The Florentine Codex
On the day I met my second destiny, there were no cataclysmic signs, no omens. I had received no indication from the gods of my ancestors, or the One True Lord in whose Almighty Name I was to receive the most exhaustive education in New Spain. How was I to know that my future was about to veer from the path on which it had been set? There was no death moth, black and tissuey hovering near my door that morning. No sound from the woodman’s axe signaling that He Who Causes Things to be Seen in a Mirror was recalibrating my Fate. There had been no indication that my tonali was about to shift irrevocably, unlike the prophecies given to our people regarding their destiny and its ultimate collision with that of the Spaniard Hernán Cortés.
Our nation was extinguished within two years of his arrival. It took only six hundred stinking, sweating conquistadores to destroy a nation on that day.
An apparition. That was all The Spaniard and his cortège should have been to us; a palmfull of inconvenient, plague-carrying invaders. How could we have let such men redirect the destiny of an entire nation? They were not fierce, but clumsy; they were not wise or calculating. They were so very few in number. Why would we be afraid?
Causes Deborah Monahan Supports
American Autoimmune Related Disorders, American Myositis Association, The City of Hope, ASPCA