Free Song of the Hummingbird by Graciela Limón Page A

up, he said, ‘The gods have failed me.’ That was all he said, no more.”
    Father Benito felt a tingle on the nape of his neck, as if he had been present at a disastrous event. He was feeling what he thought Huitzitzilin must have felt at the time. Like her and her people, he was experiencing the fear of the unknown, as if he had been a native himself. He forced himself to return to his writing because, he reminded himself, these were the captains from Spain, his people, and he should not be feeling such antagonism towards them.
    â€œWe all knew that the king was grief-stricken, but there were some among our people who murmured that it was the other way around. That it had been he who had failed the gods, and that now the gods were rightfully vengeful.
    â€œPriest, have you observed that events of great import often take a very short span of time to happen? The fall of Tenochtitlan was quick. From beginning to end, our finality spanned just a few weeks and months, and what had taken my people ages to build, was brought low with a few battles.
    â€œOur temples, palaces, market places, meeting halls, schools and libraries, our thoroughfares and gardens and squares, all destroyed in a brief time. Our trade routes, goods, and products were laid in the mud and trampled by the feet of beasts in the time taken to hear a clap of hands. Our crafts and art, all of which took countless families and immeasurable time to perfect, were scorned, defiled, and made to disappear by your captains in a few passings of the moon.
    â€œI ask myself now, how is it possible to destroy so swiftly what took years to build? I have no answer, but that it happened as the gods had determined. Tenochtitlan crashed down amid fire and blood and anguish, and it took only a scattering of days.”
    â€œForgive my interruption, but this shows that it was the will of Almighty God that the kingdom of the Mexicas should have perished.”
    Putting aside his sentiments, Father Benito, eyebrows arched, mouthed what he thought the most appro priate thing. Huitzitzilin looked at him in silence for a long while, then spoke.
    â€œYes, I agree. I said so a few moments ago. It was as the gods willed.”
    Benito frowned, annoyed that the woman should insist on putting her gods on the same level with the one true God, but he took up his quill once again nonetheless. He was ready to continue recording her words.
    â€œI remember clearly the day of the arrival of the white men. It took place during the season of dampness in our valley. It was the time when days were short, when the lake turned black in color, and the winds swept off the skirts of the volcanoes.
    â€œMoctezuma’s court became agitated. Word of the arrival of the white men went from mouth to mouth, from chamber to chamber. Men and women ran around aimlessly as if that would resolve the impending doom. Routines were broken and duties forgotten. Incredulous faces looked around, seeking answers, hoping to hear that what was happening was nothing more than a hoax.
    â€œThe noise caused by the confused masses of people in the main square rose to a pitch with each minute. There, men attempted to appear calm, but trembling lips betrayed their fears. Women tried to console themselves by embracing babies, or each other, but it was no use. We were all in the grip of terror.”
    Father Benito, compelled by surprise, interrupted again. “Yet, the Mexicas were ferocious in battle. It has never occurred to us that the people were stricken by fear all along.”
    â€œYou misunderstand me, priest! When I say that we were alarmed, I mean that most of the people assumed that the visitors were gods, not ordinary men. Had they been the hordes of Zapotecas, or Tlaxcaltecas, or any other of the countless peoples that had waged war against us, our spirits would not have been so shaken. We felt terror only because we thought we were facing the unknown. When it became clear that your