Alzheimers in Atacama
Chapter 3 — An Incan Father's Cruel Decree
Chaska's father forbids her from marrying the shepherd Allpa and has arranged her marriage to a lord's son. Her mother pleads, but the decree is final — and Allpa is already doomed.
← Karl Swainston / Alzheimers in Atacama
"'You shall not marry or even see that wretched shepherd again. I cannot think of anything worse. He has no family, no wealth, and the village only tolerates him because their ancestors knew his ancestors. He's a nomad, a nothing, and only has a few herd. My daughter shall not marry him. She will marry one of the Lord's sons who will call to see her upon the morrow.'
"'She's in love with him, and you know that, my husband. Her little heart will break. I love my daughter more than I love my own life. Please see that we are not wealthy, and our fortunes have always been poor, but our lives are rich in love. You aim to make my child rich in fortune, but poor in love.'
Chaska simply heard her parents tear apart her life. In the corner of their poor hut, she held the llama wool and hid her pain within the deepest fold of its warmth.
Chaska's father listened to his wife's plea with some pain, and replied, "I know what you say, but Chaska is beautiful, and she's not ours now. One of noble birth will come to collect her in the morning. His men have Allpa, and he's doomed." He looked at his wife with a look of total defeat.
"Mama! They can't touch my Allpa, he's done nothing! Don't let them kill him!" screamed Chaska, rushing out from her llama cloth and tearing at her mother's dress.
"Child, I can do nothing now, and you know Kaspi, our Lord, will not be denied. Allpa is doomed, and you are for the Lord. You must now forget Allpa, as he is no more."
Her mother tried to pull her child toward her, but Chaska's passion pushed away the embrace. She ran for the door, and before her father could stop her escape, Chaska was gone into the fluttering flakes of snow beginning to envelope the cold mountains of Atacama's fringes.
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About Karl Swainston
Karl Swainston is a writer and storyteller whose work is forged from a life lived across the North of England and far beyond. Growing up on a Leeds council estate in the 1960s, Karl's journey was anything but linear. By the age of thirty, he had already lived a dozen lives: from the rigors of grammar school to a degree in Latin, a stint as a fishmonger, a period of discovery living in Marseille, and a return to the hustle of London. Whether working as a postman, a builder, or competing as a county-level chess player, he was, above all, an avid reader—constantly documenting the world around him. This restless spirit continued into his professional life. Karl later taught in Bradford, where he ran a specialist unit for 244 of the most excluded students from across the region—young people whom even the local Pupil Referral Units could not accommodate. Working alongside his old friend Malcolm, Karl spent his days navigating the volatility of Bradford's most aggressive and dysfunctional teenagers. Throughout his life, Karl has been an avid runner and has always shared his home with a rotating cast of beloved dogs and cats—companions who have been constant witnesses to his work. As a writer, Karl's range is as expansive as his history. He works across a wide breadth of genres, including fiction and short stories, autobiography and memoir, biography, non-fiction, and metaphysical writing, as well as providing sharp commentary, opinion, analysis, and essays. Whether writing about his years managing the Harrogate Arms or offering insights from his current adopted home in South East India, where he lives in a simple village with his dog, Bambi, Karl's voice reflects the full, untidy, and deeply human breadth of life. He continues to draw on the rich, decades-long tapestry of his experiences to tell stories that matter, proving that no matter where you live, the human story remains the same.
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