Malinche Read Free Page A

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.

TWO
    M alinalli had risen earlier than usual. All night long she had not been able to sleep. She was afraid. In the coming days, for the third time in her life, she would experience a complete change. After sunrise, they were going to give her away once again. She couldn’t imagine what was so wrong with her deep inside that they would treat her like such a burdensome object, for such was the ease with which they dispensed of her. She made an effort to do her best, not to cause any problems, to work hard; and yet for whatever strange reasons they would not allow her to take root anywhere. She ground corn almost in the dark, lit only by the reflection of the moon.
    Since the day before, when the songs of the birds had migrated, her heart had begun to shrink. In complete silence she had watched as the birds in their flight took away with them through the air a part of the weather, of light, and of time. Her time. She would never again see the dusk from that place. Night was approaching, accompanied by uncertainty. What would her life be like under her new masters? What would become of her cornfield? Who would plant the corn anew and harvest it for her? Would the field die without her care?
    A few tears escaped from her eyes. Suddenly she thought of Cihuacóatl, the snake woman, the goddess also known as Quilaztli, mother of the human race, who at nights wandered through the canals of the great Tenochtitlán weeping for her children. They said that those who heard her could not go back to sleep, so terrifying were her mournful, anxious wails for the future of her children. She shouted out all the dangers and devastations that lay in wait for them. Malinalli, like Cihuacóatl, wept at not being able to protect her harvest. For Malinalli, each ear of corn was a hymn to life, to fertility, to the gods. Without her care what would become of her cornfield? She wouldn’t know. From this day forward, she would begin to journey through a path that she had traveled before: being separated from the earth she had grown attached to.
    Once again she would arrive at a foreign place. Once again be the newcomer, an outsider, the one who did not belong. She knew from experience that she would quickly have to ingratiate herself with her new masters to avoid being rejected or, in more dire cases, punished. Then, there would be the phase when she would have to sharpen her senses in order to see and hear as acutely as possible so that she could assimilate quickly all the new customs and the words most frequently used by the group she was to become a part of—so that, finally, she would be judged on her own merits.
    Whenever she tried to close her eyes and rest, a twinge in her stomach would prevent her from sleeping. With her eyes wide open, she remembered her grandmother and her thoughts were filled with dear and painful images at once. Her grandmother’s death had set in motion her first change.
    The warmest and most protective affection that Malinalli had experienced in her infancy was from her grandmother, who for years had awaited her birth. It was said that many times she had been at the brink of death, but would always recover proclaiming that she could not go until she knew to whom she would bequeath her heart and her wisdom. Without