Ines of My Soul (27 page)

In the most splendid natural setting in the world, in the depths of the cold forests of southern Chile, in the silence of fragrant roots, bark, and branches, in the haughty presence of the volcanoes and peaks of the cordillera, beside emerald lakes and foaming rivers of melted snow, the Mapuche tribes joined together in a special ceremony, a conclave of ancients, heads of clans,
toquis, lonkos
, machis, warriors, women, and children.

Day after day they came to the forest clearing, an enormous hilltop amphitheater the men had already outlined with branches of araucaria and
canelo
; sacred trees. Some of the families had traveled weeks through the rain to get there. Groups that arrived early had set up huts—
rukas
—so attuned to nature that even from a short distance they could not be detected. Those who arrived later improvised leaf shelters—ramadas
—
and hung their wool blankets. At night they all prepared food they exchanged with others and drank chicha and
muday
, but in moderation, so they would not tire themselves. They visited to catch up on news told in long, solemn, poetic narratives repeating the histories of their clans memorized from generation to generation. Talk, talk, talk; that was the important thing. In front of each shelter a small fire was kept burning and smoke drifted in the mist that rose from the earth at the first light. The flickering fires illuminated the milky landscape of dawn. The young men returned from the river where they had been swimming in frigid water, and painted their faces and bodies in ritual colors of yellow and blue. The caciques donned their blankets of embroidered wool, sky blue, black, white; hung around their necks their
toquicuras
, the stone hatchets that were symbols of their power; stuck heron, ñandú, and condor feathers in their headdresses, while the machis burned aromatic herbs and prepared the
rewe
, the spiritual ladder they climbed to speak with Ngenechén.

We offer you this trickle of
muday
, it is the custom, to nourish the spirit of the Earth, which is always with us. Ngenechén made the
muday
, he made the Earth, he made the
canelo
, he made the kid and the condor.

The women braided their hair with bright yarn: the maidens sky blue, the married women red; they adorned themselves with their finest blankets and silver jewelry, while the children, also dressed for a festival, quiet and serious, sat in a semicircle. The men formed a single body like wood, proud, pure muscle, black hair held back in woven headbands, their weapons in their hands.

With the first rays of the sun, the ceremony began. The warriors ran around the amphitheater yelling and brandishing their weapons to the tempo of drums and flutes, frightening away the forces of evil. The machis sacrificed several guanacos, after asking their permission to offer their lives to the Great Father. They poured a little blood on the ground, tore out the animals' hearts, smoked them with tobacco, then divided them into small pieces to be shared among the
toquis
and
lonkos
, in that way communing among themselves and with the Earth.

Ngenechén, this is the pure blood of the animals, your blood, blood that you give us so that we may live and move about. Great Father, with this blood we are pleading that you will bless us
.

The women began a melancholy chant as the men filed into the center of the amphitheater and danced, slow and heavy, pounding the ground with naked feet to the sound of the
kultrun
drums and
trutrucas.

And you also, Mother of the People, we greet you. Earth and the people are inseparable. Everything that happens to the Earth happens also to the people. Mother, we beg you to give us the piñon that sustains us, we beg you not to send too much rain, for the seeds will rot, and the wool, and we ask you please not to make the earth tremble or the volcanoes spit, because it awes the herds and frightens the children.

Then the women entered the circle and danced with the men, moving their arms, heads, and blankets like great birds. Soon the dancers felt the hypnotic effect of
kultruns
and
trutrucas
, of the rhythmic beat of feet on the damp earth, of the powerful energy of the dance, and one by one they began to utter visceral howls that gradually merged into a long cry: Oooooooohm—which echoed in the mountains and moved their spirit. No one could escape the spell of that Ooooooooohm.

We are asking you only, Great Father, that if it pleases you, you aid us in every moment here on this earth, and in this time that we are going through, we ask that you hear us. We are asking, Great Father, that you do not abandon us, that you do not cause us to feel our way in the darkness, that you give great strength to our arms to defend the land of our grandfathers.

The music and the dance came to a stop. The rays of the morning sun were sifting through the clouds, tinting the mist with golden dust. The most ancient of the
toquis
, wearing a puma skin around his shoulders, stepped forward to speak first. He had traveled an entire moon to be here, to represent his tribe. There was no hurry. He began in the most remote times, the story of Creation, how the snake Cai-Cai stirred up the sea and the waves were threatening to swallow the Mapuche, but then the serpent Treng-Treng saved them, carrying them to the peak of the highest hills that it made grow and grow. And the rain fell in such abundance that those who did not manage to climb to the hills perished in the flood. And afterward, the waters receded, and men and women occupied the valleys and the forests, never forgetting that the trees and the plants and the animals are their brothers, and that they must care for them, and that every time branches are cut to make a shelter, they are thanked, and when an animal is killed to eat, it is asked forgiveness, and is never killed for the sake of killing. And the Mapuche lived free in the blessed land, and when the Incas from Peru came, the Mapuche joined together to defend themselves and defeated the Incas, and did not let them pass the Bío-Bío, which is the mother of all rivers, but her waters were stained with blood and the moon was red in the sky. And a time passed, and the
huincas
came along the same roads as the Incas. Many came, and they smelled very bad, they could be smelled at two days' distance, and they were thieves; they had no country and no land, they took what was not theirs, women, too, and they wanted the Mapuche and other tribes to be their slaves. And our warriors had to drive them out, but many died, because their arrows and lances could not pierce the metal clothes of the
huincas
, while they could kill from afar with nothing but noise, or with their dogs. No matter, they were driven out. The
huincas
themselves left, cowards that they were. And several summers and several winters passed, and other
huincas
came, and these, the ancient
toqui
said, wish to stay; they are cutting trees, raising their
rukas
, sowing their maize, and planting their seed in our women, and thus are born children who are neither
huincas
nor people of the earth. And from what our spy tells us, they intend to take over the entire land, from the volcanoes to the sea, from the desert to where the world ends, and they want to found many towns. They are cruel, and their
toqui
Valdivia is very clever. And I say to you that never have the Mapuche had enemies as powerful as these bearded ones from far away. Now they are but a small tribe, but more will come, because they have houses with white wings that fly across the sea. And I now ask our people what we must do.

Another of the toquis came forward, waved his weapons in the air, and leaped and uttered a long cry of rage, then announced that he was ready to attack the
huincas
, to kill them, to devour their hearts to absorb their power, to burn their
rukas
, to take their women—there was no other way. Death to them all. When he had spoken, a third
toqui
occupied the center of the amphitheater to maintain that the entire Mapuche nation had to join together against that enemy and choose a
toqui
among
toquis
, a
ñidoltoqui
, and make war.

Great Father Ngenechén, we ask only that you give us aid in overcoming the
huincas;
help us to tire them, badger them, and not let them sleep or eat, make them fear us, let us spy on them, set traps for them, steal their weapons, crush their skulls with our
macanas.
This we ask of you, Great Father
.

The first
toqui
again came forward to say that they did not have to hurry, they had to fight with patience, the
huincas
were like a bad weed that when cut sends out more vigorous shoots than before; this would be a war with them, with their children, and the children of their children. Much Mapuche blood and much
huinca
blood would be spilled before the end. The warriors lifted their lances and from their throats came a long chorus of approving yells.
War! War!
At that moment, the fine rain ceased, the clouds parted, and a magnificent condor slowly cruised across a strip of clear sky.

At the beginning of September we realized that our first winter in Chile had come to an end. The weather improved and buds came out on the young trees we had transplanted from the forest to line the streets. Those months had been hard not just because of the Indians' harassment and Sancho de la Hoz's conspiring, but also for the forsaken feeling that frequently overwhelmed us. We wondered what was happening in the rest of the world, whether there had been Spanish conquests in other territories, new inventions, what was the state of our emperor, who according to the last news to reach Peru a couple of years before was losing his sanity. Madness ran in the veins of his family; one had only to think of his unfortunate mother, Juana, the madwoman of Tordesillas.

From May to the end of August the days had been short; it had grown dark about five o'clock and the nights had seemed eternal. We used the last ray of natural light to do our work, after which we had to gather in one room of the house—masters, Indians, dogs, even the fowl from the hen yard—with one or two candles and a brazier. Each of us looked for a way to help pass the evening hours. The chaplain started a choir among the Yanaconas to reinforce the faith through chants. Aguirre entertained us with his outlandish tales of womanizing and his risqué soldier ballads. Rodrigo de Quiroga, who at first seemed quiet and rather timid, loosened up and revealed himself to be an inspired storyteller. We had very few books among us, and knew them all by heart, but Quiroga would take the characters of one story and insert them into a different one, ending up with an infinite array of plots. All the books in the colony, except two, were on the black list of the Inquisition, and as Quiroga's versions were much more audacious than the originals, they were a sinful pleasure, and for that reason much requested. We also played cards, a vice suffered by all Spaniards, especially our gobernador, who was also blessed with luck. We did not bet money, in order to avoid quarrels and not set a bad example for the servants, but also to hide how poor we were. We listened to the vihuela, recited poetry, and had spirited conversations. The men remembered their battles and adventures, applauded by everyone present. Pedro was asked again and again to recount the feats of the marqués de Pescara; soldiers and servants never tired of praising the marqués's cleverness the time he had camouflaged his troops with white sheets to blend into the snow.

The captains held meetings—also in our home—to discuss the colony's laws, one of the gobernador's basic concerns. Pedro wanted Chile's society to be based on legality and the spirit of service of its leaders. He insisted that no one should receive payment for occupying a public office, least of all himself, since serving was an obligation and an honor. Rodrigo de Quiroga fully shared this idea, but they were the only two imbued with such lofty ideals. With the land and encomiendas that had been distributed among the enterprising soldiers of the conquest, they would in the future have more than enough to live very well, Valdivia said, even if for the moment their rewards were only dreams. Those who had the most land would have to do the most for other people in return.

The soldiers were bored, because aside from practicing with their weapons, copulating with their concubines, and fighting when called upon, they had little to do. The work of building the city, growing food, and looking after the animals was done by the women and the Yanaconas. I did not have enough hours to do everything: taking care of my house and the colony, looking after the sick, the plantings, and the animal pens, along with my reading lessons with González de Marmolejo and the Mapudungu with Felipe.

The fragrant spring breeze brought with it a wave of optimism; the terrors recently unleashed by Michimalonko's warriors lay behind us. We felt stronger, even though following the slaughters at Marga-Marga and Concón and the execution of four traitors our small numbers had been reduced even further; we now had only one hundred and twenty soldiers. Santiago had emerged nearly intact from the mud and wind of the winter months, when we'd had to bail out water with pails; our houses had survived the deluge and our people were healthy. Even our Indians, who died if they caught a common cold, had come through the storms without serious problems. We plowed our garden plots and planted the seedlings I had so carefully guarded from the icy winds. The animals had mated and we prepared fenced pens for the piglets, foals, and llamas soon to be born. We decided that as soon as the mud dried we would dig the necessary drainage ditches, and even planned to build a bridge over the Río Mapocho to join the town with the haciendas that one day would lie on the town's outskirts . . . but first we would have to finish the church. Francisco de Aguirre's house was already two stories high, and still growing. We teased him because he had more Indian girls, and gave himself more airs, than all the rest of the men put together, and evidently he intended for his house to be higher than the church. “The Basque thinks he is above God,” the soldiers joked. The women of my household had spent the winter sewing and teaching their domestic skills to others. The morale of the Spaniards, always very vain regarding appearance, rose when they saw their new shirts, patched breeches, and mended doublets. Even Sancho de la Hoz, from his cell, for once interrupted his plotting. The gobernador announced that soon we would be building another brigantine, returning to work the gold beds, and looking for the silver mine the curaca Vitacura had reported—and which had been the most elusive prize of all.