Mt Echaciona Village Mexico – 1986, a woman cries out in pain as she gives birth for the 13th time, her 12 previous children stand in awe as lightning strikes high above the round hut built of straw and dung. Truly this is an auspicious night.
The next morning as the cockerel crows in the yard all seems peaceful and yet something is not right – a distant rumbling and the high pitched cries of men, swept up in the thrill of banditry. As they approach the tiny village, everyone scatters and heading to safety further up the mountain arming themselves with rocks and sticks. As the bandits draw close the villagers release a volley of missiles causing horses to panic, throwing their riders from their saddles and trampling many in their retreat – unsuspecting of such a vicious attack the bandits head off to regroup and form a new plan.
Returning to her home the mother goes instantly to inspect the safety of her newborn, only to find that he has disappeared. Yelling out a painful wail of angst she falls to her knees, cursing the earth and the sun and the gods that govern it all as her 12 remaining offspring gather round her to give comfort.
12 years later…
A tall heavily set male figure appears on the horizon, this desert is inaccessible to all but the hardiest horserider yet this figure strides on as though walking across soft grassy plains, the heat has not buckled him, nor has the insatiable thirst killed him, he walks slowly yet purposefully towards the village some 5 miles in the distance. Zooming in closer we see the boy is wearing a colourful mask, of the kind favoured by luchadores. A blue background with two headed birds emblazoned in red with gold trim. As he strides closer the crowd gather, generations of famillies stand with baited breath ready to meet this visitor with apprehension and admiration for no other has ever crossed the desert and come to their village on foot.
Walking silently past the gathered crowd he walks directly up to a woman who is shaking and tears are filling her eyes. He reaches out one hand as she flinches, placing it on her shoulder he says “Mother I am your son, but I no longer have the face you gave me. This mask is my face, and my name is Dos Caras”. The woman cries out incoherently and raises her hands to the sky in praise.
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