Taino (30 page)

Hojeda was on his own and he was clever. He did the one thing Caonabó did not expect: he lied to him. Hojeda sent Caonabó a message that the admiral wanted peace with him, and would the
cacique
come to visit? He wanted to give him the bell at the church of Isabela, he told him, the bell that rang so loudly and that, he said, was heard directly by the Great Spirit. Caonabó would not come but, wondering on the bell and its meanings, instead invited Hojeda to visit him. The intrepid Hojeda took nine men on horseback to see the
cacique
, knowing he would be received in peace. Caonabó said he was suddenly encouraged by the Castilian's friendly approach.

Over the next few days, the
cacique
took a genuine liking to Hojeda, who was quite the diplomat and full of acrobatic and juggling tricks and whose men were on their best behavior and pretended to respect Caonabó's court. They talked about customs and visions, and, mostly, they talked about gold. They both respected the gold, though for very different reasons. Hojeda had brought a set of handcuffs made of a shiny bronze, the metal we call
guanin
. These shiny handcuffs were not
caona
but a fine metal that is also cherished by our people. “They are very special,” Hojeda told the
cacique
, “meant only for a great king.” A few times, Hojeda let Caonabó handle the intriguing contraption, even locking one handcuff onto the
cacique
's wrist and using the other side to hold around the forearm, but always releasing the
cacique
before suspicion could arise. Caonabó wondered as to the shape of the cuffs, but did not connect their purpose. He was reassured by Hojeda's references to their sacred nature and assumed that no one would invoke the spirits deceitfully. For another thing, Hojeda, at that time, was still quite a correct man and forbade his men from abusing the women. This was very encouraging to the
cacique
, that such a value could be established with the Castilians.

One day, the Castilian captain solemnly proffered to gift the
cacique
with the golden handcuffs. A dream he had the night before, Hojeda said, that prescribed a ritual bath in the Taíno custom. The
cacique
, at ease deep in his own territory, agreed. Hojeda led the
cacique
to a stream where the ni-Taíno liked to bathe. Both men entered the water and conversed through an interpreter. Hojeda by then had learned some of our Taíno protocol. He spoke of cleanliness of body and spirit, the sacredness of the
digo
, our own Taíno sudsy herb. Then he spoke of a horse ceremony that would properly honor Caonabó, who agreed to let Hojeda honor him after the bath, when the Castilian captain seated the
cacique
behind him on his horse then ceremoniously placed the handcuffs on him. The
cacique
, happy and very confident about his Castilian friend, complied with all the requests. Suddenly, the golden handcuffs secured his second wrist, the Castilians were all mounted around him, two lances held to his neck, and quickly they rode away with Caonabó a prisoner in his own land, in chains and on his way to Isabela.

One hundred twenty-eight.
Nobody liked the story.

Neither young nor old liked this story, how it ended for Caonabó. It was too easy. He was too fierce to fall so easily. Even some complained about the evil of pretending friendship in the
cacique
's home
bohío
, only to betray him.

“Learn,” Enriquillo told the group, after I sat down. “In such a maneuver fell our fiercest
cacique
, Caonabó, the guardian of our ancestors' gold. Think how easily we can fall ourselves if we trust the white man.”

One hundred twenty-nine.
San Miguel's deception.

Tamayo felt compelled to speak up. “We are clever now in ways our fathers were not,” he said. “Like the time with San Miguel, when his troops went for the gold.”

San Miguel was the captain who pressed Enriquillo into moving his camps deeper in the Bahuruku. San Miguel's Indian trackers uncovered Enriquillo's main camps one time, in 1527. The Castilians attacked constantly and overran Enriquillo's
estancias
. “Do you know of that episode?” Tamayo asked me.

A little, I indicated by showing half a finger. I was unclear about the sequence of events, except that substantial bullion of gold, worth more than twenty thousand pesos, was recovered by the Castilans at the time.

“San Miguel was hurting us,” Tamayo told me. “We were hard-pressed to fight off so many well-directed attacks. They were hurting us to the gut. At one moment I remember our fighters were scattered wide, and we did not know who was lost and who survived. So, they had us by the throat—the only time ever. It was then, when I believed all was lost, our
cacique
thought to request a parley and began negotiations. You should have seen it, elder. He met San Miguel on the twin peaks, which are only twenty feet across from each other but separated by a deep abyss.” Tamayo turned to Enriquillo. “But please tell us yourself,” he said.

Enriquillo smiled thinly. Tamayo and everyone's mood suddenly lightened, even at this slightest signal from the revered
cacique
.

“We fooled San Miguel,” Enriquillo said. “As we talked, for two and then four weeks, our camps moved farther up the mountains. Still, San Miguel massed his troops to bear down on our trails, and he had good guides. He negotiated harshly and mandated a date for my capitulation. So, we hurried to move our camps, and we searched for a way to break his strength.”

I could hear loud whispers in the group. “The gold,” a captain said.

“Yes, the gold,” Enriquillo repeated loudly. “We had gold from a raid years before, bullion taken in 1519 from a Castilian convoy traveling by trail to Santo Domingo. It was gold from the mainland, not from here. I always kept that gold, never spent any of it. In truth, I did not want it and even punished the captain who led that raid. Yet, the gold saved us, for on the morning of August 4, 1528, when San Miguel came to take me in, his guides found instead five piles of gold, neatly stacked.

“We were already in retreat, moving fast to cover our trails and disappear. The gold gave them pause. Three captains San Miguel ordered to follow us, but they found ways to discuss the orders and never chased us. They quarreled about how to distribute the bullion, to which, I heard, San Miguel immediately proclaimed his own captaincy's 10 percent. That claim, plus the king's 20 percent and other formal claims, kept the troops near the gold. Not one squad chased after us. They watched each other closely as they transported the bullion down the mountain. For two years, I later heard, San Miguel's captains sued each other over their claims to shares in the gold.”

There was a lot of nodding, and the cacique
was
silent.

“Our
cacique
fooled them,” Tamayo spoke. “And later we punished them, even San Miguel. We burned his ranch house, we killed all his bulls; we beheaded every one of his stallion studs, every one of his boars and his rams. And we hanged or strangled every
mánso
guide that ever trailed us. Every one.”

One hundred thirty.
Seeking a path to peace, Enriquillo.

Enriquillo knows he can't win in the long run. Yesterday morning we walked his perimeter, and he was very measured and determined. He started twice to talk but ran out of words. “It happens like that,” he said. “My thoughts of the future stop coming. My ears and eyes I have fortified over the years. I do not think so much but feel for danger. I am the hawk in the tree, watching. I am the
cagüayo
lizard, scouting the outer trees, spotting for the flocks of shiny blackbirds that would eat the egg of my young…”

He had started by saying that he thought it best to settle for a peace now, that it was better not to push the Castilians if the king actually sought peace. “I consider that I would bring my men in,” he said. “I tell my warriors that the reason we are here is not to make war but to ensure the survival of our people. My warriors, you see, are trained for war. I demand a vigilance from them that is complete. We have put up a world here, in these mountains. Our hunters and guards are instructed, as in our Taíno times, to take seed pouches into the woods, to propagate the
guayaba
, the
anón
, the
caimitu
, and the
mamey
; thus we have orchards in the forest whose location only we know. Preparation for survival from battle, the assurance that we will be attacked in our villages, has been our constant idea, so we have plantations deep in the forest.”

We walked in silence for a very long time, his two pages trailing behind us. Again later, as we circled back, he tried to talk. He complained that he still must teach constant vigilance to his people. “Our Taíno are still too trusting of the white man. Our men sometimes will walk the savanna and run into woodcutters, or cattle boys, white, Indian, and Negro, gift them with foods, and establish talk. This happened so often I have been forced to threaten with execution any such act,” he said. “Survival this way, I know. Making war I know. But I see not how we go if peace is possible. I just don't know…”

No more words came to him, and he walked rapidly a long time. Suddenly, Enriquillo froze. A pig could be heard in the forest. I watched him stalk the pig with only a short, thick stick in his hand. As the pig fed, so Enrique moved in. As the pig froze to listen, he, too, froze. Truly he is very keen, his face and eyes have the quality of a hawk, though his movements were those of the
mahá
snake, his body blending in smooth motion, positioning to fix on the feeding pig. Suddenly Enriquillo darted and threw the stick, the pig yelping loudly as he circled butt first around a broken front leg. The pages made the kill, gutted him quickly, wrapping the tripe around a stick. Tucking the carcass into a
macoutí
backpack, they carried him to camp.

One hundred thirty-one.
Looking for the
behike
.

Seeking talk of the future, then, we circled back to Enrique's
bohío
, where we found Doña Mencia directing four helpers, two of them full African men, in the structuring of a new cookhouse. “We should convene our
behike
, Baiguanex, and see what we can do,” Enrique told her, after they had kissed. The men also greeted us cordially, and Enriquillo gave them his kill for their evening meal.

Doña Mencia accompanied us around the camp. She and Enrique held hands, and then she also held my hand as we walked. I was curious about the
behike
Baiguanex, whom I had not met. Nearing the hut of Baiguanex, some distance from the main camp, Enrique cooed like the mourning dove and without stopping for an answer walked up a slope to the
bohío
.

“Enter my home, which is your home,
cacique
,” a voice said from inside the circular, thatch-roofed
bohío
.

We entered to the left and sat down in a circle as he instructed. The
behike
was younger than me, but I felt seriousness in the way of his deep composure. From the rafters of his
bohío
, he had various herbs drying, and he had a small white pipe that he loaded with tobacco and lit, passing it to Enrique, Doña Mencia, and myself. He took his pipe back when we had smoked, reloaded it, and smoked long and hard by himself, filling the hut with spiraling fumes.

“I know I will hear questions today,” he said. “I know, too, that the words carried to my
cacique
's ear by the elder Guaikán will change our world.”

I had met the
behike
. On an earlier evening, after one of my talks, I spotted him among the listeners, his eyes looking a bit beyond me. I noticed that all the young men requested his blessing, touching their foreheads with his hand, and that he conducted himself simply. What he said about my words changing their world touched me, as it described my history with the Castilians and their entrance into our world.

“A change is certainly coming,” Enriquillo said. “What we have protected here, with our vigilance and our lives, would now accommodate itself in their Castilian laws.”

The
behike
looked past me then focused on me in a cross-eyed look. “Guaikán has much story,” he said. “But where does his trail lead us,
cacique
? That is one question.”

“I think of our survival,
behike
,” I said quickly. I accept my own pain at the fate of my people, and I am aware of my own particular failures these past forty years, but I accept no other man's impugnation about them. “I am at calm with my grandparents,” I told him. “The earth of this island is now mine. I have buried love here, and blood. This young
cacique
of ours,” I said. “His life I held in my arms.”

Enriquillo confirmed it. “He pulled me from the massacre at our great clan mother's,” he said, and Doña Mencia held my hand and began to cry quietly.

The
behike
lost all reservation. He looked me straight in the eyes, and I had confirmation myself that he was very old inside and that he had been trained properly.

“I apologize to my elder,” he said. “I am not worthy to run ceremony for you but should wait for yours.”

“I am pleased to accept your guidance,
behike
,” I said. “You have the hand, I am sure, for what needs to be done.”

Baiguanex had no Castilian name and knew only a few of their words. He had lived with his grandparents in the Bahuruku from before the rebellion, hiding in a deep valley and living the old way. He was alone by the time Enriquillo left for the mountains and tracked Enriquillo's people for weeks before making contact.