Read Online The Goldsmith's Daughter by Tanya Landman - Free Book Online Page B

doing I knew not what.
    But the first day of the festival was different. It was a holy time and the priests who taught him were engaged with other duties so he had no school. And I, our father complaining of a headache, was released from my work. Mayatl was occupied with the many tasks of the household. So Mitotiqui and I went together to the temple precinct to watch the celebrations.
    Our mood was muted at first; we hardly knew how to speak to one another. We walked the wide avenues, and the distance between us was tangible and painfully awkward. But as we continued the crowds became thicker, until they were so great that we were pressed shoulder to shoulder. This enforced contact began to dissolve our reticence.
    Like all gods, Tezcatlipoca has two faces: one is perfect and beautiful; the other is Titlacuan the destroyer, a wizened old man full of malice. This duality was represented throughout the festival. As Mitotiqui and I approached the square, a shrunken, aged man, whose curled toenails clacked on the stones like claws, leapt in our path and waved his stick in our faces. By his feet I knew him to be the man from the marketplace – he who had cast down my figurine in scorn. His eyes blazed as the god possessed him. Stepping forward to shield me, Mitotiqui took the blows Titlacuan rained down. They thudded hard upon his chest, while he who played the god shrieked aloud, “Do not protect her! She brings disaster.”
    It was his usual cry. He moved on, poking his stick rudely beneath the skirts of women, and shouting insults to their husbands. But it chilled me; his words seemed meant for my ears alone. Seeing my reaction, Mitotiqui placed an arm about my shoulders and pulled me to him.
    â€œCome, sister,” he said. “The bird dance begins.”
    As children, we had always thought this the most exciting aspect of the festival.
    A high pole had been erected in the precinct and four men, dressed in the costumes of birds with intricate weavings of gold and green feathers transforming their arms into wings, climbed it. When they reached the platform at the top they tied ropes around their waists. A fifth man was perched perilously at the centre, a drum gripped between his knees which he began to beat.
    Once secured, with no hesitation the first of the four dived off, head first, hurtling towards the ground. I knew he was safely secured, knew he would not dash himself to pieces; yet I, along with the rest of the onlookers, could not help but gasp as he launched himself into the air. He scarce brushed the stone before springing back up. Around the pole he bobbed and spun, wheeling in a great arc high above our heads thirteen times – a sacred number, for it is as many as the cycle of years, and the layers of the heavens.
    The second and third bird dancers followed the first almost at once. But the fourth was slow to dive, as though afraid. And when the jeers of the crowd forced him off, he found he had misjudged the length of his rope and his head hit stone. We did not hear the crack of bone, for the watching people roared, some with sympathy, some with derision. His flight was erratic, inelegant, of no tribute to the gods. When it ended he was led, almost insensible, away.
    â€œI fear for him,” murmured my brother in my ear.
    â€œI too.”
    We both knew that an error in any dance could prove fatal to the perpetrator.
    Next came the nobles of the city, hundreds of men wearing gorgeous robes of rippling feathers, gleaming with gold ornaments. Drums sounded, and the music of pipes and flutes rang throughout the square. The noblemen began the serpent dance, rising in waves in tribute to Tezcatlipoca. The assembled crowd clapped and whooped, giving their encouragement and support to those who wound, with wild ecstasy, in spiralling circles around the drummers. Attendants with pine cudgels stood ready to press back any man who weakened and tried to leave the dance. The steps must be performed