick wooden table with two wooden chairs on each side. At this point the Uncle spotted the bucket of cream. Picking up the bucket, and replacing it with the bottle of wine, the Uncle took a hearty draught of milk. That was the most magnicent cream that I have drank in ages! Alexio beamed with pride. I milked it this morning before you arrived. Setting the bucket down, the Uncle turned around and gave Alexio a clenching

hug, crushing the loaf of bread Alexio had been clasping next to his chest. Youve grown to be such a ne young boy, Alexio! said the Uncle, though Alexio

was sure that he already stopped growing at the end of his teen-age years almost a decade ago. Spotting the crumbs on Alexios shirt, the Uncle began to bellow, Why are you standing there, destroying that loaf of bread? Come, Alexio, let us eat. As the Uncle took his seat at the table, Alexio went to the stove and commenced

cooking the afternoon lunch. Setting an iron pan over the roaring re, Alexio went to the refrigerator to pull out two plates - one a small plate of butter, the other some slabs of steak a neighbor had given him. It was the remnants of an elderly cow that had to be butchered. Melting some butter in the pan, Alexio placed two steaks in and started frying. Taking the rest of the butter and two mugs to the table, Alexio found that his Uncle had already placed the loaf of bread on a dish and set the table with two sets of plates, knives, and forks. Pouring the milk into the mugs, Alexio inquired, How was your drive over here,

Uncle? Taking another draught of cream, the Uncle replied, It was pleasant. I always

take the road that goes along the sea, so seeing the waves run on the shore made a tranquil drive even more soothing... Listening, Alexio went to the stove and proceeded to ip the steaks. At which

point, the Uncle helped himself to a slice of bread and some butter. Sitting back down and cutting a slice of bread for himself, Alexio went on, How is the area down near Lajes? You must pass by it often when you drive to the church in town.

Busy. Very, very busy. Jets coming in. Jets ying out, Alexios Uncle started to

rant. It seems as though not a moment goes by without the Americans starting some sort of war. Now its the Middle East. I havent remembered so many planes ying in and out of Lajes since the end of the Second Great War The steaks were done. Alexio and his Uncle proceeded to eat the charred beef,

helping themselves to more bread and milk as they went. As the afternoon wore on, with the dishes and table cleaned away, Alexio and his Uncle found themselves sitting in front of the replace holding the same mugs - this time lled with wine. Looking towards the top of the replace from the cushioned chair, the Uncle smiled. Youre father wouldve been proud of the man youve become today, Alexio. Running his ngers along the quilt on his bed, Alexio grinned, for his Uncle had

not often called him a man. Alexio was almost sure that his Uncle still thought of him as the scrawny teen that he was years ago. I couldnt have become the man that I am today without your help, Uncle. The Uncle broke into an even wider smile. He wouldnt have hoped to hear a nicer

answer. You know, Alexio, it is the blood that runs through your veins. We, Azoreans, have a proud history. You may not think such feats of courage could be seen from us farmers and shermen, but the people of the Azores never stand for oppression. Hearing this, Alexio knew exactly the story his Uncle was talking about. It was a

history that every Azorean child learned, and it was a history that spanned all the way back into the 17th century during the time of the Iberian Union of Portugal and Spain. The Castilians wanted to make everyone of the Iberian Kingdom a Spaniard,

continued the Uncle. They replaced the Portuguese nobles with more Spaniards. They taxed the Portuguese merchants heavily, as their own were growing fat. It was a war that was bound to have happened. What happened then? asked Alexio. He already knew the course of the story

and the history of the islands, but Alexio still wanted to hear the story told by Uncle. It was the same story as when he was still a child. It was the same story that the Sisters at church would tell the school children, and it was the same story that both Alexios father and mother had known. Well, the Uncle said after a pause. The Acclamation War happened. Phillip of

Spain and John, the newly crowned king of Portugal, waged war. A long and bloody war it was. The war went on for almost thirty years. First, the French fought along with our

cause, but then they threw their support to Philip so that they could have their own peace. At the same time, the Portuguese and the Dutch constantly battled overseas, until the two nally decided that those Castilians were a far worse enemy. Last of all, England strained the ties between them and us during the time of their revolution until their new king was crowned and supported our independence from Spain. So many armies met and battled and destroyed themselves on the elds of the Continent. But the Azores never had a professional army at the time, chimed in Alexio, as

he saw a lull in his Uncles story. No, they didnt, declared the Uncle, as he pieced together the bits of history that

he knew. The Castilians had a local garrison of soldiers here. They built a small fortress in which they hid, but the Azores would not stand for those conquerors. Our men rose up with all the might they had, which wasnt nearly as much as what those armies on the Continent had. Us, shermen and farmers, took up our spades, our pitchforks, our scythes, and our daggers and turned them on those Castilians. The Uncle rose his cup of wine. So did Alexio. Without a word, both men nished

their cups in a single draught, as to commemorate the Portuguese dead. The Uncle reached for the bottle again, relling the two cups. With a second draught, they turned their thoughts to the Spanish, the French, the Dutch, and the English fallen - thinking of all the men, women, and infants who died not only at the hands of a blade but also by the famine, the plagues, and the traumas that inevitably follows War. Alexio rose from the edge of his bed that he was sitting on and placed some logs on

the hearth. Next to the logs, Alexio grabbed the lighter uid and box of matches, quickly starting a roaring re soon afterwards. Leaving his Uncle to stare at the ames consume the brown wood, Alexio left for the outhouse just outside the elds of his farms. Closing the cottage door behind him, Alexio approached the wooden structure that stood to a short distance from his cottage. As he closed in on the outhouse, Alexio looked to the miniature electric generator that was sidled to the wall of his home. It was only a matter of habit. It was never that Alexio suspected that anyone on the island would try to steal the generator away, but after the periods of heavy winter storms, Alexio almost expected the erce winds or the torrential rains to whisk the tiny generator into the sea. That never happened. A short while later, Alexio emerged from the outhouse into the the post-dusk

night. Spying it in the distance, a blackbird ew into the night sky to perch on a nearby

branch. Caw. Caw. In the nights cloak, the only light to be found was from the crescent moon that dangled amongst the stars. Alexio stared deeply at the tree that he had just seen the bird y into. It might have been a raven. That would have meant an omen. Ravens were supposed to be messengers. They have always been known to tell secrets. As Alexio stared at the dark tree, he wondered what secrets the raven had came to divulge. Coming back into the warmth of his cottage, Alexio saw his Uncle still staring into

the licking ames and crackling ember. His nose and cheeks were ushed red; his eyes had a twinkling shine to them. Alexio resumed his seat at the edge of the bed. I think I saw a raven outside. Probly a crow, replied the Uncle. Quieting down, Alexio stared into the ames as well. He had been hoping it was a

raven. Meanwhile, the Uncle grew tired of the ames and turned his attention to the bookshelf to the side. There was an almanac, the Holy Bible, a few other manuals, and a book of old myths and legends called Legends of the Azores. The Uncle had remembered when he rst gave that book to Alexio many, many years ago. After all these years, you still have that book on your shelf, Alexio? Its been my favorite book after all, Alexio responded. When I was a boy, I

remember my mother reading those stories to me as I fell asleep. I got that book for you when you were rst starting to go to school to learn your

letters. Do you remember? questioned the Uncle. I went through each and every one of those stories, hoping that you would continue to like them even as you grew older. Do you still touch the book nowadays? Of course I do. When I still couldnt read, Mother would read me the stories of all

the animals and birds and sh that lived around the islands, but as I grew older I began to love the stories about the Romans. They say the Romans landed on the Azores long before the Christians had ever arrived. Do you think that could be true? The Uncle turned his attention back toward the replace. The Romans were

conquerors. They went wherever they pleased. Like the Romans to the Castilians to the Americans today, they were all conquerors, never letting the Azores to simply be. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling screech pierced the air. Alexio drew tense. Probly the sheep, stated the Uncle.

Probably, replied Alexio. It most likely was, but that never changed the fact, to

Alexio, that the screams of a sheep sounded so much alike to the screams of a young child. I should go see whats bothering them. The Uncle looked back at Alexio with half-drooping eyes and just nodded. Alexio

stood up and reached for his fathers prized hunting rie that was hanging above the mantel place. Checking the gun to see it empty, Alexio proceeded to reach for a case of bullets that was usually left undisturbed on a shelf. Back outside in the night air, Alexio felt the gentle but increasingly frigid breeze

coming from the coastal winds. With his Uncles words still running through his mind, Alexio went about his duty, knowing where he was supposed to go. Enclosed in one of the rectangular patches of the farm, Alexio spotted the sheep. Some were simply lying down asleep, curled amongst the rest of the sheep. Others were grazing beneath the half moons glow. Alexio decided to investigate further. It was there that he saw it. He had seen it every night before whenever he walked around his farm. In the distance, scarcely able to be seen in the semi-darkness without the light of the full moon, it was low, grey, and ominous. Alexio approached, walking through the herd of sheep until he was directly in front of the low grey object. Running his hand along the cold stone, Alexio looked around, making sure that he hadnt overlooked anything that might be creeping about. There never was. Turning his attention back to the stonewall in front of him, Alexio saw the barrier that divided this patch of land from that, his plot of land from that of his neighbors. It was in this that Alexio found the proof he was looking for. It was in this that Alexio found the answer to the question that had been lingering in his mind since he spoke to his Uncle but moments beforehand. It was the Azoreans who had always been the rst conquerors of this island. Not the Romans. Not the Castilians. Not even the Americans. It was the rst Man who had ever stepped foot on these lands. It was he who conquered this island. Seeing nothing in his elds or even that of is neighbors elds, Alexio turned

around and headed back home. With the ames of the hearth still crackling in front of him, Alexio saw that his Uncle had closed his eyes, breathing peacefully. Picking up the quilt that was on his bed, Alexio placed the blanket on his Uncle with care. Slowly, his Uncles eyelids began to utter. Still drooping, half from sleep, half from the wine, Alexios Uncle stared into the ames of the replace.

You know, Alexio, theres a story that I hear the Sisters at church tell their

children When God Almighty gave Man decree to take dominion over all the birds, all the creatures of land, and all the owering plants, He, himself, was surprised at the ingenuity of His creation. Man, smarter than all of Gods other creations, overran the continents. Man made re. Man made spears. He made iron, and he made steel. With his own creations, Man stabbed the hearts of his Brothers and Sisters. God, seeing how brutal Man came to be, shed a single tear that fell into the depths of the azure ocean, and these islands were formed. Happily, God ushered in the rest of His creations that could not fend for themselves against Man. Birds ocked to the islands. All sorts of creatures from the Animal Kingdom swam across the ocean to reach these islands. All types of seeds were carried over the soil of these islands by the ying birds, by the swimming creatures, and they all ourished. But then, Man found the last Paradise of God and took up dominion over it. One day, when God descends back into the soil and earth of His creation, He will reclaim all His faithful and return these once nameless islands back to the quiet serenity that they, at a time, knew.