An International Mission to the Moon

by Jean Petithuguenin

  He was in a vast enclosure formed by a natural rampart of cliffs, or perhaps constructed by human hands, which surrounded buildings grouped or isolated.

  The holy city! Jacques said to himself. I’ve discovered the secret of the Incas!

  The moonlight was bright enough to reveal to him the general character of an architecture that was quite familiar to a scientist like him: broad straight stairways, rigorous lines, windowless walls, doorways narrower at the top than the bottom.

  Although there were a few sections of collapsed wall here and there, the ensemble was well conserved. This city, whose existence had remained unknown, had not been subjected, like the other vestiges of a vanished civilization, to the depredations of the conquistadors; the stones had not been taken away one by one to construct modern buildings.

  What drew Jacques gaze most of all was, in the center of the city, an edifice larger than the rest—the only one that possessed a roof. That roof must have been reconstructed, or perhaps maintained, in the course of the ages, for the beams and thatch of which the Quichuas made use would not have resisted the erosions of time. The building in question was taller and slimmer than the neighboring edifices; a broad terrace formed a kind of pedestal for it, to which access was gained via a staircase occupying the entire width of the construction. And what struck the gaze first was a fire burning in the middle of the terrace, launching a high and vivid flame toward the sky. Colossal idols framed it, and to one side, Jacques thought he could see shadows, human silhouettes.

  Thus, in this ruined city in the heart of a mountainous wilderness, there were mysterious inhabitants, or at least temporary residents.

  Jacques had no doubt that Alvarez was here, with his band, perhaps in the process of presiding over some ancient ceremony.

  He had seen enough for the moment.

  I’ll go back down to the grotto, he thought. We’re within reach of the goal, and it’s not the time to get caught. Finally, our efforts will be recompensed, and I’ll be able to demonstrate to Alvarez that I enjoy the protection of the gods.

  He started to go back down the steps to the bottom of the strange corridor hollowed out through the rock like a trench. He felt anxious, because he was, in effect, caught in a veritable mousetrap. If any Indians had been coming up at that moment, there would have been no way to escape them.

  However, he was able to rejoin his friends without difficulty.

  “We’ve found the holy city,” he told Robert. “We’re next door to a kind of secret entrance, and up there, the last depositaries of the religion of the Incas are apparently making preparations for a great ceremony.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Robert exclaimed. “We’re in the vicinity of the June solstice, which, in this latitude, corresponds with the start of winter. Doesn’t that tell you anything, Jacques?”

  “Yes, you’re right; that’s the date of the great Festival of the Sun, Hatoun Raymi, which the Incas once celebrated every year, and which gave rise to grandiose manifestations.” Jacques added: “Let’s get a little rest anyway. Tomorrow will be a great day for us, and we need to be ready to profit fully from our victory.”

  Robert rolled himself up in his poncho again and went back to sleep.

  Two hours later, relieved by his comrade, Jacques immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  His brain, overexcited by the extraordinary adventures of the preceding days, evoked in his dream images of the ancient Empire of the Sun. Jacques found himself suddenly transported five hundred years back in time, into the great city of the Incas, Cuzco, their political and religious capital.

  He penetrated into the Temple of the Sun, where a thousand virgins, consecrated to the divinity, had the mission to maintain the sacred fire night and day. The walls of the temple disappeared under ornaments of gold and silver. The paths that led to the sanctuary were paved with precious metal. The chalices, the ewers, the amphorae, vessels of every sort, and the least of utensils, were made of gold or silver.

  Here comes the Inca, the omnipotent sovereign, a god on earth, who arrives in the temple followed by the aristocracy of his empire. He has descended from a golden litter at the door of the temple; his garment, woven from the finest vicuna wool, is dyed in rich colors and ornamented with a profusion of gold and precious stones. He coiffed in a lantu, a kind of turban decorated with a red fringe and two feathers from a coroquenque, a rare bird with rich plumage similar to a bird of paradise.29 His eldest son, the legitimate heir, is walking beside him, wearing a lantu fringed with yellow.

  Behind him, the princes of the empire who belong to the Inca’s family make an imposing cortege for the sovereign. Nothing can be seen but crimson or saffron robes, scintillating gems, gold or silver necklaces, girdles and bracelets.

  A crowd of worshipers is gathered on the parvis, and its members prostrate themselves as the man-god pass by. A choir of numerous voices chants a monotonous hymn, supported by an orchestra of drums and conches, five-note flutes and trumpets; and every time a verse ends, all the singers, as a sign of exaltation, clamor at the same time the word hailly, which means triumph.

  In the temple, the Virgins of the Sun, with their robes women in golden cloth, appear in a splendid double row in the gold-paved pathway that the Inca will travel in order to reach the altar.

  There, the priests of the Inca’s family are standing; they have prepared, on a golden table, a pile of dried herbs and twigs, to which the Son of the Sun must set fire, as he does every year, marking by that action the grandeur of his mission on earth.

  To either side of the altar, strange individuals are sitting, ten men on one side and ten women on the other, clad in princely costumes, their tunics dyed red, their headgear ornamented with the royal insignia. They are motionless on their golden seats, their heads bowed, their arms crossed over their breasts. Their features are emaciated, their cheeks like parchment, their eyes closed. They are present at the ceremony but they are no longer of this world. They are the dead Incas and their legitimate spouses, whose embalmed bodies are deposited in the great Temple of the Sun.

  The villa vmu, the high priest, has bowed before the emperor and handed him a silver mirror. The mirror is concave. Striking a hieratic pose, the Inca presents it to the sun, which is pouring its rays through a gap in the roof. He concentrates the light and heat of the star, directing them at a tuft of tinder, which smokes and bursts into flame, communicating the fire to the little pyre prepared by the priests.

  Then, from all mouths, rises the hymn of gratitude to the god who illuminates and warms, who fertilizes the fields and the pastures, who makes the trees bear fruit and the herds increase. The Virgins of the Sun sway their heads coiffed with golden diadems; the priests sacrifice a llama at the foot of the altar. A young knight, his head crowned with chihuahua flowers, raises the standard of the Incas, on which the rainbow is deployed, the symbol of the race. Trumpets resonate, drums roll, and outside, throughout the city, where the criers are hastening to announce the miracle, the exultant people raise clamors.

  X

  “It’s necessary,” said Pierre, “that we find a means of making a sensational entrance to the city, in order to strike the imagination of the Indians; then they’ll really take us for envoys of the gods.”

  Still under the influence of the marvelous dream he had just had, Jacques was pensive.

  In the silence of the canyon, into which the rising sun was insinuating its light, the angry plaint of the wounded jaguar rose up again momentarily.

  “That beast has a stubborn life,” Robert murmured. “I hit it full in the body, and my bullet must have gone all the way through.”

  “It’s like the cats that have to be killed nine times, according to the English proverb, in order to be sure that they’re dead,” Pierre observed.

  After a silence, Jacques suddenly exclaimed: “Hey! I have an idea!”

  “Naturally,” said Pierre, admiring and amused. “You’re a machine for fabricating ideas. Speak—we’re listening wit
h all the deference due to genius.”

  “If you mock me, I won’t say a word.”

  “I’m sincere—word of honor! Come on, don’t sulk. Tell us your idea.”

  “What if we made a triumphal entrance into the holy city escorted by a jaguar? That, I think, would be sensational.”

  “I agree—but I don’t see…”

  “Wait. I’ll explain the plan.”

  Pierre raised his hand. Permit me to sit down comfortably, for I want to be all ears in order to lose none of the pleasure of listening to you.”

  “The jaguar is doubtless grievously wounded; otherwise it would have fled further way when it scented our presence. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be surprised if it still had enough strength to drag itself for a certain distance, and perhaps even defend itself if it sees itself threatened.”

  “Certainly,” said Pierre. “I’d look twice before going to tease it in its lair.”

  “That’s what we’re going to do, though,” said Jacques, “if you adopt my plan.”

  “What?”

  “I propose to frighten the animal in order to drive it into the secret passage that leads to the sanctuary of the Incas, and chase it before us all the way to the city, where we’ll arrive in the middle of the ceremony, guided like gods by the prince of the jungle.”

  “Not bad,” said Robert. “It remains to be seen whether the jaguar still has enough life to accomplish the exploit, or whether it has too much left to obey us with docility. Suppose it turns against us.”

  “Then we’ll be obliged to kill it, naturally. I can’t promise you that my plan will succeed, but we can still try, because, if it does succeed, our triumph will be splendid.”

  “All right—let’s try, then.”

  “You, Robert, go place yourself at the entrance to the secret stairway, across the canyon, to prevent the jaguar going back down to the crater we came from. Take the carbine. Only fire as a last resort, though, for if we sacrifice or lead actor, we won’t be able to perform the play. Pierre and I will go higher up the canyon, striving initially not to disturb the wounded beast, and we’ll go past it in order to block the passage upstream. Pierre will hold the revolver, ready to intervene in case of present danger. I’ll have my spear, and I’ll take charge of driving the animal to the entrance to the secret passage.”

  “Approved!” said Pierre. Turning to Robert, he asked: “What does the leader of the mission think?”

  “The leader approves too, and feels obliged to express his congratulations to our friend once again.”

  “Don’t compliment me until we’ve succeeded,” said Jacques, modestly.

  The archeologists immediately set about executing the plan that would permit them to appear so advantageously in the holy city of the Incas. Cautiously, Jacques and Pierre went up the canyon hollowed out like a corridor in the rocky massif.

  A few meters above the point where the secret passage to the city ended, they perceived the jaguar lying in a cleft. The animal was extended on its side, its feet extended, its head supported on the rock. When the explorers went past it, it raised its head abruptly, uttered a brief roar of anger, and gathered itself, tucking its feet beneath its body.

  “There’s still life in it,” said Pierre.

  “So we have a chance of triumphing,” Jacques replied. “Where there’s life, there’s hope! Listen—I’ll drive the beast out of its hole by prodding it with my spear. Keep close to me, revolver in hand, but don’t shoot unless I shout ‘Fire!’”

  The jaguar was surrounded. Robert was barring the way downstream and Pierre was menacing it from upstream.

  Jacques, pointing his spear, advanced toward the animal, which, seeing him coming, raised itself up on its front paws and roared, opening an enormous maw armed with formidable fangs; then it dragged itself backwards, at the price of painful efforts, its rear end half-paralyzed. It was evidently incapable of pouncing, and Jacques sensed that he was the master of the situation.

  With a thrust of the point, the explorer dislodged the beast from its refuge. Furious but impotent, the jaguar continued retreating before its enemy, making as if to leap at times, but falling back limply on to the rock.

  In the end, the beast half-turned, and crawled as fast as its wound would permit in order to try to get away from Jacques’ tormenting.

  Robert saw it coming, and started shouting and waving his arms in order to frighten it.

  Cut off, the jaguar hesitated, not knowing which way to go, sometimes turning toward Robert and sometimes toward Jacques, mouth agape and growling.

  Jacques pricked it in order to drive it toward the secret stairway

  With a desperate effort, the beast lifted itself up, lashing out with its claws. Jacques only just had time to leap backwards. He took his revenge by landing a heavy low with his stick on the jaguar’s head; the latter recommenced beating the retreat and went into the secret stairway to the city, as the explorers wanted it to do, while continuing to exhale its rage in frightful roars.

  “Hurrah! Victory is ours!” cried Pierre.

  They had no more to do than follow the beast, which fled, crawling a certain distance when it perceived its enemies, then stopped, exhausted, and waited to be threatened again in order to drag itself further.

  Preceded by that strange advance guard, the little troop reached the top of the stairway, and the jaguar, finding an open space, plunged on ahead.

  Robert, Jacques and Pierre stopped side by side, observing the ruined city that extended before their eyes.

  The temple that Jacques had remarked during the night was surrounded by a crowd of several hundred Indians, some clad in brown cloth or enveloped in ponchos, others adorned with red or yellow tunics, coiffed in feathered turbans, charged with girdles, necklaces or bracelets of precious metal.

  On the parvis, the fire that Jacques had perceived was still lit between the stone colossi. Two men were standing in the center of the crowd, face to face, with their partisans behind them, and seemed to be trading insults. They were both richly adorned, as the Incas had been in the time of their power.

  Scarcely had Jacques and his friends had time to glimpse the scene, however, than the appearance of the jaguar provoked a sudden metamorphosis.

  The Indians had turned round and were gazing, with a stupefaction mingled with terror, at the beast that was crawling and roaring in front of the three white men. Intimidated, no longer knowing which way to beat a retreat, the animal had stopped, and contented itself with roaring, making supreme efforts to stand up on its buckling legs. It was exhausted, the sounds only emerging from its maw in gasps. At times it fell back. It was on the point of death.

  A few more twitches, one last grunt, and it remained inert.

  Then, proudly embracing the bewildered crowd with his gaze, Jacques advanced, followed by his companions, and the Indians stood aside respectfully to let him pass.

  Robert and Pierre sensed all the audacity of the attitude that their friend had adopted. Only of the Indian chiefs only had to give a signal for the members of the meager little archeological expedition to be immediately massacred, and there would never be any further word of them, no one being capable of discovering what had become of them. They understood however, that Jacques’ boldness was their only chance of success, and did not hesitate to take the great gamble along with him.

  In one of the two men richly adorned and emplumed who were standing in the middle of the parvis, seemingly in confrontation, Jacques recognized José Alvarez.

  The latter had turned toward him and was watching him come with an astonishment mingled with admiration and mystical dread.

  Resolved to extract all possible advantage from the situation, Jacques shouted in Quichua, loud enough to be heard by the entire crowd, but addressing himself to Alvarez:

  “I am here under the protection of Inti. The jaguar sent by him has guided my companions and me. We bring peace, not war. Let the sovereigns be good and clement to their people; let the sovereigns be reconciled
; let humans unite in universal love, to render thanks to the gods!”

  “Salutations to you, emissary of the omnipotent!” cried the Peruvian. “You have triumphed in the proof, and that is the sign of your divine mission. How can it be doubted that you have been sent by Inti himself, when your intervention has occurred at the precise moment that we have need of it?

  “Approach and judge. Beneath the mask of José Alvarez, Peruvian of this century, I am the last of the Incas, descendent of Huascar, who was the victim of the conquistadors, and of his brother Atahualpa. Our oppressed race is not extinct, and the Sons of the Sun have succeeded one another, accomplishing here in the secret of the wilderness the rites of their religion.

  “Thus, for four centuries, they have continued to reign over thousands of faithful subjects, unknown to the official government of Peru. They are waiting patiently for the moment to proclaim the resurrection of their murdered fatherland. Then their empire will be reborn and the astonished world will see, resplendent again, the great civilization of the Sons of the Sun.

  “Fifteen of my ancestors and their spouses are there in the temple, sitting on golden seats, adorned by their royal vestments, sleeping their eternal sleep. Our priests have embalmed them and transported them to this mysterious sanctuary in order that they would not share the fate of the ancient emperors, who were despoiled, profaned and cast into the dust by the conquerors. I am their heir, and like my unfortunate ancestor, my name is Huascar….”

  He was speaking thus when the individual confronting him, clad with the same richness and maintaining the same majestic attitude, interrupted him, crying:

  “You are Huascar, descendant of Huascar, as I am Atahualpa, descendant of Atahualpa, and we both have, as a common ancestor, Huayma Capac, who was the last to reign before the coming of the Spaniards. In the same way that Huascar and Atahualpa had equal rights to reign over the empire four hundred years ago, today, we, Huascar and Atahualpa are equally well-founded in claiming the throne of the Incas.”