Verónica has faithfully and tenderly attended me, as best she can, applying hot compresses to the wound, and various tree saps and cactus juices that the old folk in camp recommend as curatives, but those things are doing no discernible good.
During one of my lucid periods, you asked, Verónica, "What do we do now, my lord?"
Trying to sound staunch and optimistic, I said, "We stay here, licking our wounds. We can hardly do anything else, and we are at least safe from attack here. I cannot even planany further action until I am healed of this accursed injury. Then we shall see. In the meantime—I have been thinking—your chronicle of what the Spaniards call the Mixton War commenced with our devastation of Tonalá. It occurs to me that future historians of The One World might benefit from my telling and your writing of earlier events, of how this all began. Would it try your patience, dear Verónica, if I recounted to you practically my entire life?"
"Of course not, my lord. Not only am I here to serve you, I should myself be... most interested... in hearing your life story."
I meditated for some while. How to begin at the beginning? Then I smiled, as well as I was able, and said, "I think, Verónica, I have already, long ago, spoken to you the opening sentence of this chronicle."
"I believe so, too, my lord. I kept it and still have it here."
You shuffled among your sheaf of papers, brought one out and read it aloud:
"I can still see him burning."
"Yes," I said, and sighed. "Clever darling girl. Let us proceed from there."
And, over I do not know how many ensuing days, though sometimes I was gabbling in delirium or mute with pain, I recounted everything that you have so far set down. Finally I said:
"I have told you everything I can remember, even insignificant conversations and occurrences. Still, I suppose it is but a bare-bones recounting."
"No, my dear lord. Without your knowing, ever since we have been together, I have been making notes of your merest passing remarks and my own observations of you, your nature, your character. Because, to tell the truth, I loved you, my lord, even before I knew you to be my father. With your permission, I should like to intermingle those observations of mine into the chronicle. It will put flesh on the bare bones."
"By all means, my dear. You are the chronicler, and you know best. Anyway, you now know all there is to know, and all that any historian will need to know."
I paused, then went on:
"You now know also that you have a close cousin in Aztlan. If ever I recover from this wretched fever and weakness, I shall take you there, and Améyatzin will give you a warm welcome. You and Pozonáli. I do hope, child, that you will wed the lad. The gods preserved him through this last battle, and I truly believe they saved him just for you."
My mind was beginning to waver and wander, but I added, "After Aztlan, perhaps we could go on... to The Islands of the Women. I was happy there..."
"You are getting sleepy, lord father. And you have expended much energy, talking during these many days. I think you should rest now."
"Yes. Let me say just one thing more, and please put it at the end of your chronicle. Our Mixton War is lost, and rightly so. I should never have begun it. From the day of your Grandfather Mixtli's execution, I resented and resisted the aliens among us. But, over time, I have met and admired many of those aliens—the white Alonso, the black Esteban, the padre Quiroga, your mulata mother Rebeca, and finally you, dear daughter, who commingle so many different bloods. I realize now—and I accept—I am even proud—that yourlovely face, Verónica, is the new face of The One World. To you and to your sons and daughters and to The One World, I wish all good things."
XXXIII
My father died in his sleep that night. I was at his pallet side, and I drew the silken sheet over his face. He is at peace—I hope in bliss—in the warriors' afterworld of one of his gods.
What is to become of the rest of us, I do not know.
Verónica Tenamáxtzin de Pozonáli
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book, like much else in the author's life, could hardly have been accomplished without the teachings, assistance, encouragement, patience and toleration, over a good many years, of a good many good friends:
The late Edward Amos, Radford, Virginia
Alex and Patti Apostolides, El Paso, Texas
The late Sadie Atkins, Paterson, New Jersey
Victor Avers, Canoga Park, California
Herman and Fran Begega, Pompton Lakes, New Jersey
Jo Bertone, Dallas, Texas
The late L. R. Boyd, Jr., Teague, Texas
The late Col. James G. Chesnutt, The Presidio, San Francisco, California
Grant Chorley, Vienna, Austria
Eva Clegg, Greensboro, North Carolina
Copycat, Feather and Ditto
Angelita Correa, San Miguel de Allende, Gto., México
Sonja Heinze Coryat, Santa Rosa, California
Dino and Martha De Laurentiis, Beverly Hills, California
Henry P. Dickerson III, Staunton, Virginia
Robert M. Elkins, Cincinnati, Ohio
Hugo and Lorraine Gerstl, Carmel, California
Robert Gleason, New York, New York
Gus Heinze, Mill Valley, California
Stephen de las Heras, New York, New York
The late Les Hicks, Hicksville, Long Island, New York
Bill and Shirley Jones, McGaheysville, Virginia
Peter Kirsch, M.D., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The late Elizabeth Lucas, Radford, Virginia
The late A. Louis Ginsberg-Martin, Paterson, New Jersey
Donna Marxer, New York, New York
Melva Elizabeth Mann Newsom, Xenia, Ohio
Raúl G. Oviedo, M.D., Elkton, Virginia
Ernesto Pacheco, Dallas, Texas
The late Vance Packard, Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts
David and Phyllis Parker, Lexington, Virginia
Robert Pastorio, Staunton, Virginia
Sam Pinkus, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York
Evva Pryor, New York, New York
The late James Rutherfoord, Radford, Virginia
Clark L. Savage, Monterey, California
Joyce O. Servis, Caldwell, New Jersey
The late Robert Shea, Glencoe, Illinois
Lewis J. Singer, M.D., Lexington, Virginia
Shirley Snyder, Harrisonburg, Virginia
Gayle Tatarski, Reidsville, North Carolina
Neil Thornton, Tawas City, Michigan
Francesca Todaro, San Miguel de Allende, Gto., México
Frank Vos, Stamford, Connecticut
The late Edie Williams, San Francisco, California
Eugene and Ina Winick, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York
Rita Yancey, McGaheysville, Virginia
Yu Ok Ki, Taegu, Korea
Copyright © 1997 by Gary Jennings
ISBN: 0-312-86250-4