Alonso was here

"Sarah Smith," she said to the lady at the Delta counter in Spokane. Her dad had just dropped her off, the $7,000 air fare was a bit more than he had expected.

He protested, "Isn’t Dr. Cuckoo in Chile?" He was pacing a groove in his kitchen floor.

"He spends a lot of time on Easter and he works out of the university in Santiago, but he’s not there right now. Besides, I’ll be in and out of the capitol so fast I’ll pass beneath the radar." Then she offered. "You know, a one way ticket would be so much cheaper than a flight with an open ended return."

"Not a chance in hell am I gonna risk it." Her dad returned, "if anything happens to me, you can just show up at an airport and come home."

"You’ll be fine dad," she assured, "and so will I."

Now as the ticket agent starred at the monitor in front of her, Sarah wished her dad had seen her off. She told him not to wait, but if that little hug at the curb was the last time she sees him alive she’ll never forgive herself. "He’ll be fine," she told herself again. After all, her mom has been gone for nine years now and he took it hard at first, but he’s fine now.

The Delta agent exclaimed. "Your flight is delayed, but you should make your connection in Salt Lake. Gate 15." She handed over the boarding pass and went back to starring at he monitor.

A lifetime at gate 15, or at least an hour and a half. Then forever on the tarmac, then Salt Lake, Atlanta, Santiago and finally Copiapo. As she stepped out of the terminal a cab driver smiled and offered in his best English, "hotel lady?"

Now it might of been because she was exhausted, or maybe she was a bit mischievous that day, but she didn’t like the assumption that she was American. She asked him in broken Farsi if he understood Farsi or German.

He was taken aback and she giggled to herself then she told him in perfect continental Spanish that she would like to go to the "Hosteria Las Pircas."

His grin was so endearing that she felt a bit embarrassed that she had picked on him, but he was chattering away as he threw her back pack into the back seat of his cab and held the passenger door open for her. He told her about all the local attractions and asked about a thousand questions. It all boiled down to what was she up to in Copiapo.

She started to answer, no she wasn’t going to the "day of the woman" convention, yes she would like to have him pick her up in the morning, no she wasn’t wanting to catch the train to Caldera.
Finally she gave up trying to satisfy his curiosity and told him to pick her up at noon tomorrow, than remained silent for the rest of trip to the hostel. She got a bed and passed out.

When her cab picked her up the next day she had him take her to the Alameda Manuel Antonio Matta. There at the historical center of Copiapo, she crossed over to the old church San Francisco. The priest wasn’t anxious to let Sarah riffle through the church archives. He assured her that the university had copies of all the relevant records. She shifted the conversation over to Latin, telling him that she was looking for manuscripts in languages other than Latin. He tried to maintain a poker face but she immediately realized that she was onto something here. He knew he had tipped his hand, finally after more debate, he accepted that she may know more about unique languages than the local scholars.

He led her into a reading room and asked her to wait. He returned in eight minutes with a laptop that he set up for her. He kept explaining that he intended for her to answer questions for him, and that he could in no wise open his library for her curiosity. When the computer had booted she could see that the contents of a vast library had been painstakingly copied into text files. He leaned in behind her and took hold the mouse. He navigated quickly to the text he wanted to show her, had she not been fluent in Latin she might have missed the name on the journal he landed on. She wasn’t sure if it seemed familiar or if she just hoped it had, Alonso de Barcena. Barcena at least hinted what she could expect. She had heard that an classmate from UW had gone to Barcena Spain to study the Basque Language. What a shock when she scanned down the page of text that the young priest stopped on. It was mostly Latin, about escaping a native uprising, and then a few lines of... Sort of a Sanskrit....Yes, it was Romaní language, "Gypsy." she voiced in English. The padre’s English was obviously not good enough to recognize the word, and her first thought was to play it close to her belly. He was insistent, if she knew something she must tell or he would take his ball and go home.

"Gitanos!" she offered as if the answer was simple.

"Gitanos?" The priest was puzzled.

Evidentially, our Alonso de Barcena learned to speak the Romaní language.

The priest offered that Alonso was a linguist, then he included the rest of the story, about the Spanish evacuation of Bolivia and Peru. Diego de Almargo was the Spanish Captain that led the Jesuits over the Andes through the Gorge of Paipate. They waited here in Copiapo until reinforcements arrived, then went back and put down the Incas. Some of the Jesuits stayed here, and this journal was left with those first missionaries.

How many lines of Romaní are there. Sarah asked

Answering her question with a question, he needed to know if she could read it.

Yes, I have some notes in my laptop that will refresh my memory. Sarah told him she would be back the next day, he promised that he would have all the text set up for her, so she headed for the hostel.

Arriving back at the church the next day, she found that the padre had separated all the Romaní into a single file. She finally convinced him that she needed the context to best translate the journal. He agreed, with reservations, to let her read the entries in their original form.

They where logs of the journey over the Andes. They had traveled fast and light with the natives on their heels. At one point the captain cut the pack animals loose so they could move faster. Alonso then switched over to a more secure mode of communication, because he was describing where he hid some things.

The priest was more excited about the prospect of a hidden treasure than Sarah was. She got a sinking feeling, like she was once again going to be left out of the loop. He wondered out loud if there might be a need for a translator.

Sarah answered, perhaps. He then confessed that he had called a friend at the university to inquire about her qualifications. He had discovered that there were people in Santiago who were anxious to know what she was looking at. Fortunately, his friend got around them and discovered that there was some question of intellectual property. Before Sarah could defend herself, he assured her that his friend seemed to believe the folks in Santiago had stolen from her.

Barriers broke down and Sarah realized she didn’t even know this young priest’s name. When she asked he replied "Juan de Copiapo."

She wanted to know if he was a native. and he told her he was "Diaguita."

An expedition to the "Gorge of Paipate" was in the planning stages by that afternoon. Father Juan allowed Sarah to read as much about the flight of Alonso de Barcena to Copiapo, as she could digest. That turned out to be a sizable amount.

In the days that followed, Sarah met the padres cousins, uncles, aunts and father. She wondered to herself, what do you call a father’s father? Grandpa. That was sadder then she had thought at first. Father Juan was an only child, and not likely to give his widower father any grandchildren.

All of the people the priest brought by to have a look at the American girl with the red-brown hair and green eyes, seemed to approve. She found out later, that the Diaguital people never trust Europeans, including their descendants, and she certainly didn’t look like a native. Their hair was thick and black, strait and the women wore it in a long braid down their backs. They had very dark eyes that shined with ready laughter. They were slender with thin noses and full lips, and the men had very fine facial hair if they had any at all. Sarah got used to being inspected and soon settled into a routine of studying the description of the place Alonso stashed his cache.

The journey up the Copiapo river valley, was no great task, there was a good road up as far as there was cultivable land. As the mountains loomed nearer, Sarah realized that her failure to trust anyone, might have caused a big problem. She mentioned to Juan that she might not be fully qualified to catalogue an archeological dig. He laughed and pointed to one of his cousins wondering, didn’t I introduce you to Professor Tayci, head of the archeology department at the university.

The detail of the trip and trail; rugged, steep and hard, went by in a blur. Sarah’s major contribution was again finding the spot. The picture of the location in her mind wasn’t complete ‘till she saw the place. Than, when she saw it, pow there it was. The digging part went along entirely too slowly. But, unlike the last expedition she had been on, apparently she was to receive the credit for the entire discovery. Professor Tayci kept asking her if she had figured out a title for her paper on the dig. Or, sometimes he’d suggest a name of someone who might review a doctoral dissertation by her.

One day Sarah Jane got to wondering if her dad would feel like he got his moneys worth. She said to Pedro, Professor Tayci’s sir name, "I need to go home for a while, can you let me know if you find anything."

"Before you go, are you sure this is the place." He queried.

"I am 98% certain this is it," Sarah replied. "It’s right here."

"Okay then, go on home and we’ll call you from Copiapo when we get the loot back to town".

Loot, what an interesting choice of words. It was months before he called. She had spent a lot of time with her dad, who was sure she should’ve stayed there to claim her prize. Then they called and her faith in these good friends was justified. Juan and Pedro were together on a speaker phone. They were super excited, but Pedro spoke in English in case her dad was listening.

"Sarah Smith?" Pedro verified. "The Diaguital people are indebted to you for discovering the lost translation of our native language. Alonso De Barcena had complete lexicons, catechisms and prayer books in the Cacan Language. Some of our people are trying to learn the language as we speak, we could sure use your expertise down here."

"I can come down right away." She responded.

Pedro assured. "Sarah, everyone who knows anything about this knows you did it."

Her dad did overhear, not hard to do, the Chilean cousins were shouting. A big grin came across his face and Sarah couldn’t want for a greater reward.