The Moor's Account (25 page)

The wind carried us well past the mouth of the Great River. By morning, we found ourselves in the open sea again. From horizon to horizon, we could see only water, glazed white by the sun. The other rafts had disappeared, as if charmed away by night sirens or swallowed up by sea monsters. Lord Almighty, the men said, where have they all gone? The loss of so many of our companions, especially after the hardships we had endured together, was intolerable. And yet we could not help feeling grateful that our own lives had been spared. Still, as the day wore on and clouds began to fill the sky again, we realized just how desperate our situation was: we had neither food nor water; the horse rope that tied the logs together was rotting; and the mast was leaning dangerously against the wind.

With daylight fading, the water turned glossy black and a grim peace fell upon us—we were but condemned men waiting for their executioner. I could not escape the thought that I had brought all of this upon myself, first by engaging in greedy trade, later by selling myself into bondage, and later yet by stealing from the Indians. And it seemed to me that the others, too, were confronting their own sins in that misty, moonless night. Father, one of the men asked, will you hear my confession? The friar clambered over the bodies of his neighbors, this one prone, the other curled up, and slowly made his way to the supplicant. He listened to whispered admissions of theft, lies, envy, or adultery, all of which he absolved. The Christians' outlook toward sin and salvation was a mystery that even six long years of life among them did not entirely elucidate for me. I had
been raised to expect judgment for my actions. Perhaps, I thought, this was what was being meted out to us now.

The warmth of the morning sun brought with it the smell of disease and death. My breath grew shallow and I felt myself helplessly drifting into the final slumber when one of my companions called out that he could see land. Land? The word revived my spirits to such an extent that I lifted myself up on one elbow to look at the horizon. An island with leafy trees danced in the hazy distance, but I was too weak to gaze at it for long and had to lie back down. The heartiest among the men had already grabbed their paddles. Whether it was the rocky shore or their feeble paddling I could not guess, but by the time they threw the anchor down our gunwales were gone, one log had detached itself from the raft, and pieces of fabric hung loosely from our sails like so many flags of surrender.

I crawled unsteadily out of the boat, like a child learning how to walk, and lay on the wet sand, the waves lapping my feet as if to call me back to the ocean. Oh, what relief it was to be on land! I closed my eyes and let darkness embrace me. I dreamed that I had returned to Azemmur on a ship filled with other voyagers from the province of Dukkala. No sooner had I disembarked than I ran down the winding streets of the city to our old house. I pushed its creaky blue door open and came upon my mother, my sister, and my brothers, sitting around the brazier having their soup. My mother dropped her spoon; my sister cried out; my brothers got up. They were all staring at me as though I were an intruder. Mother, I cried, Mother. Do you not recognize me? But she looked confused and I realized then that I had spoken to her in a foreign tongue, though it was not any tongue I had heard or known before.

The sound of chatter woke me up. Ruíz had found a clear spring nearby and brought water for everyone in the company. A few sips of it and I felt as if I were hoisted from the abyss in which I had fallen. I sat up and took the raw oyster that was being offered to me—out of caution, the men had not built a campfire—and I returned to sleep.

I woke with a start, my face wet with the drizzle of early morning. All around me, the others were taking stock of what was left on the raft, which had been pulled all the way to the safety of the shore: two muskets and five swords; two sets of axes, saws, and hammers; some bowls, jars, and cooking pots; animal skins of different sizes; the cloak of marten and ermine skin that Narváez had left behind; beads and trinkets; some bibles
and rosaries. But no food; no ammunition; no rope or twine; no fishing poles or nets; no tents or bedding; nothing that could help us survive on the island. The raft looked pitiful; I dared not ask the others whether they thought they could repair it because I feared I already knew the answer.

Dejected, I went to the spring to get water, but as I refilled my flask I noticed footprints leading away from it onto a native trail. I followed the path for a while, and then prudently climbed up a tree to survey the area from above. The island was quite narrow, only half a league wide, but lengthwise it stretched several leagues. In the distance, the continent was outlined between gray clouds and a sea of dull green. If we could somehow cross this stretch of ocean to the continent, we could continue on foot toward the port. From my perch, I could see that the native trail led to a village of perhaps a dozen huts, of the kind that can be struck easily and moved to a different site. Tiny figures moved about in the square, occupied with their chores and unaware of being watched. Running among them were what looked like dogs, white and fawn in color. I had not seen dogs in the new world before and, although I took their presence as a good sign, I decided to retreat for fear that they would smell me. Returning to the beach, where the men were still working out what to do with the supplies, I reported what I had seen.

The island is not that far from the continent, I said, but this raft won't carry us there in its present state. Perhaps we can go to the Indian village for help.

With his good eye, the soldier Ruíz gave me a vicious look. No, we cannot.

There was an authority to his tone that I resented immediately. We must, I countered. We have no other choice.

Did you forget what happened to us the last time we went to an Indian village? Ruíz asked. Echogan's men turned against us. And that was when there were two hundred of us. Now there are thirty-nine of us left, and not ten can bear to walk, let alone fight. El Moro says he saw a dozen huts—how many Indians does that make?

At least a hundred, Dorantes conceded. Maybe more.

See? We cannot go.

We cannot stay either, I said. We have to find food and shelter.

What if the savages sacrifice us to their idols and eat us? Ruíz asked.

These words had a great effect upon the men, already rattled by our
dangerous journey on the raft. Echeverría, a blacksmith whose brother-in-law had accompanied Cortés in the conquest of México, began to tell stories about midnight sacrifices to idols with evil faces and enormous tongues. The victims were carried up the steps of the great Temple of Huichilobos and put upon an altar, where their still beating hearts were torn out of their chests, and their arms and legs cut off to feed caged lions, tigers, and snakes. Dozens—nay, hundreds—of Castilian prisoners of war had been sacrificed in this gruesome way. By the time Echeverría stopped speaking, few of the men wanted to go anywhere near the Indian village.

So we remained on the beach for another night, not daring to build fires, or to stray too far from each other. Those who were afflicted with fever could do nothing for themselves and their condition only worsened after it rained. By the next morning, we were all drenched and shivering with cold. Still, Ruíz and the others refused to venture inland. I stood up, brushing the sand off my clothes. I will go alone, I said.

No, Dorantes replied.

If we stay here, we will die, I said. I will go.

You will not, he said.

I was almost startled by his order. Did he think he could still impose his will upon me? I had already lost everyone and everything that mattered to me. All I had left now was my life, which I had sworn never again to put in the hands of others. I would not break my promise to myself. So I walked away, feeling his eyes upon my back. I half-expected him to run after me or even to try to hit me, but he did neither. From where they stood on the beach, the men watched and waited.

Estebanico, Dorantes called after me. If you find any food, bring it. His tone suggested that it was his idea to send me to the Indian village.

Diego stood up and fastened his sword belt. Wait. I will come with you.

Where are you going? Dorantes asked him.

Where do you think?

It is too dangerous, Tigre.

No one is asking you to come.

In the end, four of us went: Diego, Father Anselmo, Fernándes the carpenter, although he was looking rather sickly, and this servant of God, Mustafa ibn Muhammad. Diego had his sword, but the rest of us carried, tucked into our belts, axes we had made at the Bay of Oysters. Scalloped
clouds hung low on the trail, where the trees were still shedding drops from that morning's rain. From the soft earth beneath our feet, worms crawled out, unconscious of the rapacious beaks awaiting them. The brisk wind penetrated our clothes, making them flap around our bodies.

As we came into view of the village, barking dogs signaled our presence, with the result that two Indian youths came with them to investigate. The dogs encircled us, snarling at us and baring their fangs. I was alarmed, but Father Anselmo, who had a natural ease with animals, cooed to one of the dogs and it came to sniff his hands. The barking died out.

The two Indian youths were exceedingly tall, taller than even the friar or me, and had the broad chests typical of good archers. A reed as long as a hand's breadth perforated each of their nipples, and another, short reed cut through their lower lips. One of them had a scar on his chin and the other had a squarish jaw, which made him look older than he likely was. For all this, their manner was completely gentle, as if they knew, without needing to be told, what great hardship we had endured. They seemed especially taken by the differences in our hair—the friar's was red; Diego's was blond; Fernándes's was brown and straight; and mine was black and curly. Everything about us seemed exotic to them: our colors, our beards, our clothes, our weapons.

With my hand on my chest, I said: Mustafa. My name is Mustafa.

Kwachi, said the youth with the scar.

Elenson, said the other.

This was the easy part. Now I nudged Diego; he offered them several strings of yellow beads. In return, Kwachi gave Diego an arrow from his quiver. The exchange of gifts appeared to convince them of our good intentions and they invited us to their village, which was much larger than I had thought. I counted twenty dwellings, made with wooden poles and covered with tree branches and animal skins. The Capoques, for that is the name of this tribe, numbered at least two hundred souls, most of them now congregating in the square to stare at us. The women were nearly as tall as the men, though they were more modestly attired, with deerskins trimmed with white seashells covering parts of their bodies. The children took great delight in our beards and two or three of them came up to pull them. The adults shooed them away, but we smiled and offered them another string of beads.

Kwachi and Elenson invited us to sit by the fire, which was a great
comfort to us in our damp clothes. We were offered bowls of a warm, dark drink, made from a leaf I had not seen before, and which revived us greatly. The color returned to poor Fernándes's face. Later on, the cacique—he turned out to be Kwachi's father, an elderly man by the name of Delenchavan—joined us for a meal. In those early days, the entire Indian vocabulary I had at my disposal consisted of ten or twenty words, overheard when Narváez or his interpreter spoke to the caciques or prisoners, words about gold and silver, land and rivers, time and distance, and which would be of limited use to me now in my attempt to get help with finding shelter from the rain and repairing the raft. I had much to learn. The Capoques asked me where we had come from and somehow I managed to communicate that we were travelers heading to the continent on the other side of this island and that we were stranded on the beach—not a lie, but not the complete truth either.

Y
OU BROUGHT THEM HERE
? Ruíz asked when I returned to the beach. His fingers were already wrapped around the handle of his hatchet. You brought them to us?

I was bewildered. I thought he would have been relieved to see the baskets of food—fresh rabbit, dried fish, edible roots—we had brought back from the Capoques' village, but his only concern seemed to be that our benefactors had followed us to the beach. This is their island, I said. I cannot stop them from going wherever they please.

Without waiting for an answer, I began to divide the victuals. The men fell on their shares and the quarrel stopped.

The two Indian youths, Kwachi and Elenson, sat on their haunches to watch us eat, their gaze traveling from our beached raft to our strange weapons, and from the bible the soldiers had been reading to the cross they had set up for mass. Kwachi and Elenson did not need to speak Spanish to notice the bitter argument their appearance had caused, so after only a short while, they stood up to take their leave.

We lit a bonfire and sat huddled around it to discuss our plans. In order to reach Pánuco, we would have to repair the raft and ply the coast until we saw a sign of the port, but the past month had exhausted the men and most of them were weary of getting back on the water so soon, especially under the rain. Someone suggested that we stay on the island until the spring, which would give the sick a chance to recover and the healthy
some time to repair the raft and build up food reserves. But once again, Ruíz objected. We cannot set up camp here, he said. The Indians already know about our location. What if they return in the middle of the night and kill us all? We should set up camp on the other side of the island, away from them.

But the raft is here, Dorantes said. And we have to stay close to where we know there is food and water.

Suit yourself, Ruíz replied. But I am not staying. I did not come halfway across the world to be eaten by these savages.