Free Malinche by Laura Esquivel Page A

end of his empire. Malinalli could prevent this from happening. She could proclaim that the Spaniards had not been sent by Quetzalcóatl, and they would be destroyed in a moment … along with her, and she did not want to die a slave. She yearned to live in freedom, no longer to be given from one to another, no longer to lead such an errant life.
    There was no going back, no way to come out unharmed. She knew too well Montezuma’s cruelty, and she knew that if the Spanish were defeated in their venture, she would be condemned to death. Faced with this possibility, she understandably wanted the Spanish to triumph. And if to assure their victory she had to keep alive the idea that they were gods come from the sea, she would do so, although by now she wasn’t very convinced of the idea. The hope that one day she would be able to do whatever she wanted, marry whom she wanted, and have children without the fear that they might be taken into slavery or destined as sacrifices, was enough to make her take a step back. What she most wanted was a piece of earth that belonged to her and where she could plant her grains of corn, the ones that she always carried with her and that had come from her grandmother’s cornfield. If the Spaniards could make sure that her dreams would crystallize, then it was worthwhile helping them.
    Of course, this didn’t assuage her guilt or make clear to her what she should say and what she should keep silent about. What kind of a life is worth defending with lies? And who could confirm that they were lies? Perhaps she was being too harsh. Perhaps the Spaniards had been sent by Quetzalcóatl and it was her duty to collaborate with them until she died, sharing with them privileged information that had come directly from the mouth of a woman in Cholula. This woman had loved Malinalli’s confident personality, her beauty, and her physical strength, and she wanted her as a wife for her son. With the intent of saving Malinalli’s life she had confided in her, warning her that in Cholula they were preparing an ambush against the Spanish. The plan was to arrest them, wrap them up in hammocks, and take them to Tenochtitlán alive. The woman suggested that Malinalli leave the city before this happened and that afterward she could marry her son.
    Malinalli now had the burden of deciding whether or not to share this information with the Spaniards. Cholula was a sacred place. One of Quetzalcóatl’s temples was situated there. The defense or attack of Cholula meant the defense or attack of Quetzalcóatl. Malinalli was more confused than ever. The only thing she was sure of was that she needed silence to clear her mind.
    She implored the gods for silence. What most tormented her, aside from the external noises, were the noises within, the voices in her mind that told her not to say anything, not to give the Spaniards any valuable information that might save their lives, for something was wrong. Perhaps the foreigners were not who she thought they were, not the envoys of Quetzalcóatl. Certainly their recent behavior did not conform to the ideal model that she had devised. She felt disillusioned.
    For one thing, there was a total incongruity between the meaning of the name Cortés (courteous) and the man himself. To be cortés was to be sensitive and respectful, and she didn’t think the man possessed either of these attributes, nor did the men that he had brought with him. She couldn’t believe that god’s emissaries would behave in such a manner, that they would be so rough, so rude, so ill spoken, even insulting their own god when they were angry. Compared to the gentleness and lyricism of the Náhuatl, Spanish was a bit aggressive.
    There was one thing, though, that was worse than the unpleasant manner with which the Spanish gave orders, and that was the odor that emanated from them. She never expected that the emissaries of Quetzalcóatl would smell so