Song of the Hummingbird (9 page)

Chapter

IX

“They came!

“Moctezuma had prayed that they would not come, but his petitions were futile, because they did come. The moment finally came when your captains stood knocking at the gates of Tenochtitlan, and we were powerless to stop them from entering.

“When that day dawned, the priests approached our king to inform him of the white intruders who awaited him in Iztapalapa. Later on we heard that Moctezuma was sweeping the stairs of the temple, and that without looking up, he said, ‘The gods have failed me.' That was all he said, no more.”

Father Benito felt a tingle on the nape of his neck, as if he had been present at a disastrous event. He was feeling what he thought Huitzitzilin must have felt at the time. Like her and her people, he was experiencing the fear of the unknown, as if he had been a native himself. He forced himself to return to his writing because, he reminded himself, these were the captains from Spain, his people, and he should not be feeling such antagonism towards them.

“We all knew that the king was grief-stricken, but there were some among our people who murmured that it was the other way around. That it had been he who had failed the gods, and that now the gods were rightfully vengeful.

“Priest, have you observed that events of great import often take a very short span of time to happen? The fall of Tenochtitlan was quick. From beginning to end, our finality spanned just a few weeks and months, and what had taken my people ages to build, was brought low with a few battles.

“Our temples, palaces, market places, meeting halls, schools and libraries, our thoroughfares and gardens and squares, all destroyed in a brief time. Our trade routes, goods, and products were laid in the mud and trampled by the feet of beasts in the time taken to hear a clap of hands. Our crafts and art, all of which took countless families and immeasurable time to perfect, were scorned, defiled, and made to disappear by your captains in a few passings of the moon.

“I ask myself now, how is it possible to destroy so swiftly what took years to build? I have no answer, but that it happened as the gods had determined. Tenochtitlan crashed down amid fire and blood and anguish, and it took only a scattering of days.”

“Forgive my interruption, but this shows that it was the will of Almighty God that the kingdom of the Mexicas should have perished.”

Putting aside his sentiments, Father Benito, eyebrows arched, mouthed what he thought the most appro priate thing. Huitzitzilin looked at him in silence for a long while, then spoke.

“Yes, I agree. I said so a few moments ago. It was as the gods willed.”

Benito frowned, annoyed that the woman should insist on putting her gods on the same level with the one true God, but he took up his quill once again nonetheless. He was ready to continue recording her words.

“I remember clearly the day of the arrival of the white men. It took place during the season of dampness in our valley. It was the time when days were short, when the lake turned black in color, and the winds swept off the skirts of the volcanoes.

“Moctezuma's court became agitated. Word of the arrival of the white men went from mouth to mouth, from chamber to chamber. Men and women ran around aimlessly as if that would resolve the impending doom. Routines were broken and duties forgotten. Incredulous faces looked around, seeking answers, hoping to hear that what was happening was nothing more than a hoax.

“The noise caused by the confused masses of people in the main square rose to a pitch with each minute. There, men attempted to appear calm, but trembling lips betrayed their fears. Women tried to console themselves by embracing babies, or each other, but it was no use. We were all in the grip of terror.”

Father Benito, compelled by surprise, interrupted again. “Yet, the Mexicas were ferocious in battle. It has never occurred to us that the people were stricken by fear all along.”

“You misunderstand me, priest! When I say that we were alarmed, I mean that most of the people assumed that the visitors were gods, not ordinary men. Had they been the hordes of Zapotecas, or Tlaxcaltecas, or any other of the countless peoples that had waged war against us, our spirits would not have been so shaken. We felt terror only because we thought we were facing the unknown. When it became clear that your captains were just men, things changed.”

The monk sucked on his lower lip while he wrinkled his forehead. “I see what you mean. Please go on.”

“The order came from the king telling us to stop the madness, to take hold of ourselves. He commanded each one of us to dress in our best garments and to accompany him to the entrance of the city.”

“Did everyone do as the king commanded?”

“Yes. Most of us were part of his court and we did as he ordered. We dressed in our finest clothing so that we could walk behind his litter and impress the enemy by our appearance.”

“Am I correct in saying that you were among those who did not believe the soldiers were gods?”

“Yes. I was among those who knew them to be flesh, just as we were.”

Benito cocked one eyebrow skeptically. “What made you so different, Señora?” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.

“Because I never really believed in gods.”

“But you believe in the one true God now, don't you?”

The monk's words had lost all trace of cynicism and were now colored with doubt.

“If you say so.”

When Benito remained silent, Huitzitzilin went on. “One extraordinary thing happened as a result of the fear caused by your people, and that was that old feuds and envies disappeared. Those among us who had been enemies for generations forgot their grudges and joined one another against the invasion.

“For example, the hostility between the pampered dwarfs and the rancorous eunuchs melted away. They actually came together, speaking to one another. Priests and conjurers alike were struck dumb knowing that gods were at the city entrance. Their usual jabbering and high-pitched squealing melted into a muted stiffness, and we all knew that in their hearts they were the most frightened of all. Where was their power now? Where was their magic? Where was their stiff-necked pride and intolerable arrogance?”

Father Benito stopped to rub his fingers; they were beginning to cramp again. “I see that you didn't believe in the sorcerers you called priests, either. I'm glad because I'm sure it was the true God that planted those doubts in your heart.”

“No, that was not the case. I didn't believe in them because I had eyes that perceived their wickedness and ears that heard their conniving and trickery. I knew that they were frauds—it's that simple. But let me go on because I have to tell you that fear struck beyond the priesthood, contaminating even the palace guards, who didn't know whether to run or stand, protect the king or each other. Soldiers trained in war and combat became like motherless boys when they heard that the white gods were here.

“Palace servants forgot their place. Moctezuma's tailors scattered and ran about muttering, asking if the king were ever again to dress as he used to. What would they do with the mantles, the loincloths, the headdresses, the sandals, the gems, the feathers, the broaches, the leg wrappings as yet not worn by the king? What would he wear that day? What should he wear when facing gods?

“Even Moctezuma's cooks ran through chambers and halls wringing their hands. They, too, were in turmoil. Would the king ever again eat as he was accustomed? What would happen to the quail, rabbits, and the other meats preserved and prepared for him? What about his usual guests? What would they be told? What about Moctezuma's next cup of chocolate?

“Now that I think of those days, I wonder why we wasted our time on such trivialities. But it hit everyone. Gardeners, builders and slaves roamed through squares and kitchens asking if they would ever again be employed, now that our world had come to an end. What type of work, they inquired, would the new masters demand of them? Would they eat off gold plates? asked the kitchen servants. Would they enjoy the beauty of the flowers that the king loved? The builders wanted to know what would happen to the plans for the new reservoir. As for the slaves, they asked whether or not the new gods would expect them to work. This was the havoc that reigned in Moctezuma's palace and city while your captains waited at its door and dreamed of our gold.”

After saying this, the woman fell into silence while sounds of bubbling water floated in the moist cloister air. Father Benito put down his quill, allowing Huitzitzilin to rest, but he was agitated by the pictures her words had conjured in his imagination. He was envisioning Captain Cortés, the medium-sized man who had become a giant in Spain. He was remembering the other captains who had become wealthy on the bounty carved out of this land. Some had remained rich until the end of their days; others had lost everything, dying impoverished and forgotten.

He was grateful for the lull in the narrative because it gave him time to sort out what Huitzitzilin had said about the terror and confusion that had taken hold of the Mexicas at the time of that crisis. He had never thought of what it must have been like for them. From childhood, Benito had seen her people as the enemy, devil worshipers incapable of fear and uncertainty.

“Do you want me to continue?”

Father Benito was startled by Huit-zitzilin's words. He nodded, but he had lost the quill and, even though he fumbled in the folds of his habit, he couldn't find it. She waited patiently until he located it.

“Our procession began at the main temple and wound its way toward Iztapalapa, whose king at the time was Moctezuma's brother, Cuitlahuac.”

“Just a moment. How many kings were there?”

“Several. Cuauhtémoc was king of Tlaltelolco, the place where a Christian church has now been dedicated to Santiago of Compostela. There was another king for Texcoco—I can't remember his name—I think it was Cacama, and the one for Iztapalapa. There were always four kings, but of them all, the one representing Tenochtitlan was the most influential.”

“I see. I hadn't realized this, and I don't think I've ever heard of the existence of four kings at the same time. Please, continue.”

“I'm still speaking of the procession that followed King Moctezuma. Besides those of us who belonged to his entourage, there were others who marched. There were those people who lived in the city, as well as countless others from outside who joined, knowing that the encounter with the strangers was about to happen.

“There were people on rooftops, lining the streets, crowding the squares, and overflowing the lake barges. Merchants came, as did artisans, teachers, venders, feather-makers, metal workers, lesser nobility, common soldiers, servants, slaves, women, children—all of them tightly packed, craning and stretching their necks to get at least a brief glimpse of the foreign gods.

“The women of Moctezuma's household walked behind his litter, so that what I saw was from that view. I remember only the back of the king's head and those of the rest of his companions.

“In the lead of the march went the lords of our kingdom, all dressed in the garb of their rank. Following the nobles were the eagle and jaguar warriors, and I can tell you that the number of lords and warriors was so great that I cannot now approximate a number. It must have been as impressive for the white eyes.”

The woman paused and looked at Father Benito. “Are you exhausted? Would you prefer for me to skip these details?”

The monk took advantage of the moment to rub his sore hand. “No. Give whatever descriptions you can remember. I'm trying to capture it all.”

“Following the nobles and warriors came King Moctezuma. He was seated in a litter which was carried by six of his peers, and escorting them were armed soldiers. The king's litter was topped by a canopy supported by four golden posts. It was carried by those lords closest to the king through family. Only they were allowed to touch him, and only they had the privilege of assisting him as he stepped down from the litter to greet Don Hernán Cortés.

“I remember most of those nobles. They are now dead, of course, but their spirits are still with us. Yes, priest, look over there, just beyond the fountain. Can you see them? They're as present today as they were upon that fateful day, and I often converse with them.”

Father Benito's eyes squinted as he focused on the place pointed out by Huitzitzilin, but he saw nothing except geranium and begonia plants. When he looked back at her, he realized that her face looked strangely transfixed, and he wondered if he should end the session. But he saw her tongue moisten her lips, so he knew that she was about to speak again.

“My memory of what follows seems now like one of the paintings by your artists, the ones that hang on the walls of this convent. My meaning is that even though I can still see those people, what they wore, how they stood, and the sound of their words, it is a picture whose images are stiff and without spirit.

“When we neared the white men, the crowd opened, and I was able to see clearly. From where I stood I could see Moctezuma's back as he stepped down and stretched out his arms and the accompanying lords held his arms up.”

“Stretched out his arms? Do you mean like this?” Father Benito lifted his arms simulating a bird in flight.

“Yes. It was a ritualistic practice that told everyone present that the king was like a mighty bird, its wings outstretched and ready for flight, but held down by human hands. Even though I saw only his back, I was sure that he was looking straight into the eyes of those strange pale creatures who stood gaping at us. No one spoke until the king finally uttered words that drifted back towards those of us who were closest to him.

“'Lord Feathered Serpent, I come to deliver your throne to you and to your representatives. Know that I and my ancestors have not usurped it, but rather have we guarded it for your sake. Know that we are your servants and that we are at your feet, ready to defend your honor. I know that this is not a dream; you have not come to us from the clouds and the mists of our volcanoes, but rather that you have arrived from across the reaches of the eastern ocean. Take your proper position in this land. Reign over it and its peoples as you did in the days of our ancestors.'”