by Reid Perkins-Buzo o.p. (a treatment short story)

There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread. -- Gandhi

Once upon a time there lived a people by the side of a little river. The river was named the Yaqui and the people took their name from it. Although life was not easy, they were happy beside their river. Finding good places for their sheep and goats to graze was always difficult. The sun kept its fierce eyes steady on the land, making it hot and dry. After so many years of this, the ground was sandy, full of rocks and stones.
Canyons and deep ravines split the hills, slouching to the river. When rains did come, the water rushed along them, coursing into the river and flooding its banks. The hills would bloom with flowers and sage. Then the flocks would feed contentedly, while shepherds played their flutes. But the rains came only a few times each year. Mostly the land belonged to the sun. Yet the people loved their land, prayed for rain, blessed their flocks. It grew into their arms and hands, backs and legs, mouths and eyes. The sun, the rain, the river, the land flowed in their hearts, souls and spirits. They never, ever wanted to leave the land of the little river.
A little girl named María-Sewa (Xochitli in old Nahuatl, flor in Spanish, flower in English) lived with her father and mother in a small village. She cared for the chickens, cleaning their pens and cages. She played with the other children,running races, playing tag, making friends. She learned from her mother and grandmother to weave and paint, to plant corn, to laugh at the world. She learned from her father and grandfather to care for the chickens, to milk the goats, to plan for the future. She looked to the river on her right hand and the land on her left, and felt the wonder of life all around her.
Far away lived the rulers of Mexico. They didn't know the river people, only read the reports others wrote of their land. "The land supports large flocks of animals. Our ranchers need more land every year. We should take it for ourselves." So they made war on the people of the river. They took over as much of the land as their army could hold. The people were killed or captured and the sheep and goats stolen for the army and its leaders.
"What will we do with the rest of these people?" asked the rulers. "Send them far to the south, away from their river, their dry land, their sheep and goats. Send them to the wet rainy jungle," said the army chiefs. "There they will bother us no longer!"
So the army gathered the people of the river. As many as they could find of the Yaqui, they brought out of their towns and villages. They marched them out of their river valley. Women, children, men, old and young, all who had survived the war, forced to march south. They marched to the high eastern mountains and yearned for food. But the army gave them just enough to keep them alive, mixed with cruel blows. They crossed the mountain passes and into the plains. Again they sought water and food, but were given next to nothing. They marched across the central plains, toward the south, starving and without water. Many died along the way. And still the army forced them to march.
At the end of the long southern road they reached the jungle: the Yucatán. Only a third of those who began the march saw its end. María-Sewa was one. She had crossed the mountains, rivers, plains, hills, valleys and streams. She had faced the threats of her people's enemies. She had made insects and rainwater her food and drink. She had stayed alive. But her father and grandfather had died in the war. Her grandmother had died in the mountains, and her mother on the plains of Mexico. She stood alone within the remnants of her people, caught between the jungle and the army. "This is where you will live," the army commander said. "build yourselves huts from the jungle, ha ha ha ha," he laughed. He commanded the soldiers to turn and go, and they disappeared.
Darkness came soon. The Yaqui people gathered together as the round moon rose high above. Refugees in a strange land, they had no food and little water. Their faces showed the great fear and despair trampling on their hearts. At least when they were on the march, the Mexican army provided some food and water. Now the soldiers were gone and the jungle yawned open darkly like a bottomless abyss. Who knew how to survive in this awful place? What would happen to them now?
They lay down on the ground together as they had done for so many nights during the long march. It was damp and smelled of mildew, entirely different from their dry sandy home! Someone played a flute, sad and low at first, then rising high and mournful, piping and plaintive. The sound seemed to strain toward the full moon. High and far away, its blue light washed over the people without a sign of concern for their fate. Next to the other children, curled in a small ball, and very much fearful of what tomorrow would bring, María-Sewa slept.
She awoke in the middle of the night. All was dark. Yet there was a bright glow of light from within the folds of her old blanket! She reached down under her blanket and pulled out a tortilla which glowed with all the strength that the full moon had done earlier. She stared at it amazed! There had been no tortilla with her when she had laid down! She had eaten the last of her food two days ago, and an older woman had shared a small bit of corn mush that morning with her. None of the Yaqui had even seen a tortilla in days. Where had this one come from? And why did it glow so brightly? The light lit up her face and hands softly and serenely, but spread no further. No one else had been awakened by it.
Gradually, as she watched, the tortilla surface shifted and swirled. A face appeared, the face of a wise old person. "I am the Spirit of the Moon," it said. "I heard the flute and came down to help the people. You will sleep with me tonight, then share me with all the children tomorrow. You will all eat and be filled." María-Sewa felt a tremendous happiness inside. Here was food for the morning, food for all the children!
Suddenly fear washed over her again. "O Moon Spirit," said María, "I am truly thankful to you, we have no food, and you have given yourself as food for us. But what of the next day and the day after? Shall we starve then?" The Tortilla Moon grew bigger and bigger in her hands. It grew so big that she had to put it down, and it stood on its edge facing her. "María-Sewa," said the Tortilla Moon, "I will come to you each night for many nights, and bless the people with food until they return to their land far away. Tell them to begin the journey back in twos and threes. I will be with them on their way home."
So the people returned to their land slowly, in twos and threes, back to the ruins of their old villages. The Mexican government had changed and no longer went to war against them. They rebuilt their villages, their churches, and their flocks of sheep and goats. They were safe once more in their land by the river. And whenever the full moon shone its blue light over the Yaqui, María-Sewa remembered that fearful and wonderful night in the jungle. Long after it had ceased to stay by her side, she saw that the Tortilla Moon remained high above in the sky, giving all the people its blessing.