14 May
We have reached the point where the Guadalquivir empties into the open sea. Now it feels that our voyage truly begins, as we leave Iberia behind. Another ship, which sailed from Cádiz, has joined us, and I am told that there are important personages from His Majesty’s government onboard, on their way to visit the viceroy in Mexico City.
22 May
Today we took on a few supplies and passengers at the Canaries, our final stop on this side of the Atlantic. The number of ships in the fleet continually impresses me, as well as reassures me a little. I must admit to a feeling of trepidation at the vastness of the ocean before us.
I am ever more grateful to Señor Herrera for having found Luisa for me. She is most eager to be of service. Although there is little for her to do onboard ship, she tries to get for me the best of what is available, and while there is not much choice, she has already learned what foods are most likely to sit well with me. She keeps our space tidy and is always looking for something more to bring me comfort, an extra blanket for the chill of the sea nights. When I need quiet, she grants me solitude, and she understands when conversation will be welcome.
31 May
Time weighs heavily onboard ship, one day much like another. I am frightened of what lies ahead, but my fear is outweighed by my desire to leave behind my life of the past, though I carry its most sharp reminder here within me. I shall devise a tale to offer to the curious, but I shall know that my babe is mine alone, conceived in violence. The father has thus forfeited any right or claim. My child is a reminder to me of my own strength in rejecting all that I knew, and will provide the determination to do what I must.
3 June
Today I feel my situation most keenly. I dreamed last night of my Tía Ana. She was telling me that I should take better care of myself. Somehow she knew of my condition. I know that I am the one who chose to flee, but I feel abandoned. Why did my tía not search for me when I went missing from my father’s home?
16 June
Luisa and I spend many hours sitting together in the tiny cabin granted to us. We are lucky to have it, small and suffocating as it is, for it provides a shield for us from the ever-buffeting wind and the prying eyes of the sailors and the male passengers.
Yesterday I told Luisa of my condition. She did not question me about why I have kept this secret. Many women, even in the most respectable of circumstances, modestly choose to hide their situation from prying eyes as long as possible.
23 June
I have felt my child! At first I did not know what the strange sensation was, but then I realized what it must be. I felt a quick surge of joy, soon to be dampened by the fear I felt for what would become of my unborn babe, so ill fated.
30 June
I wanted to refrain from making this journal a mere record of every small trial, yet to whom else can I complain? Luisa is kind and patient, yet I feel that she, too, has had her share of tribulations, and I would not add to her burden by making her endure my laments.
I have from the first moment we reached open sea suffered from the cruelest seasickness. I cannot help but feel that my condition worsens it. My legs ache, and I get cramps at night, most probably because I do little more than sit. I can hardly walk about the cabin, it is so confining, and the delicacy of my situation makes me hesitant to spend much time on deck.
2 July
The sea seems calmer today than it has in many days, and I feel much revived by the fresh air I finally ventured to take this morning. The movements of the ship’s passengers are extremely curtailed, and I must be most circumspect. Still, some of the other travelers have been solicitous and are concerned with my welfare, a young lady traveling with only a girl to attend her. What would their reaction be if they knew my story?
5 July
Luisa is a most able girl, and she and I are becoming friends. Although she is completely unschooled, in many ways she is more knowledgeable than I. I was never meant to have to find my own way in life, but Luisa knew from the time she was a young child that she herself would be her only source of support and defense, and she is worldly wise. I feel great guilt in knowing that I shall have to betray my word to her. I will have no home to take her to when we have reached New Spain. Yet I have thought that perhaps she could come to the convent to live with me for a time. I know that, at least in Madrid, many of the sisters bring servant girls with them to tend them in the convent. I have no reason to believe that things will be very different in New Spain in this respect. I do not know whether Luisa will accept this idea, but it would be so comforting to me to have her there, at least until I have become used to my new life.
11 July
The ship stopped today at the easternmost large island of the Antilles. I was able to disembark for a few hours, but only after pleading with the captain, who insisted that he could not be responsible for a young woman and her servant. When he began to see how desperate I was to leave the ship, even though it will be only a little over a week before we reach our landing point of Vera Cruz, he relented. Luisa and I remarked on how strange it felt to have solid ground beneath our feet after so many weeks at sea. All the hours ashore were not sufficient to relieve us from the rolling feeling that seems to have become a part of our very beings.
The docks were bustling with activity, and Luisa and I felt that we should confine ourselves to remaining close to that area. Though we could but vaguely see it in the distance, the vegetation was lush, even at this time of year, and it greatly intrigued us. It looked to be unlike anything we had seen in arid Spain. There were native workers and also black-skinned slaves from Africa working at the port. Never have I seen such a mixture of humanity, although Luisa and I saw few other European women.
This new land is so strikingly different from the home that I have always known, that now there is a new regret to prick at me. How much of this splendor and mystery will I be able to witness before I must bury myself behind the convent walls? How different can life be there, where all will be ruled by order and obedience? Nothing of the strange beauty of this land and its peoples will impinge on our existence there. Now that I have glimpsed it, I have such an appetite to taste of it! I have come to a new world, only to inter myself in the customs of the old, forever to be haunted by a reality barely touched upon.
14 July
Luisa and I grow ever closer, and her care for me is such that one would think that she and I had been together longer. Today she told me something of her past, and the cruelty she had to bear in her young life makes me care for her all the more. She never knew her mother either, but she was not so lucky as I in her upbringing. Her father left her always in the care of an older sister, who had a hard heart and a ready fist. The days she was neglected were the brightest for Luisa, for then at least she suffered no torments.
At the age of twelve, Luisa was sent by her father to a house, to help in the kitchen, and there the master’s son, who was seventeen, forced her to commit vile and shameful acts. Luisa wept from anger and humiliation when she told me this, and hinted at the perversions she endured, and she just a tender child.
Shortly thereafter, the master’s son left to marry, and, even in her own relief, Luisa felt a deep sorrow for the girl who was to be his bride. “For even though she would be wealthy,” explained Luisa, “all of her riches would not be able to shield her from her husband’s cruelty.”
The family Luisa served married off a daughter some months later, and the mistress told Luisa that she would no longer require her services, as the household’s needs had now lessened. She found a place as servant to a midwife, and there she stayed until she heard of someone looking for a serving girl to journey to the New World.
“So you see, Doña María, I wish to shed my old life. It has not been so kind to me that I will miss it much. I had heard that there are many more men in New Spain than there are women. Perhaps, in time, even I, who have been so ill used, can find a husband who will be willing to accept me.”
She sai
d this so simply that I could not express any doubts I might have; I would be only adding to her burdens.
“Perhaps so, Luisa” was all that I could find tongue to reply.
17 July
Since Luisa showed me such trust in revealing the horrors of her past, I have been weighed down by guilt over my continued deception that I would find a place for her when we reach our destination. Today I told her the truth about my flight to New Spain. She was shocked and saddened, but I shall be ever grateful to her that she cast no blame on me for having lied to her.
Now Luisa understands that I have no home in which to offer her a place. I told her of my plans to enter a convent when we have reached our destination. I proposed that she come there with me for a while. Even if she does not stay, she will have a place from which to look for a new position. She said that she would think on my offer.
“Perhaps, after what we both have suffered, a convent would not be such an unkind place to spend our days,” I said, as she rose to go and get our dinner. She did not respond but came over to me and kissed my hand. She cried for both our fates, and in her tears I knew that she saw no gentle future awaiting us.
Her kindness and concern for me touched me keenly. Sometimes the heart of those who have greatly suffered grows larger, as though to make room for the pain of others.
21 July
Tomorrow we are to land in Vera Cruz. Though I feel much unease, I am anxious to forsake this ship forever and taste what mercies this land may offer.
26 July
Vera Cruz
We have lingered here in Vera Cruz for a few days, to gather strength for the final leg of our journey. I had heard that the quality of the light and the transparency of the air in New Spain are something to be remarked upon, and it is true. It is difficult to explain how light and air can seem different, and yet they are, and are thereby quite pleasing. I do not know whether this will hold true in Mexico City, but I hope that it does, for I will continue my journey, to settle in that cultural and political center of New Spain. I have been told that there are many convents there, representing various orders. Even though I am not to participate in the life of the city, perhaps some of its vitality will reach inside the convent walls.
Luisa has agreed to accompany me, and I have secured for us a place with a party that will travel to the high country, where Mexico City is located. I knew that I could not continue to hide my condition, and so I have again made use of the story that I told the Herreras, that I am on my way to Mexico City to meet my husband. Only this phantasm can serve to lend me some respectability.
I have been hesitant to converse with my fellow travelers, in view of my somewhat precarious circumstances, but a kindly priest, Father Quijada, has befriended me. We are but members on the periphery of our group, which centers on the high government official who was on the ship from Cádiz. Don Diego Pelayo de Porzuna is an emissary to the viceroy and the vicereine, and so our caravan is quite well organized and provisioned. We should make our way in a timely manner to the place that shall be my home.
1 August
Jalapa
We rest in Jalapa tonight, and I am relieved to find the solace of writing here. In many ways this is the only connection with my old life, this and my unborn child. But my babe shall be born of this new land.
It seems that the personage from His Majesty’s court is even more important than I had realized. Indeed, I am told that he is being accorded many of the same honors that were shown to the viceroy on his arrival in New Spain.
7 August
Tlaxcala
We have reached Tlaxcala, where we will remain for three days. I am glad that we will have something of a rest here, as the journey is extremely taxing. I do not know how I would manage without Luisa’s help. I thank Our Lady that Luisa has decided to stay with me in Mexico City, at least until after the babe comes.
Upon entering Tlaxcala, I was again grateful to be in the company of august persons. Although at various stages on our journey Señor Pelayo de Porzuna received the greetings of various native leaders, the entrance into Tlaxcala far surpassed anything we have yet witnessed.
In honor of Don Diego the town held a large procession, which included drums, flutes, and some musical instruments that I did not recognize. The Indians’ clothing was most colorful and beautiful, but strange beyond imagining to us. Many of those in the procession appeared to be of high rank, and I am told that some were of the Indian nobility. Once again, I have found myself powerfully attracted to this new land. Humanity is so much more varied than I could ever have imagined, sitting so protected within my father’s home.
8 August
I questioned Father Quijada about the extravagance of the Tlaxcala welcome. He explained that the people of Tlaxcala are a longtime ally of the Spanish, and that their aid was essential in Cortes’s struggle against the Aztec state. Then he said something whose meaning I struggle to comprehend: “How diligently do conquerors mine the targeted terrain for gems of grievances between the native peoples, and raise the gems up to the sunlight to intensify their power. Then do they stealthily pocket the gems for their own gain.” Yet the Tlaxcala do not seem to think themselves deceived. But what future have they bought for their descendants?
11 August
As Father Quijada, Luisa, and I traveled alone within our coach today, I ventured to pose another question to him about the procession we saw a few days ago in Tlaxcala. “Do not these people who look and dress so differently also not think and believe very differently than we?” I asked Father Quijada.
“Of course the native religions were many before we came, and some still persist, even here, after so many decades of effort to bring them into the fold of Holy Mother Church,” he replied sadly. “They do not see even this world as we do, so how are we to convince them to conceive of the next world through our eyes? But we must maintain our faith that it can be done, and give our lives to the struggle.”
This last was said with a hint of resigned desperation, so I sought to offer him some encouragement. “Yet unity of faith has been achieved in Spain, even after so many centuries of Moorish domination. Jews also were converted to the true faith, and now all live under the banner of Christ and all His saints.”
Father Quijada gave me a strange look, as one gives to a child who innocently speaks of things she does not understand. “Yes, what you say is true, but those who would not convert were banished. We cannot use that method here, where we are the usurpers. Remember also, my daughter, that our unity of faith is preserved by the Holy Inquisition, which most ferociously punishes lapses in belief.”
I could not deny the truth of what he was saying, yet I persisted. “Still, I have heard that many of the Indians do accept our faith and have already now for generations.”
“It is correct that there are those who seem to have come to a genuine understanding and love of Christ and Holy Mother Church, yet many who are claimed as converts are not so in their hearts. Many of my fellow priests are more interested in gathering Indians to themselves for the labor that they can perform than in the saving of their immortal souls.”
The candor with which Father Quijada spoke to me was astonishing. Never before had I heard of a clergyman reproaching his fellows, and the implied criticism of the Holy Office was not only unusual but also dangerous. Perhaps his despair, or the freedom inherent in the very landscape of this new continent, had loosened his tongue. Perhaps it was only that he did not think that a young girl would wholly understand the implications of all that he was saying. Indeed, I found myself quite unable to respond. All that he was telling me was so foreign to everything that I had ever learned that I was left confused and frightened.
Now that he had started on this track, he continued, almost as though to himself, “Oftentimes we resort to including some small elements of their religion into our teaching to the Indians. Oh, I’m sure that it began merely as a means of illustration, as a way of comparing the concepts of their beliefs with our own, f
or do not believe that their faith is not as complete and complex in itself as is ours. Slowly, however, I can see that they understand it not as illustration only, but also as comparability. The Catholic religion that will be practiced in times to come in Mexico will not be the same that is practiced in Spain, for all the efforts of the Holy Inquisition.”
At his mention of the Holy Inquisition, Father Quijada seemed to become aware of what he had been saying to me, a stranger, whom he did not know if he could trust. “But you must forgive and forget these ramblings of an old priest, child. Holy Mother Church is one, here as in Spain itself, and I will give my life to keep it so.” With that, he fell silent.
I have risen from my pallet to write this, though Luisa has long since fallen asleep. Father Quijada’s words are haunting me, and I cannot banish them from my mind. It seems as though something that I had fast within my grip has been torn from me. For all my doubts of other things, my faith in the Church still held firm, yet now I have heard a priest express doubts about the wisdom and justice of what is said and done in Her name. I wish to bury these questions deep within me, yet I hope that they do not take seed there and one day grow to smother me.
15 August
I have not felt well these past several days. We have had very warm weather, and no respite from the constant motion. Many times I would rather not eat at all. Still, I must try to take in some nourishment, for the sake of my babe. For some days I had not felt the child move, and I went about with much fear that my circumstances had caused some harm. But today I again felt the internal wrestling, and I am more at peace.
26 August
Mexico City
We have arrived in Mexico City, and I have procured for us a small room with a criollo family. I invented yet another tale for them, but I will not tell of it here. I am weary of recording my lies. This family does not seem as inclined to kindness as were the Herreras, but indifference suits my purpose.
The Lines Between Us Page 17