Immortal Pleasures, page 13
She ran back to the house without hesitation. I stood there, torn. Do I watch over the hacienda or go back to the hut? My heart could only make one choice. Knowing what happens to women and girls in times of war…I waited. Not just for my daughter but for the others, including Patli, who lived in the hacienda. My vampire ears could hear everything in the hacienda even from this great distance. I fell to my knees. There was no breeze, but still the air was heavy with the scent of charred flesh and blood.
I resolved not to cry: No, I had to remain alert in the event the hacienda came under attack. I hardened myself for a fight.
It was just before dawn when I saw Juan ride back with soldiers. By the look of it, they had been victorious. Their armor was sprayed with blood. “Anyone practicing any religion besides the true faith will be burned like those things…demons. Savages!” I heard him say.
The immediate threat to the hacienda was over. I slid back into the forest until I turned to run to the hut. The sun was rising so I could not only see the smoke billowing into the clear sky but also smell the burned flesh. In my fear I counted on Chantico being hidden enough to escape any attack.
My legs refused to budge any farther upon the sight of Chantico’s hut. Our woven baskets were strewn across the clearing and torn to pieces. Chantico lay dead next to fresh horse hoofprints in the dirt. They most likely thought her a witch, or she fought back.
I kneeled next to her with a sorrow even deeper than I felt when I thought I would die from disease. This woman was the mother I never had. She never wavered in her support of me, even though I came to her as a stranger whom she only knew by reputation. My heart wanted to wail, but it could not—it was rendered numb from the nonstop pain that was too much for one woman to endure in one lifetime.
Even my anger lacked any will to flare. I felt only the rain of Tlaloc pummeling my soul, drowning all my emotions. Chantico was no longer there. Her spirit had already fled somewhere safe. Part of me hoped she remained so I could apologize, so I could feel her comforting presence one last time. I took her crumpled and already rigid brown hand into my own. The pain of the moment burned straight through me.
I made a choice. I could only be in one place at a time. She would be buried with the two skulls, as much as I loved them. It seemed like the right thing to do. I squeezed her dead hand before throwing my head back and screaming for every loss up to now. Birds fled from the trees in a rush, but nothing else moved. There I was, completely alone for the first time since I could remember from childhood.
Then, as I had always done, it was time to carry on.
The hut was a mess when I entered. They had destroyed it as a final act of humiliation. All the valuable items she possessed were gone, including the skulls. “Thieves,” I whispered at the rising sun as I dropped to my knees. A rustle from the thick interior of the forest made my body tense. My instinct to attack was very strong, even though I had never fought anyone in my life. Whenever we encountered hostility, Cortés shouted, “Protect her at all costs!” I knew some of his men resented this, but I could give him what ten of them could not. I was valuable to him without having any value in the kind of world he was creating.
The noise in the forest was closer. I whipped my head around as I switched to a crouched position. A growl clawed at the base of my throat. Through the trees I could see it was Cuauhtémoc, accompanied by a man and a woman appearing like the most pious of papas in black cloaks. Their hair fell to their waists in matted knots of blood. Both fingers and teeth were stained crimson nearly as black as their hair. I could see rage and hunger in their eyes as they scanned the scene of destruction. The two vampires shrieked to the sky next to Chantico’s body. I could feel their anguish, a thick tree sap covering us all, hardening around our souls. As if enough had not befallen our people.
“What happened? I know you had to be there. I was watching over my daughter at the hacienda when this occurred; otherwise, it would be the limbs and heads of soldiers and not reeds covering the ground.”
Cuauhtémoc shook his head. “This is all because of my arrogance. I might have made more of us with superhuman abilities, but I should have taken the time for them to develop their skills.”
“You mean to tell me your band of creatures was defeated?”
His face twisted in darkness with the shadows cast by the trees. “Yes. I thought only a few of us would be needed. It would have been enough if I had waited just a little longer, or made more of us. Their senses and bodies still needed more nurturing to realize their full lethal potential. At least we managed to cleanse the land of a few of them. Maybe they will say this land is cursed with demons and leave. Their superstitious god has to be good for something.”
“You’re living a fool’s dream, Cuauhtémoc. I have known many of them intimately. I know how their minds operate. They are going nowhere and will only increase their grip here and elsewhere. Except for Chantico and Patli, I have never met an unsoiled heart, including my own. We get what we deserve. I have no energy for even this blood life you have given me. What is the point to any of it? I really thought Chantico might have answers. So what now? Chantico also had a treasure trove of valuable items from our people, and now they are gone.”
Cuauhtémoc shifted his eyes from me to the charred remains of Chantico. To my surprise his eyes welled with red tears. He kneeled in the ground next to her and hung his head. His hair, caked in blood, clung to his shoulders and the sides of his face. Blots of red dripped upon her corpse. The woman next to him placed a hand on his shoulder without speaking. She looked like a rag dipped in viscera.
“First my child and now her. You are not the only one who has lost it all,” Cuauhtémoc muttered.
“Who was Chantico to you?”
“She was my grandmother. I kept her just alive with small drops of my blood. In small doses it can work like a tonic to humans. The ones who did this will pay with their lives. All of them.”
His voice became a growl as he said this. He wiped the tears from his face, smearing them like paint. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was what the Christians considered a demon or even Satan himself. Only hate and oblivion emanated from his entire being. I didn’t want to ask more about him giving his blood to her. She never asked me for a drop of mine, but I would have drained half of my body if it had meant more time with her.
“Don’t tell me you are going to start another rebellion. So soon? They will expect it and take their revenge on everyone to establish their power.”
Cuauhtémoc rose and stood to his full height with his back straight. “No. Lesson learned. Maybe I should have paid more attention to what she tried to teach me with weaving. I will start again, spend more time training an elite group of us. Like warriors training for a great battle. We will be the deadliest of beasts. We are made from the darkness of all the horror we have witnessed. We are destined for greatness. Are you ready to do your part?”
I could see the pain in his eyes. But I also saw a determination that had the potential to turn to pure chaos and cruelty. It frightened me. What could he become with the dark power we both possessed? Our existence was a piece of flint with just enough of a point to be very lethal if crafted in the right way.
Part of me understood him: I hated every human who enslaved another. I looked to the sky for some unknown reason. A quetzal whizzed above my head in a bolt of red and green. A single green feather fell to the ground not far from where I stood. It floated with the ease of a whispered prayer. It had to be Chantico giving me a sign. I could feel it inside of me. My heart responded to the sight with tears in my eyes.
I can’t deny it, his offer was tempting. He could offer me security. Be a mentor. But that is all I had ever known: standing behind a man who could give me some sense of protection and a place in the world determined by his wealth and status. What if I could have those things on my own?
It might be a dangerous, lonely existence; however, how could I begrudge my lovers and husbands if I perpetuated the pattern long after leaving them? I needed to create a hut of my own before sharing it with another. Who says only men can possess and express power? My mind couldn’t conceive how it would be possible. But something deeper still told me to hang on and go after what I wanted.
“No. I must stay here, restore this hut, watch over my daughter before she is sent to Spain. Especially now. Chantico is dead because I left to see her as I have done for many nights.”
He looked at me with mild shock and anger that I would not follow him.
“What else will you do? Just sit here? You might as well still be their slave.”
I stepped closer to him to look him in the eye. The feather remained in my peripheral vision. I remembered the great headdress of Montezuma and how it was taken like a prize when he was captured. “Wrong again. I will take back every last treasure that has been stolen from us. Then I will take what is theirs. If it is the last thing I do, I will find those skulls to honor Chantico. Bloodshed for revenge is not my way, but I won’t stand in your way if we cross paths again. Any bodies you find in my wake are for sustenance or protection. Deal?”
He remained silent, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. There was none. I knew my own mind and would now fully express it without fear. No more masters or lords. He shook his head and extended a hand with blood-ringed sharpened nails.
“Deal. We will bury her together, then we leave each other in peace. Probably the only peace any of us will experience for a very long time.”
Chantico would remain in her hut beneath the dirt floor. Nothing was left to bury her with except a few of the torn baskets and gourds she used. The four of us smoothed out the mound of dirt above her buried body to preserve the space as it was when she was alive. I prayed she would guide me back to the skulls one day. Cuauhtémoc’s companions remained silent until it was time to leave. They tried to speak to me; however, their tongues had been removed. I tried to contain my horror at such cruelty, as I know this was not done by Cuauhtémoc. It was probably why they joined his fight, being born of the same rage as he.
“Cuauhtémoc, how do you communicate with them?”
He placed a sharp-nailed fingertip between my eyebrows. “Here. We are connected. Perhaps you will learn this one day. We all can do it. Just practice. Information like whispers, flash visions, heightened senses, are part of this existence.
“Perhaps we will meet again.”
I nodded with more on my mind. I knew I had to ask before missing an opportunity that might not arise again.
“The two skulls. There is really nothing you can tell me about them?”
Cuauhtémoc looked taken aback by this question.
“What do you mean? Those skulls were crafted by Chantico’s husband. He had insight and talent beyond what any human I have ever encountered possessed. The skull was from their child who died, and she found the quartz. Together they created both skulls. They were bound together by sharing a soul…at least that is what it seemed like. Together they created beauty and love in their art at our temples. Then he died at a respectable old age.”
I didn’t know what to say. My heart broke for Chantico. No wonder she could not utter the words to this tale and opted for a lie. The truth of her dead child and lost love were too much to take in her old age.
“Thank you. Be well.”
“And you. May we never be enemies.”
I watched them turn and leave, then spent the rest of the daylight cleaning up the mess from her murder. Whatever palms could be salvaged I piled in the corner of the hut. I swept everything twice, wanting to wipe away any traces of blood or footprints to make it appear as if she had just gone for a moment, a short journey until I would see her again.
Then I sat in the center of the hut, staring at the forest with the quetzal feather in hand until the sun set into the darkness. Never had I experienced being alone in such a way. Yes, I was desperately alone in all my so-called relationships, but now I was physically alone, without a soul in sight. With no clue what to do with myself, I began to weave.
Sure, I had this grand idea of taking back the treasures, as I told Cuauhtémoc, but I had no inkling how to even begin to accomplish any of it. The monumental task of it made my heart break. I wanted to rush into this noble cause yet had nothing and no one at my disposal to make it happen. In that moment I felt abandoned by all except the moon. No god and no one, not even myself, was there to comfort me or show me a way forward. My entire being was suspended in amber, frozen in sadness and despair. I continued to weave baskets and bowls to distract myself. I surrendered to the moment of not knowing how any of the rest of my immortal life would turn out. The not knowing was worse than any wound to the body. It plays tricks on the mind.
After Chantico’s death I sat in my hut with the growing knowledge it was safe to be alone without a husband or children or anyone, including the protection of Cuauhtémoc. I could not be one of his followers in a pack of the undead slaughtering with teeth and claws. Did the Spanish invaders deserve to die by my hand? Yes. But I deserved to be free for once in my life.
I had spent years going through the motions of motherhood without a real chance to experience love with my babies. I had to watch everyone else go by, leapfrogging off my back. I had been tethered to lovers and to having their children as a way of securing safety and power. Here I had to cultivate it for myself.
What freedom I experienced in Chantico’s hut under the moon, even while barely moving.
Hernán sat in the lobby of the Dorchester Hotel with overpriced tea he couldn’t drink watching humans walking in and out. Malinalli was supposed to have been here already, as this was the day she was meant to arrive.
His agitation was beginning to rise. Horatio had promised him she was staying here. John wasn’t answering his phone either. It had already been a few hours. That George was more cumbersome than helpful at times. Hernán despised not getting his way, and Horatio would receive an unexpected visit after dark if she didn’t show.
Hernán looked at his IWC watch again. It was five p.m. Why wait any longer? He stood up to catch a black cab in front of the hotel to confront Horatio. A phone call would not suffice to intimidate him enough. As he knew from his human life, you get more out of people when their hide is on the line.
* * *
Horatio was leaving his office when Hernán moved out of the shadows in silence. He yanked Horatio toward him by his left arm.
“I hope you haven’t lied to me. Malinalli did not show at her hotel. Are you playing games with me because you are under her feminine spell?”
A startled Horatio stammered with a wobbling chin, “What? No, not at all. In fact, I was going to tell you but haven’t had the chance. She changed where she is staying last minute, but she didn’t say where. I tried to get it out of her.”
“And you didn’t bother to let me know the very instant you knew?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I must work as well. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. If it helps, she said she wanted to visit the museums tomorrow.”
A sneer spread across Hernán’s face. Knowing Malinalli from his extensive research of her new life and from his life with her before, there was only one place he could be certain she would be at. This would be a job for John.
Horatio fumbled with his briefcase. “Can I go now? Please don’t hurt my family.”
“You may go now, but I’m not done with you just yet. Your primary concern right now is serving me.” Hernán flashed him a fanged grin and dug his nails into Horatio’s forearm to reinforce his point.
Horatio nodded. “Understood.”
Just as hard as Hernán had pulled Horatio to him, he thrust him away before slipping into the shadows again.
* * *
After all Hernán had accomplished for Christ and crown, nearing the end of his life, he did not want to lose his position as a man who did what others could not or would not do. At sixty years of age he had severe bouts of illnesses, but still he fought to keep his name in good standing, and he always desired more wealth.
Despite not being the man he was when he first sailed to the shores of the New World, he decided he would try one more campaign for glory. Not God. God had enough. He would find glory, or he would be met with death. He was going to die soon anyway from the cough that would not end.
It was time to ask himself: How did he want to be remembered?
He arrived back in the New World with no fanfare in what had once been the capital under Montezuma. A captain named Fernando who spoke like he came from a decent family greeted him with respect. He knew of Hernán, but as a figure from the past. Fernando was half his age.
“Señor, it is good to meet you. Your exploits made our path easier. But you should be retired with your feet up and drinking good wine.”
Hernán didn’t know how to explain to a young man the restlessness of old age and facing one’s mortality. At one time he was young, and he’d thought he could have it all. “Well, once an explorer, always an explorer. I wanted to leave this world with one more memory.”
Fernando gave him a warm, if not condescending, smile. “These savages still do not know their place. A few have become animalistic. The stories I have heard…We leave at dawn for a raid. You are welcome to come, though at your age…”
Hernán hated aging. It was a frustrating fact of life. He wanted another lifetime to accomplish more. “No, I have done this for more years than you have been alive. Wake me and I will come along.”
“As you wish.”
Fernando led him to a clean place to sleep. If he wanted a slave, they were at his disposal. When Fernando left, Hernán looked around at his small hut, amazed how time passed and cared little for men. He was no one now.
