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Authors: Laila Lalami
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thumbnail, for they were sealed to the leather with glue.
Here, I said, offering him my rusty pocketknife.
Perfect, Señor Dorantes said, patting me on the back. This gesture, this little gesture, nourished the dream I had conceived when I found the pebble of gold.
Once the headdress was stripped of its spangles, we returned to thesquare, just in time to hear the governor say that he had given the name Santa MarÃa to the village. He received the charms from Señor Castilloâs cupped hands and examined them under the harsh afternoon sun. Then he sent spit shooting out of his mouth in a long, straight line. This is gold, he confirmed.
The charms were passed around to the handful of officers and friars who were standing near the governor. A mosquito flew into one of Señor Cabeza de Vacaâs ears and he slapped himself, tilting his head sideways to get it out, but all the while he held on to one of the golden charms, turning it between his fingers. The commissary was saying something about the urgency of destroying the heathen idols in the temple. Quietly, the governor spoke. Did anyone else find any gold?
The captains stopped talking and looked at each other. One of them had found an arrowhead made of gold and another had come across what looked like a small silver earring, but no one had brought back as much gold as Señor Castillo. So this is all of it, Señor Narváez said.
Señor Castillo cleared his throat and seemed about to say something when the governor held up his palm to stop him. In a thin voice, he ordered one of the carpenters and one of the prisoners brought to him. From the carpenter, a Portuguese man with a slight limp and a bushy beard, who went by the name of Ãlvaro Fernándes, he borrowed a hammer and nails. Then he had two of his soldiers force the Indian prisoner to sit on his knees, with his hands before him, in a pose that reminded me of a man at prayer.
Listen to me carefully, the governor said. Is this Apalache?
The prisoner nodded. He was thin and very long-limbed, and on his right shoulder there was a birthmark in the shape of a circle.
This is Apalache? The governor crouched in front of the man, so that he could look him in the eye.
The prisoner nodded again. His eyes were like dark pools, filled to the brim with attention.
It cannot be Apalache. There is little gold here.
The man seemed to hesitate now. Then he nodded again.
Are you telling me the truth? And with this, the governor brought the hammer down on the manâs little finger.
Howling with pain, the man yanked his hand, but the soldiers restrained him and put it back down on the ground. The shattered nail oozed blood, and the knuckle was broken.
Fernándes, the carpenter whose innocent tools had been turned into instruments of torture, walked away toward the huts, but all the officers stood, waiting for an answer to the governorâs question. Where is Apalache?
I wish I could say that I protested. I wish I could say that I enjoined the governor to leave the poor man alone. But I was afraid to speak. I am a slave now, I told myself, I am not one of them. I cannot interfere in matters between the Spaniards and the Indians.
The governor hammered another finger, blind to the blood that now streaked the earth.
Señor, I whispered, shall I go prepare you something to eat? I wanted to walk as far away from the square as I could, to go someplace where I would not have to see what was being done to the prisoner. Señor Dorantes did not hear me or did not wish to answer. I tried againâlouder this time. Señor.
My master finally turned toward me, but before he could answer, someone called out, Don Pánfilo, please. Please. It was the youngest of the friars, Father Anselmo, leaning so far forward he seemed about to fall. With all eyes on him now, his voice rose to a higher register, and he began to stutter. P-p-please stop, he said. Th-th-this man d-d-does not know a-a-anything.
The
Here, I said, offering him my rusty pocketknife.
Perfect, Señor Dorantes said, patting me on the back. This gesture, this little gesture, nourished the dream I had conceived when I found the pebble of gold.
Once the headdress was stripped of its spangles, we returned to thesquare, just in time to hear the governor say that he had given the name Santa MarÃa to the village. He received the charms from Señor Castilloâs cupped hands and examined them under the harsh afternoon sun. Then he sent spit shooting out of his mouth in a long, straight line. This is gold, he confirmed.
The charms were passed around to the handful of officers and friars who were standing near the governor. A mosquito flew into one of Señor Cabeza de Vacaâs ears and he slapped himself, tilting his head sideways to get it out, but all the while he held on to one of the golden charms, turning it between his fingers. The commissary was saying something about the urgency of destroying the heathen idols in the temple. Quietly, the governor spoke. Did anyone else find any gold?
The captains stopped talking and looked at each other. One of them had found an arrowhead made of gold and another had come across what looked like a small silver earring, but no one had brought back as much gold as Señor Castillo. So this is all of it, Señor Narváez said.
Señor Castillo cleared his throat and seemed about to say something when the governor held up his palm to stop him. In a thin voice, he ordered one of the carpenters and one of the prisoners brought to him. From the carpenter, a Portuguese man with a slight limp and a bushy beard, who went by the name of Ãlvaro Fernándes, he borrowed a hammer and nails. Then he had two of his soldiers force the Indian prisoner to sit on his knees, with his hands before him, in a pose that reminded me of a man at prayer.
Listen to me carefully, the governor said. Is this Apalache?
The prisoner nodded. He was thin and very long-limbed, and on his right shoulder there was a birthmark in the shape of a circle.
This is Apalache? The governor crouched in front of the man, so that he could look him in the eye.
The prisoner nodded again. His eyes were like dark pools, filled to the brim with attention.
It cannot be Apalache. There is little gold here.
The man seemed to hesitate now. Then he nodded again.
Are you telling me the truth? And with this, the governor brought the hammer down on the manâs little finger.
Howling with pain, the man yanked his hand, but the soldiers restrained him and put it back down on the ground. The shattered nail oozed blood, and the knuckle was broken.
Fernándes, the carpenter whose innocent tools had been turned into instruments of torture, walked away toward the huts, but all the officers stood, waiting for an answer to the governorâs question. Where is Apalache?
I wish I could say that I protested. I wish I could say that I enjoined the governor to leave the poor man alone. But I was afraid to speak. I am a slave now, I told myself, I am not one of them. I cannot interfere in matters between the Spaniards and the Indians.
The governor hammered another finger, blind to the blood that now streaked the earth.
Señor, I whispered, shall I go prepare you something to eat? I wanted to walk as far away from the square as I could, to go someplace where I would not have to see what was being done to the prisoner. Señor Dorantes did not hear me or did not wish to answer. I tried againâlouder this time. Señor.
My master finally turned toward me, but before he could answer, someone called out, Don Pánfilo, please. Please. It was the youngest of the friars, Father Anselmo, leaning so far forward he seemed about to fall. With all eyes on him now, his voice rose to a higher register, and he began to stutter. P-p-please stop, he said. Th-th-this man d-d-does not know a-a-anything.
The
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