Malinche by Laura Esquivel Page A

single moment had she betrayed her beliefs. But the torch pine refused to listen to her, and that was a bad omen.
    Distressed, Malinalli began to sweat. To fix the problem, she decided to look for dry grass. To get to the place where it was she had to cross the field where the horses were grazing. Among them, she spotted the one that had been with her at the river during her baptism. Her silent friend, the horse, approached her and for a short while they observed each other. It was a magical moment of mutual admiration and acknowledgment.
    Of all of the foreigners’ possessions, horses were what had most caught her attention. She had never seen such animals and immediately fell under their powers of seduction. So much so, that the second word that Malinalli learned to say after “God” was “horse.”
    She loved the horses. They were like gigantic dogs, except that with horses one could manage to see oneself reflected in their eyes. She could perceive no such clarity in the eyes of dogs, much less the dogs that the Spaniards had brought with them. Unlike the itzcuintlis, the native dogs, they were aggressive, violent, and cruel looking. The eyes of the horses were kind. Malinalli felt as if the eyes of horses were mirrors where everything you felt was reflected; in other words, they were mirrors into the soul.
    She had had her first experience with them on the day that she arrived at the camp. The effect was indescribable. She could not find the words to convey what she felt when she placed her hand on the horse’s mane, for the itzcuintlis did not have a mane nor were they anywhere near the size of these creatures. But she had learned to love horses even before touching them. She watched from afar, during the battle of Cintla, and became infatuated with them. That day, before the battle, they had ordered the women and children to evacuate the town and to remain a good distance away. But Malinalli’s curiosity was more powerful than her will to obey. Some people who had seen the Spaniards mounted on their horses had told her that the foreigners were half beasts, others that the animals were half men and half gods, and others yet, that they were one being. Malinalli decided to find out for herself, and she hid in a place that would allow her to watch the battle without risking her life. At a certain point, one of the Spaniards fell on the ground and she could see how the horse avoided stepping on him at all costs, even though they were in full flight. That same horse was forced by the stampede of other horses to move from its spot and so inevitably its master became entangled underneath. It had no other choice but to step on its master, but the horse did it gingerly, without letting all its weight fall on its hoof so as not to hurt the rider. From that point on, Malinalli felt great admiration for horses. She knew that those animals could cause no harm; their loyalty had been proved. She could trust them, which couldn’t be said about every human being.
    For example, Cortés’s eyes unsettled her. On the one hand she was attracted to them, but on the other they filled her with suspicion. Sometimes his gaze was more like a dog’s than a horse’s. His very physical appearance was that of a strong, brutish, and savage animal. The thick hair on his arms, chest, and face made this evident. Since the natives’ bodies were virtually hairless, she had never seen a man like that until now. She was dying to know what it would be like to caress it, to pass her hand over his chest, his arms, his legs, his crotch; but in her position as a slave, she had to keep her distance. And it was what she preferred. She had already felt Cortés’s gaze on her hips and on her chest, and she did not care for it. Cortés’s eyes were like the eyes engraved on the flint knives that were used to take out the hearts of sacrifices. They were eyes not to be trusted, for like the eyes in the knives