Father Benito had resumed writing what Huitzitzilin had to say, intent on recording every one of her words. Whenever he fell behind, he asked her to repeat the omitted word or phrase. She, in turn, had transported her spirit back to those days before the fall of Tenochtitlan.
“I say that things appeared to be as before, but that was not true. We all were aware of the stiffness that marked our talk and our actions, even the most trivial or ordinary. Moctezuma’s council ceased to visit him. The nobles and warriors were also absent, and they did this without leave. The wives and concubines of our king disappeared, with the exception of my mistress. His jesters and entertainers came and went as they pleased, and even the quality of his food began to worsen. It was obvious that Moctezuma was losing the respect of the people.
“Even the everyday activity of the city was affected. Traffic in the canals and streets dwindled to a trickle. Noises became muffled, and the usually heavy flow of news from other parts of the kingdom nearly stopped.
“Soon after, Baltazar was selected as one of the officers to accompany Captain Cortés on a trip to the eastern coast, where a certain Captain Narváez was causing trouble. It was rumored that Cortés was apprehensive of whatever mischief that man might cause behind his back.
“By that time Moctezuma’s spirit had almost broken down. He neither spoke nor looked anyone in the face. We were barely able to force food into his mouth, and his body seemed to be shrinking.
“He was in that condition when his council finally decided to take action, and they came to inform him of what was happening. They claimed that the War God had appeared to several people, commoners and nobles, demanding that Moctezuma cast out the white devils. The Feathered One was incensed, they said, especially with the desecration of his temples. He protested that the golden ornaments that had been dedicated to his honor now had been melted into bricks in sacrilege.”
Huitzitzilin stopped speaking, allowing time for Father Benito to write what she had just said. But her pause lingered as if she were waiting for him to speak. “Aren’t you interested in what the Feathered God was demanding?”
“I don’t think it was a god or any such thing that was complaining. What I think is that the people under your king realized that strong action had to be taken, else the end of the kingdom would take place, which, of course, is what happened.”
“Yes. They were looking for a way to be honest with the king. Almost without waiting for Moctezuma to speak about the god, the spokesmen admitted to the king that several of them had taken steps even without his approval. They had sent gifts to bribe Captain Narváez, hoping to turn him against Cortés and create ill will among the white men. They were certain that this would give the Mexicas time to prepare an attack on the Spanish captains.
“His reaction was strange, though. Instead of feeling encouraged by what his nobles had done, Moctezuma became more dejected after that meeting. Some days he was so still that we were certain that he had died.”
Benito interrupted his writing. “Was he a coward? Why did he react that way?”
“Many have said as much, but it is not true. He was trapped, you see, caught between the opposing demands of two gods, and he didn’t know how to resolve the dilemma. He could not find a way of balancing one divinity against the other.”
“How do you know all of this? No one has ever written or spoken of these matters.”
“I was there, close to him, and I saw with my eyes, and heard with my ears what I’m telling you.”
“But Captain Cortés has written that your people felt betrayed by Moctezuma.”
“How would he have known? I’ve told you that he left the city in search of Narváez. He wasn’t even in the city at the time, so anything that he said about what happened he heard from someone else.”
Benito was silent for a while, thinking, “There was talk of a massacre that took place in his absence. Did it really happen?”
“Yes. Captain Alvarado was put in charge, and when Cortés left, our spirits rose because we saw it as the opportunity to cast out the white soldiers that remained in the city. Under the pretense of a celebration, our leaders chose the day during which the Spaniards would be surprised and killed. On that day, word spread from mouth to mouth. ‘Dress in your finest. Report to the temple courtyard where weapons will be supplied. Be alert. Kill until the last of the intruders is dead.’
“That day was even more fatal than expected because unknown to anyone, a Tlaxcalteca spy discovered our plan and revealed it to Captain Alvarado, and when the people met in the courtyard, the white soldiers were ready and waiting for us. With one stroke the Spaniards put down hundreds of our people.”
Huitzitzilin was so moved by her recollections that she had to stop speaking, and she held her hands in her lap as the memory of that day swept over her. Father Benito was captivated by the unheard of description of that day, but though he wanted her to continue, he kept silent. He knew the outcome of those events, but now, in his heart, he would have wanted the woman’s world not to have been destroyed.
“As planned, every available warrior presented himself at the temple. Women and children would not have been there under normal conditions, but that day was different. Women, along with their children, became partners with men in the first battle between us and the white invaders.
“The courtyard filled with people. At first glance the crowd appeared festive, happy, and noisy. We all wore our most beautiful gowns, mantels, feathered headdresses, gems, golden broaches, and earplugs. But if anyone looked closely, it would have been noticed that the men wore mantles which hid breast shields and war girdles. It would have been clear that our faces did not really smile. Instead, eyes signaled one another, and there was a strain in our greetings. These were the signs that told of the real motive for that gathering.
“As with all of our great ceremonies, it was to begin with the dance of the Serpent Goddess, Cihuatcoatl, and I was one of the women who were invited to be a witness along with other noble women. We stood at the corner of the main court, where the church now stands.”
“Just a moment. Do you remember which corner?” Benito felt himself transported to that day.
“As you face the church, it would have been the corner which is to your right side. It was from there that I could see what was happening. Once when I looked upward, I thought I saw the silhouette of a soldier who seemed to be watching. My fear began at that moment. What was he doing there? Were there others? Had we not been given permission to celebrate this day? What if they knew of our intentions? Despite these questions, I persuaded myself that all was well.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! The giant snake drum belched its deep, hollow voice. Boom! Boom! Boom! We heard the voice of the drum that had been silent ever since the death of our four noble warriors. Boom! Boom! Boom!”
Father Benito’s hand flew across the parchment, trying to keep up with what he was hearing. His face was flushed with the excitement caused by the vivid description, and he even included the sounds that came out of Huit-zitzilin’s pursed lips in imitation of the legendary drum that only the first discoverers got to see.
“HaaaReee! HaaaReee! The ceremonial conch shells bleated their mournful cry as we prepared for the ceremonies in honor of the War God which were to be led by his priests. That was the last time such a dance was enacted. It was the final tribute to a god whose days were numbered, because even though later on many of your captains and soldiers were immolated in the god’s honor, never again did his priests adore him and pay him homage as they did on that final day.
“The beat of smaller drums, accompanied by flutes, began the priests’ dance, as well as that of the people, for we too participated by just standing in one place. The accompanying rhythm of gourds worn by the priests around their ankles and wrists announced their entrance into the courtyard through the portals in the Snake Wall. Led by the High Priest, they slid and slithered in, keeping rhythm with naked feet, with rattles shaking and drums thump-thumping, increasing a
nd intensifying their beat. All of us moved with the throb bing sound of the drums and flutes and the heavy humming that was emitted from the throats of the priests.
“Hummmm! Hummmm! Hummmm! It was a dark, deep voice that came from many breasts, its doleful sound seizing and entangling our spirit so that we swayed and swung as would a serpent’s body, becoming more and more transported and enraptured by the divine voice. Hummmm! The sound created music that flowed from throats smeared with holy blood and saturated with peyote and mescal.
“The priests reached the center of the courtyard. They were dressed in black robes, and their ears, torn in tribute to Huitzilipochtli, dripped blood that trickled to their feet. They formed a circle and there they began the dance.
“Their feet stamped; their rattles clamored. Each priest raised a clenched hand which held the sharp obsidian knife of the sacrifice, and with it he slashed at the billows of burning copal incense. They swayed, and we swayed. They hummed, and we hummed. Their eyes rolled back into their heads so that only the white balls shone, and we did the same thing. Their heads were thrust back and their long, blood-coagulated hair grazed the ground. We did likewise. With open mouths and blackened tongues that were stiff and thrust outward, our priests danced, their shoulders tracing a sensuous up and down curve.
“Then the spirit of Huitzilipochtli sprang from the underbelly of the world, hissing and snaking its way through the priests’ throats, out through their gaping mouths. They all uttered the words, but only one voice resounded the growling curse of the War God.
“We entered ecstasy as we were transported to the kingdom of the dead. There we swayed and swerved. Bent backward as far as possible, sweating and panting, we sang in tribute to the god who had made us. We descended to the land of the dead, and from there upward to the thirteenth heaven.
“Rattles rattling, drums pounding, voices hissing and humming and chanting, feet sliding on the pavement stones, bodies swaying in rapture; thus did we, the Mexica people, pay final homage to our god of gods in the twilight of his time.”
Father Benito, quill held in midair, realized that he was holding his breath. When he felt a sharp pain hit between his eyebrows, he let out a long, hollow sigh. His imagination had taken him to that day described by Huitzitzilin. His heart was beating, and he felt aroused; his body tingled, and he could not control or make it obey him. His face was flushed as he gawked at the Indian woman.
“They were indeed sorcerers. Nothing less than that, and they must have been in league with Satan himself!” he blurted out.
“Why? Because they have touched you even after so many years have passed since their extinction?”
Unnerved by the woman’s words, Father Benito hastily gathered his writing materials and stuffed them into the leather bag; he felt his hands trembling. Without a word he walked away, taking long strides. Before leaving the cloister, he turned to look at the woman; he
Chapter
XII
“The woman said that one voice sounded through the throats of the scoundrels who called themselves priests. One voice, Father Anselmo! One horrible sound that belched out commands for the sacrifice of our soldiers.”
Father Benito was seated in front of his superior. They were again in the monastery library; it was night. Listening to the young priest, Anselmo sat rigidly in the wooden chair while he distractedly fingered its bronze rivets. He remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.
“It cannot be anything other than sorcery, don’t you agree?” Benito’s voice was unsteady.
“Or trickery.”
The young man’s eyes widened as he discerned a skeptical look in the monk’s steady gaze. He recalled their conversation of a few days before, when Anselmo had cautioned him to beware of sorcery, of hexes, of the power of these people to conjure evil spirits. Now he seemed to be making a round-about turn in introducing the element of trickery in the place of witchcraft.
Benito readjusted himself in the chair and cleared his throat while he dealt with the surprise caused by this new possibility. “Then, you don’t think that it was the work of Satan?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that, Brother. I’m simply allowing room for doubt. We know that the people of this land were indeed in league with the devil; the worshipping of idols, the shedding of human blood as well as their cannibalistic practices, give ample grounds to believe it. On the other hand. . .” Anselmo’s voice trailed, causing Father Benito even more travail and confusion regarding the prior’s frame of mind.
“On the other hand, what?”
“On the other hand, it could be that the old woman is deceiving you, playing with your imagination. Ask yourself if you have ever heard of such a foolish dance performed by men. Oh, we know that Satan exists and that he held the tribe of this city in his grip. But the early explorers did not describe rituals such as the ones described by your sly old woman, and that must have been because they never happened. What our captains did record were those acts of butchery that proved that the people of this city were indeed pawns of the devil.”
Benito slouched back in the hard chair, making its leather creak. The thought that Huitzitzilin was deliberately lying angered him. Yet he knew that Anselmo was right, because nothing that the younger monk had ever read or heard came close to what the woman described that day.
Stiff, blackened tongues! Rolling white eyeballs! Backs bent backward as far as possible! A roaring voice from the entrails of the earth! And everything under the watchful eyes of Captain Alvarado! If such a dance had indeed taken place, certainly he would have written about it. These thoughts made the monk suddenly sit up rigidly, convinced that the Indian woman was feeding him tales and making fun of him.
“You must be on your guard.” Father Anselmo leaned forward as he whispered his final advice to Benito. “Don’t eat or drink anything that she offers you. Keep your distance while you transcribe what she says. Don’t allow her to seduce you into believing that her ways were in any manner proper or virtuous. And above all, Brother, don’t let her make a fool of you by feeding you far-fetched falsehoods invented by her old brain. Don’t fall into the trap of trusting her merely because she is aged. Remember the saying that affirms that Satan knows so much not because he is the devil, but because he is old.”
Chapter
XIII
Father Benito had prayed longer the previous night waiting for his anger to pass away and, even though it did abate, he still felt its sting when he faced Huitzitzilin the next morning. Without greeting her, he cleared his voice, seated himself farther away than usual, and sat waiting to write what she had to say. She noticed this and frowned.
“Why are you so far away from me this morning?”
“Am I?”
The monk’s voice was cold, and after a few moments he scooted the chair a few inches towards the woman, but his discomfort was now more evident.
“What is the matter?”
“To be frank, I shall ask you to refrain from exaggerating the events you remember, and limit your words to only those things that did happen.”
“I have not exaggerated anything. Everything is as it happened, as I saw it! It is not my fault if it contradicts what you have been taught.”
They remained quiet; only the chirping of the birds and the gurgling sounds of water in the fountain broke the silence.
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Yes.”
“Good!” Huitzitzilin inhaled deeply, held her breath, then slowly exhaled. “The spell into which our dancing had cast us that day was broken by an explosion.”
Huitzitzilin began her narrative at the point at which she had left off the day before. Father Benito had to shuffle through his papers to find the last page.
“In our reverie we had not taken notice that the doors of the Snake Wall had been closed and that firebelching sticks had been aimed in our direction. In our rapture we had not seen the white soldiers and their Tlaxcalteca allies take position to attack us. The blast that brought us back
was the firing of those weapons. The first burst cut down many of our people.
“Shock gripped us! It was not as we had planned! Fear leaped from person to person. Mothers rushed to shield children; men attempted to reach their weapons. We scattered throughout the courtyard in waves, like water splashing from one side of a gourd to the other. We shrieked, we moaned, and the detonations would not stop. Blood began to drip, then to smear, then to overflow on the courtyard stones. When the enemy no longer could use their fire-vomiting rods, they jumped in among the people and began to lance and cut and pry with their sharpened axes and swords. We were defenseless. We were unable to reach the intended weapons and had nothing but our hands with which to protect ourselves.”
Father Benito regained confidence because here was an event that he knew had indeed occurred. The chronicles attested to the fact that the Mexicas had been surprised in a conspiracy against the few Spanish soldiers who had remained in Tenochtitlan. It had been a clear attempt to destroy the white men, but the Spaniards had acted quickly and successfully in foiling the plot. This was safe ground for the monk, and he gladly took in what the woman had to say about her part in that attempted rebellion.
“I was knocked backward and dragged by the mass of people struggling to reach a door, a crevice, anything that could provide shelter. Several bodies fell on me. The noise of screaming voices became intolerable. The stench of blood, smoke, urine, and excrement was sickening. I was choking; tears blinded my eyes and mucus flowed from my nose, melting with the sweat of my body.
“I heard a voice screaming so horribly that I was shaken back to clarity. That voice was mine! I was howling like a beast that knew not what to do, where to go. I screeched like the night owl. My tongue hung out of my mouth; I could not control it. Yet the enemy continued to hack and cut. They ran after anything that moved, thrusting their weapons in every direction. They shouted; their faces looked monstrous to me. I saw flaccid lips smeared with saliva that dripped over beards. Blue eyes bulged. I saw blotchy skin distorted by fear and hatred.
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