The Last Legend
I
As I was born, so shall I die, a half-blind peasant woman who lived with her husband in the shadow of the Andes Mountains. Although they were many days walk from our village, all Incans lived in some fashion in their shadow, for they ruled our lives, physically and spiritually. These imperial peaks are alive. Volcanoes that spew fire and smoke penetrate them, bearing their babies. When they are hungry their bellies growl and shake the ground, swallowing settlements whole to satisfy their insatiable appetite. The foreign invaders call our land Peru, although that is not what we call it in our tongue. I have lived most of my life in a small village far north the main capitol of Cuzco. For a brief and exalted time I lived in our glorious northern capitol of Quito as part of the royal court. Other than that, I never traveled more than two days walk from where I was born, so it is appropriate that I shall soon die here.
Our little settlement lies many days south of Quito, near Tumbes, where the Spaniards first landed. It is a dry, arid coastline. The desert-like conditions and poor soil make us better farmers, for it is harder to garner subsistence from this soil than it is from lands to the north or in the fertile Sierra. The only blessing is that we enjoy an almost constant cooling breeze from the sea, plus the lack of rain causes low humidity. The garrua, when it does come causes floods that wash away everything, just like the Great Flood I learned about from the missionaries.
Because we are so isolated and have few bays and worse ports, we are not fishermen, except from the banks of the small river that empties into the ocean. We are connected to the rest of the empire by one steep, treacherous road that winds over the coastal range to Tumbes. It was from here that the great adventure of my life began, leading me to live, for a time, as one of the nobles in Quito.
If you are reading my words, it is proof of the account that I have narrated to the roughly clothed alien monks. These words remain true, regardless of how they are printed or spoken. I have heard and learned the tongue of the foreigners who came to these sacred mountains to uncover the gold of the ancients, but I cannot read or write their language. How little these foreigners know of us. Except for the few word writers, these barbarians think it is we who are the heathens.
My story is only one of many, only one of my ayllu, or clan; however in the brief span of my life, it has grown into one of the Inca's proudest legends. It, like others may be remembered in the dances and runes handed down by tribal storytellers of future generations, should they remain. Since we are a dying race, I fear this legend will perish unless it is recorded. I relate these words in the Quechan language of my culture, the great Incan civilization, perhaps near the end of our existence. The celebrant who has come to administer to me inscribes my words in Spanish.
We Incans are great storytellers. These stories, recounted through the generations breathe life into our culture. The tribal elders are entrusted with teaching the sacred legends to the next generation so that our history may be preserved.
Our history teaches us that before the Incas there was no civilization. Our first great chief, Naymlap, arrived in many enormous rafts with tall sails in bright colors. These vessels came from distant islands many moons to the west. He brought a vast entourage with wives, children and concubines. His legions of warriors tamed the wild natives to the north and south and built an organized nation.
Numerous cities with palaces, houses and roads connected our one people. Naymlap's rule was peaceful and prosperous. When he lay near death, he ordered his subordinates to secretly bury him and tell the people that he had grown wings and had flown away, glorifying him as not only a king but also a deity. (It is a story similar to the ascension of Christ; the teachings of whom I have learned from the monks). The people however, were so despondent that they fled, scattering in all directions in an attempt to find their king. Only those born in the young country remained.
After many reigns of uninspiring rulers, a king named Fempellec assumed the crown. He attempted to discredit Naymlap, who had assumed the mantle of a God as a result of his legend. This caused en evil spirit to possess him. Great despair overtook the land in the form of floods and famine, again akin to the religion read to me from the Holy Bible. The people blamed Fempellec for these disasters and threw him, bound tightly in chains from a cliff to the roiling ocean below, much as the Israelites sacrificed their Jesus.
Just as I accurately recounted the legend of Naymlap and Fempellec, I am telling my story faithfully, as it happened these many years ago. By the fact that I have achieved great age, I have the honor of the title of teller of tales. Incas highly prize those who know our history. We tellers are awarded the best seats around the community fire. Small children sit at our feet and learn the record of our proud people. The olden ones are revered in our society, for without us there would be no past collective consciousness. We would be rootless and would be blown to the four winds.
As I lay here on my deathbed, the young foreign novice carefully places my spoken words on his thin parchment. This is a science not known to the Incas. Our history is spoken in the carefully chiseled pictures we inscribe in stone, not scratched in ink on paper. That this robed scholar would take the time to record my history for future generations of my people to recite is a truly a miracle. His name is Garcilaso De La Vega. I trust the truthfulness of his words, for he is partially Incan by blood.
That one educated in the ways of the bearded-ones would take the time to record the life of this poor peasant is a tribute, not to me, but to my husband and lover who perished once in resurrecting me and then was reborn in legend. You may inquire as to how this is possible, but it was also done by the God of the Spaniard's. The story of this occurrence goes to the heart of my chronicle.
I am lying on a soft bed, unlike any I have ever experienced, in the Church of the foreign God. His representatives are attending me in my final days and hours, because I have converted from the polytheistic beliefs of my people to the One God of their religion. I am only one of a very many that have renounced the Gods of our forefathers in favor of the One True God. I had little choice.
Because I have accepted the true Christian God, I have been allowed the privilege of dying in the comfort of the sanctuary. The brothers and priests have come to know me in these past years, as I have been a faithful devotee of Christianity. As a kindness to an old dying woman they have offered this young scribe to embellish these words on the papyrus. Since Garcilaso is part Incan, I speak in my native language and he translates and records my words in some unfathomable fashion into the Spanish of these heathens. That my thoughts are accurately recorded is not in question as the scribe can repeat back to me what I have said without error. Whereas I can now speak in their tongue, my memories are whispered in my melodic Incan Quechan. I hope that recording my testimony in this way will allow future generations of my people to remember and retell my account. It is the reason I have told it in my last few moments to a total stranger.
I believe with all my heart that this is a story worthy of retelling by future generations of Incans. It is not necessarily the chronicle that will define us as a people, but it serves to characterize the type of people we are. It is a simple account of simple people told in a time when we became aware of those from across the sea, and of their God. This is not a story to glorify my people or me, but one to exalt the love that we express. That it took the wisdom of a foreign God to understand this love is not an indictment of my people, but a tribute to Him and His teachings.
I must confess though that if not for the Christian God brought by the Spaniards, this chronicle may never reach beyond my small parish. Were it not for their learned disciples I doubt that this story would be remembered beyond these village walls. Yet because of the marvel of their letters, you are now reading these words, perhaps many years after I am dust. If it is so, then this is my legacy.
I have studied the teachings from the Book of these light skinned foreigners since the death of my husband, as his death is related to their coming. I search for a reason for his death at their hands after all the pain they caused our People. I found it in the words of their Bible. Please understand that I cannot read the written words of their language, but I have learned over these many years to speak the discordant words that compose the tongue they call Spanish. The missionaries have gladly read to me the words their God wrote in His Book, and I can repeat them all.
This therefore is my story. I tell it from the perspective of not only myself, but that of my husband. As we became one I have the right to speak for him. We spent many happy nights by the fire and under the stars, holding hands, talking of our lives and the direction they took. Just as I memorized the Book, I can recount his exact words. When I relate to you the events of our lives, sometimes I will speak for myself, at other times I will tell you what he was thinking, but the words will be as one speaking.
I have not yet introduced myself. The scribe tells me as I lay here, short of breath, gasping to insure that each word is faithfully recorded, that this is proper protocol. He assures me that the world wishes to know my name, as if the utterance of a name has significance. It is the essence of what I will relate that is important, not the storyteller. If any name bears consequence it is not mine, but rather that of my love. His name was Catari. I am but an unknown. His name shall be exalted among my people, mine shall fade to insignificance. Were it not for the foreign God that arrived with the Spanish my account may well have died with me, and certainly would with my people. It may be longer remembered now that this Christian monk has taken such an interest in recording it.
II
Even though we had few possessions I led a rich life as a child growing up in the Andean foothills. My three sisters and two brothers lived with our mother and father in a simple but comfortable abode in which our relatives had lived from time immemorable. The stones that formed our house had been increased over the years to accommodate not only our increased wealth, but also the enlarged size of our family. As our people prospered under the rule of Huanya Capac, so did we. Of course at the time I was too young to understand or appreciate such things.
Since my birthday was in spring, with the blooming of the flowers, I was a child of the Vernal equinox. With the passing of five such congruencies I was required to attend school, where I learned of the mysteries of astronomy, as well as such mundane things as cooking, weaving and sewing. We were also taught the history of our people and about our Gods. I rapidly gained a basic understanding of the principles that guided the heavens, as determined by the Sun God, but I could not understand how to weave fabric from the wool of a llama, nor could I grasp the essentials of cooking. The boys were taught by our amautas, or teachers, religion, military tactics, advanced mathematics and speaking skills. I learned these subjects as well by secretly listening from outside the classroom once the girl's lessons were over.
As a young girl, the earlier my parents made a match, the richer our family would be. In our culture, once betrothed to an eligible male the two families would be as one. The joining our kin would enlarge the ayllu, or family unit. The affiliation engendered by the joining of two families enlarged the community of both, enriching the familial and economic ties through our spiritual beliefs.
After our reverence for our spiritual and military leader, the Sapa Inca, our community revolved around the ayllu. This is our historical and familial unit. Each ayllu has its own family Gods and functions as an economic unit. Each, like its Spanish counterpart, has a family crest. We Incas derive our family symbol from our original ancestor. The Puma God, one of the most highly regarded, created our family. Consequently we held a position of respect in our village.
Depending on the population of a village, the number of ayllus varied from few to many. Each ayllu resided in its own district. In addition the sectors were further grouped into high and low, or hanan and hurin. Being of Puma descent we were of the hanan and did not intermingle with hurin clans. Within each family of our ayllu, the father ruled. The wife and daughters were the property of the family patriarch. The rules of our society forbade us to intermarry within the ayllu, but required that we remain within the hanan or hurin.
We people of Inca were composed of several different ethnic groups that over time had either been conquered or had voluntarily integrated into an empire that in size and population rivaled that of the ancient Romans of whom I had been taught. The ayllus of my village are of Quechan descent. We form the largest group, from which the supreme Inca is chosen. We are all Incans, sons and daughters of our supreme ruler the Sapa Inca.
III
My story begins that first year of learning. We lived in a small community isolated from the rest of the world with only four ayllus, two each of hanan and hurin, We knew nothing yet of the fair-haired foreigners that spoke in a tongue that we could not understand. That we were part of a great empire, we were aware. We existed on the fringes of that empire and had little interaction with other communities. We accepted the rules that governed us, for to not do so was to invite trouble. We paid our taxes when the collector came each year and occasionally we sent the best of our young men off to fight. We never knew for what as they rarely, if ever returned. Yarns were related from the capitol of the required virginal sacrifices and subsequent battles won as a result of said sacrifice. These runes were not discounted by our elders as myths from the past, but rather formed the stuff from which legends grew.
In that primary year of school, I met Catari. We were both five suns old. He was from the Lightning ayllu, the most exalted beneath the Sun ayllu of the Inca. From here the rulers of our village were derived. Even though they were not from the Sun ayllu, members of this group produced most of the bureaucrats that administered the realm. From here too, many of our distinguished military leaders were born. The Inca granted Lightning constituents special privileges and protection. Catari's father was the head curaca of the village's Lightning ayllu. Households were grouped into units of ten, which were then administered by the hereditary head of the unit. Five units of ten created a larger unit of fifty. Ten units of fifty constituted the next step. The curaca was the local ruler at the apex of this ever increasing pyramid. Thus Catari was born into a place of high authority.
The first day of school, two events occurred that forever bound my innocent heart to Catari. We were first taught the history of the origins of the Incas, our supreme rulers. The Sun God created a man and a woman on an island in the middle of the revered Lake Titicaca. He gave them a golden staff and instructed them to wander the land, striking the staff to the ground. In the spot where they were to settle, the stick would be swallowed by the earth. The chosen ones were to rule this land with generosity and munificence, and were to instruct the uncultivated natives in the sciences and arts, creating civilization. The imperial couple wandered north until they came to Haunacauri in the Cuzco valley. When the staff was struck to the forested land, the fertile earth swallowed it. The royal prince and princess taught the natives the language of the Gods and shared the mysteries of astronomy and mathematics. They showed them how to build irrigation channels and till the earth. Thus Cuzco became the capitol of the Inca, with Quito our secondary northern capitol.
We were all awestruck by this legend, all except Catari. He stared straight into my eyes, as if sharing a secret and boasted "I too shall travel to Quito and take a princess with me and rule the land". The class laughed and made fun of Catari's boast, but I did not as I could see that he was serious. It was then that I first took closer notice of him, this solemn, handsome boy. His good looks derived as much from his intensity as they did from his physiognomy. His stature, at that time was several inches taller than the average child. Unlike most of our children, he was not stocky. The thick features of our race were absent from this young boy. Rather, he was slender and willowy of face and waist. Even at that tender age the beginnings of the athletic physique that he would later possess were apparent. I could not help but be enchanted by his appearance and grace. Catari, even as a boy, expressed the warrior characteristics so admired by our people
If I was mesmerized by our first contact, my innocent heart was utterly captivated by the second. As I have related, oral narration constituted a significant portion of our learning. After our lunch break, and just before our nap, it was customary for Teacher to tell us a fable that provided an insight to our spiritual development. She told us the tale of the butterfly and the flower. A newborn butterfly, resplendent in its iridescence, emerged from a chrysalis and dried its wings. Freed from the silk threads that bound it to the thorn it flew in harmony with the wind, alit upon a rose and drew sweet nectar. Even though the nectar was sweet and profuse, it went in search of other flowers, for the rose was only one God in a field of plenty. But the butterfly found that the meadows were unconcerned with its quest for sweeter nectar. As the summer passed to autumn and leaves turned to bronze and pretended they too could fly, the butterfly continued its search, not understanding time or the changes it brings. It thought that love still waited as diamond drops of dew, hanging from the petals of its sweet rose. Finally, never having found what it was seeking, the butterfly, beautiful iridescent wings faded and tattered, returned to the rose. There it remained for many hours, searching for the ambrosia that was no longer there.
At the end of the story there was much laughter from the class. Some pretended to be the butterfly, flapping their arms, while others imitated flowers, flying leaves or other insects. Catari stood there alone amongst the frivolity with tears filling his eyes. As I approached him, he whispered, " When I find my rose I will never leave her". The allegory that had escaped the other children had not been lost on Catari. That this young boy could comprehend the subtle meaning of the story led me to realize, even then, the depth of his character. In my heart I knew then that I wanted to be his rose.
IV
From the day we children heard the tale of the Butterfly and the Flower until the day I died, I called her Rose. This of course was not her given name, but it became her name nevertheless. Whereas in the fable, the flower in time lost its beauty, Rose retained hers despite age and circumstance. Her physical beauty easily surpassed not only all the other girls in school, but any and all women I have ever laid my eyes on since that first day of class. Yet this outward appearance was only a mere shadow of the radiance of her spirit. It was apparent to all who came in contact with her that this young girl was the true incarnation of the Puma ayllu. Just as the Puma represented strength, grace and intelligence as king of all animals, Rose by her mere presence bespoke these same character traits.
Even at five suns, Rose's strength was of spirit, resolve and conviction. Her sense of ethics did not derive from fear of the Gods or retribution from the Sapa Inca, but from the deep inner space that her spirit inhabited. Because of her unique beauty she naturally drew attention, even from adults. Her mastery of the sciences of mathematics and astronomy were unknown amongst other girls, and caused much jealousy with the boys in class.
There was never a doubt in my mind that she had the intellect to comprehend the parable of the Butterfly story. That she would be my Rose there was never any doubt, especially after she stared straight back at me with understanding eyes when I told her that once found my Rose, she would forever be mine. As our tender years passed it became obvious to our families that we were destined to marry. This decision was reached between our fathers, much to our pleasure.
As we matured, Rose's beauty grew. Had I not been of the Lightening ayllu, and my father not been the Inca's primary representative in our village, I have no doubt that I would have lost her; not because of her choice, but due to the nature of our society that rewards those in positions of power. I was just thankful that I was so rewarded.
It became clear that we were destined to be together when Rose, then ten suns of age, rejected an offer to become an acolyte in the acllacuna, or House of the Chosen Women. Aside from the Coya, the primary wife of the Sapa Inca, this was the highest position a woman could attain in our culture. The chosen ones would become high priestesses and concubines of the Sapa Inca himself. Yet she chose a future with me over this honor.
When Rose reached the age of a young maiden, we were frightened by rumors that I found out were started by another jealous suitor whom she had rejected. After letting him know in the straightforward way she had of expressing her opinion, that her heart was already committed to me; he was shamed. He quietly spread falsehoods that the high priests had chosen her to be a sacrificial virgin to appease the God's incessant lust for human blood so that we would continue to prosper. Unfortunately for him this had a beneficial effect for us and a negative one for him. When our families heard this rumor, they immediately announced that we were betrothed and arranged for a hasty wedding, to avert the prospective sacrifice. When I determined the source of the falsehoods, I challenged and bested him. This would have caused great humiliation had I not allowed him to score a couple of small coups that saved his dignity. That he knew I had permitted him to avoid disgrace then endeared him to me for life.
V
Prior to our nuptials Catari entered the year of sixteen suns. This was the time designated for him to prove his worth as a man. All boys trained to face a month of tests that demonstrated their physical prowess and knowledge. The entire community witnessed the event, which marked the beginning of summer each year. The young men had to fast for six days; run a long race; resist painful canings on the arms and legs without flinching and exhibit their military skills by fighting each other with our weapons of war. The tests, which were really a contest amongst the boys, often led to serious injury and occasionally even death when things got out of hand. Victory meant an elevated social status. It was here that Catari defeated the rumormonger and spared his self-respect. I witnessed the kindness firsthand, and loved him all the more for it. No other would have done the same.
After this rite of passage, the successful graduates were honored in a ceremony presided over by a chosen representative of the Sapa Inca. Those who would become rulers had their ears pierced and stretched. Gold discs were inserted to indicate that the adorned one was of nobility. Catari wore such a symbol of his status.
We settled quickly into marital life under the happy roof his father, whose house was once again increased by many stones. We had both seen sixteen summers when we were first married; young but not unusually so for our culture. Little could we know that in our first summer of love, events that had begun several years earlier and far away would soon destroy our world.
In our youth, the Sapa Inca, or Unique One, the Son of Inti our Sun God, was a great warrior named Huayna Capac. I would later learn he died in the year of our Lord 1526 A.D., from the terrible disease the bearded-ones brought with them, a disease I would later come to know well. Huayna's chosen heir, Ninan Cuyuchi, also died of the dreaded disease they called smallpox, for the pock-marks disfigured the bodies of survivors for life. This plague decimated more of our population than the Spaniards could possibly have murdered. The new Sapa Inca, our sole leader, was chosen to be Huascar, second son of Huayna. He was chosen from the court located in our capitol of Cuzco. Unfortunately at that time, much of our army and many of the court of the Lightning ayllu were located in the secondary capitol of Quito, where they preferred Atahualpa, the first son of Huayna Capac, who had proven himself in battle many times at his father's side. The two of them were left to quarrel over the crown. Their egocentric behavior as to who would assume the mantle of Sun-God would lead to the downfall of our mighty nation.
Even though Atahualpa proclaimed loyalty to the Sapa Inca, he feared leaving Quito as his brother and ruler had requested, for he was apprehensive about the possibility of assassination since he was viewed as a rival. This stand-off continued for five suns, with Atahualpa ignoring continued requests to pay his respects to Huascar in Cuzco. Instead he sent emissaries bearing gifts of gold. This enraged Huascar who slew them and returned the severed heads as a warning. He followed this with an army to bring Atahualpa to Cuzco by force. This led to a civil war that weakened the Inca. Initially Huascar's army prevailed, even capturing Atahualpa. He escaped however and rejoined his army. In several subsequent battles they defeated the opposing army, captured and imprisoned Huascar while slaughtering his family and court.
We were married in the summer of the Christian year 1532A.D. This was when civil war broke out. Since Catari was a young warrior of the Lightning ayllu; and since we lived closer to the northern capitol of Quito, he was called to join Atahualpa's army shortly after our wedding. He departed so soon that there was little opportunity to extend our family and I was, as it turned out, fortunately left without child.
VI
Duty to the Sapa Inca forced me to leave my Rose. I had no choice in the matter which was made doubly difficult due to the conflict in my heart and in my mind. I was torn by the forced separation. We had never been apart in either time or distance since we met that first day of school. At the same time I was forced to choose between our two competing rulers. The choice was made for me, as we were much closer to our northern capitol. Thus I became an officer in the army of Atahualpa.
Had we known that the civil strife would weaken us to the point where we would be defeated by a small army of bearded-ones, we may have thought twice about murdering each other and destroying our fair cities. The war, coupled with the arrival of the white-man's disease, made us vulnerable to conquest by this pathetic army of Spaniards.
The history of our civil war is well documented and deserves little comment. I played my role and was rewarded many times for my small successes in battle. I was with Atahualpa on his final march to Cuzco. As we neared the city, the Royal Army set many fires, breaking up our lines and sending us from the field. We regrouped at a ravine and the remaining generals, me included, set a trap. Our ambush could not have succeeded better had the Gods intervened. We destroyed the Royal Army, giving no quarter and captured Huascar. We freely entered Cuzco and, to my dismay and shame, slaughtered many members of Huascar's family, friends, advisors and administrators; members of my own ayllu. This left a bitter taste in my mouth and animosity toward Atahualpa. To have not shown mercy to his defeated brother did not adhere to the code of the Inca's. To have then imprisoned and demeaned Huascar, the anointed Sapa Inca, did Atahualpa no favors among the remaining members of the Lightning ayllu. This may have also further contributed to our subsequent demise at the hands of the puny army of bearded-ones.
After our victory over Huascar, we encamped high in the Andes in the city of Cajamarca which was famous for its hot springs. Here we rested and restored our health in the mineral waters. Word soon came of the return of the Spaniards. No thought was given to the possibility of conflict, as none had occurred in the previous meetings between the two cultures, several years before. Atahualpa sent an envoy, inviting the Spaniards to join us. Their little army of about 200 men with their pack animals was allowed to pass uninhibited. Their surprise must have been great when they came upon our tents, which stretched in every direction around the city. Our entire army of over 80,000 men, resplendent in their warrior attire greeted the shabby group. What could we possibly have to fear?
The leader of this rag-tag band of heathens was an ugly little man whose name was equally unattractive, Francisco Pizzaro. He was as devious as his name was unpronounceable. We graciously offered the best quarters in the main plaza of the city. The square was surrounded on three sides by buildings where his men slept. Pizarro sent his envoys, who rode on huge animals they called horses, to meet with Atahualpa. We had never seen such grand creatures. Our largest animal, the llama, was used only for carrying items. No Inca had ever ridden on the back of an animal; something we found remarkable and intimidating.
Upon meeting Atahualpa the Spaniard's pledged military assistance on his behalf and invited him to meet with Pizarro in Cajamarca the following day. At that time how could we have known that Pizarro's cousin, Hernan Cortes, had defeated our mighty northern brethren, the Aztec, by kidnapping their emperor? The deceitful little man used the same tactics to ambush and imprison our future god-king. He was most fortunate that his plan succeeded, since Atahualpa had devised his own plan. He directed his forces, led by General Ruminavi, to occupy the northern road. They were to capture the white-skinned devils, who would then be offered as a sacrifice to Inti, while keeping their horses for breeding.
The royal party approached the plaza near sunset; Atahualpa ensconced in gold and silver was carried on a litter by eighty retainers dressed in royal blue, accompanied by a retinue of 5,000 warriors. They were met by a single robed monk who offered the opportunity for all to convert to Christianity. Of course this was rejected with great scorn, whereupon the Spaniards attacked our unarmed men with cannon and guns and riding atop fully armored horses, slashing their sharp steel swords into the frantic crowd, trampling many, hacking others. We had never seen such weapons before; they were totally unknown to us. What sort of magic caused an explosion like a volcano, belching from the mouth of the cannon? What invisible force caused men hundreds of feet away to be torn apart? Certainly we had weapons such as the sling that could throw rocks to a distance of 100 feet, but you could see the rocks in flight. Had we been armed, the rocks would simply have bounced off the heavily armored force. Our javelins could have pierced the armor, but we had none, nor could we have gotten close enough. Our spiked maces, bolas, clubs and axes would similarly been of little benefit. We had copper and bronze, the enemy had finely honed steel blades. Atahualpa was captured and held safe inside a building, while the Spaniards methodically slaughtered over 6,000 men; losing not one of their own. From that time on, Spain owned our empire.
Although imprisoned, Atahualpa was allowed to continue to function as king. He sent and received emissaries, made proclamations and orders and generally behaved as if he still ruled our empire. He proposed that his freedom be purchased with a huge quantity of gold and silver. The heathens claimed that their goal was to convert our so-called pagan beliefs into that of their long-dead god. This was a farce; what they really wanted were riches. They gladly agreed to the proposal. Atahualpa delivered as promised. At the same time he ordered the murder of his half-brother Huascar, and his immediate family, in case Huascar tried to make the same bargain with the Spaniards. . During that time I was ordered by Atahualpa to return to Quito, where I was to occupy a position of high authority.
Atahualpa should have known the bearded-ones would treat him no different than he treated his brother. After a rumor was spread that Atahualpa was planning a rescue and slaughter of the Spaniard's, he was executed by garrote and then burned, denying him the mummification ritual that would have granted everlasting life. After his death, the Spaniards placed a proxy king, Manco, son of Huascar, on the throne. This was a shrewd maneuver as many in Cuzco and elsewhere, I included, welcomed the restoration of the legitimate lineage to the crown.
Of course the Christians had no intent to allow Manco to rule. They abused the people and our Sapa Inca to the point where all realized that continued accommodation was impossible. Manco duped the Spaniards, just as they had done to us, escaped, and organized a revolt and laid siege to Cuzco. Our capitol city was cut off from the rest of the empire for almost one year
The siege was finally broken due to traitors among our people, who feared reprisal for prior support of the enemy, should Manco prevail. This coupled with the arrival of reinforcements, led to his defeat. Our beloved Inca Empire, beset by such loss of prestige, was further weakened by the diseases brought by the white-man and the forced labor of our population, which declined from over seven million to a mere five hundred thousand under the iron fist of the so-called Christians. Since we did not accept their god, their Bible said that they were entitled to enslave and slaughter us.
VII
Word reached my small village that Catari had distinguished himself in the civil war and subsequent conflict with our conquerors. That he survived and rose to a position of prominence was cause for celebration. As a result of his illustrious service he was awarded a post high in the court in Quito by Atahualpa, prior to his execution. Catari sent for me to join him in Quito. I travelled to my awaiting love on a litter borne by a cadre of Royal Guards, an experience this parish girl will never forget.
I'm now embarrassed to admit that the journey, reunion with my Catari and the regal treatment we received at court all went to my head. Even in the end times of our realm we resided at the very pinnacle of three layers of nobility. We were part of the Capac Inca, or direct descendents of the founder of the Sapa Inca dynasty; this through Catari's lineage within the Lightning ayllu. From among the very elite, four apus or prefects were chosen to govern each province. Catari held such an elevated position in the Quito province. The Capac controlled all the wealth of the domain including our prized animals, precious metals, food, art and beautiful women. That I was considered to be one of the most handsome and prized females only added to the illusion that I somehow deserved such a special place in society. My job was to provide image and to entertain to assist in maintaining our lofty status. In this regard I had a beautiful wardrobe of full length gowns finely woven with gold and silver. My long, black hair remained uncut and cascaded to my waist. I had servants to brush my hair, bath and clothe me and spent hours each day in preparation for the evening festivities.
With the benefit of age and wisdom, it is obvious that in retrospect, that wonderful but superficial time should have presaged what was to come. That I was oblivious to all the sufferings of our peoples that surrounded me is a debit of eternal shame that I could never repay. This, coupled with subsequent events, contributed to my conversion to the Christian God who gave his only son to save humanity. Could I have returned to that time to sacrifice myself upon their cross for my community; I would gladly have done so. We Inca's had many Gods, the Christians but one. Certainly their beliefs were more simple and easier to understand. There were many other similarities that also facilitated my conversion. Both our religions honored virgins; we both held festivals bearing likenesses of the celibate ones aloft through the streets; we both had a form of communion and confessions.
While location and circumstances changed me from the simple village girl to the metropolitan royal that a fortuitous marriage bestowed upon me; Catari remained unaltered by his new-found position. I became one absorbed with luxury, power and adulation. Catari remained the same young man that he had been before fame and fortune were awarded for his service. Being a Capac Inca allowed him the privilege of multiple wives. He, being the individual he was, refused; his love for me was exalted above all else in his life. His love remained faithful while I became absorbed in the intrigues of the court. Accepting his unconditional love as my just rewards for my beauty I often forgot why he fell in love with me in the first place. He never did.
VIII
The joy I felt for Rose's ascension to nobility was somewhat tempered by the guilt I knew she hid in her heart for receiving a gift for which she felt unworthy. At the time she was not consciously aware of how her exalted position affected her. She lived each day to the fullest, unaware of the many small favors she did for others, servants included. It was not until we returned to our native village that remorse set in. I tried to convince her that nothing she had done deserved the self-flagellation she mentally committed herself to. Gradually she came to accept that she had behaved at all times in an appropriate and noble fashion. She had always far exceeded the Three Golden Rules of the Inca, "Ama sua, ama lulla, ama quella". Never steal, never lie, never be lazy; much more practical advice than the Ten Commandments of the Christian Spanish.
One example that Rose remained Rose, one that she did not even recognize for the humanity she extended, related to one of our servants. Even they had a caste system, with the upper levels being those who directly cared for the nobles. The farther removed the servant from direct contact, the lower the status. In our estate, one such young, female servant with a child tended the animals. Her family had perished and her husband had died in battle at the hands of the evil-ones. Rose took her in and gave her a job and a home. On her own, she had no chance of finding a mate, so Rose arranged for a marriage with one of the upper caste male servants, assuring her of a better life. Yet Rose took no credit for the kindness. This was only one example among countless considerations she unknowingly bestowed on a daily basis, hence my adoration for her only deepened with time.
IX
As all things must come to an end, so did our time in Quito. The method of our return home set the stage for the legend that developed. It would spread far and wide among our remaining peoples and would become known as Catari's Legend. Every word of it is true. It would become the last great story of a dying culture that embodied the soul of the Inca civilization. In his chronicle the quintessence of our culture is captured. Future generations that read this may never truly understand what it meant to be Incan during the zenith of our prominence. What I will now relate to you remaining children of Inti will make you once again justifiably proud to be Incan.
The bearded-ones brought many things to our world, none of them good. Worse than their ignorance of our culture; weapons that slaughtered us by the thousands and greed for gold and silver was their filth. We Incans were and are a fastidious culture, priding ourselves on cleanliness. Our cities had fresh running water and a system that removed our wastes. We bathed regularly. In a word, the Spanish reeked of unwashed bodies. That they brought many diseases with them was therefore no surprise. The worst of them they called smallpox. Whatever evil spirit resided in the disgusting odor that permeated the area around any of them, loved to inhabit our clean bodies. In some fashion, the dirt and grime protected them. We were defenseless. For every warrior killed in battle, one hundred were slain by this horrible devil. Nothing we did saved us; neither the sacrifices to our Gods nor prayers to theirs made any difference. None of the preparations made by our medicine men helped, except to slightly ease the suffering. Seven of ten who were afflicted died. The rest were marked for life.
Despite our best efforts at keeping Quito safe, smallpox arrived, bearing death on its wings. We tried to quarantine the victims, but there were too many. Others fled the city, only to take the vapors with them, further spreading the epidemic. Our priests had no answers as to why the devil infected some and spared others. Their clergy claimed that Jehovah was punishing us for our heretical beliefs and explained that they were immune because they were true believers. This made many convert, but it did not spare them. Then they proclaimed that those who survived did so because Christ answered their prayers. This filled their Roman Catholic Church with Incans, who fervently prayed to be spared. The Spanish monks were ecstatic with their success at conversion. Rumors were spread that it was they who called Lucifer forth to spread pestilence solely to bring the Incan's to their Faith. It would not have surprised many of us at that time had it been true.
X
It began with sudden onset of fatigue, fever and chills. By now we all knew the early symptoms as well as their progression. For the providential few, symptoms remained relatively mild, for most they progressed to severe generalized muscular and head pain. Lesions erupted all over the body and inside as well. Those that lived were scarred for life. My beautiful Rose developed such severe symptoms I feared she would not survive. She had bloody pustules all over. She lost much of her hair, eyebrows and nails. Perhaps fortunately her eyes were scarred so she lost most of her vision. Even though she knew what others previously afflicted looked like, at least she could not see what she had lost.
Smallpox was not satisfied with the physical pain and suffering it caused. The physical symptoms abated after about two weeks. The worst was the lifelong mental anguish at the permanent disfigurement it led to. When a couple gradually grows old together, the dwindling of physical beauty is imperceptible on a daily basis and occurs in concert. With smallpox, all is lost in the blink of an eye. For someone of Rose's splendor, the loss was devastating. Even though I knew that her true beauty was internal, it was her external beauty that our society treasured. The year we indulged ourselves in the vacuity of the court affected her, if only superficially. Smallpox stole from her the life she had built as well as her exquisite appearance. To me, aside from her depression and despair, she was still the same Rose I met when she was of five suns. It was impossible to convince her of this.
Once she had physically recovered, Rose withdrew from the world and became reclusive. She insisted on being attended to only by our servants who had been similarly afflicted. Even though she could barely see she had all the silver mirrors removed from her chambers. Heavy curtains blocked sunlight from entering. She lived in darkness, actual and spiritual; refusing to see me except in the depths of night. Even then she would not allow me to hold or comfort her as she cried herself to sleep. Touching her was forbidden. In her melancholy she dreamed of death. She cursed the disease that didn't have the courtesy of finishing what it had started. She begged me to take a new wife that could offer what my status required. Of course I refused; she was still my one true love; no disease would ever force me to abandon her for another. The more I tried to reassure her, the further she withdrew. I could see the vacancy in her mind through her clouded eyes and knew that I was losing her. Our love demanded that I do something drastic to return her to me.
XI
Our civilization was built on a foundation that tolerated little deviation from the many strict laws we had, both secular and religious. We revered the Sapa Inca, Inti the Sun God, many lesser gods, our family and ayllu. We worked hard; laziness was not tolerated, nor was thievery or dishonesty. Our men were all courageous warriors; cowardice was a disgrace punishable by death. In return for our devotion and toil, the Sapa Inca guaranteed each subject land, sufficient food and safety. Should we become chronically ill or disabled we were cared for such that we would never suffer for food or a roof over our heads. Catari knew this well as he administered our province and cared for the indigent.
In my deranged condition I had forgotten the girl I once was. I could only focus on the disfigured hag I became and what I had lost thanks to smallpox. I had lived every woman's dream. To be dignified as nobility and to receive accolades and diffidence from all who surrounded me became addictive. The higher in society we climbed, the higher I craved to reach. Appearances, both physical and in social order were the elixir that kept me intoxicated. Wielding ultimate power and authority on behalf of Catari was the aspiration that had motivated me. I couldn't bear the thought of him seeing me in such a state. How could he accept what I now was? I did everything I could to dissuade him from having contact with me and to persuade him to choose another suitable to his station in life. How could I know that the things I then held dearest were of little consequence to him? It took Catari's sacrifice to change that and return me from the deep abyss of my misery.
Catari's grandfather had been the medicine man of our village. As was tradition, knowledge was passed to succeeding generations to maintain our knowledge. Catari began his botanical studies at an early age, continuing tutelage until he departed to serve Atahualpa. He gleaned much understanding of preparing medicines for use. Much later he told me what he had done. By this time I had made peace with our fate and that of our beloved land. I had learned of the Christian God and had asked for and accepted forgiveness. The sacrifice Jesus made for his people was not lost on me, therefore the one Catari made was equally revered and honored.
XII
There was little left for me to try. I prayed to our entire retinue of Gods. I sacrificed many prized animals to them as well. I depleted our gold and silver donating to every priest I could find. I consulted with ones wise in conditions of the mind. Nothing I said to Rose made any difference. I knew that she could not tolerate being seen in her condition. Even though she was almost totally blind, she could feel my gaze like a searing knife. She believed that I pitied her; such was not the case. Rather I pitied what she had allowed herself to become. I knew that the real Rose remained veiled behind her sorrow, awaiting rebirth. If she could only realize that under the layer of pock-marked skin resided the woman I cherished. Yet as long as I could see her disfigurement, there was little chance she would allow our relationship to return to what it had once been. At any time I would gladly have forfeited my life for her; therefore it was of little consequence to me that I should give up much less.
The Spaniard's called it Peruvian Bark; we called it cinchona. It grew in abundance in the lower valleys on the eastern side of the Andes. We valued it as a medicine for many conditions, including the dreaded Blackwater Fever. I later learned that the bearded ones were familiar with this disease and named it Malaria. Steeping the bark in hot water and then drinking the tea relieved symptoms of fever, chills, pale nails and gums and yellow eyes. It was one of our most powerful medicines, one unknown to the evil ones; more valuable to us than the gold and silver they murdered us for. Of course they stole this from us as well, cutting our tropical forests that flourished in the jungles beyond the Andes. They made more from the drug they called Quinine than they did from all the precious metals taken back to their king.
I knew exactly how to prepare the remedy as my grandfather had taught me well. Made properly it was a miracle given by the gods. Deviation from their instructions in its usage caused many problems, including death. Between the two extremes of restored health and death were many gradations of symptoms, from weakness to paralysis. I prepared the formula to cause blindness. In one gulp and some mild pain I lost my eyesight. I welcomed the night and prayed that my love would be able to find her way back in the darkness of our eyes.
XIII
I have admitted to much shame and embarrassment in this chronicle, so I now must confess to one more disgrace. Such was the state of my depravity that when news of Catari's blindness reached me, I felt relief. He concocted some story about suffering a head trauma in a battle with the Spanish that I was more than willing to accept as truth. It wasn't until many years later that he divulged the truth behind his loss of vision. When Catari gracefully approached the end of his life we finally discussed the events of that lost time.
Catari knew me better than I knew myself. His ability to comprehend what I could not perceive myself was almost supernatural. When I no longer feared his rejection due to my appearance, I slowly regained confidence. His constant consideration in building self-esteem led me from the darkness where my soul subsisted into the light of day. Even though I was almost blind, I could clearly see the woman I had once been and strove to be that person again. With much effort and unlimited love and support, I succeeded.
Since Catari had been an apu of the Quito province, he was well tended in his debility. As he had already known, the Sapa Inca does not forget those who served him well. Earlier in my dialog I alluded to the benefits of our devotion and toil. Once disabled, either by age, infirmity or injury, our regime took care of us. A useful place remained in society for those with disabilities such as ours. We could no longer remain in the royal city since Catari couldn't perform his duties. We were gratefully returned to our birthplace with great tribute, in a procession similar to the one that had taken me away such a short time before. We were honored among our people for our achievements. We settled into a pleasant routine under the roof of Catari's family.
As I related earlier the raconteur was an essential component of maintaining and continuing the knowledge of our civilization. Given the experiences Catari had in the vast distances of our realm, he was highly valued as a storyteller and historian. Teaching young warriors became a passion of his. I was content with being the family nanny. The smallpox had left me barren, so I was content to be aunt to my many nieces and nephews from both Catari's family and mine.
Since we were far from the major remaining population centers, we were spared the worst of that horrible time. When the Spanish finally came, it was to convert, not to conquer us. They came to live among us and to learn. They brought Incan born adepts such as Garcilaso, whose passion to record our history exceeded even his ardor for the Bible. It took many years for me to accept their God. Even though it was the similarity between Catari's sacrifice and that of Our Lord, he remained faithful to our gods. I could see the beauty in the disparity between who the bearded ones were and what they taught. To me, Catari was the Incan reincarnation of Jesus. To redeem myself for that lost time I had to honor him. Upon his recent death, I was baptized a Catholic.
Without ever being exposed to the teachings of Jesus, Catari lived as if he were an apostle. Upon his death, I became by default the chief storyteller. The account I related was that of Catari's life. In essence I recounted the parallels between his life and that of Our Lord. In our time of desperation our people gravitated to it. In that tale Catari's life was celebrated; his sacrifice was honored. He was reborn in the legend that sprung from his humble origins, his rise to prominence and the voluntary sacrifice that returned him to his beginnings. He was surely celebrated as a favorite Son of God.
Though history will not remember me, I am proud that I could have played a small role in the legend for which we Incans will be remembered, and that I was privileged to be the wife of Catari. With no regrets I now go to rejoin him.
Jennifer says:
While this piece is well-researched and written, it lacks life because you tell us everything and show us nothing. It will come alive if you allow us to experience the episodes in the story along with your characters instead of simply telling us about them after the fact.
Plot - 20
Characters - 19
Mechanics - 24
Enjoyment - 17
TOTAL - 80
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