Song of the Hummingbird by Graciela Limón Page B

confession had caused in him.
    â€œYes. I’ll return.”

Chapter
    VII
    â€œAs I promised yesterday, young priest, I’ll now tell you of the first signs we had of the coming of your people. First, however, I want to assure you that I won’t be telling you of my sinful ways anymore. That is, not until the end. At that time, I’ll warn you with time so that you can prepare yourself.”
    Grateful to see that the woman had noticed his turmoil the day before and relieved to know that he would not have to worry about theological matters, Father Benito’s interest was immediately engaged by the prospect of being the first to hear new information. He was certain that few chronicles held the experiences of one such as this Indian woman.
    â€œI know that this part will be of interest to you because it involves one of your own. As it turns out, Tetla was called to the eastern coast because strange events were occurring, and tributary tribes had reported the presence of a strange, pale creature who had been enslaved by one of the Maya villages. Moctezuma was by that time worried by the many portents that had made themselves manifest in his kingdom. When he received notice of the appearance of the creature, he was shaken.
    â€œThe reports also stated that when the man had been found, he was accompanied by another who was created in the same mold and whose skin was of the same pallid color; both of them stank intolerably.”
    â€œThey stank? Were they sick?”
    â€œNo. All of you smell in a peculiar way, so I suppose it’s something with which you’re born.”
    Father Benito recoiled, hugging his arms to his sides, conscious of the odor that his armpits gave off. He often went without bathing for long periods of time.
    She smiled wryly. “No. You can’t help it. All of you smell.” Huitzitzilin said this casually before going on. “The circumstances of their arrival were equally disconcerting. Moctezuma had been advised that those creatures had emerged from a huge structure, a large house, with white wings, that glided on the water. However, in this instance, something had gone wrong, because the thing had collided and floundered against the rocks of the coast. Then, as if vomiting its insides out, the floating monster spat out several white creatures. They died almost immediately; only two survived.”
    Father Benito put down the quill and squinted his eyes as he remembered. This was not new. The two men she was talking about were by now famous in Spain. His memory groped, trying to come up with their names. However, he could recall only one of them, Jerónimo de Aguilar.
    The monk remembered that this man had been shipwrecked onto this land almost ten years before Cap tain Cortés, and that by the time Aguilar was rescued by the Spaniards, he already knew how to speak the language of the people who had captured him. What no one knew, however, was what had become of the man.
    â€œDoes anyone know what happened to Aguilar?”
    â€œYes. He died a very old man, a monk I believe, in the Convent of San Juan Baptista here in Coyoacán. It is a refuge for aged priests. It is not far from here. He died recently, no more than five years ago.”
    Father Benito made a note to visit the place and see if he could come up with more facts. He shook his head, not understanding how this material had not reached Spain. And yet this woman knew of it.
    â€œThat man was important to your captains because he was the one who became the first interpreter for Don Hernán Cortés on his progress in this direction.
    â€œThere was a woman, also. She was young at the time and she soon replaced Aguilar as interpreter. She was known as Malinche. She became Cortés’ mistress and bore him a son.”
    This, too, had already been recorded and included in the instructional sessions of all missionaries coming to this land. But Father Benito wanted to know more about that