Malinche by Laura Esquivel

feel like moving.
    â€œAnd this Quetzalcóatl, as you call him,” he persisted, “what kind of god is he? You must know that we were cast out of paradise because of a serpent.”
    â€œI don’t know what kind of serpent you are talking about. Ours is the image of Quetzal: bird, flight, feather, and Cóatl: serpent. The feathered serpent signifies Quetzalcóatl. The union of rainwater with earth water also signifies Quetzalcóatl. The serpent represents the rivers; the birds, the clouds. The bird serpent and the winged reptile are Quetzalcóatl. The sky below and the earth above are as well.”
    Then suddenly, without warning, the darkness inside the bathhouse, the stone womb, changed to brightness, as if the word Quetzalcóatl had created the light. Cortés, who understood nothing of the religious beliefs of the inhabitants of those lands, on first hearing this explanation of the god’s symbolism, envisioned it as an elegant and majestic image, which definitely united the irreconcilable concepts of that which flies with that which slithers.
    Malinalli and Cortés looked into each other’s eyes. Silence reigned anew. The gaze of one penetrated the other and, immersed in that intimate space, they both experienced a memory of something that already lived in another part of time. The trembling Cortés felt in the center of his pupils made him cast his look away from Malinalli’s infinite black eyes, which in the same moment reflected sorrow, love, and a certain yearning for vengeance.
    â€œAnd what good has that feathered serpent done to be such an important god?” Cortés demanded. “Because in the ugly manner in which you depict him, he seems more like a devil than a god.”
    Malinalli, who well knew that the only way to keep Cortés quiet was not to give him a chance to talk, interrupted him, brimming with passion, and responded:
    â€œAt first,” she said, “mankind was scattered throughout the universe. We were dust that floated where the wind is nothing, where water is nothing, where fire is nothing, where nothing is earth, where scattered mankind is nothing, where nothing is nothing. Quetzalcóatl united us, gave us form, made us. From the stars he made our eyes. From the silence of his being he brought forth our understanding and blew it in our ear. From the sun he ripped an idea and made food for our sustenance, which we call corn, and which is mirror to the sun and has the color that gives life to blood and to our cheeks. Quetzalcóatl is god and our minds are united with his.”
    Malinalli handed Cortés a receptacle of water with the petals of various flowers and grasses so that he could refresh himself and cool his body, and then she continued.
    â€œQuetzalcóatl was also a wise man, a priest, supreme governor of Tollan.”
    Malinalli paused to pour some water over the hot stones, which produced even hotter and more penetrating steam and a sound delightful to the ears. But Cortés wanted to know more about Quetzalcóatl. He was thinking of using all the information that he obtained from this conversation for his own personal objectives of conquest.
    â€œWhat kind of government did he have?” he asked with great curiosity.
    â€œDuring Quetzalcóatl’s regime Tollan was swollen with greatness: jade, coral, and turquoise adorned the world; yellow and white metals, precious metals; seashells, cousins to the ear, spirals of sound, receptacles of song; quetzal feathers, yellow and crimson feathers colored that greatness. There were all kinds of cacao, all kinds of cotton in all colors. Quetzalcóatl was a great artist and a provider of abundance in all his creations. Quetzalcóatl, the Toltec, is he who looks for himself.”
    â€œAnd what happened to him?” Cortés asked.
    â€œAt a certain point in his life he stopped searching for himself in everything that exists and gave in to temptations. Or,