donât believe that they have to offer blood. I believe in your liquid god, I like that he is a god who is constantly flowing, and that he manifests himself even in my tears. I like that he is stern, strict, and just, that his anger could create or make the universe vanish in one day. But you canât have that without water or a womb. For there to be songs and flowers, there needs to be water; with it, words rise and matter takes on form. There is life that is born without a womb, but it does not remain long on the earth. What is engendered in darkness, however, in the profundity of caves, like precious gems and gold, lasts much longer. They say that there is a place beyond the sea, where there are higher mountains, and there, Mother Earth has plentiful water to fertilize the earth; and here, in my land, we have deep caves and within them, great treasures are producedââ
âReally? What treasures? Where are these caves?â
Malinalli did not want to answer him and said that she did not know. His interruption bothered her. It proved that Cortés was not interested in talking about his religion, or his gods, or his beliefs, or even about her. It was clear that he was only interested in material treasures. She excused herself and went to weep by the river.
This and many other things made it difficult for them to understand each other. Malinalli believed that words colored memory, planting images each time that a thing was named. And as flowers bloomed in the countryside after a rainfall, so that which was planted in the mind bore fruit each time that a word, moistened by saliva, named it. For example, the concept of a true and eternal god, which the Spaniards had proclaimed, in her mind had borne fruit because it had already been planted there by her ancestors. From them she had also learned that things came to exist when you named them, when you moistened them, when you painted them. God breathed through his word, gave life through it, and because of this, because of the labor and grace of the God of All Things, it was possible to paint in the mind of the Spaniards and Mexicas new concepts, new ideas.
Being âThe Tongueâ was a great spiritual duty, for it meant putting all her being at the service of the gods so that her tongue was part of the resounding system of the divinity, so that her voice would spread through the cosmos the very meaning of existence. But Malinalli did not feel up to the task. Very often, when translating, she let herself be guided by her feelings and then the voice that came out of her mouth was no other than the voice of fear, fear of being unfaithful to the gods, of failure, fear of not being able to bear responsibility. And truthfully, also fear of power, of taking power.
Never before had she felt what it was like to be in charge. She soon found that whoever controls information, whoever controls meaning, acquires power. And she discovered that when she translated, she controlled the situation, and not only that but that words could be weapons. The finest of weapons.
Words were like lightning, swiftly crossing valleys, mountains, seas, bringing needed information as readily to monarchs as to vassals, creating hope or fear, establishing alliances, abolishing enemies, changing the course of events. Words were warriors, be they sacred warriors like the Lord Aguila, or simple mercenaries. As to their divine character, words transformed the empty space in the mouth into the center of Creation, repeating there the same act with which the universe had been made, by uniting the feminine and masculine principles into one.
Malinalli knew that if life was to thrive, and these two principles remain united, she had to position herself in a circular place to safeguard them, to blanket them, since circular forms were what best contained and protected all of creation. Sharp forms, on the other hand, broke things apart, separated them. The mouth, as feminine principle, as empty
âReally? What treasures? Where are these caves?â
Malinalli did not want to answer him and said that she did not know. His interruption bothered her. It proved that Cortés was not interested in talking about his religion, or his gods, or his beliefs, or even about her. It was clear that he was only interested in material treasures. She excused herself and went to weep by the river.
This and many other things made it difficult for them to understand each other. Malinalli believed that words colored memory, planting images each time that a thing was named. And as flowers bloomed in the countryside after a rainfall, so that which was planted in the mind bore fruit each time that a word, moistened by saliva, named it. For example, the concept of a true and eternal god, which the Spaniards had proclaimed, in her mind had borne fruit because it had already been planted there by her ancestors. From them she had also learned that things came to exist when you named them, when you moistened them, when you painted them. God breathed through his word, gave life through it, and because of this, because of the labor and grace of the God of All Things, it was possible to paint in the mind of the Spaniards and Mexicas new concepts, new ideas.
Being âThe Tongueâ was a great spiritual duty, for it meant putting all her being at the service of the gods so that her tongue was part of the resounding system of the divinity, so that her voice would spread through the cosmos the very meaning of existence. But Malinalli did not feel up to the task. Very often, when translating, she let herself be guided by her feelings and then the voice that came out of her mouth was no other than the voice of fear, fear of being unfaithful to the gods, of failure, fear of not being able to bear responsibility. And truthfully, also fear of power, of taking power.
Never before had she felt what it was like to be in charge. She soon found that whoever controls information, whoever controls meaning, acquires power. And she discovered that when she translated, she controlled the situation, and not only that but that words could be weapons. The finest of weapons.
Words were like lightning, swiftly crossing valleys, mountains, seas, bringing needed information as readily to monarchs as to vassals, creating hope or fear, establishing alliances, abolishing enemies, changing the course of events. Words were warriors, be they sacred warriors like the Lord Aguila, or simple mercenaries. As to their divine character, words transformed the empty space in the mouth into the center of Creation, repeating there the same act with which the universe had been made, by uniting the feminine and masculine principles into one.
Malinalli knew that if life was to thrive, and these two principles remain united, she had to position herself in a circular place to safeguard them, to blanket them, since circular forms were what best contained and protected all of creation. Sharp forms, on the other hand, broke things apart, separated them. The mouth, as feminine principle, as empty
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