The Legend of Maia

A while ago, I translated a story from Portuguese to English called The Legend of Fatima. The stories were compliled and written into a book The Legends of the Names of Portuguese Lands. I took a fair amount of writer's liberties with this story, because the original required a certain amount of clarification and exaggeration that is done so well in our cultures' traditional fairy tales. I hope that you all like this story, that you share this story, and that you find it part of the stories we read to the arising generation. With much love for storytelling, I leave you with the Legend of Maia.

The Legend of Maia

Maio and Maia are names with a story. A story laced with legend and tradition. A story where a soul's ingenuity mixes with a certain fluid of poetry that appears to have been born of its own nature. In many countries this poetry exists, but for this country these origins are remote, legendary, and specifically connected to the story of Maia.

It is the type of legend Portugal tells. A legend lost in the dust of time. A legend that runs through the years of the breezy taste of imagination, in the imagination of the good people of Portugal.

Everything began in the month of May. Already born was the spring, and the earth blooming as beautiful as ever before. In every part of the land the tilling of the fields had begun by the people of the parishes, for truly it was a time of planting, of spreading, of clearing, and of renewing the fields and vineyards.

The work led to a growing rhythm in the vineyard of the same land. In the vineyard, Master Chico lovingly cared for everything, as he grafted the live eye, as he had come to call it, into the same branches of countless vine branches to maintain the flavor of the grapes. He cared for it, knowing the consistency of its work, of its needs, and all else in caring for each aspect of its lands. His reputation preceding him wherever he went.

His wife, Senhora Helena, was the center of social life in the parish. If the baker had just married the smith's daughter, she was the first to know. If the barber pulled a tooth, she knew whose scream it was before they left.

Master Chico and Senhora Helena prided themselves on knowing the routine of everyday life, and never being any different than they had always been.

 Senhora Helena would soon be a mother, very soon. Hearing the shouts of the midwife, Master Chico threw everything to the ground, running like a man possessed. It was their first child. Ah, what if it was a boy!?... He thought. "To have a boy that will carry my name, learn my trade." His thoughts trailed into a world of possibilities he had always dreamed of and considered.

But instead was born a girl. Small and beautiful, possessing the face of a little angel, petite hands, like fine porcelain, and a strange aroma...

Yes, there was no doubt, the girl possessed a strange aroma like flowers, mysterious even, filling the whole house, eyes like the stars, that followed her parents wherever they went, and something else beautiful they could not yet describe.

The first days passed in enchantment, but soon the parents became frightened of what it might be. What would they tell others? Were they good omens or bad?

"I haven't any idea if this be a good thing, husband. Have you seen the way the girl looks at us? There be something that I do not understand in the look that penetrates my very heart," said Helena.

"And that strange aroma, woman, like a flower, is what concerns me the most... I do not know what to think," replied Chico.

"Neither do I..."

Without words, the two stood staring at the little girl until suddenly the girl started to cry. Returning to reality, the parents seemed awakened by their situation, and the mother had an idea.

Picking up the baby to soothe her temperament she said, "If you would go speak to Senhor Prior about her baptism and this, she would need to be seen and the child blessed."

"You have a point! I will go this very moment to speak with Senhor Prior, and I am sure he would need to see with his own eyes what strange things our daughter possesses."

"Go then man! Go now! Do not delay for the love of God! It could be that this is not a good thing."

Master Chico left quickly, and Helena returned to her daughter, watching her every movement, restlessly and suspiciously. And the little girl stopped crying, her wailing replaced with a smile. And when she smiled, the legend says, it appeared that her smile began to transform the very air, summoning both music and the aroma of flowers.

*  *  *  *  *  *

The hours passed, and still the husband had not yet returned. Helena began to feel very upset. The little girl however stared at her mother smiling, eyes following her where she went, moving where she moved. All throughout the whole house, Helena felt the eyes of her daughter follow her adoringly.

Her thoughts pulled her into an intimate confusion. Could it be true she was hearing music? And who could be making the music? And why was there music in such a poor house? And from where could such good and pleasing aromas be coming, that just by smelling it gave Helena the will to sing.

Helena fell on her knees in front of the crucifix that hung upon the wall to pray fervently. "My God, help me! My Lord Jesus Christ, help me! This little girl is wondrous. Let me understand her. Let her understand me...Help us my God...my father who art in heaven."

Fervently the mother prayed as she knelt repeating the Lord's Prayer three times, and then reciting the Ave Maria three times. And when she arose, returning to look at her daughter, she was stupefied.

Throughout the prayer, the little girl had remained smiling. And in that same instant the baby extended her little arms to her mother as if she had been listening to her supplication. And she smiled all the more. The old legend says that at that moment, the music grew stronger as did the aroma of the perfume filling the whole house.

Master Chico returned, though it was much later than he desired, he brought with him the old prior. As they entered, he showed the old prior the little child, now asleep.

"Senhor Prior, this is the child," Master Chico said with apprehension.

Silently the old priest looked at the child. Smiling as he watched the child sleep peacefully.

"She is beautiful," the priest said, "a good sign. Blessed be God for giving you both such an enchanting daughter."

Grasping the arms of the old prior, Master Chico and Helena shouted at the old prior, "Have you not been listening Prior? Do you not hear the music? And that smell, Senhor Prior, what could be the aroma we smell throughout the house?"

The kind padre raised his eyes to the heavens, and then turned his eyes toward them as he spoke, "Maybe there is a reason. There are many things around us, and God is full of infinite mercy and surely wanted this child to bring with her the perfume and the music of flowers...You should not forget that it is spring, and we are also in the month of May."

The parents were silenced as they looked into the prior's eyes. It was true. The month of May and spring. Though immediately, Helena asked in the echo of her own anxiety, "And do you think there be any evil in this, Senhor Prior?"

"Evil in what, my child? In the contrary, you should thank God for the mercy he has shown you, and the blessing he has given you."

She bowed her head, resigned and emotional. Mildly appeased, and yet still more afraid, in spite of everything the prior had said. This was different, and things were bound to change.

Master Chico, however, dared to prolong the interrogation with a question burring inside of him that could not remain unanswered, paining him to ask, but finally he had to ask. "And what about the others, Senhor Prior?...The other people in the land...won't they laugh at us...for having a daughter...like this...like her?"

Slowly, the old prior put his hand, wrinkled by time, on Master Chico's strong shoulder. "No, my friend! No one will laugh at you. You may laugh above all others. For your daughter is a flower, a true flower of May!"

The prior's mouth opened in a smile again while looking tenderly at the sleeping child. "When you christen the child, we shall call her Maia, and then she will be baptized," the prior proposed. "It is a name both adequate and lovely. A name that reminds us of spring flowers and sounds of spring music." Looking down at the child, the prior repeated her name softly, "Maia."

So the girl was called Maia.

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The years added up, disappearing into the vortex of life. And the girl grew into a most beautiful maiden. Yet, according to what the legend tells us, her parents continued to live dominated by their strange fear of difference and ridicule. They still feared that others would laugh at them. And thus they rudely sheltered Maia in their house so that no one knew of her.

Master Chico grew private only ever finding joy in the fading rhythm of his work. Senhora Helena became more private, hardly ever finding joy in the company of friends she was forgetting. And the maiden suffered most of all from the scheme, longing to run, to sing, to see the little birds flying in the trees, to play in the flowers, to say "good morning" to the sun, to swallow up the pure air, like the other little girls did at her age. With her, everything was different.

Seeing what she was missing, she could no longer be silent.

Returning from the vineyard one day, Master Chico entered the house ever looking down at the ground. Senhora Helena dutifully kneaded the bread dough they would eat for supper. Maia stood enraged at the ever-existing silence that abided in her home.

“Why will you not let me leave? What evil have I done, to live my whole life closed up in this house?"

The parents looked within themselves, confused. Master Chico slowly gave in, shrinking his shoulders back to explain their ways:

"You are still too young, my daughter, to face the mocking of others."

"But what mockery, Papa? I do not understand."

There was rebellion resonating in her voice for the first time in her sweet life. Rebellion and tears. The father hesitated, unable to muster the courage to respond, he pointed to Helena without even looking. "Your mother will explain...

"Me! Who here is at fault? You explain to her what..." Helena tried to begin.

The two were silenced. Standing in front of them, Maia grew anxious and restless.

"What secret is this? Tell me everything, please!"

Still the father tried to compromise. "It is too early, my daughter, like I said when you have grown older, I will tell you. You still cannot understand..."

And opening up frailly, Helena interrupted to complete what the father did not tell, "My daughter, it is sufficient, you know that you are different from other girls."

Her rebellion transformed into astonishment. "Me? Different? In what way? I have seen myself thousands of times in the mirror, and have never found anything special." She turned to look again at the mirror on the wall. "Eyes, I have. A nose, I also have. A mouth, I can speak, and can smile."

The mother again interrupted, now more nervous and anxious.

"And right there, is the secret, my daughter, in your smile."

Helena looking expectant at Maia, "Don't you hear it? Don't you hear the music? Don't you smell the flowers?"

Maia remained alone staring into the mirror in astonishment.

*  *  *  *  * 

At any rate, by ways that may never be known, rumors of a poor maiden locked in the house since birth, began to spread throughout the parish.

And the public voice came together, united in concern, to the old prior of the parish.

"Ah, I know of whom you speak," the old prior reminisced. "I remember now very well. I saw the girl shortly before her christening, and then afterwards, never again!"

His merciful look settled on the large crucifix in the church.

"Cruel parents that do not recognize a blessing from God."

And he returned to those that surrounded him, accentuated with energy and sympathy that belonged little to their age.

"I will speak with them...I will speak with them."

And the old prior left the church in the direction of Master Chico's thriving vineyard at the other end of the land. While he walked, he asked himself what prodigious designs of God he could share and offer those insolent parents, knowing they would not understand, even with such a marvelous daughter.

*  *  *  *  *

His words were not benevolent. The old prior was outraged.

"You are both foolish. Very foolish," the prior exclaimed. "Here you possess an authentic treasure from heaven and you are afraid to share it!"

Master Chico wanted well to defend himself, his decision, his house, "Senhor Prior, I have never liked to serve as the target of mockery to others. I have a vineyard of repute that maybe rejected if the world knows of...this."

The enraged prior looked at Master Chico with eyes aflame.

Helena cried softly in acknowledgement, "To me, this is an embarrassment, a grand embarrassment, believe me, prior."

"Is it indeed? Then above everything and other than grand fools, you are both ungrateful. Your vineyard be damned sir, and your friends are lost, madam" the old prior said.

They knew it was true, for all was lost in those years they had hidden Maia.

Coming forth, Maia removed herself from the shadows to listen, the old prior affirmed forcefully to the parents, "Of course if you do not wish to truly know your daughter, I will certainly take care of your daughter."

The prior turned to look at Maia, who heard everything in silence. Master Chico and Senhora Helena turned to look at each other until looking down in shame, unable to acknowledge what was written upon their faces.

"Come little Maia, this has forever been the month of May, your month, and it is time you see what blessings pertain to this month, your month."

In latent curiosity, the prior asked Maia, "How old are you?"

"I don't know Senhor Prior...my parents never told me."

The look of the prior fell heavily on the Master Chico, "How old is she?"

"She is twelve, and will soon be thirteen years old, Senhor Prior."

"Thirteen years! Thirteen years locked in this house, because of your ignorance and stupidity," the old prior exclaimed.

Kneeling down, he spoke to Maia face to face, "Come my child, let us go to the house of God. There, you can smile as you will. And tomorrow, after mass, you will be shown unto the good people of the parish. You shall smile as you will, when you will, and how you will."

Parish Church of Maia, Portugal

        As he promised, the next day after mass, the old prior presented the small and strange girl to the parishioners saying, "This is the little girl of whom you have all spoken. See, that she is angelical... Does she not appear the very angel of innocence? It was God that wanted to offer a blessing unto this people, and I say, blessed be God!"

And the believers repeated with one voice, "blessed be God!"

Maia slowly mouthed the words as if speaking the words from her own heart, "blessed be God!"

Afterwards the old prior slowly pushed himself and Maia through the parishioners all the way to the front, so that she could be seen well.

"She is a flower, with all of its perfume and music. Given to her at birth is the name of Maia, and unto us, Maia will be the heart and soul of May. The month of flowers, and of perfumes, and of music."

The little old legend is still told and cherished by all, saying that Maia smiled a smile for the first time in a long time filled with exceeding pleasure and joy. And when she smiled, she began to hear the beautiful and strange music, whose origins no one knew, and began to smell the enrapturing aroma of May's perfume.

At first, the people were startled. Soon though, they were fixated on the beauty of her divine gift and the enchanting smile of a little girl.

The news ran through the streets, climbed the mountains, plunged into rivers, mingled with the winds and the clouds, and was shared in every word of every person.

New and curious others arrived in bands to witness the prodigy, now the vanity and pride of the land.

And Master Chico and Senhora Helena were equally ended in yielding the evidence to the land. Instead of the mockery they feared so foolishly, their daughter conquered the hearts of all with respect and admiration.

"What a fool I was to not understand before," said the father.

"What remorse I have for the tears I made her cry," cried the mother.

In this manner was the fame of the flower girl rumored, with a smile of perfume and music. The land passed to become known as the Land of Maia; and much later as Damaia, or of Maia.

More than this, the tradition commands to this day to procure in the fields some small flower of yellow, which are called Maias. And those that pick such flowers know how to find others with music and the spring aromas, and moreover they will always find happiness.

This is the book from which I translated this story and The Legend of Fatima.