confess.â
When the monk stepped out into the early evening, his head ached and his empty stomach growled. As he walked toward the monastery, he wondered why it was that his path had steered him to the door of such a woman. He was intrigued as well as confused because he had not imagined that the natives of this land could be so complex. Above all, he was astounded at being repelled yet attracted by her.
Chapter
III
âPriest, I have often heard your brother monks say that it is a sin for a woman to deceive her husband about her virginity before they are married. Do you think this way?â
âYes.â
Father Benito had returned to be with Huitzitzilin. The previous night had been difficult for him because he had been unable to sleep, thinking of her. She had confessed to the willful killing of her unborn child, and he knew that as a priest he was obliged to absolve her. Yet he was in conflict because he couldnât find forgiveness for her. On the other hand, her argument that she had feared for her life was something that he turned over in his mind, and finally he began to appreciate her circumstances.
After morning mass, Benito spoke to Father Anselmo, the prior, hoping to find guidance regarding the Indian womanâs revelations and their unexpected, abrupt tangents. Their conference lasted more than two hours, and after that Father Benito felt at peace, now understanding that what he was to do was to discern the separation between Huit-zitzilinâs sins and the customs of her people. The first he was to absolve and forget; the second he was to commit to paper.
Trying to deflect her impending confession, Benito prompted her in another direction. âPlease tell me what you remember of this city during your youth.â
âTenochtitlan was a city of unimaginable grandeur and elegance,â she responded. âIt was a jewel and its setting was Anahuac, a valley flanked by volcanoes, mountains and fertile land. Our city was built on an island in the center of a lake. Itâs palaces, temples and marketplaces were of a beauty you cannot conceive.â
Huitzitzilin interrupted the description and looked at Benito, a coy smile on her lips. âShall I tell you more about Zintle and me?â
Father Benitoâs eyes snapped away from Huit-zitzilinâs face, trying to conceal the surge of blood that colored his cheeks and forehead. Inwardly, he reproached himself for betraying squeamishness as she alluded to her sexual transgressions. Again hoping to distract the woman, he asked, âMay I, from time to time, write what you say?â
âI thought you were to forget the sins uttered in confession.â
âOh, youâre right. However, itâs not your sins that I would put on paper. Rather, it would be the many interesting things you say regarding your people.â
Father Benito reached for a leather bag he had placed at his feet. From it he withdrew sheets of paper and a small ink pot. Then he fumbled for several moments, struggling to find the quill he thought he had brought along with the paper. He finally located it and returned his attention to Huitzitzilin, who seemed amused and entertained by his floundering. She put aside speaking more of Zintle.
âWhen I arrived in Tenochtitlan, I was housed with Ahuitzotl, my grandfather. It was there that I was to await Tetlaâs proposal for me to become one of his concubines. I must confess that my heart, though young, was a deep well of turmoil during those months. My spirit was confused, and it was torn by the emotions that have stalked me like sinister shadows ever since then. I was anguished by fear of what I knew would be Tetlaâs response to being cheated of my virginity.
Father Benito nervously interrupted her. âMay I ask you to first tell me of the traditions regarding marriages and leave your confession to the end?â
âVery well. But the mention of my loss of virginity is not meant to