Long, long time ago, in a small town near the north coast, South America, lived a girl named Camila. Ever was a girl as precautions and clever as her. It was learned in her neighborhood—for they too lived in neighborhoods back then— that when she was only six months she could already speak and draw. Has she not turned a year old when she started reading and providing long explanations as of, for example, why she wouldn’t take some specific beverage in her bottle or why she would prefer to wear some specific outfit to this or that party and things of the sort. For a while, there were rumors of her being a changed child. But there was something even more peculiar about Camila than all her unnaturally early talents. She was hideous and would not ever move from the waist down even though doctors said she had no neurological or physical damage of any kind.

It seemed then that, indeed, she had just chosen not to move. In fact, she had explicitly said so to her parents. They did not pay due attention then, for they thought her stubbornness could not last. They were too busy trying to find a cure for her daughter’s deformity—against her own will; they had made it the purpose of their lives. But soon months and years had passed, and Camila’s legs began to wither; it seemed as if she was wasting all herself away. She made her mother really angry: all of a sudden while she was into a fit of rage, she pulled her daughter’s legs hard and strongly compelled her to move them, and even promised to kill herself if she didn’t, but the girl said she wouldn’t move them at all until her voice and will were listened; otherwise, she’d have her way and become a real cripple—which she was sure she wasn’t (still).

Poor Camila lived a disheartened childhood, surrounded by doctors and every now and then was taken to the so called talk-shows or any kind of sensationalist events; her photo was sold by her parents to appear under the most whimsical headlines in the worst reputed local tabloids, so they collected money to pay for more and more doctors who would find the answer to her rare condition. Funnily, her incredible intellect was taken as normal; people might either forget their impression after looking at her ugliness for a while, or would simply not get a clue of her wits as they were just too focused in her monstrosity.

Deformed, now emotionally committed only to the care of her wheelchair, disregarded and all, she refused to be treated just like a freak. You’ll see, Camila was unable to perceive herself or anyone else as ugly. Besides, she was quite aware of her superior intellect, which was the reason why she did not care about looks.

Nevertheless, she was a girl and had feelings; and sometimes, she felt overcome by bitterness, and even though she said herself to be an agnostic, every night she held long conversations with some invisible entity and asked It to make her either beautiful or stupid enough not to perceive the entirety of her ill form before the eyes of others. Every morning during breakfast, she would complain and cry to get her parents to listen to what she thought about all the suffering she was being put through, but they insisted in “talking some sense into her”.

Poor thing indeed, she tasted rejection since really early age, for other kids began to shun her and call her names as soon as in preschool. And it just turned worst and worst.

Huh, and you would say teachers should have loved her, for she had as much intelligence as a (smart) college girl—or so you would think at the time—, but no. Not. Teachers were terrified of her. Once too often, she had proved their theories and methods wrong, and more than once, she ended up teaching the topic of the class, except perhaps, what people called Physical Education (a special class to exercise and practice sports).

The thing is Camila had enough reasons to be quite miserable, and most days she was.

Almost every day she would get home, go straight to her room, shut the door and cry herself to sleep without supper. Perhaps every day.

Years went by and too add to her strange existence, children became adolescents and then adults and then elders, all of them but Camila. Time had just decided not to move from some point on, just as she had decided not to walk. At her fifteenth birthday, just when she was about to blow the candles, a ghostly voice everybody heard but no one could tell where was coming from said allowed: You shall not grow to become an adult in this world! And time did prove the voice was right, for her complexion was ever to change from that moment on.

That was it. All in all, everybody made a life but Camila. And many years went by, as it is supposed to be in this kind of story. Lots of things happened. In time, her relatives died, including her parents. She had been left alone in the world, and she was finally about to lose all hope, but then there was the unexpected twist.

One morning of April, while she was gardening (as she was most of the time), God “itself” appeared before her among the roses and spoke to her. She recognized the voice immediately; it was the same which replied to her plights every night. It told her It had her beauty chained to her mother and father near the coast. It had been a punishment inflicted by some entity older and stronger than It. This God of a higher rank had its reasons which this God of young Earth had not quite understood so far, for he needed to yet wiser.

Camila did not know who this being was whatsoever, but she did know immediately what these words spoken were about, for she’d had a recurrent dream in which her parents pulled her by thick ropes and heavy iron chains among huge rocks at some beach, trying to have her drawn near a beautiful maid of long bright reddish hair. Wanting to know more about this dream and what it meant to her own fate, she agreed to accompany It. As soon as It touched her hand, they found themselves at the weirdest scene by the beach of Camila’s dream. A most gorgeous lady was chained to a rock, and she was playing a sad melody on a golden harp. Camila knew at once she had met this lady in an ancient time, even before she was born, another life perhaps.

The gloomy tune coming from the harp turned into her mother’s voice and asked for forgiveness. The rock to which the chain was fixed moved from the base, leaving a masculine voice come out from inside. This latter was his father’s. They were deeply sorry for having ignored Camila's wishes and having belittled her virtues all the way throughout her life. Camila was also sorry and condemned herself for having forced herself not to walk and become crippled just out of contempt.

They all forgave each other. As soon as they had pronounced all sincere words of understanding, the chained broke and the lady turned into a most dreadful monster at which sight It kneeled. This huge sea monster (which pretty much resemble a dragon) took Camila's ugliness like you turn a stained page from a brand new book, along with the rock and the harp and sank in the depths of the ocean not to be seen again in that era.

Camila saw her legs, which now were fine, and as she touched the new smooth skin of her cheeks in amazement, she feared her newfound beauty.

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Thanks for reading.

Image: The Harp of Erin by Thomas Buchanan Read
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