Malinche by Laura Esquivel

From Barnes & Noble

La Malinche (1505-c. 1529), the title character of Laura Esquivel's novel, was both a real woman and a mythic figure. As Hernán Cortés's interpreter and lover, she accompanied the conquistador on his travels in the New World. It would be difficult to overstate her role in the conquest of Mexico; indeed, according to a contemporary source, Cortés himself asserted that after God, La Malinche was the main reason for his success. The author of Como agua para chocolate (Like Water for Chocolate) has written a stunning novel about a relationship of archetypal proportions.

From the Publisher

When Malinalli, a member of the tribe conquered by the Aztec warriors, first meets Cortés, she -- like many -- believes that he is the reincarnated forefather god of her tribe. Naturally, she assumes that her task is to help Cortés destroy the Aztec empire and free her people. The two fall passionately in love, but Malinalli gradually comes to realize that Cortés's thirst for conquest is all too human. He is willing to destroy anyone, even his own men, even their own love.

Throughout Mexican history, Malinalli has been reviled for her betrayal of the Indian people. However, recent historical research has shown that her role was much more complex; she was the mediator between two cultures, Hispanic and Native American, and two languages, Spanish and Náhuatl.

Bursting with lyricism and vivid imagery, Malinche finally unveils the truth behind this legendary love affair.

Publishers Weekly

Through the eyes of the historical native woman of the novel's title, Esquivel (Like Water for Chocolate) reveals the defeat and destruction of Montezuma's 16th-century Mexicas empire at the hands of Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes. Malinche, also called Malinalli, was sold into slavery as a child and later became "The Tongue," Cortes's interpreter and lover-remembered by history as a traitor for her contribution to the brutal Spanish triumph. In her lyrical but flawed fifth novel, Esquivel details richly imagined complications for a woman trapped between the ancient Mexicas civilization and the Spaniards. Esquivel revels in descriptions of the role of ancient gods in native life and Malinalli's theological musings on the similarities between her belief system and Christianity. But what the book offers in anthropological specificity, it lacks in narrative immediacy, even while Esquivel also imagines Cortes's point of view. The author also packs the arc of Malinalli's life into a relatively short novel: she bears Cortes an illegitimate son, marries another Spaniard and has a daughter before her sad demise. The resulting disjointed storytelling gives short shrift to this complex heroine, a woman whose role in Mexican history is controversial to this day. 13-city author tour. (May) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

Malinche (1505-29) is infamous in Mexican history and folklore as a traitor to her people, having sacrificed her Indian heritage to become interpreter-and later, mistress-to the conquistador Hernando Cortes. Esquivel (Like Water for Chocolate) puts her own twist on the story with her imagined life of a young woman sold into slavery by her own mother and subsequently caught between the worlds of Montezuma and the Spanish conquerors. While the descriptions of Malinche's beliefs in the roles of the ancient gods and her observations on Christianity are fascinating and well written, the novel is too short to encompass the story Esquivel wants to tell us, which makes the narrative at times problematic. Raped by Cortes, Malinche comes to love him so suddenly that there is almost no transition for the reader; later, and just as quickly, she becomes enamored of another man who rapes her. Malinche, a.k.a. Malinalli and Marina, is a remarkable character who deserves more detailed treatment. Recommended with reservations for public libraries. [Malinche appeared earlier this year in Spanish.-Ed.]-Mary Margaret Benson, Linfield Coll. Lib., McMinnville, OR Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

In this brief novel, the author of 1992's Like Water For Chocolate attempts to repair the reputation of one of Mexican history's most reviled women, the Spanish conqueror Cortes's native interpreter, Malinalli. As a child, Malinalli (aka Malinche) is sold by her mother into slavery but retains her beloved grandmother's belief in the beneficent pre-Aztec god Quetzalcoatl, whose return (second coming?) would mean the end of the Aztec conqueror Montezuma's practice of human sacrifice. When Cortes arrives, Malinalli believes he is a savior, if not the god himself, and is happy to put her linguistic skills to use as his translator. She becomes known as "The Tongue." She allows herself to be baptized, entwining Christian doctrine with her own belief system, but, although she finds herself sexually drawn to Cortes, she begins to suspect that he is not to be trusted to save her people. Nevertheless, she remains his translator, following her instinct for survival despite the possibility she may anger her gods. After Malinalli watches Montezuma give up his kingdom because he has faith in Quetzalcoatl's return, she realizes that Montezuma has experienced a spiritual transformation but has also made a terrible mistake in placing his faith in Cortes. As Cortes consolidates a murderous stranglehold over Mexico, he becomes more monstrous. Finally, Malinalli breaks with him when he requires her to abandon their son in the same way her mother abandoned her. After Cortes marries her off to his captain, she ends up living a happy life and dying a happy death, at one with the gods. Because Esquivel is less interested in fleshing out the plot than in delineating the belief system of the pre-Azteccivilization, everything that happens to Malinalli is swathed in imagery and deep spiritual significance. In contrast, everything Cortes does is explained as the psychological consequences of his childhood experience. Despite its lyricism, this odd marriage of spirituality and psychology will be a slog for all but the most devoted New Agers.

Product Details

• Reading Group Guide
• Forewords & Introductions
• Read an Excerpt
• Read a Sample Chapter

Reading Group Guide

Malinche

Laura Esquivel

La india Malinalli, amante de Hernán Cortés, se convierte en uno de los testigos y participantes más importantes de la conquista de México. Bautizada por los españoles con el nombre de Doña Marina, Malinalli llega a ser agente mediadora, consejera y maestra del conquistador. Vivió una corta y agitada vida de esclavitud, privilegio y aventura.

Desde temprana edad la joven poseía el don de la palabra hablada. Así, Cortés la llamaba la Lengua por su poder de traducir y trasmitir al idioma náhuatl las palabras de los españoles.

Malinalli y los indígenas de México confunden la llegada de Hernán Córtes con el mítico retorno de Quetzalcóatl, quien debía regresar a salvar a su pueblo de la esclavitud. La proximidad a los conquistadores, que le da el poder de la palabra, la hace descubrir pronto su avaricia, su codicia y sus deseos de ganancia.

En Malinche, Laura Esquivel, con su reconocida sensualidad, nos recuerda que la vida y la literatura son una sola cosa. Malinche es una novela agridulce que narra una historia llena de amor, valentía, lealtad y perdón dentro del marco de la conquista de México. En esta novela de aprendizaje, Esquivel nos ofrece, además, una nueva manera de entender y apreciar la compleja vida del legendario personaje de Malinalli. Al final, la heroína encuentra la reconciliación y su propia versión de la verdad y del amor.

Preguntas para el grupo de lectura

1. Los españoles consideraban que la conquista era un mandatode Dios, que ellos habían sido escogidos para conquistar México. También Malinalli creía tener un mandato. Discuta los momentos en los cuales Malinalli se siente defensora de su pueblo.

2. El maíz, un alimento de origen divino, símbolo de fertilidad y regeneración, está muy presente en esta novela. Discuta el papel que juega el maíz en la novela.

3. La lealtad de Malinalli hacia Cortés fue, hasta cierto momento, absoluta. Discuta cuándo Malinalli comienza a dudar de los españoles. Explique cómo Malinalli cambia de opinión sobre Cortés. Busque ejemplos en la novela en que se demuestre la vulnerabilidad del conquistador.

4. Describa cómo se siente Malinalli cuando llega junto a los españoles al palacio de Moctezuma. ¿Qué cambio ha experimentado su situación desde que se unió a los españoles? ¿Qué sentimientos comparten Malinalli y Moctezuma?

5. La estructura narrativa de Malinche alterna entre el pasado y el presente de la vida de Malinalli. ¿Dónde y cuándo ocurren los mejores momentos de lucidez y recogimiento de Malinalli? Discuta por qué.

6. ¿Cómo utiliza Esquivel los personajes para representar las fuerzas en conflicto? ¿Cómo utiliza algunos lugares -- el lago, Tenochtitlán, el cerro de Tepeyac -- para crear la atmósfera, el ambiente y el sentido narrativo?

7. El tema del abandono está presente a lo largo de toda la novela. Discuta el abandono de Malinalli por su madre y por Cortés. ¿Cómo la perjudica? ¿Los perdona? ¿Cómo Malinalli se reconcilia con su hijo?

9. Discuta algunos temas importantes de la novela: el amor imposible, el mestizaje y la traición. ¿Cree que Malinalli/Doña Marina es, a la vez, símbolo de la entrega y de la traición?

10. En la novela existe un conflicto entre culturas y entre el idioma español y el náhuatl. ¿Cómo percibe Malinalli los dos idiomas? ¿En qué momento escoge dirigirse a su hijo en su idioma náhuatl? ¿Quién le enseña a Malinalli la importancia del lenguaje?

11. En la novela, el conocimiento de idiomas le confiere poderes a Malinalli, que se siente "valorada, igual o más que una cuenta de cacao" (62). ¿Por qué Malinalli se compara a este fruto?

12. ¿Por qué Malinalli se perfora la lengua ante el rechazo de Cortés? ¿A quién castiga? ¿Sólo a sí misma o, también, a Cortés?

13. El Cerro del Tepeyac tiene una gran importancia en la historia religiosa mexicana. ¿Qué papel juega en esta novela? ¿Por qué razón Malinalli llega hasta allí?

14. Si ha leído alguna otra novela de Laura Esquivel -- Como agua para chocolate, La ley del amor, Íntimas suculencias, Tan veloz como el deseo -- , discuta las diferencias y similitudes de los personajes.

Sugerencias para el grupo de lectura

Cuando se reúnan para leer la novela, preparen unos refrescantes jugos naturales típicos de México. Por ejemplo, agua de Jamaica, acompañada con pico de gallo y tortillas de maíz. También, pueden preparar un buen chocolate caliente (con canela y polvo de chile).

Visiten la colección de arte precolombino mexicano de algún museo cercano. Allí admirarán las estatuillas de los dioses mencionados en la novela, así como las joyas y vestimentas de los mexicanos de la época.

Tengan como guía en todas sus reuniones un mapa o atlas de la época de la conquista que muestre la ciudad de Tenochtitlán y otro monumento actual de México. Por medio de éstos, podrán informarse sobre la población indígena y la trayectoria de los españoles durante la conquista de la región.

Como ayuda, busquen también reproducciones de ilustraciones de Malinalli en varios lugares, como los lienzos de Tlaxcala. En éstos verán a Malinalli vestida con huipil. Consigan, además, reproducciones de los murales de Diego Rivera y José Clemente Orozco, y observen y discutan cómo estos pintores han reproducido la imagen de Malinalli.

Forewords & Introductions

In Malinche Laura Esquivel reimagines the relationship between the Spaniard Hernán Cortés and the Indian woman Malinalli, his interpreter and mistress during his conquest of the Aztecs. Malinalli meets Cortés and, like many, including the Aztec King Montezuma, suspects that he is the returning forefather god of their tribe, Quetzalcoatl. She assumes that her task is to welcome Cortés/Quetzalcoatl and help him destroy the Aztec empire and free her people, but she gradually comes to realize that Cortés's thirst for conquest is all too human.

Throughout Mexican history, Malinalli has been reviled for her betrayal of the Indian people. But recent historical research has shown that her role was much more complex. She was the mediator between two cultures, Hispanic and Native American, and three languages, Spanish, Mayan, and Náhuatl. She was also a slave, trying to rebel against the barbarous culture of her masters -- the Aztecs. But her loyalty was to her own people, whom she was trying to set free.

Laura Esquivel challenges the traditional mythology through a character-driven portrait of the Adam and Eve of mestizo culture, Cortés and Malinalli, with the backdrop of the fall of the Aztec Empire. Told with the lyricism of the Náhuatl song tradition and pictorial language, she gives us a creation myth of the new world hybrid culture and a legendary affair.

1. Laura Esquivel dedicated Malinche to the wind. What does this symbolize, and what other dedications would be appropriate for this book?

2. Other than Malinalli's affair with Cortés and her eventualmarriage to Jaramillo, the relationships she has in the book are maternal. Discuss the themes represented by Malinalli as granddaughter, daughter, and mother.

3. How did you feel about the drawings, which represent Malinalli's telling of the story, at the beginning of each chapter? Did you realize they were codices? Were you able to "read" them? Did they enhance your understanding of the story?

4. Malinalli's father tells her "Your word will have eyes and will see, will have ears and will hear, will have the tact to lie with the truth and to tell truths that will seem like lies" (page 9). To what extent was her father's prayer realized?

5. What forms of power might a translator have? Which ones did Malinalli have as a woman and a slave? Which ones do you think she used or was tempted to use? Was she aware of her own power?

6. Malinalli finds meaning in the Christian rituals, linking them to her culture's stories and deities. Were you surprised at how easily she was able to embrace both traditions?

7. Which rituals and symbols are common to both the indigenous Indian religion and to Christianity? How does your own faith affect your response to Malinalli?

8. Toward the end of the tale Malinalli questions the role of human sacrifice and the loss of life in war. Would a woman of that time and status have such progressive ideas? Discuss other times in the novel where she demonstrates such forward thinking. When does she not?

9. History and fiction intertwine in any work of historical fiction. As you read Malinche, did you find yourself wondering which details were historical and which were the fruit of the author's imagination?

10. How do you think the derogatory usage of the word "Malinche" affected the author's desire to reimagine Malinalli's story?

11. Malinalli says, "the search for the gods is the search for oneself"(Page 178). How does faith, the pursuit of meaning, and the desire to understand deity frame this novel?

12. Ultimately, how do you view Malinalli? As a traitor, a martyr, or as a heroine?

1. Review the images from the front of the book. As a group, create a codex (storytelling through images) of a recent event in your group or town, utilizing sketches, photographs, or symbols but no words or letters. Or each group member could create a codex, which the rest of the group could then attempt to "read."

2. Identify a restaurant or cookbook that specializes in traditional foods of Mexico, such as Rick Bayless Mexican Chicken (simonsays.com/content/book.cfm?sid=33&pid=405956). Share a meal together that highlights the Indian and Spanish ingredients Malinalli features in her new mestizo dishes.

3. Purchase postcards or look online for the flag of modern-day Mexico and find out what the central image signifies. (Hint: It determined the site of Tenochtitlán.)

4. Seek an opportunity to further understand Malinalli's world by visiting a museum or art exhibit together.

5. Laura Esquivel is a screenwriter, and her first novel became the award-winning film Like Water for Chocolate. Discuss how you would film her novel Malinche. If you have read Like Water for Chocolate, which themes do you see repeated in Malinche?

Read an Excerpt

Primero fue el viento. Más tarde, como un relámpago, como una lengua de plata en el cielo, fue anunciada en el Valle del Anáhuac la tormenta que lavaría la sangre de la piedra. Fue después del sacrificio que la ciudad se oscureció y se escucharon atronadoras descargas, luego apareció en el cielo una serpiente plateada que se vio con la misma fuerza en muy distintos lugares. Enseguida comenzó a llover de una manera pocas veces vista. Llovió toda la tarde y toda la noche y al día siguiente también. Durante tres días no cesó de llover. Llovió tanto, que los sacerdotes y sabios del Anáhuac se alarmaron. Ellos estaban acostumbrados a escuchar y a interpretar la voz del agua pero en esa ocasión sintieron que Tláloc, el Dios de la Lluvia, no sólo trataba de decirles algo sino que, por medio del agua, había dejado caer sobre ellos una nueva luz, una nueva visión que daría otro sentido a sus vidas, y aunque aún no sabían claramente cuál era, así lo sentían en sus corazones. Y antes de que sus mentes interpretaran correctamente la profundidad del mensaje, que el agua explicaba cada vez que se dejaba caer, la lluvia cesó y el sol resplandeciente se reflejó en la multitud de espejos, de pequeños lagos, ríos y canales que las lluvias habían dejado repletos de agua.

Ese día, lejos del Valle del Anáhuac, en la región de Painala, una mujer luchaba por dar a luz a su primogénito. La lluvia ahogaba sus pujidos. Su suegra, que actuaba como partera, no sabía si prestar oídos a su parturienta nuera o al mensaje del Dios Tláloc.

No le costó trabajo decidirse por la esposa de su hijo. El parto era complicado. A pesar de su larga experiencia nunca había asistido a un alumbramiento como ése. Durante el baño en temascal -- inmediatamente anterior al parto -- ella no había detectado que el feto viniera mal acomodado. Todo parecía estar en orden. Sin embargo, el esperado nacimiento se tardaba más de lo común.

Su nuera tenía un buen rato desnuda y en cuclillas pujando afanosamente y no lograba dar a luz. La suegra, previendo que el producto no pudiera pasar por la pelvis comenzó a preparar el cuchillo de obsidiana con el que partía en pedazos el cuerpo de los fetos que no alcanzaban a nacer. Lo hacía dentro del vientre de sus madres, para que éstas los pudieran expulsar con facilidad y de esta manera al menos ellas salvaran sus vidas. De pronto, la futura abuela -- arrodillada frente a su nuera -- alcanzó a ver la cabeza del feto emergiendo de la vagina y retrocediendo al momento siguiente, lo cuál le indicó que probablemente traía el cordón umbilical enredado en el cuello. De repente, una pequeña cabeza asomó entre las piernas de su madre, con el cordón umbilical entre los labios, como si una serpiente amordazara la boca del infante. La abuela interpretó esa imagen como un mensaje del dios Quetzalcóatl que en forma de serpiente se enredaba en el cuello y en la boca de la criatura. La abuela aprovechó la ocasión para meter su dedo y desenredar el cordón. Por unos momentos -- que parecieron una eternidad --, nada sucedió. La fuerte lluvia era el único sonido que acompañaba los gemidos de la joven parturienta.

Después de que el agua habló, un gran silencio fue sembrado y sólo lo rompió el llanto de una niña a quien nombraron Malinalli por haber nacido en el tercer carácter, de la sexta casa.

La abuela dio voces de guerrero para informar a todos que su nuera, como buena guerrera, había salido vencedora en su combate entre la vida y la muerte. Enseguida abrazó el cuerpo de su nieta contra su pecho y la besó repetidamente.

La recién nacida, hija del Tlatoani de Painala, fue recibida por los brazos de su abuela paterna. La abuela presintió que esa niña estaba destinada a perderlo todo, para encontrarlo todo. Porque solamente alguien que se vacía puede ser llenado de nuevo. En el vacío está la luz del entendimiento y el cuerpo de esa criatura era como un bello recipiente en el que se podían volcar las joyas más preciosas de la flor y el canto de sus antepasados pero no para que se quedaran eternamente ahí sino para ser recicladas, transformadas y vaciadas de nuevo.

Lo que la abuela no alcanzó a percibir fue que la primera pérdida que esa niña iba a experimentar en su vida, estaba demasiado cerca y, mucho menos, que ella misma se iba a ver fuertemente afectada. Así como la Tierra primero había soñado con las flores, con los árboles, con los lagos y los ríos de su superficie, así la abuela había soñado con esa niña. Lo último que en ese momento hubiera pensado era que podría perderla. Presenciar el misterio de la vida era lo suficientemente impactante para evitar pensar en la muerte, en cualquiera de sus manifestaciones: el abandono, la pérdida, la desaparición. No, su mente y su corazón lo único que deseaban en ese momento era festejar la vida. Por tanto la abuela, quien había participado activamente durante todo el parto, miró con alegría y llena de embeleso cómo Malinalli abría los ojos y movía vigorosamente sus brazos.

Después de darle un beso en la frente, la depositó en los brazos de su padre, el Señor de Painala y procedió a efectuar el primer ritual del nacimiento, que consistía en el corte del cordón umbilical. Lo efectuó con una pieza de obsidiana que ella misma había preparado especialmente para la ocasión. La piedra había sido pulida con tanto esmero, que más parecía un refulgente espejo negro, que un cuchillo. Al momento del corte, la pieza de obsidiana capturó los rayos de sol que se filtraban por el techo de palma y los reflejó con fuerza en el rostro de la abuela. Los poderosos rayos de luz del astro solar atravesaron las pupilas de la abuela con tal magnificencia que dañaron irremediablemente su vista. En ese momento pensó que tal vez ése era el sentido de los alumbramientos: el acercamiento a la luz. También comprendió que al estar ayudando a su nuera a dar a luz, se había convertido en un eslabón más de la cadena femenina formada por generaciones de mujeres que se daban luz unas a otras.

Enseguida, la abuela depositó cuidadosamente a su nieta sobre el pecho de su nuera para que le diera la bienvenida. Al escuchar el latido de su madre, la niña se supo en lugar conocido y dejó de llorar. La abuela, tomó la placenta y salió a enterrarla junto a un árbol del patio trasero de la casa. La tierra estaba tan húmeda a causa de la lluvia que el entierro se efectuó mitad en la tierra y mitad en el agua. La otra mitad del ombligo de Malinalli más bien fue ahogado en la tierra. Con él, se sembraba la vida y se le devolvía a la tierra su origen. El cordón que une a la tierra con el cielo entregaba el alimento al alimento.

Pocos días después, la niña fue bautizada por su propia abuela, pues la tradición indicaba que debía hacerlo la partera que había traído una hembra al mundo. La ceremonia se realizó a la hora en que salió el sol. La niña estaba ataviada con un huipil y unas alhajas pequeñas que su abuela y su madre habían elaborado personalmente para ella. En medio del patio pusieron una palangana de barro pequeña y junto a ella colocaron una petaquilla, un huso y una lanzadera.

Sobre unos anafres de cerámica bellamente decorados, se puso a quemar copal. La abuela, con un incensario en la mano, se dirigió hacia el lugar por donde el sol estaba saliendo y le dijo al viento:

-- Señor del Soplador, mueve mi abanico, elévame a ti, dame tu fuerza. Señor.

Como respuesta, un leve viento le rozó la cara y supo que el momento era propicio para el saludo a los cuatro vientos. Giró lentamente hacia los cuatro puntos cardinales mientras pronunciaba unas oraciones. Luego pasó el incensario por debajo del cuerpo de su nieta, quien era sostenida en vilo por las manos de sus padres, que la ofrendaban al viento. La pequeña figura, recortada sobre el azul del cielo, pronto se cubrió con el humo del copal, signo de que había comenzado su purificación.

A continuación, la abuela dejó el incensario en su sitio y tomó a la niña entre sus brazos, la levantó nuevamente hacia el cielo, tomó agua con los dedos y se la dio a probar mientras decía:

-- Ésta es la madre y el padre de todas nosotras, se llama Chalchiuhtlicue, la diosa del agua, tómala, recíbela en la boca, ésta es con la que has de vivir sobre la tierra.

Luego, tomando agua nuevamente con los dedos, se la puso en el pecho mientras decía:

-- Ve aquí con la que has de crecer y reverdecer, la cual purificará y hará crecer tu corazón y tus entrañas.

Finalmente, ayudada por una jícara, le echó agua sobre su cabeza mientras le decía:

-- Cata aquí el frescor y la verdura de Chalchiuhtlicue que siempre está viva y despierta, que nunca duerme ni dormita; deseo que esté contigo y te abrace y te tenga entre sus brazos para que seas despierta y diligente sobre la tierra.

Enseguida, le lavó las pequeñas manos para que no hurtara y los pies y las ingles para que no fuera carnal. A continuación, pidió a Chalchiuhtlicue, la diosa del agua, que sacara del cuerpo de la niña todo mal, que lo apartara, que se lo llevara con ella y finalmente le dijo:

-- A partir de hoy serás llamada Malinalli, ese nombre será tu sino, el que por nacimiento te corresponde.

Para finalizar la ceremonia, el padre de Malinalli la tomó entre sus brazos y le dijo las acostumbradas palabras de bienvenida, en las que se expresaba a manera de oración o de cántico el acogimiento que le daban a los recién nacidos a esta nueva vida:

-- Aquí estás mi hijita, la esperada por mí, la soñada, mi collar de piedras finas, mi plumaje de quetzal, mi hechura humana, la nacida de mí. Tu eres mi sangre, mi color, en ti está mi imagen. Mi muchachita, mira con calma: he aquí a tu madre, tu señora, de su vientre, de su seno, te desprendiste, brotaste. Como si fueras una yerbita, así brotaste. Como si hubieras estado dormida y hubieras despertado. Ahora vives, has nacido, te ha enviado a la tierra el Señor Nuestro, el dueño del cerca y del junto, el hacedor de la gente, el inventor de los hombres.

En ese momento, el padre de Malinalli sintió en su mente una inspiración que no le pertenecía y en lugar de continuar con las tradicionales palabras de bienvenida, su lengua habló con otro canto:

-- Hija mía, vienes del agua, y el agua habla. Vienes del tiempo y estarás en el tiempo y tu palabra estará en el viento y será sembrada en la tierra. Tu palabra será el fuego que transforma todas las cosas. Tu palabra estará en el agua y será espejo de la lengua. Tu palabra tendrá ojos y mirará, tendrá oídos y escuchará, tendrá tacto para mentir con la verdad y dirá verdades que parecerán mentiras. Y con tu palabra podrás regresar a la quietud, al principio donde nada es, donde nada está, donde todo lo creado vuelve al silencio, pero tu palabra lo despertará y habrás de nombrar a los dioses y habrás de darle voces a los árboles y harás que la naturaleza tenga lengua y hablará por ti lo invisible y se volverá visible en tu palabra. Y tu lengua será palabra de luz y tu palabra, pincel de flores, palabra de colores que con tu voz pintará nuevos códices.

Ese año de 1504, cuando el joven Hernán Cortés pisó la isla de La Española (isla que actualmente comprende República Dominicana y Haití) y se dio cuenta de que había un mundo que no era el suyo, su imaginación se llenó de deseos.

Como buen hijo único, estaba acostumbrado a tener todo aquello que su antojo reclamaba. Durante su etapa de desarrollo nunca había tenido que compartir sus juguetes con nadie y en consecuencia, era un niño caprichoso que en cuanto deseaba algo, de inmediato se lo apropiaba. Con estas características, no es de extrañar que al descubrir tierras nuevas, su mente fuera cobijada por la ambición.

Había llegado a La Española por su propia voluntad, sin pertenecer a ningún ejército u orden alguna. Lo que lo había traído, aparte de un delirio de grandeza y un ansia por conocer el mundo, era un deseo de libertad. Los constantes mimos de su madre lo ahogaban, lo convertían en un niño débil y enfermizo. Su espíritu aventurero se sentía prisionero del cerco paterno. Por otro lado, las enormes expectativas que sus padres tenían puestas sobre él eran un compromiso, un lastre cuyo peso lo atormentaba. Nunca se lo dijeron abiertamente, pero él sentía en su corazón que a sus padres les decepcionaba su corta estatura. Le faltaba altura para formar parte de una orden de caballería o un ejército. Así que le quedaban tres opciones: ser paje en la corte del rey, ser cura o estudiar una buena profesión.

Su padre nunca logró que Hernán fuese aceptado como paje así que esa posibilidad quedó descartada. Lo colocaron como monaguillo en la iglesia, pero no pasó de ahí, tal vez porque su carácter no se prestaba para servir a Dios de esa manera. Por último, Cortés asistió a la Universidad de Salamanca, donde aprendió latín y estudió por algún tiempo leyes, sin embargo, prefirió levantar el ancla y zarpar al nuevo mundo en busca de oportunidades. Quería demostrarle a su madre que no era tan chaparro como ella pensaba, que no necesitaba de tantos estudios para tener dinero y poder. Él deseaba ser rico, los nobles eran ricos y los ricos hacían lo que querían.

Ahí, en la Española, su futuro dependía de él y sólo de él. Casi de inmediato tomó contacto con los jefes españoles de la isla, principalmente con el gobernador, Nicolás de Ovando y con varios de sus allegados. Conversó con ellos, se enteró de la forma de vida que este nuevo mundo les ofrecía a todos ellos. Sin tardanza, ofreció soluciones a los problemas de control, diseñó proyectos y los convenció de que él era el indicado para llevarlos a cabo.

En poco tiempo se ganó la confianza y la estima de sus jefes, pues no solamente había ganado combates sobre los aborígenes y ayudado a apagar revueltas, sino que había diseñado rutas y caminos para recorrer el espacio en menos tiempo y con mucha más seguridad, dando como resultado que le fuera otorgada una encomienda de considerable valor en tierras donde se sembraba caña de azúcar. Para Cortés, esto no fue suficiente. Su mente ambiciosa no estaba satisfecha. Él necesitaba oro. Todo el oro que hubiera a su alcance. Quería deslumbrar a todos.

Una mañana, liberándose del miedo de perder su buena apariencia, decidió quitarse las botas -- que le aumentaban un poco su corta estatura --, aflojar y despojarse de las vestimentas para sentir su cuerpo tal y como la naturaleza lo había creado. Le urgía descansar sus pies agrietados e infectados por una gran variedad de hongos. Los había pescado a bordo del barco que lo trajo de España y no había podido deshacerse de ellos.

El placer de caminar con los pies descalzos sobre la arena motivó su espíritu. La paz de esa mañana era tan grande que agradeció a Dios la vida que la había dado y la oportunidad que le brindaba de vivir ese momento histórico. Caminó rumbo al mar y dejó que las aguas lavaran sus pies. De inmediato sintió alivio y supo que el mar purificaría sus heridas de la misma manera en que lo hacía con las ropas de los marineros en alta mar. Durante los largos recorridos marítimos, la única manera que había de lavar la ropa era amarrándola fuertemente dentro de una red la cual tiraban por la borda y mientras el barco avanzaba, el mar penetraba las fibras de la tela, la limpiaba de impurezas y la dejaba completamente limpia. Se quedó un buen momento ahí, dejando que las olas, le lavaran las heridas.

Ahí, parado frente al horizonte, recordó los largos días de travesía, en los que recargado en la borda del barco observó el cielo y las estrellas hasta abrir su mente y entender por primera vez y con toda claridad la redondez de la tierra y el cosmos infinito.

Más tarde, cuando salió del agua, se recostó sobre la hierba para que sus pies recibieran los benéficos y purificadores rayos solares. Con un brazo cubrió sus ojos para protegerlos del sol de mediodía y relajó su mente. El ruido lejano de las olas lo arrulló y el sueño lo venció por un instante. Un sólo instante bastó para que en un descuido, un venenoso escorpión lo picara y descargara todo su veneno en su cuerpo.

Por tres días Cortés se debatió entre la vida y la muerte.

Fueron días de lluvia y de rezos. Un fuerte temporal azotó la isla y no paró de llover día y noche. Cortés ni siquiera se dio cuenta de los truenos, sus compañeros españoles que le prestaron ayuda, escucharon admirados y asustados lo que en sus delirios decía. Habló en latín y en lenguas extrañas. Habló en gritos y en susurros. Les dijo que había un sol enorme que crecía y crecía. Un sol que al explotar iba a derramar sangre por doquier; que los seres humanos iban a volar por los aires sin tener tierra firme donde reposar, que habría lágrimas y un insoportable olor a muerte invadiría todo su cuerpo; pronunció nombres de reyes moros, habló de las derrotas históricas de España, se lamentó de la crucifixión de Cristo, se encomendó a la Virgen de Guadalupe, vociferó maldiciones y afirmó que había sido una serpiente, una gran serpiente la que lo había mordido, una serpiente que se elevaba por los aires y que volaba frente a sus ojos y así deliró, hasta que se quedó completamente dormido. Algunos lo dieron por muerto y estaba tan en paz que pensaron en enterrarlo a la mañana siguiente, pero cuando llegaron al lugar para darle un santo entierro descubrieron que Cortés había abierto los ojos y se recuperaba milagrosamente. Observaron en él una transformación y se dieron cuenta de que su semblante proyectaba una nueva fuerza, un nuevo poder. Todos lo felicitaron y le dijeron que había nacido de nuevo.

Copyright ©2006 por Laura Esquivel

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First came the wind. Later, like a flash of lightning, like a silver tongue in the heavens over the Valley of Anáhuac, a storm appeared that would wash the blood from the stones. After the sacrifice, the city darkened and thunderous eruptions were heard. Then, a silver serpent appeared in the sky, seen distinctly from many different places. And it began to rain in such a way as had been rarely seen. All afternoon and evening it rained and through the following day as well. For three days the rains would not cease. It rained so hard that the priests and wise men of Anáhuac became alarmed. They were accustomed to listening to and interpreting the voice of the water, but on this occasion they insisted that not only was Tláloc, God of Rain, trying to tell them something but that by means of the water he had allowed a new light to fall over them, a new vision that would bring a dif-ferent meaning to their lives, and although they did not yet clearly know what it was, they could feel it in their hearts. Before their minds could correctly interpret the depth of this message that the waters revealed as they fell, the rains stopped and a radiant sun was reflected in myriad places among the small lakes and rivers and canals that had been left brimming with water.

That day, far from the Valley of Anáhuac, in the region of Painala, a woman struggled to give birth to her first child. The sound of the rain drowned out her groans. Her mother-in-law, who was acting as midwife, did not know whether to pay more attention to her daughter-in-law about to give birth or to the message of the god Tláloc.

It didn't take long for her to decide in favor of her son's wife. It was a difficult delivery. In spite of her long experience, she had never been present at such a birth. While washing the mother-to-be in the bathhouse just prior to the delivery, she had failed to notice that the fetus was in the wrong position. Everything had seemed to be in order, yet the anticipated birth was taking longer than usual. Her daughter-in-law had been naked and squatting for quite a long while and still couldn't deliver. The mother-in-law, realizing that the unborn was unable to pass through the pelvic channel, began to prepare the obsidian knife with which she cut into pieces the fetuses that could not be birthed. She would do this inside the wombs of the mothers, so that they could easily expel them, thus sparing at least their own lives. But suddenly, the future grandmother, kneeling in front of her daughter-in-law, saw the head of the fetus poke out of the vagina and then shrink back a moment later, which probably meant that the umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck. Then, just as suddenly, a small head poked out from between its mother's legs with the umbilical cord caught in its mouth, as if a snake was gagging the infant. The grandmother took the sight as a message from the god Quetzalcóatl, who in the form of a serpent was coiled around the neck and mouth of her future grandchild. The grandmother quickly took the opportunity to disentangle the cord with her finger. For a few moments, which seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. The hard rain was the only sound that accompanied the moans of the young mother.

After the waters had spoken, a great silence took root and was broken only by the cries of a young baby girl whom they named Malinalli, since she was born under the third sign of the sixth house. The grandmother shouted like a warrior to let everyone know that her daughter-in-law, a great fighter, had come out victorious in the battle between life and death. She pressed the granddaughter to her bosom and kissed her again and again.

Thus the newborn, daughter of the Tlatoani of Painala, was welcomed into her paternal grandmother's arms. The grandmother sensed that the girl was destined to lose everything so that she might gain everything. Because only those who empty themselves can be filled anew. In emptiness is the light of understanding, and the body of that child was like a beautiful vessel that could be filled to overflowing with the most precious jewels -- the flower and song of her ancestors -- but not so that they would remain there forever, but rather so that they could be remade, transformed and emptied anew.

What the grandmother could not yet understand was that the first loss the girl would experience in her life was far too soon at hand and, much less, that she herself would be strongly affected by it. Just as the Earth had first dreamed about the flowers, the trees, the lakes and rivers on its surface, so had the grandmother dreamed about the girl. The last thing she would have thought at that moment was that she could lose her. Witnessing the miracle of life was powerful enough to prevent her from dwelling on death in any of its manifestations: abandonment, loss, disappearance. No, the only thing her body and mind wanted to celebrate was life. So the grandmother, who had so actively participated in the birth, looked on joyful and spellbound at how Malinalli opened her eyes and shook her arms vigorously. After kissing her on the brow, she placed her in the arms of her father, the Lord of Painala, and proceeded to carry out the first ritual after a birth, the cutting of the umbilical cord. She did it with an obsidian blade that she had prepared just for the occasion. The blade had been polished with such care that it seemed more like a resplendent black mirror than a knife. At the moment of cutting, the piece of obsidian captured the rays of the sun filtered through the thatched roof and their intense reflection was focused on the grandmother's face. The magnificent rays of the solar star knifed into the grandmother's pupils with such force that they irremediably damaged her sight. At that moment she thought that maybe this was the meaning of the reflections, a coming nearer to the light. She also understood that in helping her daughter-in-law give birth she had become a link in the feminine chain created by countless generations of women who assisted each other in childbirth.

The grandmother then carefully placed the child at her mother's breast so that she could be welcomed into this world. On hearing her mother's heartbeat, the girl knew she was in the right place and stopped crying. The grandmother took the placenta outside to bury it by a tree in the courtyard of the house. The ground was so heavy with the rains that the burial was made half in earth, half in water. The other half of Malinalli's umbilical cord was drowned in the earth. With it, life was sown anew, returning to the earth of its origin. The cord that binds the earth with the heavens ceded nourishment to nourishment.

A few days later, the grandmother herself baptized the girl, for tradition stated that the midwife who had brought the child into the world would have that honor. The ceremony took place at sunrise. The girl wore a huipil, a traditional sleeveless dress, and tiny jewelry that the grandmother and mother had personally made for her. They placed a small clay washbowl in the middle of the patio and next to it arranged a small trunk, a spindle, and a weaving shuttle.

In beautifully decorated ceramic stoves they burned copal. The grandmother carried a censer, and directing it toward the spot where the sun was beginning to rise, she spoke to the wind:

"God of the Gusts, stir my fan, raise me to you, lend me your strength, lord."

In response, a light breeze grazed her face and she knew that it was the right moment to make her greeting to the four winds. She turned slowly toward each of the four cardinal points as she said her prayers. Then she swung the censer under her granddaughter, who was being held high in the air by her parents, as they offered her to the wind. The small figure, silhouetted against the blue sky, was soon blanketed with copal smoke, a sign that her purification had begun.

The grandmother put the censer back in its place and, taking the child into her arms, raised her again to the heavens. She then dipped her fingers in water and let the girl taste it.

"This is the mother and father of us all," she said. "She is called Chalchiuhtlicue, Goddess of Water. Take her, let your mouth receive her, for you will need her in order to live on this earth."

Then, dipping her fingers in the water again, she touched the child's breast.

"See here, for she is the one who will enable you to grow and revive, the one who will purify you and will make your heart and your insides thrive."

Finally, using a calabash, she poured water over the girl's head.

"Feel the freshness and greenness of Chalchiuhtlicue," she said, "who is always alive and awake, who never sleeps or dozes, may she be with you and embrace you and keep you in her arms so that you will be awake and resolute on this earth."

Immediately afterward, she washed the child's hands so that she wouldn't be a thief and her feet and her groin so that she wouldn't be lustful. Finally she asked Chalchiuhtlicue, Goddess of Water, to cast out all evil from the body of the child, to set it aside and take it with her. Then she concluded by saying:

"From this day forward you shall be called Malinalli, a name that will be yours alone, the one that by birth belongs to you."

To end the ceremony, Malinalli's father took her in his arms and said the customary words of greeting, in which he chanted the prayer of welcome given to newborns.

"Here you are, my awaited daughter, whom I dreamed about, my necklace of fine jewels, my quetzal plumage, my human creation, engendered by me. You are my blood, my color, in you is my image. My little girl, look on peacefully. Here is your mother, your lady, from her belly, from her womb, you were engendered, you sprouted. As if you were a leaf of grass, you sprouted. As if you had been asleep and awoke. Now you live, you have been born. Our Lord, the keeper of all things, the maker of people, the inventor of man, has sent you forth unto the earth."

At that moment, Malinalli's father felt an inspiration within him from somewhere quite different and instead of continuing with the traditional words of welcome, he mouthed a different chant.

"My daughter, you come from the water, and the water speaks. You come from time and will live in time and your word will live in the wind and be planted in the earth. Your word will be the fire that transforms all things. Your word will live in the water and be a mirror to the tongue. Your word will have eyes and will see, will have ears and will hear, will have the tact to lie with the truth and to tell truths that will seem like lies. And with your word you will be able to return to the stillness, to the beginning where nothing is, where all of creation returns to silence, but your word will awaken it and you will name the gods and give voice to the trees and you will give nature a tongue to speak for you of the invisible that will again be visible through your word. And your tongue will be the word of light, a paintbrush of flowers, the word of colors that your voice will use to paint new codices."

In the year 1504, when a young Hernán Cortés first set foot on the island of Hispaniola (nowadays comprising the Dominican Republic and Haiti) and realized that he had entered a world that was not his own, his imagination became filled with desires. Like a typical only child, he was used to having anything that he longed for. When he was growing up, he never had to share his toys with anyone and as a result was a capricious child who as soon as he wanted something would take it without hesitation. With such traits, it is not surprising that on discovering new lands his mind was overcome with ambition. He had arrived in Hispaniola on his own, not owing allegiance to any army or religious order. What he brought with him, aside from delusions of grandeur and a yearning to see the world, was a desire for liberty. The persistent pampering of his mother had suffocated him and made him into a weak and sickly child. His adventurous spirit was a prisoner within the parental walls. Moreover, his parents' enormous expectations were an onus, a weighty burden that tormented him. He also felt that his parents, though they never told him outright, were disappointed with his short stature. He was not tall enough to join a cavalry or an army. So he was left with three options: to become a page in the king's court, to become a priest, or to train for a suitable profession. His father was never able to get Hernán accepted as a page, so that option was discarded. They found a place for him as an altar boy at the church, but he never made it past that position, perhaps because his character was not suited to serving God in such fashion. Ultimately, Cortés attended the University of Salamanca, where he learned Latin and studied law for a short period. On the lookout for fresh opportunities, however, he soon decided to lift anchor and set sail for the New World. He wanted to prove to his mother that he wasn't as small as she thought he was, and that he didn't need so much schooling to obtain money and power. He wanted to be rich, just like the nobles, who could do whatever they wished.

There in Hispaniola, the path his life would take depended on himself and himself alone. Almost as soon as he arrived he introduced himself to the Spanish rulers of the island, foremost among them, Governor Nicolás de Ovando and several of his close associates. In conversing with them he learned of the way of life in this new world and what it had to offer them. He didn't hesitate to suggest solutions to problems of governing, designing projects and then persuading them that he was the one who could carry them out.

Soon enough he had gained the trust and regard of the rulers, for not only had he succeeded in battles against the natives and helped to quell rebellions, but he had also designed routes and roads to cover distances in less time and in a much more secure fashion, as a result of which he was awarded a royal land grant of considerable value in a region where they planted sugarcane. For Cortés, this was not enough. His ambitious spirit wasn't satisfied. He wanted gold. All the gold he could get his hands on. He wanted to dazzle the world.

One morning, shedding the fear of always having to appear perfect, he decided to take off his boots -- which added a little height to his short stature -- and unfasten and cast off his clothes, so that he could feel his body just as nature had made it. He needed to rest his cracked feet, which during his voyage from Spain had become infected with various fungi that were difficult to treat.

The joyous prospect of walking barefoot in the sand motivated his spirit. The peace he felt that morning was so vast that he thanked God for his life and for the chance to live in such a historic period. Approaching the sea, he allowed the water to wash his feet and he felt immediate relief knowing that the water would purify his wounds the same way it purified the clothes of sailors on the high seas. During long seafaring trips, the only way to wash clothes was to bind them tightly inside a net that was cast overboard as the ship sailed on; the sea penetrated the fibers of the cloth, washed off all impurities, and left them completely clean. He remained there on the shore a long while, letting the waves wash his wounds. Staring off toward the horizon, he recalled the long days of his voyage when, overwhelmed on the ship's deck, he observed the sky and the stars until his mind opened and he understood for the first time the roundness of the earth and the infinity of the cosmos.

Later, when he emerged from the sea, he lay down in the grass so that his feet would benefit from the purifying rays of the sun. With one arm he covered his eyes to protect them from the midday light and let his mind relax. The distant sound of the waves lulled him to sleep for a moment. And that one careless moment was all it took for a venomous scorpion to sting him and release all its poison into his body.

For three days, Cortés struggled between life and death. They were days of rain and prayers. A powerful storm lashed into the island and it rained ceaselessly. Cortés did not even notice the thunder, and the Spanish companions who had helped him, listened to him, frightened by the things he said in his delirium. He spoke in Latin and other strange tongues. He told them that there was an enormous sun that continued to grow and grow, a sun that would explode and spread bloodshed everywhere. He said that human beings would fly through the sky without needing to rest on the earth, that tears and the unbearable stench of death would conquer all of his body. He pronounced the names of Moorish kings, spoke of the historic defeats of Spain, mourned the Crucifixion, entrusted himself to the Virgin of Guadalupe, shouted out curses and stated that it had been a serpent, a great serpent that had bitten him, a serpent that lifted itself up in the air and flew in front of his eyes. On and on he raved until he fell completely asleep. Some had left him for dead, and he seemed so peaceful that they made plans to bury him the morning after, but when they arrived there to proceed with the holy burial they found that Cortés had opened his eyes and miraculously recovered. Observing a transformation in him, they realized that his face radiated a new strength, a new power. They all congratulated him and told him that he had been reborn.

Copyright © 2006 by Laura Esquivel