Song of the Hummingbird (16 page)

“A canoe was readied. I stood watching as the king, his wife, her women servants and several nobles climbed into it. I stared at them, wondering about my own destiny and what had brought me to that moment to witness the end of my people, as well as the departure of those who would give birth to a new race.

“Then the king asked me to come with them, and I got on the canoe without thinking. No one said anything. It was not a time for complaints or questions, and we all kept silent while the boat made its way toward the northern edge of the lake. But before long, we were caught—trapped, cornered, and captured.”

Huitzitzilin stopped speaking, and Father Benito craned his stiff neck. She was again fatigued and unable to go on, but despite this and his own weariness, he wanted to hear more.

“Go on, please! What happened after that?”

“What happened? Cuauhtémoc and the other nobles became prisoners. The rest of us were dispersed in different directions, dying along the way from starvation and sadness. Not long after that, the Mexicas disappeared as a people.”

The woman shuddered slightly as she slid her tongue over a dry upper lip. She sighed and got to her feet unsteadily.

“This is all I have to tell you regarding the encounter between my people and yours. From now on you can leave your papers in your monastery, because tomorrow I'll end my confession.”

Chapter

XVII

“Our gods were vanquished after the fall of Tenochtitlan as were our traditions. Our warriors and nobles were eradicated, our children starved and our women ravished by the white conquerors and their allies. Those of us who survived dispersed, and Anahuac became known as the kingdom of New Spain.”

Father Benito sat holding his jaw in one hand. The confessional stole hung limply on his shoulders, almost reaching the ground. He was dismayed by Huit-zitzilin's reversal. He had arrived that morning prepared to listen to her confession, only to be hearing more information about her history. This time he decided not to say anything, hoping to store what she said in his memory.

“Anahuac became a valley of an evil dream, and we were the dream walkers. It was a world of murder and torture, of defilement and betrayal, of envy and terror. We all participated; no one was free of responsibility. The Mexica hated, and the Castellanos lusted. It was during those days that Captain Cortés burned the feet of Cuauhtémoc while trying to force him to reveal the place where a secret treasure was buried. He got nothing out of the king; it is still a secret.

“I was only twenty years of age, but I grew old. I was emaciated, gray strands appeared in my hair and the scars on my face became more pronounced. I was without a home and alone. I tried to return here to this place where I was born, but the roads were clogged and dangerous, so I stayed on the outskirts of what had been the city.

“I did not die, as you can see. Seasons passed during which I was able to make a life. I worked with the crowds of people which the Spaniards put to work rebuilding Tenochtitlan. I was one of the women who carried the stones that had been our temples, palaces and houses from one place to another. In the beginning my hands bled, but then they hardened and I became a good worker. After some years, the city neared its completion and unfortunately work dwindled.”

Father Benito's forehead furrowed as he listened. He was picturing the city as he now knew it: the cathedral almost completed, its viceregal palace prominent, its portals crowded with vendors and buyers, as well as a multitude of beggars and thieves. He was envisioning the shrinking lake, now filled with debris, and he tried to imagine how it must have looked when Huitzitzilin was young.

“After that I became a servant. I washed dirty clothes, but it made me sick because I found the stench of the whites intolerable. I was sick almost every day, and because my condition was noticed, I was dismissed. I wandered the streets for weeks, perhaps even months, looking for food and shelter wherever I could. My clothes were rags, and I will admit to you that I begged and ate whatever people cast out of windows and doors. I cursed the white beast and I thought of killing myself.”

“Did you ever try to kill yourself?”

“No. Although I repeatedly promised myself that each day would be my last. Sometimes I told myself that I would drown myself in the lake, or that I would cast myself under the the hooves of horses. The answer was always the same. I was a coward and chose to live.”

“What did you do then?”

“It happened that one day I was standing in line waiting for food when I saw Baltazar Ovando. He, too, seemed to be expecting something, and I saw that his face had changed. He looked haggard and something in his eyes had changed; no longer sweet, they traveled up and down my body trying to recognize me.

“'Huitzitzilin?' he asked in a whisper.”

Father Benito's eyes opened wide, his mouth puckered as he waited for her to continue. But Huitzitzilin hunched back in the chair without saying any more.

“What happened after that?”

“You can't imagine what happed after that?”

The priest flushed, embarrassed at his question. He bit his lip and decided to leave. He stood up.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes. I have no reason to be here.”

“But there is a reason. You're here to forgive my sins. Please, sit down. I'll begin my confession immediately.” The priest patiently obeyed her, sat back in the chair, and straightened the stole. “Before I begin, I must say that at the time I thought he would find me repugnant, but he didn't. So it was that I began my second life with Baltazar Ovando, not as his lover but as something else.”

Father Benito nodded in approval, but wondered where the confession would lead. Then his attention was taken by her hands, which were moving, as if drawing a picture.

“He made me one of his servants, but he barely spoke to me. It was only when he needed a woman that he approached me; then we would fornicate.”

The woman's offhand declaration of sin had caught the priest by surprise, and he sprang to the edge of the chair so fast that he nearly tipped it over. Making a hasty sign of the cross, he mumbled, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

“Our time together lasted several years. I never really had joy because, although he provided me with shelter, I knew the true reason for that care. Even if my face was disfigured, my body was not. After I regained strength, I became even more beautiful than before the days of starvation—beautiful from the neck down, that is.

“For my part, I can tell you that I never loved Baltazar. But since this is a confession, I will admit that I longed for him. Do you know what I mean?”

Father Benito's face was buried in both hands. A shrug of the shoulders was the only sign he gave Huit-zitzilin.

“Since he used my body to relieve his desires, I will be truthful and say that I also satisfied my lust with his body. There was a time during which I lived in expectation of his call, and when it came, I panted with desire.”

“Señora, you don't need to give so many details. Your admission of that sin is sufficient. Now, if there are no others, I will absolve. . . “

“Wait a minute!” Huit-zitzilin's voice was edged with irritation. “What makes you think that is all I have to say? You seem to think that a woman and man's coupling is the only sin possible. How absurd!”

Father Benito felt challenged by the woman's haughty manner, and he was on the verge of scolding her, of telling her that fornication is indeed a grievous sin, but he remembered that he was the confessor and she the penitent, and that it was his duty to listen and to forgive. He bit his upper lip and hunched over, his head perched on his left hand.

After a moment, she too relaxed her body and went on speaking. “I conceived. I was not happy when I realized that I was with child by a white man, just like so many of our women who had also had children by the enemy. I hated what was happening to me because I saw that the offspring were disdained by everyone, especially by their fathers. I regretted it also because secretly I thought that such children were ugly.

“I spent a long time remembering my first child and how this second white-brown one would grow in my belly, taking the place of the other one. I cried often and again I hoped to die. When I told Baltazar about the child, he only scowled at me and said that it didn't mat ter, since it was not the first that he had sired and more than likely not the last.

“It was at that time that Captain Cortés announced that he was leaving Tenochtitlan to head south. The rumor was that his captains had betrayed him and that they were organizing a separate kingdom. The entourage was named; among those accompanying Cortés were Cuauhtémoc, who was nearly an invalid because he never regained the full use of his feet, and Baltazar Ovando.

“I decided that I would also go because I thought that my child should be born in the presence of his father. Baltazar forbade me to come, claiming that it would be too difficult a journey for a woman in my condition. I assured him that I was hardened by work, that I had grown accustomed to not eating, that I was able to tolerate heat and cold and other hardships. Still he refused, but I went anyway.”

Father Benito didn't say anything, but he looked at Huitzitzilin quizzically. His expression asked the question.

“Yes, I could go unseen by Baltazar because there were so many people attached to Captain Cortés that it was easy for me to hide among the dozens of servants, secretaries, priests, guards and women that went along as cooks and companions. I'm glad I did it because, unforeseen at the time, I was to witness the death of Cuauhtémoc.

“I've forgotten just how many people were in the captain's train. We were many. First went the captains, armed and mounted on their beasts, then followed the brown-robed priests, then the foot soldiers, their helmets and lances shining in the morning sun. The Tlaxcala allies were part of the group, and after them galloped Captain Cortés, accompanied by his personal guard.

“Behind him walked the women, Spanish as well as our own. Behind us came the personal servants, porters, menders, blacksmiths, cooks, keepers of horses and other animals, scribes, pages, wine-keepers, and two doctors. One couldn't hear what anyone said because of the din created by the clatter of hooves, the baying, bleating and oinking of animals, the shrill laughter of women, the cursing of soldiers, and the crunching of wheels and metal fittings of carts.

“Captain Cortés was by that time acting like a king. On that day he was elegantly attired. His hat was large and round with a long feather that fluttered in the air. His hands were gloved and his shoes were of fine leather. He rode on a large white horse that reared and snorted with anticipation. Everything about him was kingly.”

Father Benito was slouched back in his chair, angry at himself for not having brought his writing materials. Although Captain Cortés' trip to Honduras was now part of many chronicles, the priest was aware that the woman was giving special insight. He would try to remember as much as possible, he told himself.

“The entourage marched eastward, crossing mountains, passing the city of Tlaxcala, going through plains, then forging rivers until we reached Coatzocoalcos on the eastern coast. After that, the journey became very difficult because of impassible rivers and even unfriendly villages. Captain Cortés didn't lose courage, however, thinking of what to do every time an obstacle appeared. As you can imagine, many in the group died. People began to grumble, some of them even deserted, especially when the food supplies began to thin out. All of this made Cortés short-tempered and he had men punished severely.

“I was in the early period of my pregnancy and so I was ill often, almost every day. I vomited and felt dizzy, but I was never so sick that I could not continue. I was glad that Baltazar didn't know of my whereabouts. That way I could sleep at night and gather strength.

“We reached the land of the Maya people, a town known as Akalán, which in the language of those people means region of stagnant waters, because several small rivers meet there causing deposits of black, smelly mud. It is an evil place where devils inhabit dead trees. It is a place of lizards and owls, and people who thrive on witchcraft.”

Benito's forehead was furrowed and tense because the mere mention of evil caused his body to shudder. He had never before heard of that land, and the woman's descriptions reminded him of paintings depicting hell and purgatory—dark, rank, stinking places.

“We reached a town named Itza Canac, a bleak place deserted many generations before by the Mayas. It was in that foul smelling place that King Cuauhtémoc was murdered by Captain Cortés, who had heeded a rumor that said that the king was hatching a plan to kill him. It was not true, but he and all the white people became terrified, convinced that we would rise again and eat them.

“All of the Mexica, the lords as well as the servants, were summoned by Captain Cortés to the center of camp one night. Without warning, he told us that he had evidence proving that Cuauhtémoc and others of his company were guilty of treason against the king of Spain. At first he spoke normally, but soon his voice sputtered, betraying his terror as he openly accused Cuauhtémoc of treachery. He shouted for a long time until he tired, then he stopped ranting. He turned away from us and took a few steps, then swiveled around and shouted, ‘Hang them at dawn!'