Once upon a time there was a man.  Let’s name him Hombre.  He was born in a small town in Sinaloa to peasant parents.  When he was old enough, he went away  and joined the army.  He had an intelligent mind and knew how to work hard, so he quickly moved up the ranks.  There came a great revolution against an oppressive facist government.  Many battles were fought, and in those battles Hombre distinguished himself for his valor and bravery.  He was made General of the Army just before the final decisive battle in a great valley high in the Sierra de Occidental.  He showed cunning and flexibility in his leadership, and although many men were lost, the battle was won by the forces of the revolution.  In victory, Hombre exhibited kind mercy on the defeated forces of the government.

In exchange for his service, the new democratic government allotted to Hombre a great many acres on the peninsula de Baja California.  He married the beautiful daughter of his second-in-command and built her a large adobe ranch house surrounded by lush gardens and palms.  They had many children and their cattle ranch prospered in the growing frontier territory.

In not so many years, Hombre became restless with the ranch life and made plans to embark on a voyage.  Through contacts in the Army, he acquired a small sailing ship pirated from some foreign power.  With a crew of ranch hands, he set sail to explore the Sea of Cortez.

Through months of hot becalmed drifting and howling hurricane winds, Hombre and his crew learned to sail the boat.  Huge manta rays would spar with the masts, splintering them, and requiring a landing and a trek to mountain peaks for replacements in the high pine forests.  They stopped at a small wind-washed island to steal seabird eggs, and were beset with flocks of turkey vultures.  The largest vulture seized Hombre and carried him to the guano-pasted peak of the island.  The vulture shat upon Hombre’s wrists and ankles, and the guano quickly dried to form crude shackles.  The vulture settled in to wait for Hombre to die, but Hombre was a man of great fortitude and would not die so easily.  Each evening the vulture would come to see if the man had died, and admire his eyeballs, for these were the first to be eaten.  Hombre did not die, and his God decided that it was not Hombre’s time.  Though it had not rained for 5 years on the island, a thunderstorm blew up and the rain softened the bonds of the guano.  Hombre found his men huddled in a cave with a flock of smaller vultures massed about the entrance.  He dispersed the birds and set sail again with his crew.

They sailed northward and came to beaches where people of the north travelled for leisure.  Hombre knew they were in perious waters and through the ruse of a game, tied each of the crewmen to the masts and scuppers of the ship.  The crew could soon see the scantily clad northern women with swollen sunburnt bosoms and hair the color of cornsilk.  The women beckoned the hardy seamen with loud rock music and strong drink.  The señioritas were obviously of an easy reckoning.  The crew took a vote and unanimously decided to stop for a visit.  Hombre chocked the rudder and then bound himself in a manner that prevented him from freeing himself.  Though his crew screamed insults and mutinous words at him, Hombre let the ship pass by.  Indeed, he could do nothing else.  A particularly beautiful señiorita in a skintight suit on a sail board came out to convince them to stop.  Her eyes were the color of the tourquoise sea and Hombre was immediately smitten.  He struggled at his bindings, but could not loosen them.  The señiorita kept smiling and circling the ship, but none on board could turn the ship in pursuit of her satisfaction.  Soon night fell and the party beaches passed over the horizon.

A storm blew up and sent the ship aground near a lagoon.  The water dissolved their bonds and the men were freed.  However, in the confusion, Hombre was separated from his men and set adrift on the sea.  A whale appeared and swallowed Hombre.  In the dark of the whale’s gut, Hombre could not tell how much time has passed before he was disgorged on a small island.  The whale informed him that she had been following the ship and was impressed by Hombre’s bravery and fortitude.  The whale was in love with him, and appealed to Hombre to become her mate.  Hombre explained that he was already married and would remain faithful to his wife.  And besides, he explained, you are a whale and I am a man.  “We are not so far apart,” the whale said, “not so far apart at all.  I will keep you here until you change your mind.”

Many years passed.  The other whales migrated north and south, but the one in love with Hombre stood guard over him.   When he tried to escape, she would thwart him.  A raft he made was shattered by her fluke.  Signal fires built to gain the attention of passing ships were extinguished with a plume of spray from her blowhole.  Hombre became very weary of the small fish the whale brought him to eat, and of the taste of cactus he ate for water.  A group of pelicans eventually took pity on the man, and by dropping beaks full of fish farther and farther from the island, lured the whale away so that Hombre had time to escape while clinging to the trunk of a date palm for floatation.

Hombre eventually found his loyal crew still encamped with the grounded ship.  They refloated the ship and after many other adventures, sailed for home.  As they neared the coast they thought to be the outskirts of his ranch, a great fog swept in from the Pacific.  The ship wrecked on rocks and the crew was drowned.  Hombre alone survived, scratched and with his clothing torn.  He walked barefoot the many miles inland to his ranch.  In his absence, his wife was tasked with managing the ranch.  Soon free from the duties of caring for small children, she applied herself to the rearing of livestock instead.  She had a great skill for this, and in the many years that Hombre had been gone, she had doubled the hectares owned by the rancho.

Hombre arrived in the evening.  As he passed pastures and orchards, he could see that his ranch had been cared for well in his absence.  In his older, weather-beaten, and bedraggled state, none of the hired help recognized him as he staggered into the ranch house.  His wife was entertaining a group of men who, dressed as they were, could only be suitors.  She drank from a goblet of wine (the fruit of the vineyard that she had nurtured) and laughed at the jokes of the suitors.  He entered the room and her brow furrowed.  She called out “Who let this old beggar into the house?  Have him removed immediately.”  Their oldest son appeared and escorted him out, not recognizing him.  “Viejo,” the son said, “we are a generous people.  Here, take dinner with the servants.  If you need a night’s rest, we have no extra beds, but the goat shelter by that hill will keep the chill of the stars off of you.”  Tired from his journey, and dazed by the treatment of his family, Hombre went to the goat shelter and immediately slept through the night.

Before first light, Hombre woke and snuck into the house.  On the porch, a suitor had spent the night sleeping in a chair.  He washed and shaved, then crept upstairs.  He found his old army uniform, proud that it fit him well after all these years, and put it on.  He returned to the main floor, his anger building.  He slammed open the great front door of the ranch house and raged at the suitor.  “Go home you whoremongering coyote!  I am Don Hombre, and you dishonor me with your presence in my house.”  His wife appeared wrapped in a dressing gown and his oldest son soon after.  She gasped.  “Hombre, is it you finally returned?  We had thought you dead,” she said, moving to embrace him.  He put his hand out stiffly to stop her approach.   “Wife, though still beautiful, you dishonor me with your unvirtuous activities in my house.  It is a sin for which I may someday forgive you.”  She looked him in the eye a few seconds and then lowered her gaze to the floor. “Husband, you have been absent 13 years.  In that time I have not been unvirtuous.”  She paused.   “And you are not my god.”  This angered him more.  “Wife,” he raged, “I am not your god but I am your husband, and you will respect me!  Go, cloth yourself.  Look at you, the sun already up and you still in your sleeping gowns.”  She hesitated a moment, as if to speak, but turned and went up the stairs again.

Hombre turned to his son, who had stood quietly watching the scene between his parents.  Quieter, with a little affection, Hombre said, “Son, every morning you rise and look in the mirror.  Do you not see me there too in your own face?  How could you have not recognized your father when he returns to his own house?”  The son looked up.  “Father, when you left I was yet a man, and now you have returned.  While you look fit, your journeys have left your face and hair with a character they did not posses upon your departure.”  He looked at the wrinkles about his eyes, the dark bronzing of his forehead, the bright grey of his hair, but mentioned none of these.  “What I see in the mirror is the face you departed with, not the one you wear upon your return.”  Brushing this aside, Hombre said “No matter, do as I suggest and my affection for you may be reinstated.  The goat shelter is not fit for guests, no matter what their standing in your eyes.  You will make it fit, and then sleep there yourself until the first summer rains dampen the ground around it.”  The son clenched his jaw, but glancing at the uniform said “Yes, my father.  A sus ordines, as you wish.”

Hombre’s return home was not the triumph he had hoped.  The house was frequently quiet, though his family and servants were respectful.  His wife was cold to him.  He could feel the chill in her lips when she kissed him goodnight on the cheek at the dinner table.  When he gave directions for the management of the ranch, the hired help hesitated and glanced at his wife as if to confirm his orders with her approval.  His son was a stranger, and 3 of his daughters quickly married a suitor within the first half-year of his return.  After the daily trials of his voyage, his home life was a thing difficult for Hombre to grasp.

He rode his wife’s stallion, his stallion now, to the Sea of Cortez.  He came frequently and many times sat and watched an island far out in the sea.  It foated above the horizon as if levitated.  On one of these rides, he came across his local friar, Father Piño.  The friar sat by the side of the road resting.  Hombre dismounted and sat near him.    After pleasantries, he asked, “Padre, do you know of the island off the coast there?  The one that seems to float?”
     “Si, I know of it.  I sailed there when I was a young man.  Back when I was unsure of my faith, before I chose the cloth.  It was a small boat with a square sail.  So many years ago, that was.  Isla Angel de la Guardia.  Guardian Angel Island.”
     “Was it a difficult voyage?” Hombre asked.
     “No, the crossing was quite pleasant.”
     “Were there great monsters in the sea that tormented you?  Whales that sought to own you.  When you landed were you lashed with storms and rain?  Wind and blistering sun?”
     “No, señior, none of these things I found.  The island is uninhabited of course.  There is a little water.  A person can live frugally there for a time from what the sea might offer.  There is shade, and wood for small fires to warm a person at night.”
     “But then what did you do there, Padre?”
     “Thought about my mother.  I watched los peliconos, the pelicans, dive for fish.  Walked its many beaches.  Why do you ask, Don Hombre?”
     “My return to my home has not been what I had hoped.  I thought perhaps I could seek further adventures there.  As long as was my absence, and as many obstacles as I was thrown, it was a life I found more fulfilling than the one to which I have returned.”
     “But señior, you have been gone many years.  It may take many yet for you to return.”
     “I do not understand, Padre.”
     “A short absence will bring a welcome return, but a longer one sows a seed that might grow into resentment.”
     “But I have lived a good life.  A life lived with valor and virtue.  I have shown bravery, honesty and commitment since the time I was young.  Persistence and devotion have brought me to where I am.  Much like you, Padre.  I do not understand why everyone does not honor me.  I do not understand why old friends do not come to hear stories of my travels.”
     “Si, you have live a good live, Don Hombre, but the devotion you have most shown is to yourself.  You life is one you have lived for yourself.  A life devoted to your own pursuits.”
     “I gave many years to the cause of The Revolution.  I was prepared to give my life.”
     “Si.  This I have seen.  You did make sacrifices for a great cause.  But your interests were served as much as you served the interests of the cause.  Much like your voyages.”  The friar waved his arm at the grey-blue sea.  “Your trials on your travels would have bested a lesser man.  You survived because of your strength and your courage.  But what have you left?  Your crew died following you.  You have the knowledge of your valor and persistence.  You have stories for your grandchildren.”
     “Are you saying my crew died through actions I took, or actions I did not take?”
     “No, señior.  Your crew made their own choices.  They chose to join you on your travels.  But they would not have followed if you had not led.  And now what do their families have for their loyalty?  Before they just had absent husbands and fathers, now they have dead ones.”
     Hombre was troubled by these words.  “I have always thought, Padre, that if I found challenges and overcame them, then the rest of life would be easy.  That those around me would see that I have fought the good fight.  That they would honor and respect me for my actions.  That people would come to me with praise and with other challenges which might trouble them.”
     The friar nodded.  “I know a little about being sought out by those with challenges.  I have found, Don Hombre, after many years, that what people seek most is not salvation, but love.”
     “But Padre, your business is salvation.  What have you pursued all these years, but the saving of souls?”
     “Señior, I cannot save the soul of any man.”
     “Then your life’s work has been for naught?
     “This may be true, or may not be true.  My place in this world is not to judge.  Men must seek their own salvation.  My place, I have come to see, is to exhibit love.  Show forgiveness.  Set an example of giving.  Although these long walks I take seem only for my selfish interest; sometimes I must seek forgiveness myself.”  He rubbed his caloused feet.
    “So, Padre, I should sell my ranch and cattle and give the proceeds to those that might be in greater need than I?
    “It is not your ranch to sell.  It is owned by your family and …”
    “That is not true.  The land was given to me, and my name alone is inked on the title.”
    “Si, si, señior.  Technically it is owned by you, but there are many others who would be affected by your actions.  For many years you have deprived those around you of a husband and a father.  Should you now take their home and livelihood as well in pursuit of your own salvation?  There is a great void between what you can do, and what you should do.  That void is filled by the things of which I speak.  Your were given many talents, Don Hombre, what I suggest is that you examine how you apply them.”
    “I know how to win great battles, defeat monsters, persist against adversity and survive when all hope is lost.  These are my talents. What should I do with them?”
    “That,” the friar said as he rose, “is something you must struggle with yourself.  You cannot change the curve of your life up until this moment.  All you can hope to do is guide its course into the future.  A man is not just the sum of his actions.  What he finds most satisfying is not what may satisfy him most.  You can stare at an island on the sea and see that it floats.  You can travel there and struggle to make a place for yourself.  But perhaps what you seek is a place made for yourself in the land on which you stand.  This is not something that you can do, it must be done by others for you.”
     Hombre was lost.  He felt impotent and defeated at these words.  “But how?  I cannot force people to love me, this I have learned.  I cannot even make people respect me.”
     “Ah,” said the friar, taking Hombre’s hand and shaking it, “your travels have taught you something.  Consider this:  Seek forgiveness.  Accept their love.  Give to them instead of to yourself.  In time they may come to accept you again.”  He looked at the sun.  “I must be starting back.  They day is aging like my stiff bones have aged.”
     “But what if they do not accept me?  That is a voyage I am not sure I can survive.”
     “Señior,” the friar turned to look him straight in the eye, “it is a voyage we all embark on at the time of our birth.  It is a question we can hope to have answered at the time of our death.”  In a swirl of robe, the friar turned to walk down the path, waving his hand behind him.  “Vaya con Dios, Señior.  If I do not return to town by dark, the chill may mean I have to answer it sooner than I had hoped.”  He padded away down the coast.
     Don Hombre’s horse snorted in echo of the friar’s sentiments.  He rose and mounted the horse, spurred it into walking, and let the reigns drop slack.  The horse knew the way.  It picked their path between the stones of the arroyo, back toward the ranch and home.