“What demand, Father?”
“The abolishment of the encomienda, of course.”
I was quiet and decided not to oppose him. The good friar is like that; once a goal enters his mind, he does not deviate. I was glad for the clarity of Enriquillo’s final instruction to me. I love the good friar, but at that moment I decided myself how to deviate him, by subterfuge, from attending the negotiations. This I write with some shame: at that moment I decided to enlist him in the trap set for Valenzuela and Pero Lopez. In the midst of a peace-pact mission, I cannot get out of my mind and heart the face of Pero Lopez the day he took my son and sold him, and I cannot get out of my mind my joy at the sight of his face when Tamayo corners him. I thirst for the justice coming toward me in this arrangement.
“Enriquillo has communicated this to me,” I said. “Two negotiations he would conduct, good friar. One is with the king’s ambassador, Captain Barrionuevo. The other one is with Valenzuela, his former encomendero. The second one is the dangerous one.”
“Valenzuela will have to adapt to the king’s capitulation, of course.”
“There is danger he would destroy the negotiations, by killing or capturing Enriquillo himself. Such an occurrence, remember, would save the king the embarrassment of making a treaty with the Indian bandit, as Oviedo calls the cacique.”
Las Casas said immediately, “How can we shield the cacique?”
“A message must be carried to Valenzuela, from Enriquillo, just as Enriquillo makes contact with Barrionuevo. The message will call Valenzuela and his men in a deviant chase, away from the real negotiations.”
“At any time, whatever Enriquillo needs, I will do,” Las Casas offered. “This message I will deliver, if need be, before I leave for the negotiations.”
“I am certain it will soon be time to do so,” I said. Then I cleared my throat, taking my time.
“I have some notes for you,” I said, still clearing my throat. I gave him a stack of written pages. “They are about the early days of Bartolomé Columbus and Guarionex.”
“The Battle of la Vega?”
“It’s in there.”
“And Pané?”
“He, too, is in there, how he went to live with Guarionex.”
“I have his little book,” the friar said. “I got it in Seville. Martyr de Angleria had a copy made by Pané himself. It is a wonderful recollection of your people’s old tales. I am certainly glad he noted all that.”
“He didn’t learn that much,” I said. “Though he always had his nose in somebody’s armpit.”
The good friar laughed. He was happy to be back and to get the pages. I slipped away before he could deliver me with instructions. I know for certain now he would attempt to represent Enriquillo and believes he is empowered to do so. That could wreck everything. I need time to lay out my plan and have things ready for when Barrionuevo arrives.
One hundred sixty-two. I ask Catalina to help me.
Today I sought Catalina. For the fourth day, on awakening, she was in my mind’s eye. A message I sent her to meet at the back of the church. I reached from the bench behind her and put a bundle next to her. It was cohoba and tobacco. “The baby boy is well,” I whispered. She grunted lightly.
“I must visit the old place where the Ceiba is resting. I must talk with her, in the cohoba.”
“I can help you,” Catalina answered. “I will say a birth has come up.”
“I am afraid I would stay in the other side if there’s no one to remind me.”
“Yes, I will excuse myself and go with you.”
One hundred sixty-three. In the woods with Catalina…
We went by way of deep woods, walking north for four days. We wanted to see no one, and we talked little. Mostly she walked ahead of me and set a brisk pace. At night she rubbed my thigh forcefully for a long time with her liniment and strong, thin fingers. Then, in silence, she made her own sleep in her own hammock. Twice I hunted hutía, which we roasted at night and ate with cassabe torts carried in macoutís looped to our foreheads. On the way, we gathered fruit and other things to eat. In 1533, I can write that it is still possible to find the old orchards and even old conucos where the herbs and nut crops planted by Taíno farmers forty and fifty years ago still come up and can be harvested.
One hundred sixty-four. At my old yukaieke in the lower Magua country.
Our third morning out I stood in the place where once I chopped wood with a Spanish ax. It was my first time back. The clearing was mostly overgrown, but I did find my old ax handle, and I found the center post to our old bohío. Catalina found things, too, which she bundled and put away without showing me.
I propped the old post up between two low, parted branches on a huge ceiba tree then lay my back against it. Catalina prepared the cohoba and made fire. In this ceremony she would also take the cohoba snuff, but only to thank her spirit helpers and Attabei, Great Birthing Mother of Waters, with whom, as a midwife, she is particularly related. Catalina had a double cacimba, which she loaded. It went both ways, placing the snuffers into both of our nostrils at once, so we could blow each other’s load at the same time. “I have not much powder in mine, so I will come out first,” she said. “Do what you must and return—set your mind to return. Listen for my song, and I will bring you out.”
One hundred sixty-five. With cohoba again, with Ceiba.
That is how we did it, two days ago. And it worked for me just as I hoped. We sat in darkness a good while. The night was early, warm, and dry. We blew together, then separated. Once again I took the trail, only this time I got there on my own. This time, too, the doglike cemi walked at my side. “Beloved son,” he told me with his mind as he trotted. “This will not be hard.”
We came to a plateau again. Then it was not a plateau but my old little valley, and I was walking near the brook. Near the water, on a rock I remembered, Ceiba was sitting. She looked only at the water but her body was happy to see me. We had no need for greetings.
“I was told they are alive, both of them,” I told her without speaking.
The light of her spirit body emanated, and I could see it. She turned my way so I could see her face but still she did not look upon me. “One went south and one went north,” I said. “They are both well, and there are children.”
“You are a good guaxeri, my husband, to come to me this way.”
“I want you to rest. Go home to Coaybay, where the elders will surround you.”
“I should not have left you, but I could not live without my Good Wind.”
“They are still on earth; I cannot know more.”
“Thank you, my husband. I will go join my parents. As for you, accompany yourself, make a nest for your days ahead.”
Ceiba walked away, following the current of the brook. I felt very complete and greatly satisfied. I felt tremendous peace, even in her lonely walk. I felt all my pain suddenly lift, and tears began to pour from my eyes, purging my heart and lifting the pressure from my shoulders. Then suddenly my right leg, crocodile-bitten all these years, felt strong and had bounce, and I began to run as I turned from the stream to the flat field of the plateau, jumping and hopping and with each step bouncing higher and higher. And there I was, jumping about my old little valley, bouncing from clearing to clearing, and suddenly, below me, seeing my curled up body, a shiver in my lightning spirit, and I began to bounce higher and higher, and I was going away and I wanted to go away and I could feel the tremendous harmony of my breath and of all Taíno memory, all Taíno goodness, all the ancestors, all of our beautiful knowledge, all of the seas and valleys of our spirit domains and I heard her singing.
In the path of flesh and blood you walk,
Come and join me, man alive, come and join me.
Your mission is done, your celestial steps complete,
Come and see me, man alive, come and chew and come and swallow.
Come and join me in the light, man alive, come and sleep.
Over and over I heard the song, and
I didn’t resist it. I let it call me down and lull me, and I followed it back until I felt the heat of the fire, and I remembered that I was alive.
One hundred sixty-six. Finding love with Catalina.
Catalina had fixed our hammocks. I slept until midmorning and she was already up and had prepared a tea and a plate of fruit for me. After I ate, she led me to the stream. “Bathe,” she said, handing me a crunched up ball of digo root to lather with.
I entered the stream and bathed. Then I swam against the current a good while. Catalina sat by and watched me. “Work your leg against the water,” she said. She, too, had bathed and now wore a skirt but nothing over her breasts. Neither her nakedness nor mine bothered us. We bathed naked for several hours, occasionally walking along the shore and picking fruits and nuts for the journey. The nuts made a good paste, which Catalina put in a gourd. I found a tree full of honeycombs, and we sweetened the nut paste, and it was very good. It was like the old days. Ceiba and I would do this, too, gather foods with her aunts and uncles, all of us naked in the old way, without a care about it.
That evening, we slept again, and in the false light of dawn I caught sight of Catalina’s eyes gazing on me. I motioned her to come, and she came to lie in the crook of my arm in my hammock. We felt easy with each other and soon she lifted her leg over my thigh, and, lizardly, I hooked myself into her hold. I felt her slightest tremor and didn’t move at all. She hugged me with her deepest love, and I was ironwood for her, holding fast. Catalina sighed softly and leaned down. She leaned down hard and held on so tightly it hurt. Then she caught, as we say, the rhythm of the hammock, and we took the long ride together.
We walked back in silence but full of love. Now she walked behind me, watching me. That night we stopped to rest, and again, in the night, she came over. In the morning she cooked for us as I greeted the sun and the four directions. Then we walked again, and she followed me, and I could feel the warmth of her eyes. I could feel her woman’s heart envelop me, and it had been many years, and it was as obvious as frogs croaking at the clouds before rain that Catalina’s was the love I needed to call warriors to peace.
One hundred sixty-seven. Barrionuevo has arrived.
Barrionuevo has arrived, the king’s ambassador. Yesterday morning, as I sat down to write, this was the shout of the town. Still, at that very moment, full of words and tears of joy, I was ready to pour my heart upon the page. Four days I have been back, four days without Catalina, and I am as lonesome as a manatí pup; I, sour man with a hide like leather and a heart full of scars, I love a woman again.
But Barrionuevo has arrived. Time speeds up. The town has gone crazy with criers and rumors, the cathedral’s bell rings, and the archbishop and mayor have invited the town’s señores to a public meeting tomorrow. Las Casas himself has been summoned twice this afternoon, and official discussions have begun.
Barrionuevo brings two hundred men, including Captain Rodrigo Gallego, my old friend. I saw Rodrigo, though I will wait to visit, as he is posted across town in the house of a señor named Quesada. This Quesada is quick to see deviousness in little acts and might suspect my motives. Rodrigo looked portly and quite tall. His face jowls down but still it is kind, as it was when I knew him. Rodrigo commands a troop of seventy-five men, and he is second captain under Barrionuevo. I saw him line up his men and lead them to Quesada’s posada and horse stables, where they will bivouac. Something warmed inside me to see old Rodrigo, a friendship reawakened from those old days.
One hundred sixty-eight. Tempering the good friar.
Barrionuevo is housed in special rooms at the House of Contracts, where Oidor Suazo is providing grandly for him. Las Casas goes back and forth from the convent to the House. He went for a late lunch, then returned to rest and ponder. Later, he was invited to a late dinner, where he is now. After his nap, he summoned me, and I put his clothes out as he bathed. He has a small tub and a sponge, with which he wipes himself off, stepping in and out of the small tub.
“They now know I am their best mediator to Enriquillo,” he said. “The hook is in.”
“I am glad they listen to you, Father.”
“The oidores know I am the one who can talk to Enriquillo. So, they are attuned to my every word,” he replied. “You can be sure we will gain wide concessions.”
I cannot tell the good father, I cannot even intimate to him that his argument for the negotiations centering on the abolishment of encomienda has already been dismissed and that he himself is not desired at the treaty-making. I must not confront him but divert his mind and his feet from the path of the Bahuruku parley.
“You will remember this Barrionuevo,” the good friar told me as I helped him into his robes. “He was a soldier under Velazquez in the war against Guahaba and Xaraguá, around 1504, 1506.”
I remember not Barrionuevo, but I remember Diego Velazquez, conquistador and first governor of Cuba. I remember him and I remember the campaigns against Anacaona of Xaraguá and Hatuey of Guahaba very well. Eight years before his mandate to conquer Cuba, in 1511, Diego Velazquez commanded troops under that master of assassins, Knight Commander Ovando, here in Santo Domingo. It was Velazquez who actually ordered the torching of Anacaona’s eighty caciques at the banquet massacre, in 1503. The same Velazquez hunted down our people afterward and caused the enslavement of my own family. In 1511, Velazquez took me to Cuba, where he again gave me into servitude. I can say I remember Velazquez, and I know what the soldiers did under Velazquez.
“Before the Massacre of Anacaona and the war against Xaraguá,” Las Casas went on, “Barrionuevo commanded troops against cacique Cotubanamá, in Higuey. Afterward, around 1508, he went on to the conquest of San Juan Bautista de Puerto Rico [Borikén], with Ponce de León.”
“Many took part and were brutal at that time, Father,” I said.
“He is a much older man now,” the good friar responded, staring directly at my eyes. “Barrionuevo is forthright about his mission.”
Las Casas said this curtly, staring at my eyes until, out of respect, I looked away. My remark, we both knew, recalled his own involvement in the slaving wars back then. He himself committed acts against Taínos at that time that now make him suffer with remorse. Knowing the good friar for many years, I know that spiking his heart is the only way to keep his attention. I very much want to keep his attention.
“Forgive my opinion, Father?”
“Be kind, Dieguillo.”
“I would stress to Barrionuevo that a pardon with dignity for Enriquillo and his people would be an acceptable route. Enriquillo desires peace with freedom most of all.”
“The king instructed Barrionuevo to make a quick peace or a total war.”
“Total war would be disastrous,” I said. “And a quick peace is possible, if we don’t press for too much.”
“I think Enriquillo’s position is stronger than you think,” he responded. “I tell Barrionuevo that a new military campaign would be costly. If it were to fail, and if Enriquillo appears victorious and multiplies his forces with Indians and Africans, the Spanish could very well lose the island.”
“A war would be disastrous for us, Father,” I insisted. “According to Enriquillo, there is not much area left to retreat to. They could not sustain multiple attacks…”
“Well, but Barrionuevo, as the king’s special envoy, can agree on principle to abolish the encomienda.”
“One thing at a time. The encomienda as a main negotiating point could delay the impulse too long. It could raise opposition and lead to the war.”
“The moment is ripe now, and such a pronouncement, from right here in the Indies, would mean much more. At this moment, Dieguillo, if we plan this right, Barrionuevo will accept this. A royal decree just now, on the eve of a major peace—think of it Dieguillo, it is the only justice possible for the Indian people.”
The good father being resolute, I took the route of diversion.
“As you say, Father, the strategy is all. ‘Everything in its time.’ So
I would add: Please let Enriquillo make that demand; let him demand the end of the encomienda himself. And if Barrionuevo balks at it, then you step up, for you must know you will be right there at Enriquillo’s side. He asked me himself to tell you. At his side.”
Las Casas looked relieved and alert. I smiled upon him, making my lie complete. For the first time in the twenty years I have known him, I have control over his volition, and it takes a lie. The good friar wants very much to be at the center of this event. I thought as we spoke: I truly have his attention now.
“Let Enriquillo lead the discussion,” I pressed on, pulling now on the priest’s heartfelt wish to help our people. “Let him approach as the sovereign cacique that he is. He deserves this moment.”
“Absolutely,” Las Casas said. “I will sit at his side as a supporter, but he will lead the talking. Barrionuevo must see him as his equal.”
“Excellent,” I said.
“When he mentions the encomienda and demands a royal decree, I will be there to support him, to throw the weight of my church behind him.”
“At the parley, Father, please. At the right moment. This is very important to Enriquillo.”
“Yes, of course. I will wait for his demand, then support it.”
One hundred sixty-nine. I hate telling a lie, but…
I hate telling a lie. But the father, Blessed Protector, would endanger our lives with his love of our cause. No, he is too agitated and too controversial here on the islands to represent Enriquillo’s interest. In fact, he will not get there. The baby boy himself spoke about the need to maintain the peaceful mind, keep humble so as not to block the path of peace.
I will ask Las Casas to certify the existence of more gold bullion and Enriquillo’s offer to have a special gesture with Valenzuela. This will happen soon. He will carry the word to Valenzuela for us, I am certain, in order to divert them from the negotiations. Then to Las Casas I will assign a guaxeri guide who will pretend to lose his way and keep the good friar himself from the parley site. I do this now without hesitation, though I know it can confuse my living spirit, my goeiz, to be this way. Valenzuela and Pero Lopez I thus send one wrong way. And the good friar, too, will follow another wrong trail. With this I hope to keep clear our thin path to peace.
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