Carlos Fuentes - Terra Nostra

The painting: Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him. But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered him. And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water: and, lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him: And lo a voice from heaven, saying This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.

La Señora stroked the bald head of the hawk clinging to her gauntleted wrist, free of its bells and relieved from the heat by a light breakfast of water and the heart of a deer; La Señora herself had fed the bird before coming, as she did every morning, to the choir loft, where she could observe her husband waste another morning — as he always did. But inevitably the moment arrived when the bird of prey, by his natural inclination, began to be uneasy in the darkness. Initially grateful for the shadows that saved him from the burning summer heat, little by little the hawk began to long for the light. La Señora stroked his head and body (Guzmán knew those gestures); the warm, dry skin of the bird suffered in summer; it was necessary to carry him to cool, dark places like these. Such would be her excuse (La Señora kept repeating) if someday the dog or El Señor should find her hidden in the nuns’ choir loft.

Guzmán had warned her more than once that it is the nature of the bird to demand spaces where no obstacle is interposed between his rapacious gaze and the desired prey; great open spaces, Señora, where once he has sighted his prey, the hawk can speed toward it like an arrow. La Señora could feel in the palm of her hand the increased pulse in the bird’s breast, and she became fearful that his instinct for action would overcome the passivity she demanded, and that yielding to his instinct, the bird would launch itself from its mistress’s wrist and believing the darkness infinite would crash against the chapel walls or the iron grillwork and thus be either killed or crippled: Guzmán had warned her.

The painting: And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers and the seats of them that sold doves. And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but you have made it a den of thieves. And to the scribes and Pharisees he said, Woe unto you! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, justice, judgment, mercy, and faith! Woe unto you! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. And to his disciples he said: Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household. And he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.

As she felt that desperate throbbing, La Señora covered the bird of prey’s head with the black hood, turned from the iron grillwork, the altar, and the painting, and accentuating the disparity between her shameful vigil and her lordly hauteur, slowly and silently, almost on tiptoe, her head held high, she climbed the spiral stairway and emerged into the blinding light of the flat ground where blocks of granite, boards, and tools were stacked.

The palace: The crypts, the chapel, and the choir loft were completed, and alongside them extended the nuns’ cloister, El Señor’s bedchamber, and a bare patio where stone arcades communicated with other rooms, which were in turn to communicate with the church proper, as yet not built. But in each room a double window was already installed — one stained glass, one solid like a door — designed to enable one to hear Mass from one’s bed, if necessary, and to attend services apart from the religious community.

But until the plan was completed, to return to the cloister and her own room, La Señora, choosing not to pass through the chapel itself and ascend the monumental but still unfinished stone stairway, had to make a complete circle around the chapel, beneath the burning sun, through the construction and materials (and worse, in view of the workers), always with the hawk poised upon the greasy gauntlet and fondled by a pale hand; no one was aware what delight the woman derived from that tumultuous throbbing, from possessing such a fine bird, from that good hawk body — more flesh than feather — whose pulsing manifested the desire to fly, bells jingling, announcing his rapacious hunger, his consuming desire to swoop down upon his prey, talons sinking so deep and sure that not even the fiercest boar could free himself from that grip.

Every morning she would return to the chapel, accompanying from a distance the pain and professions of faith of her husband, El Señor. She would stroke the bald, hot, throbbing hawk. From the corner of her eye she would look at the painting brought (it was said) from Orvieto.

The painting: The naked men turn their backs to El Señor and La Señora to look at the Christ; El Señor looks at the direction of Christ’s gaze and La Señora looks at the small, tight buttocks of the men. And Guzmán will look at his masters, who are looking at the painting. Disturbed, he will glance up toward the painting; the painting is looking at him.

Every morning, La Señora would return to her rooms, holding the bird, unaware that anyone might suspect the sensual delight that caressing the hawk’s pulsing body afforded her. Lost in her pleasure, La Señora paid no attention to the palace laborers.

Martín, bent almost double beneath the weight of the stones, paused with his loaded hand barrow. He licked the sweat rolling down his temples and cheeks, mixed with the dust that powdered his eyelashes. Once again he saw the mirage seeming to float over the flat reverberating ground: the erect woman, her pace swift but deliberate, so firm and sure she seemed not to touch the ground, dressed entirely in black velvet, farthingale belling, the outer skirt dragging through the dust, the tiny feet barely visible, lace appearing and disappearing with that subtle, incorporeal movement, one hand pressed to her waist, the other extended to support the hooded hawk upon its perch on the greasy gauntlet, red-jeweled rings absorbing the unbearable heat of the sun in their bloody coolness, face framed by the high white wimple … Droplets of sweat stood out on La Señora’s forehead; she withdrew the hand from her waist to wave away the flies, and entered the palace.

For a long while Martín stood doubled beneath the weight of the stones, captured by that vision, at the same time imagining his own rough and powerful body, tan and hairy, shirt open to the navel and stained with sweat, his square face shaved only on Sundays, his hands tough as pigskin. Then he shook his head and continued on his way.

The painting: And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain; and when he was set, his disciples came unto him: And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. No man can serve two masters. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.