Alfred Döblin’s AMAZONAS Trilogy Part 3

Volume One Part 3 : Las Casas and Sukuruya

 

Puerto’s vow   ≈ Sermon in the forest   ≈ The Inquisition   ≈ Flight into the forest  ≈ The end   ≈ Sukuruya   ≈ Tiye and Guaricoto   ≈ Return of the Amazons

Puerto’s Vow

When he followed Governor Quesada out of Coro, and in the presence of Quesada, Belalcazar and Federmann consecrated the first straw-thatched church in Santa Fe, Las Casas was a young man. Death had seized and sundered the three generals and warlords. The white-haired Dominican still went among the darkskinned people, was bishop of the state of Chiapas and tried to preach Christianity.

New ships came constantly from Europe with officers, mercenaries, weapons. The human volcano kept spewing. Long and terrible the path the Whites must tread in order to annihilate, to lose themselves.

Merchants landed at the ports, brought wine, oil, vinegar, salt pork, clothing, horses, hounds. Soldiers herded dark people together and sold them to the ships in exchange for these goods. One horse was worth a hundred people. If a captain fancied a keg of wine, he would trade for it the prettiest girl of the village that he owned.

Once a captain came from an island where he had engaged in heavy fighting with natives. In a moment of great peril he vowed to honour the twelve apostles by butchering twelve heathen every day. He was young and amiable, suffered from glands like many soldiers. Las Casas, indefatigable, had rejoined the army as it crossed Darien and was in the service of this captain, Juan del Puerto. One day, when several young Indians wept and would not attend to their lessons, Las Casas came in to inspect the class and the young priest who taught it, and learned from the children that their parents had died the day before. Las Casas could obtain no further information. But he heard from soldiers that this was Juan del Puerto’s daily sacrifice. Either he takes bloodhounds into the bush, or else he seizes some slave labourers. He’s already had altercations with the bailiffs about this. But he’s an honest man and always provides replacements.

Las Casas invited the young captain to his tent. Juan looked wretched, dragged his feet. He sat down at once, complained about his burdens and cursed this land of poisons and snakes where he had acquired his infection. Las Casas noted the feverish eyes and strong trembling hands. He forbade the captain to curse and asked if he attended Mass regularly. Juan said yes. Then Las Casas spoke of the lesson and what the children had said. The captain was surprised. What has this to do with him.

“It seems they are children of natives whom you have killed.”

“Heathens. It’s possible.”

“Were they really heathen? These are children under our instruction.”

“The ones I kill are heathen.”

“They say you have even killed some labourers.”

“Heathen. Anyway, lord bishop, if you want to lay a complaint against me, don’t bring me to your tent. We are at war. Anything I do in war, I answer for to my general.”

“Do not strut so, Juan del Puerto. It is not my place to complain. I am an old servant of the Church. You know that, my dear man, it’s why you came, and you were right to do so. You are sick, and none of us knows when we shall stand before God’s mercy.” The young captain kept silent. “Every day you kill twelve people.”

“I made a vow when we stood in mortal peril and only eight of my twenty men were alive: if we are saved, I shall offer a daily sacrifice of twelve heathen, the number of the Apostles.”

“And you have maintained this for weeks, twelve people a day.”

“Yes.”

White-haired Las Casas planted himself before the captain’s stool: “People!”

The captain: “It is a vow.”

“You shall go to confession and pray to be relieved of this vow.”

The captain regarded him uncertainly: “You’ll take on the responsibility, lord bishop? Will you?”

Las Casas’ big black eyes flashed with anger, then became small and dull, softly he said “Yes,” and sat down.

The soldier wanted to leave, but the priest asked him to stay. He asked the soldier to approach, his eyesight was no longer good. Then Las Casas sat beside Juan del Puerto, held the rosary in his fingers and murmured and tried to feel what it was that sat beside him. “When you made the vow, captain, and struck down the first twelve people, what were your thoughts?”

At Las Casas’ gentle tone the face of the young captain, averted and glowering, became even more tense, menacing folds appeared above his nose: “You have no say in this, Father Las Casas. You always travel in the baggage train, let yourself be carried or ride a horse. You don’t see what it costs us to be here.”

In the same gentle tone the priest asked: “And why did you come all this way?”

“Not to save souls, certainly not! If I wanted to save souls, my own would be first, cursed as it is. And my companions are no better, be they Spaniards or Portuguese or Hollanders or Germans. Whoever catches the bug over there and can’t help but cross the ocean, he is cursed. It’s our fate, all of us. It’s a glorious voyage of discovery. You only have to look around here for a month, a week, to see it. Gold drives you over here, and you must pay. If only the world knew nothing of gold. But maybe they’d find something else. There’s nothing wrong with us, bishop, believe me, I may be young still, but I understand people.”

“Please go on.”

“Over there they have no use for us. You know that. Whoever doesn’t go for a monk is lost. The Spanish Crown cannot provide all the positions we need. And I am no peasant. It’s good that the king himself wages war. Otherwise truly we would have to band together and incite him to make war on us. And if the king should have no wars with white men, he must set us up with lands where we can put our swords to use. As the plough is to the peasant, so the sword is to us. We sow and harvest with it, for the king and for ourselves. It’s a matter of blood, we know that. But we pay dearly, sometimes with our own blood.”

“You have been in the wars a great deal, for a young man. I believe you no longer know what a human being is, captain.”

“Stop. What humans, here? They are weeds. I pollute my sword with them. Just because someone can guzzle and make babies, it doesn’t make him human. Even my horse is better than a man, I can rely on him, he’s loyal. But the Indians are deceitful, they are like dry grasses and weeds, they have no blood or it’s poisonous, growing so thick you can’t push through, it tears at your arms and legs, you cut it down and it springs right back up.”

“Tell me again, what does it do for you when you kill them?”

The young captain was silent. He sat with head bowed, as if pondering. He broke out in boyish laughter: “I’m sorry. Something occurred to me when you said ‘kill’.”

“Well?”

“Since you are of such a tender disposition, I’d rather not say.”

“Please speak, captain.”

“Once we were somewhere, I had a good friend who was sick a long while, and he’s under the earth now, somewhere. We had orders to march, and among my friend’s servants was a lad he treated well, like everyone else. So one morning as they’re all preparing to march he says to the lad, Jose or Ignaz or whatever his name is, Jose, fetch my targe, we’re off. The lad says nothing, fetches the targe, my friend mounts up, me beside him, and we ride off towards the mustering ground, maybe a quarter of an hour away. The lad stays at the edge of the place like an old donkey, doesn’t move from the spot. My friend shouts: Well, are you coming? The boy says nothing. My friend is not at all an impatient man, he’s just puzzled and says to me: what shall I do with the idiot? He dismounts, hands me the reins, drags the lad across: you will pick up the targe and come with me. – I stay here. –You’re coming, I tell you. So he doesn’t reply. So my friend draws his dagger and says: here, see this dagger? You have two ears. If you don’t come, I shall slice off your ears, one by one. The lad says nothing. My friend grabs his head, and calm as you like, swish swosh, cuts off his ears one after the other.”

Las Casas covered his eyes with a hand: “Impossible.”

“But I was there. As I said, your nature is too gentle. The lad stood quite still, his face didn’t change, he knew what to expect, just blood trickling down to his shoulders, he knew: that’s how it should be.”

“How it should be?”

“Of course. My friend said: see, that’s for your disobedience. Will you come along now? But he shook his head. Think again, lad, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re not a pretty picture just now. The girls won’t admire you. You’ll come along now. He doesn’t answer and puts the targe down on the ground. So my friend grabs his nose and slices off his nose and top lip all in one go. The lad says not a word. My friend gets back on his horse, he’s annoyed, curses: you can’t do anything with these donkeys, they’re all the same. When I look round the stupid lad is lying on the ground, and people are running from the village towards him. He must have lost a lot of blood.”

After a pause the captain said: “The tale just came into my head. My friend was a good man, for sure. He was a dear comrade. He’s long dead now.”

Las Casas struggled with himself. No thoughts would come. The ghastly repellent presence of this man. He passed a hand over his eyes. “Forget your friend, speak of yourself. Why did you make such a vow? Think.”

The captain turned his gaunt face to him with a smile: “But you must know! I hope for grace.”

“By killing the defenceless?”

“Father Las Casas, I have never killed a Christian, unless maybe in the fighting in Italy. I strike down these heathen and set them a task: go before the throne of grace and say: I am a damned heathen soul sent here by captain Don Juan del Puerto. And that will astonish.”

“And you never feel pity?”

“Never. This land is cursed. We should exterminate the heathen. They have poisoned me. From me they can expect no mercy.”

Then the young captain stood up and excused himself, he had duties. The old bishop grasped his hand: “This is the hand that holds the dagger. I shall not let go until you swear to me that today you will strike nobody down, and will go straight to confession and pray to be released from your vow.”

The captain stood uncertain and sombre: “You have not persuaded me, Father. My friends will laugh at me.”

“I am the bishop. Your father confessor will tell you that the good of your soul depends on this.”

“Well, if you say so.”

Las Casas remained for hours in his tent. When next he sat at his desk he had before him all the letters and memorials that he had written to clergy and the Spanish Crown. He laid his head on them.

Sermon in the Forest

It was still early, he wandered through the camp, everyone was busy and greeted him respectfully. Five riders trotted past on their steeds, one jumped down when he saw the priest, it was the commander, he declared his pleasure at the priest’s presence in the camp and mentioned that they would conduct a hunt today for fugitives from some nearby villages. “We shall gather the heathen again, and your school will once more be full, bishop.”

Las Casas said sadly: “Let them flee.”

“You have doubts? You could never be a warrior in a land with a rabble like these. Take courage, we’ll have them back with you. And they shall become good Christians, even if I must send a detachment of soldiers with whips to sit beside them in the school.”

“You are most amiable, captain. Would you allow me to approach the fugitives, speak with them and invite them to return before you start your hunt?”

“Gladly. It’ll spare us work. But how will you find them?”

“Thank you, may the Lord bless you. Give me a couple of days.”

Three times Las Casas sent envoys to the Motilones with presents. The envoys brought the presents back. When the last of them returned, Las Casas wept. He tipped the envoy and shut himself away. But this envoy went back to the Motilones and reported what he had seen. Then they debated for a long while. The white priest’s distress unsettled them. They arranged a meeting with him.

Near Mahates, Las Casas climbed from the boat and up towards a plane tree where he could see a cluster of dark people wearing festive plumes, one group was armed. As he approached across the grass the spear-bearers made a signal. Those escorting Las Casas explained: he was to take himself to the spot assigned to him, within earshot of the group. When the priest heard this and saw the spearmen, he stood still. He sent one of his escort ahead to announce that he came as a friend, unarmed, they could search the boat. They answered at once that he was welcome, it was their custom to arrange things so.

Slowly and sorrowfully, almost fifty paces from the natives, Las Casas lowered himself onto the grass at the spot they had marked with a broken branch. As he sat there he prayed and asked help from God. Then he began to speak boldly. He asked if they were his enemies, had he harmed them or any of their tribe. – They denied this. – Then he asked why they had abandoned their old villages. – Because of the animals that they hunt, these have moved away from the old places. – And why they no longer come to the lovely little church and let themselves and their children receive instruction. They are baptised, after all. – They replied: also because of the animals. When they and their children go to church, the hunting is bad.

Las Casas was hurt to hear this, he knew their dreadful superstitions. His eyesight was no longer keen, he strove to make out their faces. He named the two chiefs and their eldest sons, whom he recognised: “Have you been busy again with reeds and leaves, making mask costumes? Have you built another hut for your masks?”

They shook their heads, but he could not see their faces at that distance. He turned to one of his dark escorts and whispered: “What are they doing? Are they signing to one another?”

The man said: “They look calmly across to us, Father.”

“They do not wrinkle their brows?” – “No, Father.”

Now Las Casas tried again: “You know I am well disposed towards you. You have guided me for great distances and have spoken for me to your friends. I have often sat by your fires.”

“You are still our friend. So we have come to greet you and sit across from you. We rely on your friendship.”

“Tell me in accordance with the truth, why you who have been baptised avoid my instruction and keep your children away.”

“It is hard for us, Father Las Casas. We are poor people and have much to do, and we cannot send our children by themselves. It is our poverty, Father Casas.”

“You were not nearly so poor before. Now you live in a bad area.”

“We are not as clever as white people. We like to sit with you when you talk to us. We are not clever. Do not scold us for that.”

“You have made no masks?”

“No, Father Las Casas.”

He prayed quietly that it might be true.

“Listen to me, my friends. You are Christians like me. There is no barrier between you and me. We are brothers. I beseech you, do not go into the forests. The Devil dwells there. You are my brothers, but your faith is a tender plant, and weak. You risk its destruction. You must strengthen it. I will keep you from temptation. Here I have several rosaries for you, they bestow great strength when you take them in your hand and speak the words I have taught you.”

Las Casas stretched the hand with the bundle of rosaries out towards them. They started whispering. Then two young people came slowly over with spears, stopped a good way from him and one of them held out a spear: “Give.”

Las Casas, red with anger, berated them: “What? Are you not ashamed?” They stood there uncertain and glanced back at their people. The elder of the chiefs said:

“We have experienced many bad things from the Whites, and we are afraid.”

In anger Las Casas flourished the bundle: “These are holy chains.”

“We know them, Father Las Casas. Be our friend still. Several of us and our children have them. When the rains come we shall sit in our huts and carve some more.”

“You will carve idols.”

“We beg you, Father Las Casas, do not be angry. Do not be aggrieved. Be our friend still. Accept presents from us.”

The two young warriors ran back and fetched a live graceful deer, a dwarf deer, pulled it along by a string, and one held a pretty parrot.

The young men at once ran back to their people. Las Casas stroked both creatures, his escorts held them: “I am greatly pleased. I see that you love me still. But will you accord me one more gladness? Will you listen to me?”

“What would our friend Father Las Casas say to us?”

“Oh, but see how I must talk to you, you placed leaves here where I must sit and you sit over there, this is my misfortune. But I will admonish you and beseech you to the best of my ability. My dear friends, for whose salvation I would give my life, do not forget what you have learned from us.”

“The white man should not weep. He knows we have learned much from him.”

“When tribes first meet, they are ignorant of the other’s language and their customs, and if they come from different parts of the world, discord easily arises. But the hour also comes when they understand one another. For we are of different skin colour but are all the same humanity, created by the one and only God, and the one and only Saviour appeared to us all.”

“You speak clearly, Father Las Casas, and your words are honey to our ears. But why do you speak to us and not to your own people? We never encountered your people because we never sought them. Our ancestors and fathers lived here in peace.”

“In Heaven dwells eternal God, who created Earth and Heaven and everything above and below, in six days. He has ordained all that shall pass. He separated light and darkness, set sun and moon in their place. He formed the grasses and herbs, trees and plants that bring nourishment, and fishes in the waters, and everything that creeps upon the earth, and the fowl of the air. He ordained that the sun shall revolve and there shall be day and then night when the stars and the moon shall shine. He directed the rivers to rise and fall, and drought and rain to follow one another, so that every plant and animal finds sustenance. On the last day He delved in the earth and from the clay in His hand fashioned the figure of Man, in the likeness of Himself the great Creator, and when He saw the likeness He blew His own breath into him. Then He placed the man down among the trees and plants, birds and creeping things, and gave to humans dominion over all that lives, even all plants and herbs. And this was the creation of the world.

“And then men grew wicked and heedless of His word. And then – He sent a great flood over the whole Earth, and all the seas and rivers rose and the floodgates of Heaven were opened. The waters rose over every valley and hill, all flesh that moved on the earth was drowned, birds found no tree where they could perch, and found no nourishment and starved and fell into the mighty waters. And the waters rose and rose. Men fled. But the waters that poured down from the heavens and swelled up from the earth were too fast for them, and even though they climbed to the highest mountains and clung to the tops of the tallest trees, they were drowned. And even those who took to boats could not withstand the tempest and were thrown into the water. And if they withstood the storm for day after day, they became weak from hunger. Great whales emerged from the water, Leviathan, and rammed their ships, none were left on the water.

“And in this way, my dear friends, all the people and beasts and plants of the earth would have been destroyed by the deluge, sent by almighty God in His wrath at the wickedness and depravity of mankind, were it not for one who was good and who took pity on living things. And He set this man the task of going into a ship with all his family. He was to build this ship, a large one, with doors and windows and decks, lower, middle and upper. And into this ship the good man led his wife, his sons and their wives and a pair of every kind of animal and every kind of bird. And when seven days had passed the man, whose name was Noah, closed up the windows and doors, for the great flood broke over the earth, as had been ordained so that all flesh would be destroyed because of the terrible, unfathomable, incorrigible wickedness of mankind. The judgement lasted forty days and forty nights, the waters overran the highest peaks. Everything that lived on dry land died because of man’s guilt. And when the waters receded, Noah and his family left the boat, and animals and birds spread across the earth again.”

Las Casas paused. He stroked the delicate deer, which nuzzled against him. Las Casas thought of the unfathomable ineradicable depravity of humankind and how he was now sitting among his friends.

The chief praised the white priest: “Truly you are a man of great knowledge. We rejoice that you remain our friend, for we would learn from you more things that we do not yet understand.”

The other chief: “All people are descended from the great father Noah, who travelled in a ship over the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“Do the white people know this? Have you told this to them?”

“You ask something, but leave something unsaid.”

“They do bad things to us, and you say to them that great father Noah is the common father of them and of us.”

“I have not told you the end of my story, what happened on the earth after they rode on the waters that drowned the wicked people. Once the waters receded people spread again across the earth, and many tribes and peoples arose. They dwelt under other skies, they were of different colours, they began to speak different tongues. They forgot their common father and almighty God, the one and only, who created them out of clay according to His own image and blew His breath into their nostrils. They no longer knew one another. And afflictions again grew great.”

The chief: “You will tell us of this also.” The little deer had settled calmly at Las Casas’ feet, the brown people were pleased.

Las Casas raised his arms in their flowing Dominican sleeves: “I have still not reached the end. If this were the end, I would have to sit here before you and lament: see, my friends, it has come to this, the great destruction of the earth was to no avail, humanity did not pass the test, it again fell into iniquity. War, murder and hatred ruled. I would have to sit here before you, embrace this placid creature and beseech great God in Heaven: Lord, do with us as Thou wilt, we deserve nothing else! But it is not so. Now I shall bring my report to a conclusion. Great God in Heaven saw what we see. His ears were assailed by lamenting over the crimes of humanity, over their iniquity and wickedness. The poor also gained a voice from Him, He hears poor and rich, ruler and servant. And as the lamenting grew beyond all bounds, this time He did not send a punishment upon man. For it was He Himself who created him from clay. Instead, in His goodness He sent succour. He came down to a human virgin, whose name was Mary, and she conceived a son by Him. The son of God was called Jesus. He appeared on the Earth. God sent him to humans because He pitied them. Jesus lived among people, in a distant land, a long time ago, in the form of a man. We know the words he spoke. He became the saviour and redeemer of people, of all people, of every tongue and every colour. The Whites and many dark peoples know of him. They rejoice in him. Now all can attain in Heaven the state of happiness and peace that they cannot attain on earth. God has opened His own Heaven to those who believe in Him and his son.”

For a long time no one spoke. Then the chiefs whispered among themselves, the elder thanked Las Casas for his report: “You are our friend, and we shall ask you later about those things we do not understand. But tell us, Father Las Casas, if it is no trouble to you: we would like to go to this heaven where peace and happiness are. Our old men speak of this place but do not agree on where it is. Tell us, where is this heaven of peace and happiness, and what paths must we follow or cut to reach there. Some of our tribes have sought in vain.”

“Heaven lies above the clouds, beyond the sun, moon and stars. There sits the Creator of us all, the one mighty God. His son sits at His right hand, Mary and many angels are there with Him. No road leads from earth to there. God alone calls those to Him who die believing in Him, loving His son and obedient to His commandments. To these He shows the way, these only.”

This seemed not to satisfy the dark men. The chief asked: “What are these commandments?”

“Not to kill, to be peaceable, to worship God, Jesus and the saints. Come to me as you were before. I shall tell you everything again.”

But the dissatisfied expression on the faces of the people did not change. The chief sat up straight, his voice was very firm: “With these words, Father Las Casas, you yourself betray that God wants to know nothing of the Whites. We have discussed your words that you have repeated to us and came a long way to say to us. If you had travelled alone across the wide ocean, Father Las Casas, we would have welcomed you as a friend. You would have become our brother. We would have made you our leader and teacher. But you came with warriors. You know the bad things they do to us. They chase us from our huts and drive us into the mines. Preach to them, hinder their actions. But we have seen that you are powerless among them. They just take you along when they attack us. Father Las Casa, either you are playing a false game, or you are seeking help from us.”

Las Casas pushed aside the little deer, which at once stood and ran around him. He was shocked: “You are my enemies?”

“We know you are honest. What help do you seek from us?”

“I want to advise you to be peaceable, to leave the forest and attend the church and school that you built.”

“They will force us to do work that we do not want to do. Will they release our brothers from the gold mines?”

“Everyone must work, and obey their superiors.”

“We are not prisoners.”

Las Casas sat slumped, he held a hand over his eyes and they saw that he was weeping. The elder chief spoke more gently: “Tell your Whites that they must release our people from the mines. Then come back.” Las Casas nodded and remained sitting. The chief screwed up his eyes and spoke more softly, as if he were alone with Las Casas: “Perhaps our friend does not dare to speak out in front of these men. Perhaps he fears betrayal. None of our people will betray him. If you are afraid of your escorts, who are known to us, we shall seize them.”

Las Casas: “I have no secrets.”

≈≈≈

When the priest and his escorts had travelled a little while along the river, deer and parrot at his side, the men shouted that a boat was pursuing them. It was paddling fast, with a dozen dark men on board. They called across that the priest should step alone onto the low bank, the chiefs have one more request. Without hesitation, Las Casas gave the order to land. The chief climbed from the other boat. They walked a hundred yards from the beached vessels. The chief once more assured him of their friendship and affection. He wanted to know if Las Casas was looking for help from them. They were ready to give it.

Las Casas, bewildered, asked: “What help?”

“You are a good man, a wise man. You live among wicked people. They ignore your words. You did not finish your story of the son who was sent by the creator of the world, but I have heard it from your mouth on another occasion. He came to the Whites and they murdered him. You carry the awful cross with you, in his memory. But we do not understand why the Whites still speak of their shame. You come to us, you have no success with them, they remain wicked. Accept our welcome. We shall heed you. We shall destroy the wicked.”

“Is this why you came after me?”

“You can speak here. If you want to keep your thoughts hidden from the Whites, we can pretend to kidnap you. We shall take your escorts prisoner. All is prepared.”

At this point, when Las Casas looked around at the boats lying peacefully side by side on the bank, something happened that he never forgot.

He was overcome suddenly by a terrible, quite alien fear, and was filled with an eerie sense of dread. His sank to his knees, closed his eyes.

And at once he was gliding between two rows of black houses down an alley that led straight to the water, the sea, and he was standing on a ship, a huge heavily armed battle frigate under full sail, and when he looked around there were many others following in its wake, and he was their leader. They sailed soughing over the sea. The wind allowed no doubt as to where they were heading. A line could already be seen on the horizon. And when he walked the deck it was most sweet to see how friends surrounded him, many dark friendly people with open faces, his dear children, and it was given to him to carry them to Spain. They all prayed to the Lord on the great crucifix, sought forgiveness for his sufferings, and it was certain that the Saviour in his suffering smiled down upon them. Gangplanks were run out, from a hundred ships they went ashore, it was Spain, flags flew, every bell rang. Hostile towns fell like dry thistles at their approach, armies took up position, he destroyed them with a wave of his hand, you saw horses run away, the battlefield was littered with weapons. Then there was a castle where the king sat with his counsellors. He gathered his courage and said: “We set out, Spanish majesty, to conquer foreign lands for you. We bring back no gold. For what do you want with gold, in a short while we are all dead and must stand before God. But we bring you heavenly messengers. And so that you and your counsellors may believe this, I have brought proofs. We found peaceful people, huge numbers of them, on islands and the mainland, on mountains and in plains, on rivers and in the savannah and in forests. We found them everywhere in the wretched lands that you commanded us to discover, and they covered the earth like autumn leaves. Goodness and peace exist on the earth. Then some of your generals believed it necessary to make war on them because they are still rude and Christianity has not yet penetrated to them. But I put a stop to it and am here with them.”

Thus he spoke to the king, who sat on a raised throne amid his counsellors, and Las Casas knelt. But now Las Casas stood upright before him, dressed in his black Dominican habit, and held the crucifix in both hands, his myriad friends were with him and that gave him strength: “And now I say to you, King of Spain, and to you, the king’s counsellors, now I say to you, the great nation over which the king reigns: here I stand with my people, they have become Christians and are dark-skinned. Our Saviour loved all people of whatever colour equally. Go down from your throne, King of Spain, make way, counsellors. You have done what you could. But it was bad and must stop. You sent out robbers and murderers and incendiaries, you have disgraced the name of the Whites and have not introduced Christianity but rather eradicated it. You have allowed yourselves to be deceived by churches and monasteries in your own land. But I have seen your people in the New Indies, and they were guided not by Jesus Christ but by avarice, belligerence and misanthropy. They breathed wickedness and cruelty. Therefore be not tardy, King of Spain, in coming down from your throne, if you are truly a Christian. Admit that you are powerless. Look across to the New Indies and see how millions of people lie dismembered, flayed, starved. This was the work of your people.”

And now he raised his voice and cried out: “Down from your throne, King of Spain, it no longer belongs to you. And if you want me to spare you, then take yourself to a monastery and atone!”

And the throne fell over without a sound, and the king and counsellors and the entire palace were blown away like paper. From the cathedral the archbishop emerged with a great retinue. The archbishop climbed from his chair, the old gouty man embraced Las Casas, they wept together for joy. Receive our thanks, Las Casas. Our sins cried out to Heaven. None of us knew what to do. God’s kingdom will come. Blessed, that I see this day.

Las Casas twitched. He opened his eyes. The chief stood a few paces away, his face showed awe. When Las Casas glanced across at him the chief moved his lips, but controlled himself and said nothing. Now Las Casas stood, looked behind and saw the two boats on the bank. He forced a smile and said: “Your friend is old, he dozed off in the afternoon.”

“What did your dream tell you?”

“It told me good things about you.”

The chief beamed: “What answer do you grant me?”

“I am sorry, I forget what your question was. Please excuse this old man.”

“You are wise, and a dream visited you by day. I offered you our help. If you are our friend, come to us whenever you want, send us a sign, a feather from the parrot you accepted from us as a gift of honour. Answer in your own good time.”

On the way back they did not speak. The natives departed in awe. The Dominican’s lips remained sealed all day.

A major roundup of fugitive tribes was undertaken in the hinterland of Mahates as far as the Dique river. The campaign was a failure. Only a handful of prisoners were brought back. Las Casas approached them, they sat in a wooden cage. He was shocked to see one of the chiefs among them. The monk spoke to him. He turned his head away. The monk saw only hostile faces. The commander of the camp stood behind him with some officers.

“You observe our captives. Because of you we missed many others.”

“Your spoils are meagre. Even without me they would have been no greater. You would have caught a few more people, that is all. I can only tell you again, commander: this is not the right method. We were not sent here by the Crown, and the Holy Father in Rome did not promise these lands to the Spanish Crown, so that we could play the Deluge and exterminate every living thing.”

“I know, and so does everyone else, that that is how you see it, bishop. If only we knew how to arrive at your better methods. We gave you time to try. It failed, no?”

“We must try harder.”

“Then what, then what? Shall I tell you what? We’d better quit this land and leave it to the heathen! Then they’ll be happy.”

The officers laughed their agreement. The commander pointed to the young gentlemen: there you have it.

“We must adopt slow, peaceful methods.”

“I know, bishop. You are the great friend of man and friend of the heathen. But believe me: it’s best if each sticks to his own profession, you to your preaching and us to our soldiering.” The gentleman squealed: “Quite right!” One said: “A soldier gains Heaven more easily through fighting than through prayer.” The commander smacked the young warrior’s laughing mouth. They walked on.

The heart pounded within the old man Las Casas. He left the camp and wandered slowly towards the plain. A young monk came up from there, joined the bishop, they did not speak. Las Casas was tired and could not walk far, the day was growing hotter. They halted in a stand of eucalyptus, huge trunks side by side made a palisade, it was shady. A yellow-brown owl was watching the entrance to an armadillo’s hole. They both stared at the large bird as it sat unmoving in the shade.

Then Las Casas thought of the captain Juan del Puerto. Had he murdered again today and yesterday? What does the Church seek here? It would be better to have no hand in this.

Las Casas turned to the young priest, who was waiting to be addressed: “Do you consider the officers in our camp to be good Christians?”

The priest: “They are.”

So that was it. They were good Christians, they appeared so, this is the result of our labours after a thousand saints and martyrs, the sufferings of the Saviour, Mary’s intercession with God. The earth must be destroyed once more.

Las Casas groaned. He laid an arm on the young priest’s shoulder, and slowly they strolled back from the forest. The owl had not moved.

Next day the bishop asked that the captured chief be sent to him. He came into Las Casas’ tent, escorted by a soldier and shackled with chains, and stood there with downcast eyes. The bishop ordered the soldier to wait outside. He invited the chief to sit. He refused: “You betrayed us.”

“No one has asked me where to find you and I have said nothing. You did not tell me the name of the place.”

“You are no longer our friend. We gave you presents.”

“What do you want?”

“Give back the araras and the deer. We trusted you, but you work magic with them against us.”

“Chief, I shall free all of you who have been captured, you shall not go to the mines, you shall work in the plantations and I shall speak with you every day and instruct you.”

“Will you give the creatures back to me?”

“Won’t you leave them with me?”

“Give them back.”

Las Casas nodded: “And you will obey me and not run away?”

The chief smiled: “I know why you want to free us. Because the Whites do not listen to you. But you think we will.”

“And will you?”

“Speak to the commander, set us free, take away these chains and give back the creatures. Then I shall answer you.”

≈≈≈

After a long discussion with Las Casas, the commander released the captives. Whether they would be allowed to leave camp and remain unguarded would depend on their behaviour.

In his tent Las Casas handed the two creatures back to the chief: “I kept my word. Sit down.”

The chief squatted on the mat. After lengthy pondering he said: “You told us how the world was created. But you said something untrue, and so my people do not want to listen to you. You said: On the last day God delved in the moist soil and from the clay in his hand he made the figure of man in his own image and blew his own breath into him. Then he set the man on his feet among trees and plants and gave the man dominion over all that lives.”

“Yes. He said: man shall have dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over everything that creeps upon the earth. And when God had made the man and the woman he blessed them and said to them: Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and the fowl of the air, and over all the creatures that walk on the earth.”

The chief squatted there on his mat, not moving, he wore only a scanty loincloth, black stringy hair fell in a tangle over his face. The dwarf deer stood just as motionless at his side, and the red parrot on his left fist that rested on his knee.

“Why do you not speak, chief?”

“I asked the parrot if you used him to make magic against us. He said no. I asked the deer too.”

“You thought ill of me.”

“You told the truth, Las Casas, you did not use the deer and the parrot for magic against us. But you did not tell truly what God said. For animals and humans are of one blood. Otherwise how could the tapir be our ancestor.”

“We received breath from God, He created us in His image.”

The chief laughed: “Then after we die we must become God.”

“After we die we go to Him in Heaven, if we are baptised and faithful and keep His commandments.”

The dark man was still smiling: “We know the tapir is our ancestor. And if we were to rule over every animal, bird and fish…” He laughed out loud. Then he struck himself on the mouth, wiped away the smile and looked nervously at the two creatures, which did not move.

“I do not know why you laughed.”

“Because you are a wise man, but have never been on a hunt. We have a lot to do to catch a fish, find honey, hunt game. We must not frighten them. We are good to them and they to us. We propitiate them all the time. Then they let us catch them and we can live. But if we are bad and have not made them friendly towards us, they avoid us and we and our families go hungry. That is how we hunt, wise bishop, and catch fish and find honey.”

“You are right. I have never been on a hunt. But people have told me about your hunts, and I know how it is done in my country. There the hunters have spears and crossbows, some have fire tubes, and throw spears and stab and shoot the game.”

“And what do they do when it does not come?”

“They seek it out.”

“But they can’t find it.”

“They find it.”

“Then your forests are very small. We cannot find it and we have better eyes than the whites.”

The old bishop was exhausted. “We have big forests too.”

The dark man shrugged. “The game does not come when we have offended it. Father Las Casas, we do not rule over the animals. The tapir is our ancestor, other tribes are descended from the howler monkey.”

“No, no,” Las Casas roused himself. “What are you saying again, I forbade you to speak so, they are not of your blood, you are not animals, you are human, Jesus Christ is our blood, I would like to take away those creatures that sit beside you. You must pick up the rosary and look at the crucifix.”

The dark man said calmly: “Many of us did so and worked in the mines and are dead.”

“This is war, the men are agitated, know not what they do. Pious people do not act like this.”

“Send us pious people, Father Las Casas. We shall live in peace with them.”

Las Casas was weary and sent the chief away. He tried to calm himself before the crucifix, but failed. The natives were recalcitrant, Satan was up to his tricks, kept enticing them into the forest where he dwelt with his demons. The satanic forest.

≈≈≈

He wandered through the empty settlement with the young priest. His heart contracted when he saw his church, the door open, early Mass already said, no child and no adult at the door for instruction, small birds flying through the building, parrots squabbling on the altar table. The priest ran to shoo them away. Las Casas looked dumbly on. When they came out, a horde of little monkeys was leaping around on the roof. The young man laughed: “Stones are the only thing to chase them away.”

“Let them be, let them be.” Then Las Casas said he realised that Satan must be fought on the ground, in every nook and cranny. We build towns here, but the people flee.

“We must hold onto them,” was the pious young man’s view, “we must make things more pleasant for them.”

“We cannot engage in a contest with the forest. I see that one day the forest will grow over our heads. It has already started. Which is stronger: Christ, or the forest? We must go to them ourselves. We must take the struggle against forest and animals to that very ground.”

“Perhaps you are too gloomy, lord bishop.”

“One cannot be too gloomy. In ten years, if I am still alive, you will fall at my feet and say: lord bishop, take me away from here, let me return to my monastery, I can’t go on, I want to remain a good Christian. For we have no help, we are alone, we carry in us an evil force from Europe that hinders us.”

“What do you mean, lord bishop?”

“Our people. You’ve seen it already and will see more. If I could and if I were still young, I would leave this land and go to the savage countries, to Europe, and try to preach Christianity. But I am old and without hope.”

“Lord bishop.”

“What ‘lord bishop’? Whose bishop am I? Tell me! Of the state of Chiapas, yes. Is it the task of a bishop to play doorman to the kingdom of Heaven for people who do not belong there? Do we have any task other than to deceive them as they lie dying? They should roast in Hell if they are wicked, from king down to beggar, every knight and warrior and peasant, if they want nothing else. Christ appeared, his teachings are there, you pray, but if you saw the horrors they inflict with a cold heart every day and every night, you would stand at our church with hammer and nails and nail every door shut. And no sacrament for any of them, no absolution. If you want to be dogs, so be it.”

“Lord bishop.”

“Stop calling me that, child. We are not bishops here, but despairing Christians. What has happened here, on this beautiful earth, stinks to Heaven and deserves no mercy.”

“Oh Almighty, oh Mary, oh Jesus.”

“Yes, let us kneel, child.”

As they returned through the village Las Casas repeated: “We cannot hide out here, and they lurk in the forest. I have no more interest in the Whites, I cannot bring Christ to them, stronger men than I must come.”

In the tent, the priest watched him prostrate himself before the crucifix.

≈≈≈

Las Casas sent to Cartagena and from there forwarded a letter to the governor of Chiapas, stating that he would go with a few priests on a mission to the interior.

The governor knew the obstinacy of his bishop, he wanted to alert him by letter to the dangers of the expedition, but he said to his clerk as he signed and sealed it: “Las Casas continues his old fight with us, he is a spirit that does not understand the world. No doubt he has again denounced us in Spain and been rebuffed. Now he goes to sulk in the corner. Perhaps he hankers for a martyr’s fame.”

The clerk: “Not hard to acquire in these parts.”

“He is an old joker. What hasn’t he put us through! We’re supposed to achieve the impossible. We, mark you, who answer to the Crown with our honour and our purses and have wife and children to boot. He doesn’t. He always answers to ‘God’ and makes speeches. Wish I could do that. When I think how many years I have had to work with this hobgoblin of a bishop, I count it scarcely possible that I’m still alive and haven’t lost my wits. My head spins when I think about it.”

“My lord governor has persevered bravely.”

“The man has cost me years of my life. And he has no shame. What he really wants is to disqualify us all from being Christians because we won’t go along with his harebrained schemes. When the heathen shoot poisoned arrows at us, we’re supposed to respond with honey-cakes. Anyway, thank goodness I don’t have to speak to him this time. I always end up with a fever after he’s been here. Last time I put him on the spot, I said to him: ‘If one properly comprehends your whole approach and considers your views about us and the heathen in the right light, then the correct course of action would be to vacate this place and just leave it to the heathen.’ The fellow answers quite seriously, ‘Yes.’ I ask: ‘And how is it going with the conversions?’ He replies with his usual frankness: ‘You stand in our way.’ So I ask: ‘And why did God allow us to come over and let Cortez and Pizarro and the others overthrow whole empires of heathen.’ Are you listening, clerk?”

“Of course, lord governor. I was just wondering how a clerical gentleman, a bishop no less, could allow himself to adopt such a tone with you.”

The governor: “Las Casas! Who does not know him. They told me at the time of my appointment, ‘Down there you’ll have old bishop Las Casas, he loves the heathen.’ I knew what they meant. So I ask, why did God allow Cortez and Pizarro to overthrow the heathen empires so convincingly with just their little finger. And he answers – .”

“How then, lord governor?”

“What answer would you have given? Because there is no denying that they did overthrow them.”

“He will have talked his way out of it by – the question is really so framed that one cannot duck and weave, he is scuppered.”

“You see. So how does bishop Las Casas answer, our good brother Bartholomew? As calm as you like, as if he had the answer already prepared, he declares: ‘It is not God who gave us these lands. Not God, but Satan. The curse of our depravity should ripen fully. And God is waiting for this. So he lets it happen.’”

“What!”

“Classic Las Casas!”

“One can only shrug one’s shoulders. Really, he is too old.”

“Now he goes into the forest. Let him. He cannot hinder our descent into depravity. We won’t stand in his way if he hankers for the honour of martyrdom.”

Las Casas spoke secretly with the young chief in the camp. He gave the man two parrot feathers and advised him to make sure that they reached the elder chief, and say they could expect him for a discussion at a place to be determined by the chief. He would be accompanied by young priests, unarmed.

When he handed over the feathers, the captive smiled in disbelief, looked at them in the hollow of his hand, and his face showed great joy. Long days later Las Casas received a response. He said to the two young priests: “The shepherd follows his sheep. When the sheep run into the forest, the shepherd must go into the forest. Will you come too?”

They rejoiced in his trust, and agreed.

≈≈≈

During the long time of waiting – the tribe had moved far to the south, the young chief’s envoys were looking for them – Las Casas encountered young captain Puerto again.

The bishop enquired after his health, the officer cast his eyes down. Since a noisy firing practice was taking place, they walked through the camp, the sprightly bishop as usual wanted to stroll outside, but the officer, hollow-cheeked and jaundiced, excused himself and lay down on one of the many treetrunks that were lying about. Las Casas sat by him: “Things are not well with you.”

The young man bit his lip. “I am hurting. No one helps me. I’ll be dead before I go home.”

Las Casas patted his hand: “Are your bandages fresh? Did they give you sarsaparilla? I have people who know where good sarsaparilla grows in the forest.”

“I’ve been there myself. My glands keep thickening, my belly swells, there’s purulence too, and then my mouth. Don’t come too close.”

“Lie down.”

The young man smiled: “Let’s not talk of my sickness. What you want to know is, how do things stand with the twelve heathen each day.”

“Will you lie down?”

“No, lord bishop, don’t talk of it, I don’t want to, please don’t. I’ve given up the business with the twelve heathen. That must make you feel better.”

“How can you speak to me so, what have I done to you.”

“Nothing. You’ve never done anything to me. You trouble yourself with the heathen and are surely content now. I can’t give you back those that are dead.”

“Puerto, I do not understand why you are so bitter.”

“Now, lord bishop, you’ll enquire just like my father confessor as to whether I feel good after giving up on the twelve savages. To spare your questions I shall tell you right away: thank you, it goes well with me.”

Las Casas sat a while, hands in his lap. Then he suggested: “Maybe I should take my leave of you.”

The officer shrugged: “As you like. When you find yourself in a crowd it’s always best to go away.”

“For Heaven’s sake, captain, what has happened to you?”

“I’m dying and many of my friends are dead and many others are going to die. And that’s why we are merry and make sport of the people here. You are quite the victor now. You took away my twelve savages, you’re proud of that, oh yes, and come here and keep working away at it, rescuing ever more savages, the darker and stupider the better. Meanwhile – we who are merely white, who came to you from over there – ”

“What are you saying?”

“— we die as a punishment. That is justice. God keeps a strict court, we suffer fevers and glands. It’s direct evidence for the existence of God.”

“Don’t jest, captain.”

“We die for the glory of God and so you can demonstrate to your savages: see, that’s what happens to those who do evil. Once I suggested we should go to the cookhouse and fetch pots and paint ourselves with soot. Perhaps if we are black, the high clergy will notice us and see that we too are here.”

Las Casas was beside himself: “I don’t understand, I don’t understand.”

“We know that. You think, lord bishop, that we came over from Spain just like you, to do good to the savages. We learned from sailors and from your writings how many savages and heathen there are here, and so we set off from Spain and Portugal and Italy and other places, and said: we don’t see it like that, we must go over there and put an end to the misery. That’s what you think too. Look at me, lord bishop, and at my friends and the soldiers and everything that’s happening today, and speak. Please clarify what you think of me, what you expect of us, how you see us. We’d like to hear it.”

“You fling accusations at me, young soldier – forgive an old man if he should speak so – I beg you, tell me at last what you mean.”

“I talk and talk, what more can I do. I would really like to know what you think of me and how you see us. Have you the faintest notion what a man is, who does not sit in a monastery and pray and guzzle pious offerings – apart from the fact that he’s a sinner and comes to you for confession. For surely he has a life above and beyond his sins. Otherwise you’d have no clue as to why he exists. Did it ever occur to you that even the Whites, and even those who have come here across the ocean, lead a life and are human.”

“Yes, of course, for God’s sake, how you torment me.”

“At least you will concede that I have been courageous and – that I must die here.”

“Puerto, my friend, you will regain your health.”

“No sympathy. Anyway it’s something that you pity me, notice me despite my white skin.”

“Puerto, how have I failed you?”

“So insistent, lord bishop. When I sit here and talk with you, it is not so much for my sake as for others. I was with you before and know it first hand, you advised me to give up the business with the twelve savages.”

“My advice was good.”

“Oh, but you had no more advice after the business with the savages! All it did was show me and my comrades how little we mean to you. Let a single hair fall from the head of a savage, and see how you cry. Farewell, lord bishop. I want to make use of the time I have left.”

Las Casas stood over him, pressed him gently back down onto the log: “You shall not vent your spleen against me. How have I failed?”

As if he were making any random observation, the young man said softly into the air: “We are despicable… We come by ship from Europe, shout and sing, the sea is lovely, life is lovely, and then we fall into the grave, hunger, poison, swamp fever, glands. Whoever fails to escape in time is done for. You can’t live back there, so men come in hordes, armies, they all huzza and hope and then – gone. What is happening here, lord bishop? You know it, I would so much like to know.”

Las Casas sat bowed, white head in his hands, dumb.

“We are despicable. We want happiness. We are betrayed.”

Hey dear Mother, you bore me and I grew to a rogue and ran away, hey, dear Mother, thanks for my life. Hey dear Father, you sired me, let me grow to robber, churl, I damned and despised you. Thank you, dear Father, I thank you.

Las Casas, without moving: “There is no happiness for mankind on earth. The dark people speak of a land without death, they yearn for it, a marvellous tree grows there and nourishes them. We know the world. It is a vale of tears. Were it not so, God would not have needed to send His son. Only with Him is there happiness.”

“We could buy that more cheaply back home. We never found it. They must take us as they find us. What the savages say of a land without death, a marvellous tree, we too thought that.”

“And you too failed to find it.”

“Right. And yet. And yet.” He hunted for words. “It’s not like that, lord bishop.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think what you like. You can’t bring us any farther. And if only you had just left us alone with the savages, when we came over here. It wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“What would you have done if we were not here? Murders would never cease.”

The young man snorted: “You think so? Were you ever a hindrance to murder? No. But if you weren’t here, maybe we would not have done any murdering.”

“What!”

“I believe so. It’s what I think. Anyway, killing is not the worst. You don’t see that. The worst thing – is us and the wicked way we live with the savages and the whole world here. It’s your doing! Yours! I hate you! You force us to murder, you, you. We want none of it.”

Horrified, Las Casas covered his ears. Puerto continued stubbornly: “That’s how it is. We want none of it. You make us do it, you are our ruin.”

“Come, captain,” said Las Casas, standing suddenly. “I shall take you home to your cabin, I shall care for you, you must regain your health. Then we can think it all through together.”

The captain stood awkwardly, they walked back, shots cracked nearer. Las Casas supported the man, who staggered, swayed, mumbled, was delirious.

Puerto: “A blessing that those arquebuses are not in your hands, Father. I’m done for. I’m done for. If I had any say, I’d just as soon turn them on you.”

Next evening he lay in his room, expiring, his face inscrutable. Las Casas administered the last rites. Puerto’s head lay motionless on the pillow, his eyes did not move: “What did you tell me, about the land without death?”

Las Casas spoke of the Heaven of the blessed.

Puerto: “We didn’t want it this way. How good it would be to have it here already.”

“God will receive you. You have repented your sins.”

Puerto breathed: “Yes.” A long pause: “I was so glad to come here. I’ve been at home in two places.”

When Las Casas glanced up from his book a while later, Puerto was smiling at him so tenderly, eyes wide open. Las Casas felt his heart fill with joy. He seized the hand that hung down from the bed. The man smiled on, his gaze directed towards the door. Then Las Casas saw that he was dead.

≈≈≈

Before he went down to the boat Las Casas wrote a long letter to Spain, to his friend and brother Dominican Garcia de Loaysa, who was also confessor to the king:

“God permitted that the counsellors and appointees of our king plundered and murdered so great and rich a world, to the inexpressible shame of our faith. And they had no excuse for this devastation and reduction of the human population. For this occurred not on a single day or in a single year and not in ten and four years, but over sixty and more years, and the counsellors daily received reports from many monks and trustworthy officials on these occurrences and yet made no intervention. And so God permitted that the king, who could have become richer and more happy, has become the poorest. For although the generals and officials have extracted millions in gold and silver, pearls and precious stones from these Indies, all is even now vanishing like smoke. These sums have not aided Spain in delivering itself from eternal wars and crises. They have forced the pawning and selling of kingdoms. So splendidly has the government of the New Indies served you. And for all these injuries and losses, this poverty and these crises and other even greater retributions that loom over Spain, the guilt lies with the wicked counsellors and their murderous servants.”

In a postscript he wrote: how he suffers under the infamy with which the Christian religion is regarded in the new lands because of the depredations of the Whites. He gives all his letters, submissions and writings into the hand of brother Garcia, and they are to remain his property when he, now grown so old, is called away. A second postscript reads: “I am assailed by inexpressible thoughts. Remember me in your prayers, my brother Garcia. The soul of your brother Bartholomew Las Casas belongs to the Holy Church.”

The Inquisition

On European soil, hard by the city of Seville, not far from the gulf of Cadiz where many galleons laden with gold arrived from the Indies and armed men with horses and hounds embarked for the Indies, the cathedral lay at the foot of green hills. A river, the Guadalquivir, led its glittering waters past the hills. Lemon trees beckoned from the heights, bitter-orange groves bloomed in gardens.

In the extensive monastery buildings overlooking the river, in the abbot’s panelled room, a heavy square stone table heaped with folios and scrolls stood before two old men. The old men, enveloped in loose black silks, were supported and flanked by huge red armchairs in which they lay as if in bed.

The hands of one old man extended as balled fists from the ends of his arms, gout had fixed them thus. His eyes were bloodshot, they sensed the grey and yellow of the trees outside, but could not make out trees, oranges or river. This was Garcia de Loaysa.

The one sprawled beside him in a chair, lanky and desiccated, noble nose jutting from a yellow-white bony face, was the abbot of the Carthusians. His mouth, once scornful and severe, gaped now with its feebly sagging lower jaw. What in others would be called eyes had crawled deep into their sockets and were guarded by yellowish lids. A bushy wreath of white hair fringed his little cap.

They shuffled the letter from the bishop of Chiapas this way and that. Garcia felt like smiling, there was a time when he could make any kind of gesture, now his face would not obey, it was as if it lay already in the coffin. In a high soft voice that still obeyed his wishes he said: “Our old brother Bartholomew! As he lives and breathes. It seems he’s still good on his pins. Same age as us and he goes into the forest, to the Indians! Our letters have crossed, I wrote to him that the day of my demise lies not far off.”

“Brother Bartholomew enjoys the rudest health, he was always the kind of man well suited to an army life.”

“You mean more for the army than for the Church?” Both attempted smiles.

Garcia moved his hand: “Give me the letter. How do you understand this sentence from our friend: ‘My soul is assailed by inexpressible thoughts.’ What kind of thoughts can be inexpressible?”

“I have heard such phrases before.”

“Where, brother abbot?”

“Spare me from saying.”

“He writes: ‘Remember me in your prayers, brother Garcia.’”

“Do so. I think it is necessary.”

They sat at the stone table and left the letter sent by Las Casas from a distant land lying on it. One had aching knees and wondered how he could recover, he felt his legs would break. The other succumbed to somnolence.

The door opened behind them. A vigorous man in black silk strode loudly in. He had a large youthful face, white hair fell in thick locks to his neck. As he sat down facing the two old men, his back to the window, a monk placed a glass and a jug of wine in front of him and, greetings over, he at once downed long slow draughts of the heavy red wine. The he reached for Las Casas’ letter. And as he read, he laughed out loud. Towards the end he grew quiet. Then he read it again without laughing and poured another glass.

Father Garcia suppressed his aches: “You have read it, brother Juan?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you think?”

“Revenge is always on the mind of the small man. A small man does not know how to rule. He cannot get along with people. He always thinks he must help. His feelings spur him on.”

“True,” croaked the abbot. “Such rebellious nagging. What a picture brother Bartholomew has of the world. Goes to war and thinks the cannon are there just for play.”

Garcia grasped the letter. “And what do you say to the conclusion?”

“Why?”

“The conclusion: ‘I am assailed by inexpressible thoughts. Remember me in your prayers, brother Garcia. The soul of your brother Bartholomew Las Casas belongs to the Holy Church’.”

“Where does it say that? Show me.” And he read it again, banged on the table and regarded the two old men, his broad chest heaved.

“We waited for you, this is why we requested your presence.”

Juan Alvarez, Inquisitor of Toledo, pulled himself erect in his chair: “Well well well. I didn’t read the postscripts. I know this blowhard, this zealot, dogmatist. He goes to the Indians in the forest to proselytize. He wants to go his own way. It’s the Las Casas method of proselytizing. But it seems to go farther! Well now! We had better find out who taught him.”

“Ah. He is long dead.”

“We might have lit upon a fine discovery here. Heretics beset us on all sides in France and Germany, we have our hands full keeping order even here. And then we receive letters from a bishop who wants to proselytize! ‘Inexpressible thoughts’. Let us help him express them.”

The desiccated abbot opened his eyes and brought his voice to utterance: “The bishop of Chiapas has simply grown childish, Alvarez. What could you expect from all his blathering about atrocities and exterminations.”

Alvarez rested his arms on the table. “See how it begins. Always with the heart, the precious heart. But at the end of the path there blooms insolence, and then rebellion. How we have been plagued by these mountebanks ever since the days of that shameless heretic of Ferrara, Fra Girolamo Savonarola, those offspring of sin who unsettle and incite the populace with vain promises and who must be put to the torture until they acknowledge their own casuistry. Right to the end they cry: my crimes were committed for the glory of God. Pain, the pitiable tug of ropes on the limbs, is necessary to arouse any doubt in such weak heads.”

And he became enraged and his chair crashed back: “I hate such sentimental twaddle! Agitators are fools. I stand with the generals and captains who are the victims of Las Casas’ complaints. Yes indeed! I stand on any side where I find myself opposing such mollycoddles and bleeding hearts. Trumpeting and crowing about abuses such as happen everywhere – ‘Oh, criminals! You too are criminals!’— it neither safeguards the state nor serves the Church. A few false strokes do no lasting harm. What does this Las Casas want? That we lay down our arms? Is the world already one with the Church? No! Or should we say to his miserable savages: run away now! No! We shall not let them run! We are the Church, and the world belongs to us, piece by piece, every nook and cranny. And we tolerate no nonsense.”

The two old men now sat bolt upright, and one after the other said: “God grant it be so.”

Garcia tried to soften the tone: “The object of Las Casas’ concern is not so much Christianity as the welfare of the Indians. He has nagged us for years, and we have given in to him. Despite opposition from every sensible governor and general, not to mention numerous men of the cloth, we have decreed that slaves should be set free. We have thereby harmed the revenues of the Spanish Crown and incurred the risk that its wars may not proceed to the best advantage of the Holy Church. But this was not enough for him, and still he writes and complains. We did at least add that it is permissible for Indians to be allocated to Christians, that in serving them they may forget their sins.”

Again Alvarez shouted out in fury: “Do we possess the key to Heaven or not? That is the question that will trip him, as it does every heretic.”

Garcia raised his arms in alarm: “Brother Juan.”

“I say again: this is the question which must trip every bleeding heart, every philanthropist, free thinker. He is no different. Even a doctor when he falls sick suffers the usual ailments.”

Garcia sniffed the glass that the big furious man had refilled: “Do not drink such strong wine, brother Juan. It always makes you so turbulent.”

“Do not fear for your friend Bartholomew.”

“We shall urge him to withdraw from politics.”

“Would that have sufficed in the case of Doctor Martin Luther, brother Garcia?”

“For Jesus’ sake!”

“Why so shocked? Las Casas is a heretic. He condemns himself. He goes into the forest because he is ‘beset by inexpressible thoughts’. He shall come here and express them to the court.”

Garcia pressed a fist to his heart: “Is that how I must see my friend again?”

The lanky abbot averted his face: “You exercise the duty of a friend to him. We, the duty of a Christian.”

At once two Dominicans, their orders already prepared, were despatched with a letter to the bishop of Chiapas. He was summoned back to Spain.

Flight into the forest

Las Casas had never seemed so happy and alert as on that day when he climbed into a boat with his two companions and the young chief who had been placed in his care, and rowed away. The two young monks went with him, but as the houses and the squat tower of the church disappeared around a bend in the river, their eyes were moist. Las Casas sat under the awning and gazed at the water. After a while they left the boats and were accompanied south by white patrols, riding for days, then they were alone, the young chief led the way, near a village they came upon a river, the Sinu that flows into the Gulf of Morrosquillo.

Wonderful burning sun, thought Las Casas, it is a monster the way it hangs over the land, a monster. I can imagine it has jaws and is devouring us.

Towards midday rain roared down, the boat went on, the brown people paddled, one stood high in the prow on a bench.

Lovely smooth water. How everything fits together: sun and water, and plants growing. How God has shaped the world.

Tall mimosa trees followed the river, he exchanged glances with them. As evening approached, the rowers showed unease, the food was all gone. Suddenly another boat was there, emerging from a side branch. They led Las Casas’ boat up the branch. Under a huge banana tree they had made huts for him and themselves, roofed with banana leaves. Las Casas slept in a hammock. He dreamed forwards and backwards, no walls anywhere.

They travelled two more days, their companions had some dried manioc, gathered roots. They came upon the tribe not far from the coast. So far had they come from their former homes. Las Casas warned the two young monks not to venture anything by themselves, and to stay with him at all times. He warned: just listen and observe.

Then they went among the people, were greeted with respect, engaged in everyday conversations. All three wore the black Dominican habit and conducted their daily prayers. During these months they saw no evil among the people.

Las Casas, seeing what good people they were, strove fervently to lead them away from their abominable customs. They allowed him to baptise some of their newborns, but then ceremonies took place where sorcerers used all manner of means to find out who these newborns were. Las Casas knew about it, he restrained himself from interfering, but spoke with the oldest chief and the sorcerer. Both said: “It is certain that the infants are our ancestors whose names you have heard. The mothers received them. We are happy that the ancestors have withstood the long journey and found us here.”

“Your ancestors are long dead.”

“They are dead, but we have honoured and cared for them. The great spirit of our tribe has sent us these spirits.”

“And how do you think it is with the Whites? They do not care for their ancestors as you do, and yet you see how many they are.”

“You have your great spirit, each of your tribes.”

“Our great spirit is Jesus Christ. But he is the great spirit of all people who are baptised and believe in him.”

“No,” they smiled, “stay with us longer, you will see that every tribe has its own great spirit.”

And at a naming ceremony, to his great sorrow Las Casas again saw masks and bright wooden poles, and the dancing around them.

“They must return to the town, to our settlements,” said Las Casas to his two companions. “In the forest they are falling into their old ways.” He began preaching earnestly to them. The people were eager to hear him. For many it was a great novelty, and they often discussed it among themselves. They thought they could use the knowledge of the Whites to gain possession of their great powers. They came to Las Casas and his pupils and asked them to impart the knowledge, declared themselves ready for instruction. Las Casas discussed this with his pupils, who congratulated themselves. “You think we have made such progress? Perhaps. Every means must be employed. But you both know that what they want from us is better weapons for their struggle.”

They agreed to provide instruction. Stretch a little finger to the Devil and he has you by the whole hand. Offer God a single hair and you are His entirely. Thus began Father Las Casas’ mission in the forest. They were all three infused with a marvellous joy. They found that the dark people sucked up instruction like parched roots in water. Convincing such gentle and sweet-natured pupils took no effort at all. Meanwhile their old forest thoughts flourished untouched.

The end

For long happy months Las Casas and his companions heard nothing of the world. Twice they sent envoys to Cartagena to confirm that they were still alive and well. At the start of the rainy season they were dwelling by a fish-teeming river near where it flowed into the sea. Then dark people came, who told of a great sailing ship out on the sea, it had sent dinghies ashore at many places to ask about Las Casas, they had a message for him. The tribe debated how to react. Las Casas soothed them, it is only one ship, we can meet it nearby, you can observe the encounter from a distance and see if they are armed. Then they sent away the people who had espied the ship, and a few days later a great galleon anchored in the mouth of the river, and Las Casas and his companions had themselves rowed out to it. The two Dominicans on board explained their mission to the bishop of Chiapas, and showed him a friendly letter from Garcia. Las Casas bowed his head. “I had thought to end my days here. Now they summon me back.”

But he was obedient. He went ashore with his pupils and the two emissaries, the ship’s captain and helmsman came too. They stayed a few days, exchanged presents, gathered provisions.

Then the captain invited the oldest chief and his wife, as well as several other respected men of the tribe who had shown curiosity, to come aboard the ship, he would give them a farewell feast. Seventeen people from the tribe, together with the oldest chief and his wife, allowed themselves to be conveyed on board.

And as soon as they were aboard the captain hoisted sail, hauled in the anchor, and sailed away.

Las Casas and the others on shore at first thought it a prank. Then they thought it was just a little excursion. Then evening came, and night fell, and the oldest chief and the others had still not returned. They left the beach. The tribe was overcome with a terrible disquiet. Las Casas and his pupils sat in their huts and prayed. The Dominicans came to Las Casas in the morning, they were afraid.

“What has happened?” they asked the old bishop. They said they feared that the captain had kidnapped the people to sell as slaves on Hispaniola.

Las Casas concurred. “Who is the captain?”

“We don’t know him. He brought us along for a hefty payment. He tried the same trick along the coast with other dark people, but they refused to be enticed.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Forgive us, lord bishop, we did not believe a man could be so wicked here. For he is supposed to carry all of us, you too, back with him.”

Las Casas breathed: “What are we to him. But what it is to us. The shame. The shame.” And he threw himself down onto the mat and sobbed aloud. “Now you have an example of what they do. And they come and preach Christianity.” Las Casas gestured like one inconsolable. He asked that no one be admitted to him, he dared look no one in the face.

But when people came at midday he had to see them. They glowered, the young chief was among them, they saw Las Casas’ great distress and paused. The bishop placated them, he pulled himself together and wrote two letters, one to Cartagena, the other to priests on the island of Hispaniola. He related what had happened, expressed his revulsion at the captain’s behaviour, and desired the priests to secure the immediate release of the abductees. At evening he went with his pupils and the Dominicans to the young chief’s hut. He implored the people, who sat glowering with stony faces, not to cast blame on him. He hoped it was a mistake, or the prank of one man who would be punished for it. Their chief and their brothers would return. He staked his life and that of his companions on it. He kept imploring them not to grieve. He would vouch for a good outcome to the affair.

The people were not all of one mind, Las Casas thought some wanted to attack him without delay, setting aside all his teachings, they even suspected in a sudden overwhelming rush of fury that he was in on the plot. The chief, Las Casas’ old friend, although conducting himself with great reserve, managed to persuade the people to wait and see what the efforts of Las Casas, who was after all a great man among the Whites, would bring. In the following weeks the chief spoke to Las Casas only once in passing, to remind him of a conversation they had once had in camp:

“I said you are not a great man, they let you preach to us, you are powerless among them.”

Las Casas begged: let him not think that, he should be patient, he would receive proof. The chief walked away calmly, he knew Las Casas was concerned entirely with the affair and not with himself.

Long weary weeks went by. The tribe kept to the same place, it was the middle of the rainy season. Now there were no discussions, no instruction. Las Casa and his people were shunned like an infection. They were given food and drink, but forbidden to walk where they might encounter natives.

More than three months were already past. Then at last a messenger appeared with a letter for Las Casas. The messenger complained: it was no easy task to deliver the letter, he had started out with a companion, a jaguar attacked them and tore the companion to bits, he himself lost the way. The chief was present as the messenger said this and handed the letter to Las Casas. The bishop trembled inwardly as he took the letter. He knew how important this report was in the eyes of the dark people, and he too was not immune from fear.

The priest in Hispaniola wrote: As soon as he received the letter he made enquiries about the seventeen abductees, indeed long before the letter arrived a ship bearing these seventeen had called at Hispaniola, but at once sailed away again as there is little demand for slaves here and the captain did not wish to dispose of his people at a poor price. This is alas all that he can report. They pray for Las Casas’ health and hope he will soon leave the gloomy forests and come to them.

When Las Casas let fall the hand that held the letter, the oldest chief asked what it was he had read. Las Casas, the white-haired bishop, knelt before him and said: “I am guilty. I alone. I trusted them. I beg you, do not think otherwise.” The chief had him read the letter out loud. The chief raised Las Casas to his feet. He was unconscious.

An hour later he came to himself, the young pupils and the Dominicans were at his side. Las Casas performed the last rites, the elder of the two Dominicans administered extreme unction. The bishop said: “The people know we did not permit this abduction, but we are guilty of it and they believe they cannot allow us to go unpunished.” They prayed silently. One of the young monks at one point burst into tears, they interrupted their prayers to comfort him. Once they all succumbed to despair when Las Casas stood staring ahead with strangely contorted features and murmured: “The shame.” The two monks hid their faces in their hands. But Las Casas regained his senses: “Do not complain, I have done too much of that in my life. The world is not yet ripe for redemption. We are dragged down in the undertow of its ruin.”

Towards evening he admonished them to direct their thoughts only to God. He knew that the dark people would come before sunset. And so it was.

Loud voices arose in the settlement, people gathered around their tent, the shouting grew shrill and near. They knelt in prayer, their faces close to the ground. As the spears and clubs hit home, it was no great stretch for them to embrace the whole world.

≈≈≈

Search parties were despatched. The tribe that Las Casas had gone to was nowhere to be found. When no news came of Las Casas, the two young priests and the monks, it was considered probable that they had been massacred. But some months later rumours were laid to rest through a communication from Garcia and Alvarez, the inquisitors of Toledo: “The bishop of Chiapas, Father Bartholomew, most assuredly did not die a miserable death in the New Indies at the hands of savage tribes. He returned to Spain at the conclusion of his mission, re-entered the monastery of his Order, and there died a peaceful death.”

The officers of the Inquisition hoped to prevent the suspected heretic brother Bartholomew from gaining the reputation of a martyr.

≈≈≈

The water spirit Sukuruya, Mother of Waters, glided from tree to tree in the gloomy forest in the guise of a snake. Sometimes she stood in human form beneath green boughs. She stood there with a heavy club, bow and arrow, gay parrot feathers adorned her long black hair, her dark skin glistened in the dark, her cheeks and forehead were painted red. She slid into reeds.

The tribe had gone. When they pulled out, the corpses lay piled over and beside each other in the little tent. Noon and evening came. In the dark a snake rustled from tree to tree, Sukuruya. She stood at the forest edge as a man with bow and arrow, wearing a big feather headdress.

Sukuruya clucked like a hen, the tapir ran up from the river. “See my club, tapir. Fetch your brothers to chase away the vultures.” A crowd of tapirs came, chased the vultures from the huts. Sukuruya glided out of the forest in the dark. Stars twinkled merrily overhead. Sukuruya danced a savage dance through the deserted village, took ashes from the cooking places, painted herself, the night wind scattered ashes around her feet.

Sukuruya crouched at the hut of the white men, peered in, took Las Casas’ corpse in her arms, laid him across her lap. “White man, are you there?”

Las Casas did not want to answer.

“White man, why did you fight me? For you did not want to.” Las Casas lay still.

Then Sukuruya saw the chain with the crucifix at his belt and the rosary in his folded hands: “These are stopping your mouth.” She laid them aside.

Las Casas opened his eyes: “Am I with you, Sukuruya?”

“You know me?”

“Where are my companions?”

“Let them be.”

“Where is my crucifix?” He sat up. There was the sky, the merry stars, Sukuruya crouched on the floor, adorned with feathers.

Las Casas swayed to his feet. He picked up crucifix and rosary, they slid from his hands. He bent down. Again they fell. Sukuruya stood up: “White man, into the forest! Come!” The old man in the black cloak followed hesitating; twice, thrice he circled the things on the floor. Sukuruya took him in her arms and carried him. Las Casas wept for a short while.

They went down to the river. Vultures squawked insults. Weaver birds flew. Down there water snakes, alligators, fish broke the surface. As Sukuruya prepared to jump, Las Casas tore free with a cry, stood, raised his arms, fell and lay there, his face covering crucifix and rosary.

Sukuruya

When the Amazon rose, water overflowed its banks for great distances, devastation encroached on the land, animals fled. Waterfowl left their islands and migrated away. Floodwaters surged in tumult. Here and there a bank collapsed, tall forests along the river swayed, water dug away the ground, freed the roots of giant trees, undermined them, trees tumbled into the murky spate.

Often the living waters forced their way in single-minded fury into loose earth, and then the river, the seething sea, carried away whole floating islands with trees and plants and monkeys and birds, even people; down the river they sailed. The raging grey-white water dammed tributaries, absorbed broad lakes and channels back into itself. Slowly the flood extended across the whole basin. Big lakes slowed its progress, and the trunks of giant palms were washed by a murky, muddy tide. Animals took refuge in treetops. Dark people glided in boats over the crowns of sunken trees, settled in hollow trunks. Monkeys leapt around them. Ants left the ground and stuck nests together in branches. But the treetops bloomed in colourful profusion, brimmed over with foliage. Above the mud stretched a swaying garden, farther than the eye could see.

It lasted weeks. Slowly the current released back hill after hill, sandbank after sandbank. And as the wet earth emerged again and the sun glowed, turtles began to return to sandbanks, dig down and lay their eggs. Bushes and reeds rose out of the flood. The river had removed a forest from here, set it down there. Now came the time of the riverbanks, the great ebb, tapirs appeared, jaguars revealed themselves and dangled their tails in the water. Tree-corpses, driftwood became stranded, began to rot, fungi set in, from outside it was a tree trunk, inside a putrescent mush. Garish parasitic plants settled on rotting logs, pushed up mighty stalks.

≈≈≈

In the savannahs and forests of the great river, on the Yapura and Vaupes lived many people, tribes of the Tariana, Duck people, Jaguar people.

The maize was half ripe. Cobs were washed, people stood in a big circle as the medicine man sang and bit into them. May the spirit of the maize be merciful, provide a rich harvest. The weather was fine, firstborns came, they were given to the dead to whom the ground belonged, these took nourishment from them, now the people could eat.

Little dark people, Maku, wandered through the forest, they were captured. They said everyone should flee. Many brown people are fleeing from the Whites and dying. They waited. There were many lightning storms. They took the children, collected parrots from roofs, gathered pots, jugs, utensils down from walls, built huts in the forest. The ancestors received much deer meat. After four suns men set out with spear and shield, crept up to the village in the dark. One gave a sign, they uttered warcries and ran through the village, beat on the ground, banged on roofs, burst through doorways. They ran back into the forest. Next morning they gathered children, animals, pots, jugs, utensils, returned to the village. The medicine man made a new fire. He gave each family an ember. They took it to their own hut.

The rains came. From a fruit tree the udu called: tru udu, udu, udu.

There is a big drum called the Man, deep-toned, and a smaller called the Woman. With beats short and long, deep- and high-toned, they throbbed across lakes big and small, wide rivers and narrow streams, across hill and forest and savannah: “Everyone must flee. Many people are fleeing. They come from the sunset and die.”

Elders said: “Our parents told us: the drums lamented, look out for yourselves, everyone must flee, there is great danger. Towards sunset the Great Spirit that holds up the earth made the mountains tremble. There is a tree, it is the father of all beasts and people, you can gather all kinds of fruit from it. If you climb the tree it draws its branches together and lifts them up, the tree carries them into the sky where the ancestors dwell. That is the Land without Death. Our parents sought it in vain. Where should we flee to? In those days many women committed murders and moved away to the south.”

Maku slipped through the forest, some were caught, they said: “Ever more dark people are fleeing the Whites who came up out of the sea, ever more dark people are coming down from the mountains.”

Chiefs went through the villages, fetched away old cripples who bring bad luck. They sent warriors with them towards the sunset, close to the great mountains. There they broke the legs of the cripples and left them, placed dead cats beside them. They would bring calamity on the Whites.

The warriors returned. They lived in peace, nothing happened.

Tiye and Guaricoto

And from Europe there came more ships, more people. The human volcano kept spewing.

And as ever more white men, iron warriors, sinners, looters, and plaintive priests appeared – long and weary, the path to annihilation and self-destruction – dark people clustered in the forests and on the grassy plains. The silent forest adjusted and tidied itself around them.

Towards the east, beneath huge trees of the plain, the Women People flourished on the mighty Amazon, from the Yapura river to the Jamunda.

Tiye, the junior, said to Kudurra the elder: “Our queen Truvanare has sent a message that every woman, but not the old ones, must trim arrows. And we must build many boats.”

“There are already many boats.”

“She said so.”

“How sad our life is, Tiye. Have you heard how women live in the villages of men?”

“No man has ever come near me. First they have to take me to the hut.”

“A woman has her man, and they live in their hut all year round. And when the woman wants loving he comes to her. And when the man wants loving they are together. They are together in the rain time and the dry time.”

So said Kudurra the elder to Tiye the junior. She already had two children. Tiye pulled the plough, Kudurra pushed it into the soil. Tiye asked: “If you have children, do you still need loving? The queen says: ‘We women are the people. When the priestesses summon the moon, all our ancestors gather together. Then we must go on the warpath and catch men, so that the ancestors can increase.’”

Kudurra replied: “I have already killed three men. I don’t want to kill any more. I would like to keep them in my hut and feed them like my parrot.”

Tiye laughed and clapped her hands.

“Many of us think the same, Tiye. Our queen and our priestesses are hard. Many women have fled across the swamps to the other women. They don’t kill men. When their priestesses summon the moon they go into the forest, and drink cashiri. They are friends with the men, the men are friends with them. Many women follow the men to their villages, many men follow the women.”

≈≈≈

Truvanare was the mightiest queen between the great lake of Manacapuru and the Urubu river. She herself went to war, when the boats were ready.

She spoke to her commanders before they set off: “Protect yourselves, paint the marks clearly. Men are descended from vultures. Many years ago we were in their power. They disguised themselves and deceived us. Now they dwell out there and steal women, because they cannot reproduce themselves. They must all die. Then our Great Spirit will send us signs to tell us which fruit to eat so that we may bring children into the world. Fall upon their villages, burn their houses down, kill as many as you can. Bring back young men, we shall kill them later.”

From the place where their boats lay, Truvanare sent emissaries to the men: “Make peace with us, and as a sign of your submission send us your young men. Their lives will be spared. If you do not send us your young men, we shall destroy you all.”

The enemy chief sent a pot containing red pigment, the emblem of blood. The women surrounded the first village and uttered warcries. They seized a few prisoners. They moved on. When they had enough they ate and drank in the forest. No one was allowed to talk to the men. When they were back in their village on the river, they built huts in the fields. Truvanare the queen and her sorceresses inspected the men front and back, and allocated them. The young women had to stay in the big houses with the priestesses, for a whole month they were relieved of work. They were given little fishes and manioc to eat, nothing else. But the men were given pirurucu fish, honey, andiroba nuts, and monkey flesh. In the evenings as the sun was sinking, the sorceresses led the young women into the fields, they danced and clapped. Only when the sun disappeared did the young women enter the huts.

≈≈≈

Guaricoto, a young man, saw Tiye by the light of the fire outside his hut. Tiye had signs on her breasts and thighs for protection. Guaricoto asked: “Why have you painted yourself? We’re not going to dance.” Tiye gave no answer. The man said: “Why have you come? I know you will kill us.” Tiye said nothing.

They sat by the fire. He looked at her: “You brought your spear. Are you going to kill me?”

Tiye said: “No.” Guaricoto laughed: “Not yet.” She was silent. He said: “Why didn’t you bring something to drink? People with spears and shields are moving around everywhere out there. Why don’t we drink together? I can play the flute.” He pulled her arm. She hit his hand. He laughed. He put an arm over her shoulder: “You come to me, look at me.” She looked into his face and quickly away at the fire. When he grabbed her knee she jumped up and went for her spear.

Then he drew up his knees, gazed into the fire and sang to himself. She sat down and clutched her arms to her breast: “You’re trying to enchant me, stop that singing.”

He said: “You sing!”

“I don’t know any songs, only what we sing when we are ploughing.”

“Sing.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might enchant you?”

“You said you don’t know any enchantment songs.”

She saw his wounded leg: “What bit you?”

“When you speak it is like the chirping of cicadas. You speak like the rushes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“The woman with the feathers around her waist stabbed me.”

“That’s our queen, Truvanare.”

“That’s why I couldn’t run and so I’m here.”

“You are sad to be here. I shall ask your friend what your name is.”

“And I would like to know your name, but there’s nobody I can ask.”

“Call me Colibri. Are all men like you?”

“Now you look at me, Colibri, but you promised to sing to me.”

“Come into the lodge so that no one can hear.”

In the lodge he lay down in the hammock, her enormous shadow fell on him as she stood in the doorway. “Colibri, why don’t you come in, you were going to sing.”

“I forgot my spear, I left it by the fire.”

“I’ll fetch it.”

“No.” She raised both arms and crouched down at the threshold.

“Where are you?” She was resting her head on her knees. He crouched in front of her. He touched her shoulder. She brushed his hand away, he lost his balance. They crouched there in silence. Then she started to sing softly. He said: “I shall sing too.

You have hardened your heart against me
You have hardened your heart against me
My love, he, he, oha.

You have hardened your heart cruelly against me
You have hardened your heart cruelly against me
My love, he, he, oha.

I waited for you and grew weary,
I waited for you and grew weary,
My love, he, he, oha.
For you I wandered wearily and came here,
For you I wandered wearily and came here,
My love, he, he, oha.

Now I will call to you with a different tune,
Now I will call to you with a different tune,
My love, he, he, oha.
Oh, I shall call with a different tune
So that you hear me,
My love, he, he, oha.

I shall go to the world below, to the world of spirits,
From there I shall call to you, from there I shall call to you,
My love, he, he, oha.

She held her head high, her face was in shadow, his face shone red from the fire. She whispered: “Sing it again.”

He sang. Then she sang with him.

He stood up: “I shall fetch your spear. She whispered: “Yes.” And when he brought it she was on her feet and looking at him with big eyes: “Show me how you hold it.”

He held the spear out to her. She pulled it to her: “It is my spear.” She hugged it and rubbed her hair on the wood. She pushed it at him: “Here, you hold it.” He took it. She said: “You have my spear.” He nodded. Tiye said: “Raise it.” He stepped back, turned towards the fire and swung the spear to and fro. She rushed up behind him and pulled it from his hand: “Stop, they’ll see us.” She laid it on the ground, stroked it. Guaricoto stepped close, slowly lowered his head beside hers where it lay pressed to the spear, and pressed his face to hers there over the spear. She tolerated this without moving.

Tiye whispered: “Do you belong to the vultures?”

“Yes.”

“All of you that we caught?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must be destroyed. All men must be destroyed. We shall wipe you out. Soon there will be no more men.” He shook his head. “Our great spirit will give us fruit so that we can bring children into the world and our ancestors will increase. The queen said. I want to ask you something.”

They sat in the hammock. Tije held out her spear: “I pull the plough with Kudurra. Kudurra says, ‘Some women live in the forest with men and drink cashiri, they are friends.’ Is it true?”

“It’s true.”

Then she smiled at him: “Today I shall lie with you in the hammock. And for many nights.”

“You work hard every day?”

“Not just now. Only the old women. Now we live in the big houses with the priestesses. We eat only little fishes and dried manioc.”

He sighed. “Ah, you are fasting.”

“So the spirits will hear us when we ask them for children.” He sighed again. She nodded at him: “Don’t be sad.”

She checked around the hut, everything was quiet, placed the spear against the wall, stretched out in the hammock. She crossed her arms over her breast and lay on her side. He lay down beside her and crossed his arms.

She said: “There are many empty hammocks up there.” She closed her eyes and laughed softly.

Soon she slept, he too.

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In the morning she was gone. There were patrols in the fields. They brought the men food and drink. They were not permitted to gather, but communicated by signs from hut to hut.

Kudurra whispered in the big house of women, where they squatted on the floor: “Are you alive, Tiye?” Tiye looked at her in surprise. Kudurra studied her: “Yes you are.”

“Why shouldn’t I be alive?”

“When a man takes you, you die.”

“Is it true?”

“Every woman taken by a man dies. That why we are here, so that we don’t die.”

“But Kudurra, what should I do when a man takes me? I shall kill him right away.”

“Be quiet. He hasn’t taken you yet. I was just testing you. Don’t be afraid of him. The queen and the priestesses want you to be afraid. It is wonderful to die with a man.”

“No!”

“It is, Tiye. He dies too. Then both of us, woman and man, receive new names.”

“You’re scaring me, Kudurra.”

“Be quiet. The priestess is watching.”

When they led Tiye to the fire that evening, Guaricoto was waiting at the doorway of the hut. He did not wait for her to speak, and did not wait to see her face. Right away he said: “Make me a present, Colibri, I am so poor. Bring me pigment so I can paint myself, and bring something to drink.”

Then he saw her angry face. They stood there silent a long while, she by the fire, he at the hut. Little birds glided through the smoke. Midges buzzed. She walked past him and sat on the hammock with her spear, stared at the fire. He stepped towards her. She brandished the spear: “Go to the side, stay in the shadows.” He stood motionless in the shadows.

After a while she stood up angrily: “Who are you? Your name is Guaricoto. Show yourself. Why do you want to kill me?”

“I don’t, Colibri.”

“They send me here, send all of us here, to be killed by you. So that we share our names with you. I don’t want to. You keep on being Guaricoto, I am what I am called.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Colibri.”

“Don’t lie. Woe to those who send us to you. If only we had struck you down at once. Why do they do this to us?”

As he remained standing in the shadows, she called: “Come here, Guaricoto.” He did not come. She turned to face him: “Guaricoto, I want to look at you.”

“But I don’t want to look at you.”

She jumped up: “Come here, Guaricoto, I want to look at your face.”

He came quickly out of the shadows, knocked the spear from her hand and trod on it. She whispered: “I can strike you down without a spear.”

He: “Go on.”

They stared at each other. He stepped off the spear, took Tiye in his arms. She said: “Give me the spear.” He did not.

Then she pushed him away, made fists, crossed her arms: “Now I can look at your face, Guari.”

“And I yours.”

“Let’s sit by the fire. But first give me back my spear.”

“So you can strike me down!”

“They mustn’t see you holding my spear. Let’s sit close so they can’t see you hold the spear.”

It was night, the fire burned down, from time to time they threw a branch on. When they grew cold they went into the hut, lay in the hammock. They shivered, and warmed one another. They fell fast asleep. When they awoke it was broad daylight. Guari was crouching on the floor looking sad. She started up. The women guards were at the entrance, calling her. Tiye jumped down, grabbed her spear and scurried away.

“I don’t want to kill you,” said Guari that evening – she had brought a pot of honey from the urucu bee, the healing kind – “bring me pigment and oil for my hair, so I can make myself beautiful for you. And bring cashiri so we can drink.”

“Now I shall let you take me, Guari, because yesterday you didn’t harm me when you held my spear. Do you promise not to tell?”

“Who should I tell, Colibri?”

He put his arms around her hips, there were tears in her eyes: “They’ll laugh at me if they hear.” She put her arms on his arms, her eyes flashed: “You are my friend if you don’t boast about it. I talked to Kudurra about you. Don’t be afraid. If you were my enemy you would have killed me. You are not my enemy.”

“Why did you think I’m your enemy, Colibri?”

“The queen and the priestesses said so. But I’m not afraid of you. Show me your hands, open them. No, you don’t have any enchantments against me. Stand up, I want to see your back.”

“You won’t see anything. But I want to paint and oil myself for you.”

“You really want to, Guari? Why do you want to?”

“Because you should be my wife and I want to be beautiful for you. We must dance together. Why don’t you send for drink so we can celebrate?”

“Our priestesses are strict. They mustn’t find out what we’re talking about.”

“None of our priests are like that. And our chief is not allowed to treat us badly. When we marry we hold a great feast.”

“What is marry, Guari?”

“When a man sees a girl who pleases him, the chief gives permission to marry, and the girl and he live together and they celebrate with a great feast.”

“Is that what you do?” Tiye was lost in imagination. “Here we only know hunting and field labour and fishing, and the old women carry the children around and the priestesses leap about. Oh, it’s no good without men. It’s better with a man.” She put both arms around his neck. “Now, I think, you have enchanted me. And it’s true that I shall lose my name.”

As they lay in the hammock Tiye said: “Why do you lie so far away, Guari? It’s cold.”

“If you bring me pigment and oil and something to drink, I’ll be happy.”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“Will you come tomorrow? How many more days will you come?”

She rubbed his cold hands and sighed:

“Guari, you let me live. I won’t kill you. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want you to live.”

“Really, Colibri?”

“Yes, Guari. And you?”

“I want to keep you.”

“I am very frightened, Guari. Kudurra whispers to me every day. She wants to go into the forest. But they will come after us.”

Guaricoto turned to her: “You talk about this, Colibri?”

“Often.” He embraced her, they whispered half the night. When the footsteps of the guards came near, they kept quiet.

Big Kudurra squeezed Tiye’s face. “You are still Tiye.”

“Get hold of pigment and oil for Guari, Kudurra, he wants to make himself beautiful for me and wants to drink with me.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, Tiye. We have already prepared everything for the men. Some of us will go across the fields before dark, they’ll put pots under a tree, in a pit in the earth, with a big leaf on top, I’ll show you the tree. When they take you to the hut, keep an eye on the guards and take note of the way.”

Guari painted and oiled himself by the light of the fire. She had brought cachembo, honey liquor, she too took a little sip.

In the dark he leapt a couple of dance steps in front of her.

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Next day when big Kudurra checked Tiye’s face in the house of women, it was thoughtful and the mouth was tight. Kudurra said: “Did you drink?” Tiye nodded. Kudurra took a necklace of dried seeds from her throat and hung it on Tiye. “What did he call you?”

“Colibri.”

“Shall I tell him your name now?”

“Yes.”

That evening he called her Tiye. She was not friendly to him. She railed against her friend Kudurra, complained half the night that Kudurra had betrayed her name to him. For many days she was the same, but every evening she brought a gourd to drink. She rejected his comforting. Kudurra became frightened when Tiye would not talk to her and refused the fish and ate only manioc. Already the women were loudly discussing the new moon feast. There were more whispered conversations in the bride huts. Tiye asked what they should do.

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Cruel Truvanare the queen could not wait for the new moon, and four days early, as a sign of her loathing for men, she brought the man who pleased her out for sacrifice. Priestesses surrounded her, night just fallen, young women not yet taken to the huts, all of them who would soon embrace their man attended the terrible mask dance, the summoning of the moon and the wild beasts that slink through the forest and tear the living to pieces. With claws of the panther whose pelt they wore, with the saw of the sawfish, the priestesses hacked apart the sacrifice whom their queen had embraced. His blood sprayed in a circle. Two young women danced around the fire and received the blood. In a frenzy they went to their men, and these too were set upon and torn apart by the masked creatures.

But great mother Toeza came there all black, stood among the trees and watched them dance. She was hung with strings at throat, arms and thighs, palm leaves lay on her shoulders, her hair fell loose and white as mould down her back. She stood unmoving, leaning on her spear. Sometimes the fire shone on her ancient wrinkled face. Watching the women she was filled with revulsion and grief. She sat in stunted bushes by the mask hut, called into the forest with a bird call. Walyarina, the black jaguar, glided to her covered in twigs and leaf mould, he lay down at Toeza’s side. She said: “They are dancing for us. It gives me no joy. I sent signs to the queens, they ignored them. They are frenzied. They insult us.”

“What are they doing?”

“They kill men, murder and murder. We never did that, I never taught them that. We were oppressed by men, so we freed ourselves. We had no choice but to move away. They even killed you, by a trick.”

“I had my revenge.”

“Now they murder at any time, this is not the day of sacrifice, they are criminals, they have become as bad as the men.” Old Toeza wept, the jaguar shook himself and growled menacingly, they heard him in the village.

When Truvanare demanded that other warrior brides who seemed to her too bright and happy should deliver their men before the feast day, Toeza in the gloom of the mask hut removed her feathers and loincloth and rubbed herself with musk. She growled: “The queens have grown hard and evil as crocodiles. They defy us, challenge us.” She spoke with the moon.

Then she painted herself anew, put feathers and loincloth back on, took shield and spear, bow, quiver and arrows from the wall, and said: “They must be wiped out. Come, Walyarina, we shall no longer protect these realms, they are the ruin of our daughters. We shall destroy these realms.”

Kudurra stole the great jaguar pelt from the mask house. That was the signal. There were whisperings with guards. That night spears, bows and arrows were carried to the men. Some men were freed, they hastened back to their tribe.

On the day before new moon, with the first rays of the sun, Kudurra in the jaguar pelt leapt through the maize, women and men came from the huts, the sacred jaguar leapt, they ran behind with spears in their hands, they fell on the village and struck down queen and priestesses.

Then Kudurra became queen, they ate and drank and celebrated.

In the afternoon warriors came out of the forest and landed their boats. They joined the dancing and continued on.

The war spread to many Women People. Men and women fought side by side, to the horror of queens and priestesses.

Return of the Amazons

In the east of the great river basin, beyond the lake of Manacapuru and beyond the mouth of the Rio Negro, Women People dwelled in the savannah of Jamunda. The moon that rules over fertility stood serene in the sky, they could see no threat. But as the war spread the queens sensed unease, and they decided to quit Jamunda.

They moved north. That was where their foremothers came from.

They were numerous and strong. They wandered slowly through the savannah. They wandered for many months. They wandered for years. They never forgot their festivals. Grass in the savannah stood yellow and tall, it was crisscrossed by huge gloomy forests of palm. Island landscapes opened up. They wandered along the Rio Negro and crossed the Rio Blanco to the west.

For many years they wandered. Their songs lamented: “The moon is rising, mother, mother, the stars are weeping, mother, mother.”

Tribes avoided them. They celebrated the annual sacrifice with men that they captured. Rivers rose and fell. Turtles crawled across the sand.

The women carried with them the black monkey pelt of Yurupari that Toeza had stolen. Yurupari emerged from the river and was the wisest of all men. He knew the strongest magic. He went down to the river to wash himself. The Mother of Rivers had not seen him for a long time, she appeared before him and he fell down dead. She recognised him and wept. People found the corpse and burnt it on the bank. The Mother of Rivers mourned on a rock. And when the fire died down she crawled into the ashes. Out of the ashes grew a paxiuba tree. Yurupari’s spirit climbed up into it. He wore a monkey pelt. When he went to the great ancestors, he bequeathed it to the men of the Tariana. This was Toeza’s tribe, the first Women People.

The women wandered through the forest, they had Yurupari’s pelt with them, their trumpet was of paxiuba wood, no tribe of men could withstand them. Men were afraid of them. And when the women had gone through the forest and crossed the Vaupes river, savage Maku came running to them and told them that the Tariana held the town of Iauarete over the river, men would make a stand there against them. The women had no rest, the priestesses said this was the place where our foremothers were defiled and so went away, where Toeza had lived and made “Walyarina” their warcry.

Here we were conceived and born. Here we shall settle.

Old mother Toeza followed them, but she would not protect them.

So it came to a great battle. The queen of the women put on the macaracan, the black monkey pelt, into which she had woven hairs of men to give her power over men, and blew on the paxiuba. And as the battle raged Yurupari appeared, saw who had summoned him and said: “It is enough,” and chased away the queen who had summoned him.

She ran from one watercourse to another. Once she stopped, crouched down to drink and wash herself. Yurupari seized her from behind, overpowered and ravished her. She screamed for her companions. There were some nearby. They made no move because they recognised Yurupari and were horrified. He took the pelt from her and killed her.

Then he climbed into a tree and dropped the pelt. Warriors picked it up, pulled out the hairs of men. They hurled themselves at the women crying “Yurupari, Yurupari.” The women saw they were lost.

They prayed for help to their first queen, prayed to great Toeza, prayed to the jaguar Walyarina, prayed to the ancestors. These gave them colourful pelts of jaguar and snake, they slipped them on. They ran into the dark forest, into the savannah, the swamps, and lay low.

Toeza ran with them, the great mother, bent, without rings, threads, feathers. One by one bow and arrows, shield and spear fell from her hands. She pulled grass and moss and foliage over herself as she ran, as she sank down. Loud her weeping, savage her cries.

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Thunderstorms raged, thunder and lightning greeted those who came to the forest and the waters. Ancient trees splintered.

The water spirit Sukuruya glided as a snake from tree to tree. He stood in human form beneath green boughs, tugged on a hanging vine. With his heavy club he leapt onto a floating log, the parrot feathers in his long black hair swayed. He sat on a dolphin and huzza’d. People in the huts saw him.

He swam on his back. He dived. The river surged.

 

END OF VOLUME 1