of the green grasses ire'ne lara silva (bio) I was already there when she was given by the Chontal Maya of Potonchán to the Spaniards. They were as strange to her eyes as they were to mine. In her mind, I heard her remark on the paleness of their faces and the strangeness of their light-colored hair and the oddness of the metal covering every inch of their bodies. She told herself she would not betray any fear, that she would stand tall and very, very still. The women around her shivered and cried silently. At first, I did not understand that she was being given as a slave, as a tribute, as a spoil of battle. She refused to even think it as she was presented to Cortés. She did not lower her eyes as his fell upon her. I saw him through her eyes, felt her register his sudden stillness. His eyes and hers and mine flared simultaneously with a sudden piercing light. I shivered though I had no body to shiver with. But she was given to someone else, one of Cortés' lieutenants, Alonso Hernández Puertocarrero. I shuddered whenever he entered the tent. She never betrayed herself, not a single flinch, not a single tear—only the involuntary grunts that escaped the back of her throat. I could have shut myself away, closed myself off from what she experienced, but I stayed with her. I couldn't leave her to suffer alone. At the very least, I could share her pain and shed her tears. Hernández was careful never to touch her face or to leave visible bruising. The other women did not fare as well. A few of them had been given individually to some of Cortés' lieutenants. The others were used by all his men. They were bruised, often bloody, and never lifted their eyes. _______ I've inhabited other bodies, but none like this, with senses so close to my own. And even amongst my own people, I'd never felt this intense connection. I hadn't thought I'd explore this world in the body of a woman. In a body so much smaller than mine. Our peoples both have two legs, two arms, one head, similar nervous, digestive, and reproductive systems, but there the similarities end. I didn't know I'd feel through her skin as I might feel through mine. I see and hear and taste and touch everything through her. Her pain is my pain. Nightly, he grabs her from behind and pushes her face down into the rough mat she sleeps on. I want to scream. So does she, but she forces herself to remain silent, forces her body to remain still. This is blasphemy among my people. We do not even have a word for this violence upon the body. I cannot see his face. Is it slack with desire? Is it filled with rage? Blank with satisfaction? She is not a human to him, not even a body, only a thing to slake his need. She lies a moment on the floor where he leaves her. I am weeping for her, because she will not let him see her pain. Or perhaps because she knows it is of no use. Hernández, they said his name was. She curses it with the taste of blood in her mouth. _______ She does not know my name. If she hears my voice, she does not understand my words. She never [End Page 201] betrays my presence. But sometimes, in her sleep, she holds her own shoulders in her hands as if she is reaching for me. And in her sleep, she sighs when I wrap my long furred arms around her. I do not forget why I have come to this world, but still, my flesh clings to hers, my eyes, my hands, my breath. It was not love. She simply became half of me, and I became half of her. There was no separating us. _______ I am the Dreamer of the Seventh Family of the Northern Circle. The youngest son, promised to the service of the Mother. I...
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