VOYAGE OF STRANGERS (20 page)

We fell silent. In a nearby thicket, a bird we could not see was singing its heart out, liquid trills pouring from its throat. I laid my cheek against Rachel’s curly hair and closed my eyes. The warmth of the sun caressed me.

“Diego! Wake up!”

My head jerked up. My eyes flew open.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Yes, you were,” Rachel said. “Your mouth hung open, and you were snoring. Now, listen. Shh. Don’t make a sound. Listen, and tell me what you hear.”

At first I heard nothing but the wind soughing in the trees. Then the faintest sound of what might have been cheers and whistles came to me, not from the direction of the shore from which we had come, but further inland.

“That is odd indeed,” I said. “It sounds like the crowd at a bullfight in Seville. What could it possibly be?”

“Not my imagination, since you ca
n hear it too,” she said. “Let's go and see.”

“Is that wise?” I asked. “We are only two and not well armed.” For I had only my knife and the tinderbox.

“You worry too much, Diego,” Rachel said. “It is such a happy sound, I cannot believe it is dangerous.”

“It could be the Canibale having a feast,” I said. “That would be a happy occasion for them, but not for us.”

“You don’t believe that,” Rachel said, “and neither do I. After all, they say with as little reason that the Jews kill Christian babies.”

She started walking briskly in the direction of the mysterious sounds. Unwinding my
t’fillin
and carefully rolling up my
tallit
, for the noonday sun was hot, I followed her.

We made our way through the forest, pushing hanging vines out of the way and ducking the occasional green fruit that the black-faced monkeys swinging overhead threw at us as they scolded and chittered. I wondered if what we had heard might not be merely a gathering of such monkeys. But the noise grew louder until we could not deny that it came from human throats. It still sounded cheerful and not unlike a bullfight.

Breaking through a veil of vines that glowed more yellow than green with the sunlight shining through them, we came out into an open space that I can only call a plaza. The central court was a great rectangle of packed earth surrounded by stones of varying sizes. At least two dozen Taino ran this way and that upon it in patterns that at first appeared random to me. As I watched, I realized that they contested possession of a large sphere or ball of some marvelous substance, for when it struck the ground, it didn’t  roll, but instead sprang upward. The crowd of Taino spectators, both men and women as well as many children, watched with keen interest, cheering, catcalling, or groaning as the ball passed from one man to another, now in a kind of dance, now almost too fast to follow.

“It is a game!” Rachel exclaimed in delight. “Look, those with the red face paint are trying to keep the others from hitting the great stone on that side of the court, and the others in the white are defending their stone opposite it. Are they not skillful?”

They were indeed, for they were bouncing the remarkable ball not only off the earth and the surrounding stones, but also their own shoulders, knees, hips, and even foreheads with astonishing grace.

“They don’t use their hands at all,” Rachel observed. “It must be forbidden.”

“Your eye is quicker than mine,” I said, “but you are right.”

At that moment, one of the players, a young man in white face paint, leaped high in the air, butting the ball with his head as it came flying at him. As he fell to the ground, half laughing, half exclaiming with pain as his buttocks hit the earth, the ball smashed into the opposing goal stone with a mighty thwack. All raised a cheer, and the game came to an end. The white-marked players had evidently won, for they embraced each other and raised the laughing hero to their shoulders, while the red-marked players shook their heads and shouted insults at their competitors. Some of the spectators appeared to have wagered on the outcome, for tokens ranging from fishhead spears to gold nose rings changed hands. All seemed good humored, which impressed me mightily.

Children leaped to smooth the scuffed earth of the court and what I took to be Taino priests performed a ritual with chanting and gestures. Next came a feast. This took place not on the court itself, but beyond it, close to the shade of the green forest surrounded by its ring of mountains. Those who had been tending the cooking fires came forward with spits of roasted meat, pots of stew, and all manner of roasted roots, grains, and fruits. Both players and spectators fell on the food and soon became engrossed in eating, though they continued to jest and jeer about the game.

Rachel and I had crept forward without realizing we did so. The young man who had won the game for his side looked up and saw us.

“Diego!” he exclaimed. Pushing those around him aside with hip and thigh as he had the bouncing ball, he came toward us with hands outstretched. “I am glad to see you.”

I was dumbfounded.

“Hutia?” For it was indeed he. “My friend,” I said in Taino, “I am indeed happy to see you again. You have changed greatly.”

He had been a well-grown and comely youth when we had worked together on the building of La Navidad. Now he was becoming a man, not bearded, as in that respect the Taino differed from the Europeans, but confident in his bearing and corded with muscles under the skin still gleaming with sweat from the game.

“So have you,” he replied, “for you now speak our language fluently. Is this your wife?” He grinned down at Rachel, who was staring, fascinated.

“No!” she said.

I realized that Hutia had never seen a European woman, for none had accompanied us on the first voyage. For all he knew, an open shirt, breeches, and leather boots were our women’s customary garb.

“Am I to guess?” he asked. “His playmate? Perhaps his mother?”

“I'm Rachel,” she said, not at all disconcerted at his teasing. “I am Diego’s sister.”

“I am glad to know you, Rachel,” he said, with a courtly bow that he had learned from me as we labored together the year before. To me, he said, “Then when your sons marry, they will live in her hut.”

“I have no sons.”

Both of them laughed at me.

“He means when you have sons and they are grown,” Rachel said. “Hutia, is it so? Do Taino women indeed rule their nephews’ home?”

“You too speak Taino,” Hutia observed. “How can it be?”

“I learned it from your father,” Rachel said.

“My father! I was so surprised to see you that I forgot to ask. I know he is not on the ships, for I have watched all that has happened since your winged boats arrived, and I did not see him. Did he remain in Spain?”

I was amazed to learn he had been watching us. But I could not question him on this subject, for the moment I had dreaded had arrived. Rachel bravely took the burden from me.

“He is dead, Hutia.” She touched his arm lightly, and her eyes filled with tears. “I am sorry. He was a brave and gentle man.”

“What happened?” The face paint that he wore, streaked though it was with sweat, made his frown appear fierce. “Did they kill him?”

“No indeed!” Rachel cried as I shook my head. “He became ill, and we could not heal him. I assure you he was well tended.”

“Rachel spent much time with him,” I added, “as I did myself, whenever my duties permitted. He was very proud of you.”

“He wished greatly to return home,” Rachel said. “He was on our ship, the Admiral’s ship itself, and died within sight of land.”

Hutia’s expression lightened.

“Then Atabey cradles him, and I can meet his spirit by the
guayaba
tree. But come, you must meet my friends and feast with us.”

Rachel immediately started toward the Taino, now lying relaxed and replete in small groups in the grass around the court. I held Hutia back, my hand on his arm, when he turned to follow.

“I have much to tell you,” I said, “including your father’s last words for you, and I have many questions for you as well.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hutia agreed, “we must find a time to speak alone, and soon. But for now, let us be merry and rejoice that we have met again.”

“Hutia,” Rachel called over her shoulder, “what is the name of the marvelous game we saw you play?”

“It is called
batey
,” he called back, lengthening his strides to catch her up. “It is more than a game. It is an important part of our harvest, the solstice, even marriages. But today we played it for sport.”

“And the ball, what is it called?”

“That is
batu
. It is made of the sap from one of our trees.”

“May I hold it? I want to see if I can make it bounce.”

“Of course you can. Are you not married at all?”

“Certainly not!”

“Why not? Is it that you don’t bleed yet?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Do Taino girls marry as soon as that happens?”

I sighed. Could she not have said simply that our women did not speak of such things? I quickened my pace. Rachel and Hutia had already reached the nearest group of Taino, and they were welcoming her with cries of delight.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hispaniola, December 2, 1493 – January 21, 1494 

Rachel would have been happy to spend the night in a
bohio
, these being the large round Taino huts that sheltered several families. By the end of the day, she had discarded much of her clothing and had the Taino girls screaming with laughter as she attempted to paint her face, fix gold rings in her ears without actually allowing them to bore holes in her earlobes, and bounce the
batu
off her knee in such a way that it would not hit her in the face.

But if we didn’t
return, we would be looked for. The whole company was jumpy since discovering that Indians could kill Europeans if given sufficient surprise and motivation. Fernando would realize that I was missing, and the Admiral would certainly notice Rachel’s absence. Hutia and two young men from his side at
batey
escorted us as twilight faded to dark to where we could not miss the shattered bulk of La Navidad and the campfires around it. They even showed us a spring that lay closer to the shore than those the Spaniards had found so far. We filled our water skins and prepared to explain that we had lost our way in the forest. But no one asked.

While Rachel chattered with the Taino youths, who clearly found her as fascinating as did the young women of the tribe, Hutia and I had time to talk. The bond between us held in spite of my absence and the increased tension and distrust between the expedition and the Taino. I found I was able to bare my heart to him, including my fears for Rachel and my concern about the behavior of my fellows.

“The Admiral is a good man,” I said, “but he doesn’t treat your people as he ought. He did so at first, but now he is becoming consumed with the quest for gold and his desire to bring something of value back to the King and Queen of Spain.”

“My father and his companions,” Hutia said drily, “and the many gifts we gave him, including the gold you so value, not having proved to win him sufficient merit in their eyes. These
caciques
of yours are hard to please.”

“I am ashamed to say that you are right,” I said. “But they are not my
caciques
.” And I explained to him, as I had to his father, about the Jews.

“It is strange that they so lack respect for all the gods except their Jesus,” Hutia said. “They have not yet found the village where we play
batey
, but I was there when one of your
bohiques
, your priests, visited a
yucayeque
not far from where your winged boats sleep on the water. Or should I say,” he corrected himself, “the Christians’ priests.”

“Which priest?” I asked. “I hope it was not a tall, dark, proud one.” Fray Buil was a chronically angry man, more interested in discovering gold than in saving souls. I knew he would not have made a good impression upon the Taino.

“No, it was a little meek one, like a hutia but not so swift, who looked as if he would not be much good at
batey
.”

“That is Fray Pane,” I said. “He is a good man, but you are right that he is timid and resembles a small animal. In Spain, we would say a mouse or a rabbit. What did he want?”

“He wished to make us Christians,” Hutia said. “We explained to him that we have a religion of our own and have no desire to change it for his. We serve Yucahu and Atabey, for they made everything, and they are all around us.” His sweeping hand encompassed the earth and sky. “He listened carefully and made many scratchings with a quill on folded leaves, so perhaps he understood and will not ask us again.”

Later, I asked Fray Pane about this visit and asked to see his journal. Sure enough, he had written much about the Taino gods and religious observances.

“I believe they will come to trust me,” he said happily, “as I show interest in their superstitious tales and fancies. Eventually I will win them over to Christ, since they have no religion of their own. And when we return to Spain, I will have my collection published. There is a fellow in Germany who has found a way to make many copies at once with letters made of wood or lead. I believe he is dead now, but others have taken up his work. I will become the author of the first book of folk tales from the Indies.”