Song of the Hummingbird (11 page)

“Captain Cortés had no alternative, and so he withdrew his demand, but not with politeness. He instead scowled and turned his back on the king, an insult so glaring, so unforgivable, that news of it made its way into every corner of our city. The word went out; the gods had chilled toward one another!

“Matters became worse when news reached Tenochtitlan that our warriors had killed a Captain Juan Escalante and six of his soldiers. We all rejoiced when we received that information, because that proved to everyone that those people were not gods but men who could be defeated. Soon after, knowing that he and his followers were in danger, Captain Cortés immediately gathered his captains, and together they approached Moctezuma. That encounter was the beginning of the end. From that moment on, everyone realized that war between the Mexicas and the Whites was imminent.

“On that day, Moctezuma's wife and I were conversing with him when Captain Cortés, Malinche and his companions walked into the chamber; they came unan nounced. Cortés spoke in a stiff, controlled manner, giving us the impression that underneath those words was intense anger. Malinche translated.

“'Majesty, I have cared and loved your person from the moment of our arrival. I have dealt with you in the full respect due to your honorable person, and I have done all in my power not to harm, hinder, or damage either your subjects or your city. I thought that you in turn would deal with me in like manner. But now I see that I have been deceived. You have acted dishonorably behind my back.'

“The king was not shaken, but answered in a strong voice. ‘I do not know what you mean. If I, or any one of my subjects, have given you cause to say these things to me, be frank and speak directly to the meaning of your words. I have not deceived you, and your allegation that I have acted dishonorably offends me.'

“'You know what I mean!'

“The captain's voice rose in pitch, and at that moment I overheard one of the soldiers mutter ‘dog!' Cortés spoke on, his face blanched, his lips glistening and trembling.

“ ‘You know that Escalante and six of our men were murdered in a cowardly attack that took place under your orders. There is no way for you to pretend ignorance. Nothing in this land happens without your knowledge, Moctezuma!' He pronounced the king's name with disdain. ‘Now we are here not to be told lies, but for you to take action to punish this crime committed against our king and our person.'

“There was silence in the chamber because Moctezuma refused to respond to Cortés' demand. I looked at the king's wife, but she did not betray emotion. I looked at Moctezuma and saw that his face had also turned to stone. I alone felt my body trembling.

“Then the Spaniards withdrew to one side of the chamber and conferred secretly. Suddenly, they rushed the king, surrounded him, and slapped shackles on his wrists. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that his wife and I stood in stunned confusion. Moctezuma himself showed that he could not believe what was happening, and he stared at his wrists as if they were strange monsters. It all happened in a moment, but in the end Captain Cortés had transformed Moctezuma from king to prisoner.

“From there he was taken off to Cortés' chambers and kept there until the four warriors who had killed Escalante and his companions were brought to Tenochtitlan at the order of Hernán Cortés. Days after, when word spread through the city that the warriors were about to enter through the Serpent Wall, everyone abandoned what they were doing and ran out to the central square, hoping to capture a passing glimpse of those men who were by now heroes.

“They had demonstrated the courage to prove that the invaders were not gods after all. They had exerted Mexica power and prevailed against the enemy. They had single-handedly done what everyone yearned to do to the foul-smelling, vile-sounding creatures whose presence we all found sickening.

“Those warriors were now more valuable to us than perhaps our gods, because they at least were there, flesh and blood, walking and smiling, and hailing us, telling us what we could do if only we had the boldness. By that time, everyone knew of the imprisonment of Moctezuma, and knowing this threatened us more, because now we were without a leader. Nevertheless, those four Mexicas, even though held in shackles, gave us hope that somehow we would yet defeat Captain Cortés and his followers.

“The warriors marched in through the Serpent Wall holding themselves erect. Thunder could not have drowned out the roar that rose from the crowd. Nothing could have diminished the booming of the sacrificial drums that beat and pounded out their joy. Even the fire-arms of the Spaniards could not have squelched the clamor created by the thousands of rattles and the bleating of conch shells. The whooping of the war cry shattered the air, tearing at the wind.

“Despite the warriors being bound together by shackles, they were showered with gems, feathers, and flowers. Our people rushed them, pushing, thrusting, touching them, patting their shoulders and kissing them. The Spaniards looked on in gloomy silence, but we knew that they were afraid.

“Cortés silenced the clamor by stepping into the center of the square. Fists clenched and held arrogantly on his hips, he swiveled slowly in a full circle until satisfied that everyone in the crowd had seen his stony face. He turned to the prisoners and in a voice that bounced off the temple walls, he addressed them.

“'Will you confess to the murder of Captain Escalante and his men?'

“Silence. Only the sound of wind slithering from altar to altar could be heard.

“'If you recant, I will pardon you!'

“Again, there was no response, and we looked on knowing that those warriors would not do as commanded. When Cortés became convinced that they would say nothing, admit nothing, accuse no one, he gave the order.

“‘Burn them!'”

Father Benito leaned back in the chair as he stared at the begonia plants. He didn't ask if the warriors had been executed because, although this incident had not been recorded nor studied in Spain, he knew enough of Captain Cortés to know that he would have indeed followed through with that punishment. Again, the priest felt torn between what he knew was justice and the growing sympathy he felt for the Indian woman's people. Disturbed, he rubbed his eyes wondering if he should put an end to the session.

“The prisoners marched to the center of the square. I was, as was my duty, accompanying the king's wife, who from the moment of his captivity hardly left his side. Then the sudden howl that went up from the crowd told us that something important was about to begin. I stepped out to the terrace and beheld a spectacle that I will never forget. In the center of the courtyard, I saw four posts with bases packed with mounds of wood.

“I stood watching as the four warriors walked with dignity and without showing fear. When my eyes focused on one of them, I realized that it was Tetla, the man whom I had hated but who was now a hero of the Mexica nation. I admit that I was shocked, and that I tried to feel sympathy, but because I could not, I concentrated on him as he was bound to the stake with ropes. There my eyes remained until his last moment.

“The people's shouting suddenly ceased, and silence engulfed us. One of the Christian priests, holding a book in his hands, muttered incantations, frequently lifted his right hand to cut the emptiness with the sign of the cross. His voice floated through the air of Tenochtitlan for all of us to hear:

“‘Do you reject the Prince of Darkness and accept the Prince of Light? Do you disdain your life of sin and take to your bosom the true God? Do you forsake the infernal realm of Satan and yearn for paradise?'

“There was no response to the priest's questions, only silence.

“'Do you reject your idols and embrace the loving kindness of He who is pure mercy? Do you reject your evil ways and solemnly promise to follow the way of virtue? Do you repudiate the fiendish ways of your ancestors and take to your heart the chastising light of the cross?'

“Again, nothing happened. Not a sound came from the warriors that awaited death. There was silence in the courtyard of Tenochtitlan. Only a cold, tired wind blew from the summits of the volcanoes. The priest looked around him, blinking, showing that he was baffled and that he did not know what to do.

“For a moment he turned toward the prisoners in a supplicating way. Then his body changed, stiffened, his face grew red, and in a loud voice he shouted, ‘Then I condemn you and your foul idols to the bowels of hell, and to the eternal flames of Lucifer and his legion of demons, there to be purified and tortured for ages upon ages. Amen!'

“‘Amen!' the voices of the Spaniards echoed the word, but their expression sounded thin and uncertain. Then the fire was lighted at each of the men's feet.

“Señora, I witnessed such acts of purification when I was a boy, and I need not record such a description. Besides, Holy Mother Church has carefully chronicled these events which are well known to our scholars. It brings nothing new.”

Huitzitzilin ignored Benito's words and went on speaking. “The billows of smoke rose to the height of the Great Temple. The cackle of branches sputtered and soon flames engulfed the bodies of the men. I could not remove my eyes from Tetla's body; that body that had abused my own, that had caused me pain and humiliation. I watched his face and, except for the twitching of the muscles around his lips, it was as calm as it had been upon the day of our wedding.

“Sweat began to pour from his face and body as the tongues of fire licked first at his ankles and knees and thighs, then at his stomach and chest, then his neck, throat, and face. His hair caught fire and exploded into a mass of flame that danced upward, elongating him, giving him a height he had never possessed. Soon he was wrapped in blue and purple flames. I could no longer distinguish his body from the glare, and so what had been brown flesh was now a snarl of red and gold and black.

“Then Tetla began to dissolve! His flesh became liquid; it dripped unevenly, running off his body in globs. I saw his body quiver, but yet no sound came from his mouth. What had once had been Tetla became smaller, shorter, reduced first to the shortness of a stalk of maize, then to the size of those dwarfs who entertained Moctezuma, then smaller still to the size of a low chair, until there remained only a head that soon became obscured by swirling ash and thick gray smoke.

“Tetla was dead, and I am a witness that he never uttered a cry of pain. In Tenochtitlan, silence reigned like an evil scourge after that execution, and if anyone listened carefully, all that could be heard was the weeping of Moctezuma, king of the once mighty Mexica nation.”

Chapter

XI

Father Benito was late that morning, and when he entered the cloister he found that Huitzitzilin was not waiting for him in the usual place. He looked around, squinting his eyes against the morning sunlight until he finally saw her strolling through the shadows cast by the stone pillars.

Before he cut across the garden to join her, he took his time watching her; she seemed to be speaking to someone. After a while he saw that he had been right; she was talking. He could hear her high-pitched voice, that lilt that transformed what she was saying into song. When he concentrated on her words, the monk realized that it was not Spanish; she was speaking in her native tongue.

“
Buenos días
, Señora. I apologize for being late,” Benito called out to the woman from across the garden.

“Good morning, priest.” She stopped where she was, responding to him as she raised her hands. She waited for him to pick his way through the potted plants and around the fountain until he reached her.

“Shall we return to our chairs?” He smiled broadly at her as he held on to the leather bag.

“In a minute. Let us stroll for a while longer. It's when I walk that I'm able to better speak with those that have gone before me.”

Benito, walking alongside the woman, cocked his head quizzically. He had heard her say before that she often spoke with people who had died, but he had not given it much thought.

“That's as it should be, Señora. Holy Mother Church requires us to pray for the souls in purgatory.”

Huitzitzilin stopped where she was and looked up at Benito's face. Her gaze was intense as she held her head in a way that hid the scarred socket.

“Our spirits never leave us to go to that place you mentioned. They stay here with us, and because of that we don't pray for them. Instead, we speak with them.”

The woman gestured with both hands, showing Benito that the souls of her people surrounded them. “There on that branch is Moctezuma; his spirit clings to it. And over there, seated by the fountain, is Zintle. And look! Right behind you. . .”

The woman suddenly jerked her arm upward as her finger pointed, making Benito jump. He instinctively spun around, expecting to see a feathered warrior or even the burning Tetla, whose image had awakened the priest several times during the night. But he saw nothing, only the shimmering autumn air, and he chuckled inwardly, deriding himself for being so foolish. He had actually expected to see a ghost. He sighed deeply, knowing that it was from relief.