Song of the Hummingbird (5 page)

“The fourth day was the one to select the maiden's wedding garments, as well as the flowers, feathers and gems to be worn on the day of the ceremony. She had to select her personal companions, maidens who would accompany her throughout what was left of the preparations and the ritual itself, and most especially, they were to be by her side as she entered the bridal chamber.”

Father Benito whistled softly through his teeth, creating a thin sound. He looked inquisitively at Huitzitzilin.

“Yes. They were supposed to witness the coupling, and they did it gladly. They say that watching such an act can give almost as much pleasure as the copulation itself. I don't know. I've never watched others doing it.”

Again, Father Benito lost control over the wave of blood that rushed to his head, making him blush violently. He felt a flash of anger at the woman's way of catching him off guard with such remarks.

Huitzitzilin ignored his agitation and concentrated on describing the dress she had selected. “The gown that I singled out was white cotton, and it draped to my ankles. It was stitched about the sleeves, the collar and along its front with flowers, birds, coiling vines, and leaves. Its colors were blues and reds and greens and yellows and purples.”

She glanced at the priest and saw that he was not writing but that he was rubbing his knuckles. She sighed. “I'm tired.”

“What about the fifth day? What happened on that day?”

“I thought that you had lost interest in what I was saying.”

“Not at all. Please continue.”

“Very little happened on that last day except that the maiden spent the time in prayer, fasting, and penance, since the next day would be that of the wedding.”

Having said this, Huitzitzilin abruptly stopped speaking and leaned toward the monk. She whispered, “Now I want to continue my confession.”

When he deciphered her words, Father Benito jumped, moving so quickly as he reached for the stole that he knocked the papers off his lap. He almost overturned the ink pot, but he was able to steady it before it spilled. After he settled down, he made the sign of the cross.

“Priest, have you absolved me for having done away with the unborn child?”

Benito felt his body tighten because he had thought this part of the confession behind him. He had hoped to lump everything together and not have to say that he pardoned one sin in particular. Nonetheless, even if distasteful, the woman's question forced his hand.

“God forgives you, Señora.”

“But do you forgive me?”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. Never had a penitent asked such a question of him. Catholics somehow knew, they understood that only God could forgive sin. He resented such a personal question, so he decided to answer with the usual platitude.

“I am an instrument.”

“Yes, I know. You said that yesterday. But if your God is willing to forgive me, why not you?”

He paused for several moments that seemed endless to him. He finally blurted out, “I do forgive you. I do!”

Father Benito was shocked to hear his voice utter words his mind had refused to acknowledge, and he felt dejection wrapping itself around him, pressing down on him. He wanted to run away from this woman who had a way of prying out thoughts and feelings of which even he was not aware.

“Good! Now I know that your God has pardoned me. Let us continue tomorrow. I will tell you of my marriage ceremony and of Tetla's rage.”

Huitzitzilin stood, swaying slightly. When Father Benito got to his feet, he realized her smallness; she hardly reached the height of his chest. She turned and slowly made her way into the gloom of the cloister.

Chapter

IV

“By the time the sun's first rays fell upon the main square of the city, my ceremonial retinue was ready and waiting. I appeared serene, I'm proud to say, even though my breast felt as if the gods were warring within it. I stood flanked by chosen companions, and I faced the east, waiting for the sun's light to arrive, signaling the giant conch shell to sound.”

Father Benito had spent another restless night, but he had arrived at the convent on time, leather pouch in hand, ready to annotate what Huitzitzilin had to say. He was still shaken by the thought of her last words the evening before, but, as it now stood, he could not keep away from her and her narratives.

He observed that the Indian woman appeared to be rested and eager to continue her story. He, on the other hand, felt concerned when he caught on to the pattern of her story. First she spoke of the old ways of the Mexicas, then she surprised him with a sin, one that he was not expecting. How would this day end? he asked himself.

“When the shafts of golden light finally struck the uppermost part of the great pyramid, the conch shell bleated its mournful notes. Then the ceremonial drum boomed out its message that another maiden was to offer herself.

“I was elegant, even resplendent, draped in gold, beautiful feathers and gems. I stood with my eyes riveted on the mountain ridge to the east of the city where I could make out the volcanoes. I imagined the expanses of land that spread beyond them to the jungles, and farther yet to the ocean from where you came.”

Father Benito glanced at Huitzitzilin. He took a long, side look, trying to imagine her young and beautiful. What most intrigued him was that what she described had happened before the captains from Spain had discovered this land. He calculated rapidly and concluded that the woman's wedding took place three years before the arrival of Don Hernán Cortés, and thirty-seven years before his own birth. The monk whistled softly, but then was abruptly taken from his figuring by the woman's thin voice.

“The ceremony began. First into the circle of the privileged who assembled at the base of the pyramid was the High Priest and Moctezuma, who blessed me, praying that I would be granted happiness. This, I confess, made me shudder because no one had ever mentioned happiness to me. Not even my mother. Perhaps it was the king's mood at the time because sadness clung to him like a pall. His eyes and lips betrayed it. Remember that there were already signs predicting the end of the fifth sun.”

The priest stopped writing. “What signs?”

“There were several. One was an explicable fire that almost destroyed the main temple. Another omen was when dead birds filled the lake. There were tremors, strange tides, and the voice of a wailing woman who cried out for her babes. There were many other signals, but I'm sure your historians have already written about them.”

He scratched his chin, thinking. “Yes. Now I remember. Is it true that King Moctezuma was actually waiting for the arrival of our explorers?”

“It is true, and like most everyone else, he thought they were gods. Later on I'll tell you the truth of why he was convinced of that. For the time being, let me continue telling you of the ritual that handed me over to Tetla. The actual contract was a simple thing and consisted of only one gesture. The man took the maiden's hands in his and uttered an agreement to take her as his concubine, to fill her with children, and to feed her.

“The last part of the ceremony is one that will enhance your record. It consisted of a dance in honor of the serpent goddess. It was performed by maidens, twenty or thirty of them, and they were led by my chosen ladies. What a pity that you have taken those practices away from us, because you have not given us anything to replace them.”

“If we have asked your people to abandon certain practices, it is because they were rooted in the devil.”

“How can anything beautiful be rooted in evil?”

When Father Benito refused to answer, Huitzitzilin returned to what she had been saying.

“The dancing maidens were breathtaking! Together, they formed a myriad of colors, feathers, precious stones and gold. And the sound that they created. . . oh,. . .you have never heard anything like it! Each woman had strands of small gourds wrapped around her ankles and wrists; their motion combined to create a bewitching sound. The rhythmic rattle of hundreds of gourds collided against the walls of the temples and pyramids, each time rising up and up until it spiraled heavenward, reaching to the very sun!”

Father Benito stopped writing because he was captivated by the excitement that had overcome Huitzitzilin. She was sitting erect, and she had raised her arms above her head; they were tense, and her outstretched hands seemed to be reaching out to another world. He thought for a moment that he saw her body sway, as if to a beat indistinct to him.

“The dance emulated the undulating of a snake, each girl holding the waist of the one ahead of her. First, the serpent coiled its way down the pyramid from the Sorcerer Bird's temple where the dance had begun. Then it slithered down to the plaza of the square, its many bare feet stomping in cadence with the drums, its shoulders and hips rising and falling softly but firmly. The she-snake then danced in the center of the gawking crowd of lords, nobles, and commoners. The drums heightened their beat, and the serpent followed, more and more rapidly, more and more intensely, hips moving, bellies heaving in and out as if copulating. Soon came the frenzy, the climax, and then an abrupt, jerking stop.

“Then it ended. Although the dance had lasted no more than a short span of time, it left the maidens visibly aroused, their breasts heaving, and the rest of the onlookers seemed ready to pounce one upon the other.”

Huitzitzilin slumped into her chair fatigued; she was breathing heavily. After a while she looked at Father Benito and saw that he was staring stonily into space. His face was hard and his lips showed displeasure. He had stopped writing.

“You're displeased?”

“Yes! Now you see why we've condemned your ways?”

“It was a mere ceremonial dance that preceded the marriage act! What can be wrong with such a thing?”

“The marriage act is private, secret, and only the followers of Satan would dare simulate it in public. I cannot write this down, Señora. I would certainly be reprimanded first by my superior and then, God forbid, by the Inquisition.”

“How foolish you all are! It was only a dance, I tell you! Nothing more, nothing less. It had nothing to do with your wicked Satan.”

Huitzitzilin and Father Benito fell into an angry silence that lasted several minutes; neither wanted to speak. She wrestled with her resentment of his attitude, and he with an intense, uncontrolled physical arousal.

It was Huitzitzilin who finally spoke: “What comes next is what occurred on my marriage night. But before you object because such a description is offensive to Christians, allow me to interject that it is a crucial event in my life, and the sins that I have since then committed hinge on that night. If I do not speak of it, all that will follow will be meaningless to you as my confessor.”

“Am I correct in understanding that you are ready to go on with your confession?” The priest spoke through stiffened lips.

“Yes. Put aside your writing instruments because I'm sure that you will consider what I have to say as sinful.”

Now Father Benito wanted only to leave the woman's presence. He felt that her words were pushing him closer to the black hole of sin, and he feared for himself. Instead of walking away, however, he reached for his stole.

“In the middle of the revelry that night was a young and beautiful woman who sat still and erect upon her low chair at the head of the banquet room. At her side was an old and obese man; someone repugnant to her. She smiled as she looked out over the heads of the company. Her eyes seemed riveted on a distant point somewhere in space. That beautiful young woman was Huitzitzilin and her eyes were seeing what was to become of her life if she were to live through that night. She was also thinking of Zintle, and of her love for him.”

The priest noticed how the woman was referring to herself as if she had been a stranger. Because he was now listening as a confessor, however, he did not interrupt.

“When Tetla had gorged himself with food and drink, he belched loudly, wiped his flaccid mouth, and rolled his eyes in Huit-zitzilin's direction. Her heart stopped because she knew that she would soon die or face a worse ordeal! Tetla ordered the accompanying maidens to get to their feet and lead the concubine to the bed chamber. They did so instantly, and as Huitzitzilin followed them, she became aware of the hush that came over the guests. She saw lustful looks being exchanged.”

The monk put his hand on the woman's shoulder, trying to convey the sympathy that had inexplicably replaced the anger he had felt a few minutes earlier. He wanted to let her know that he sensed the pain with which she was telling him her story, but he saw that she was transported far back to the past, to a world long since destroyed by the Spanish captains.

“The women companions were supposed to remain to witness the consummation rite, but Tetla ordered them out of the room. Then he tore away Huit-zitzilin's gown. She stood before him naked, exposed. He remained standing in front of her, running his eyes up and down her body, pausing at her breasts, her belly, and on her most intimate part. His breathing became thicker and quicker, his vulture's beak pursed.