Crying on the steps of a Castilian Gothic-era gilded church could be heard for two miles in every direction. Yet, no one bothered to soothe the terrified orphaned boys.
An Ecuadorian policeman happened upon this sight and recognized the regular visitors. He picked up the screaming children, whose clothes were tattered, and soiled.
Quito in the September of 1990 was a desolate city. Litter decorated the streets and fed the wild rats handsomely. Dinosaur-like lizards the size of golden retrievers walked throughout the city scavenging for vegetation. The people were a sad and hungry lot; the scraps of a once powerful and mighty civilization. Cast to the shadows by the Spanish many hundreds of years ago, the people of the new age forgot their power.
The crying orphans were brought back to their mother.
“You cannot keep this up Dolila,” pleaded the officer to the frightened teenage girl who stood at her doorway.
“Por favor, you cannot expect me to keep them!” Dolila pleaded in kind.
“There must be a nun there who can care for them!” she continued as she began to close the door.
“Dolila, they are your sons,” reminded the officer as the orphaned boys looked up at him and then to their mother. There was something wise in the eyes of the boys. They knew what she felt. They knew that their screams were not for her, but for a mother many miles away.
“Lo siento, no puedo,” Dolila replied with a vacant face as she closed the door.
Now the officer had much more responsibility than he could have anticipated. He found himself looking at the children in his arms, a deep sadness took his heart. Maybe he could take them home and care for them and raise them as his own.
Reminded of the state of his house and the overwhelming amount of financial debt he was in; he could only grow sadder and more self-deprecating. On his way back to the police station with the children strapped in the back seat, the officer drove past a small schoolhouse building with a rainbow painted on the side.
Maybe someone could help.
He pulled his car to the side and turned on his alarm lights. A young woman dressed in a cotton skirt and white blouse came running out to greet the officer. Her features were native and dark, yet her look was professional and modern. Her black hair was slicked into a high bun with a pink silk scarf tied around it, and she wore large gold earrings.
“Officer, is something wrong?” She began with worry in her voice.
“Buenas tardes señora, I have orphaned boys here whose mother just closed her door on me. Por favor digame, can you help?” The officer had genuine concern in his eyes.
“Well, yes we can. We are an orphanage.”
This day would change the course of the orphaned boys’ entire lives.
In the great land of America, a husband and wife were looking desperately for a way to have children of their own. They had their minds set and were willing to pay and do whatever was necessary to fill the holes in their hearts.
A nearby adoption agency contacted the couple and told them of the two Inca boys in Ecuador who just became available for adoption.
After the paperwork was settled and the mother-to-be had a picture of her new sons, the couple boarded the next available flight.
“What will we call them?” asked the wife to her husband.
“What names do they already have?” replied the husband in query.
“The papers say, Roca, and Julio,” stated the wife with tears rising in her blue eyes.
“Then Roca, and Julio it is,” said the husband whose green eyes also welled with anticipation and love.
Three long days later, the husband and his wife returned home with their new sons Roca and Julio.
Very excited to share their new family with their community, they held a grand dinner.
Narragansett was a town rich with colonial and native American architecture. Rich evergreens and maple trees were found along every street, along with streetlamps original to the town’s inception. The dinner was held at the community center and was attended bountifully.
In attendance was the chief of the Narragansett tribe himself. He and his tribe were in litigation to re-acquire their land, and in a diplomatic approach sought to befriend the locals. The new parents had done much for the community with supporting local non-profit organizations and running food and clothing drives. They were also large supporters of the Narragansett movement and had been friends with the chief for a few years by this point.
“Chief!” exclaimed the father to his friend,
“Who do we have here?” replied the chief as he gave the new parents each a hug. The mother with gleaming pride held Roca’s hand as her husband held Julio’s. The two young boys looked into the wizened eyes of the Chief.
“These are our sons, Roca, and Julio,” the mother barely got the sentence out through her overflowing emotions.
The chief looked deeply into Roca’s eyes and then to Julio’s. The two boys stood silently and looked back at the chief just as deeply.
Roca then smiled and held his hands up to the Chief in request to be held. Julio just as instantly hugged the Chief’s leg.
The father nodded in permission, and the Chief then held Roca on his left hip, and Julio onto his right continuing to read their souls.
“You are both healed, your sons have filled that which has been vacant for your entire lives up until now,” the chief began.
“These boys have souls of empathy, and deep awareness of emotion and feeling. They have the gift. They will be great medicine men; great healers.”
The father felt a shudder run down his spine in visceral response to the chief’s omniscience.
“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on our sons, don’t you think?” stated the mother boldly so as to protect the innocence of Roca and Julio’s childhood. “Then for now, they are your medicine boys,” replied the chief with a cryptic and knowing look in his eyes.