Cielo y el Hombre del Sol

He came from the sun looking for darkness, or at least a little shade. All he wanted was to rest his eyes for a bit, which is why he chose the Earth – darkness abounds. 

 

His incandescent wings took him just outside a California orchard where he walked in the cooling shade of a grove of persimmon trees. Eventually, he came upon a young Mexican immigrant girl; her name was Cielo and they fell in love immediately.

 

Cielo asked, “¿Va a besarme.” And even though he didn’t understand what she was saying, he understood exactly what she was saying. So the man from the sun said her name, pronouncing it “Cello,” and then kissed her.

 

He burned her lips a little. Her lips cooled his.

 

Cielo was smitten with his colorless wings and the way he glowed at night, like a cinder. During the day his skin was the color of honey and warm to touch. She forsook her madre y padre, her hermanos y hermanas, and her gods – the man from the sun was enough.  

 

In his embrace, Cielo’s cloths burned away and she walked naked without shame in the grove, her skin the color of figs and her eyes black walnuts. They spent the summer exploring each other under the wandering arms of the persimmon trees and in the autumn among the fallen, over-ripe persimmons.   

 

“Invierno está llegando,” Cielo said one evening in January. And even though he didn’t understand what she was saying, he knew exactly what she was saying. So the man from the sun said her name, and unfurled his wings to make sure they could still carry him.

 

Evenings grew frosty, the stars sharp. And the man from the sun readied himself for the long flight back to the sun. Flying low so as not to snag his wings on the scratchy branches of the persimmon trees, he rehearsed his return. 

 

“Por favor no me dejen” Cielo pled. She wept without shame, her cheeks glistening in his radiance.   And even though he didn’t understand what she was saying, he knew exactly what she was saying. So the man from the sun said her name, and then left while she slept.

 

Cielo woke the next morning, alone on the withering grass. Instantly, she knew the man from the sun had left. She did not cry. She simply turned her head toward the sun staring, watching for his return. 

 

“Voy a ver por ti” Cielo sighed.

 

This then, is how the young, immigrant Mexican girl fell in love with the man from the sun. And how she went blind watching for his return.

Reviews

[Emily B]

aw, it's amazing {you may want to take out the second one, I thought it was a literary device for a minute or two}

I read a story once in a Latin American short story class where a child tells the soldier that his 'papa esta en el cielo'. The soldier took the meaning as in daddy is in heaven, when the child was craftily covering the fact that papa was hiding in the ceiling of the family home.

When we think through a language we expand the possibilities of a story so much. And I like that your story combines those same ethereal themes that define those Latin American short stories. I used to describe them as a cross between The Twilight Zone and something deeper, darker and richer.

[Ama May Cooper]

A very sweet tale. Altho im confused in part if its her imagination or if this almost angel excites. Either way your tale is a worthy piece and is delicatly written well done