Song of the Hummingbird by Graciela Limón

countered. “No! Not the bird name! I want to know your Christian name.”
    â€œMaría de Belén.”
    Huit-zitzilin’s voice was so low that Benito, even though hunched in her direction, could not hear her response.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    The woman jerked her arms towards the monk, hands rolled into fists, and her toothless mouth opened wide, forming a black rectangle. Benito caught a glimpse of its tiny, pink tongue before he was jolted by the unexpectedly strong voice that rang out.
    â€œMa-rí-a-a-a!”
    She shouted the word. Its vibration crackled with irritation as it echoed through the silent cloister halls.
    Father Benito jerked back, nearly loosing his balance, but after a few seconds, when he regained his composure, he was at least satisfied that she was a baptized Christian and that she had a suitable name. Pursing his lips and rubbing the palms of his hands together, he showed relief.
    â€œShall we begin?”
    He gingerly reached for paper and quill, settled himself in the chair and prepared to write. But he soon looked up and noticed that she was slumped in her chair, looking grumpy.
    â€œHave I upset you?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œIt’s my obligation to know these things about you.”
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œThat you have a Christian name.”
    â€œYou mean you have to make sure that I have been robbed of everything, even my name.”
    Father Benito was dismayed. He had not imagined that the old woman had such mettle, nor that she could be so outspoken. Her irascibility had cropped up before, but not so shrilly as now. He decided that it would be better not to pursue the matter.
    â€œPlease! Let’s continue with your story. Tell me what happened to you after that dreadful night. How and who nursed you back to health?”
    â€œYou have many questions today, don’t you?”
    Benito looked at her. His expression was sheepish, but he realized with surprise that her testiness did not annoy him, that he was growing fond of her and her manner. But Father Anselmo’s words came back to him, and he made a firm decision to try to put aside sentiment with the Indian woman.
    She began to speak. “I cannot say how many days and nights I was trapped in the underbelly of the world, but it was a time of intense battle for me. Unconscious, I grappled with demons, I combated with grinning skulls, I wrestled with monsters that bit and stung my flesh. During my stupor, there was only terror to keep me company, only fear that compelled me to continue on the path that would take me back to life. But I was trapped in a maze of pain and grief, and I did not want to recover consciousness because I felt that worse things awaited me up there where the sun was shining.”
    Benito noted that Huitzitzilin no longer spoke of herself as a stranger. He decided not to pursue the matter, relieved because this disproved Anselmo’s claim of a possible hex.
    â€œIt was a grim road, and even though senseless, I saw that my feet left bloody prints as I walked, stamps that transformed themselves into demons that trailed after me in constant attack. My heart ached, my spirit wept, and my body desired death. When I did re-enter this world, it was only to find myself crushed and scarred, my face swollen beyond recognition, and I desired death more than ever.
    â€œThen slowly my spirit took hold of itself, raising itself out of that pain and misery and humiliation. A tiny fire, a speck in the beginning, was born in the center of my brain, drawing life, growing until it became a powerful flame that carried my spirit up and out of my torment. I was alive, and never again would this happen to me. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I would be free because pain had liberated me.”
    Father Benito could not refrain from interrupting her. “I’ve never heard such talk before.”
    â€œYou find it strange?”
    â€œYes, because we all suffer