Aztec Autumn

for them, too. The bulk of our farmers' and herders' produce also is sold. Of the money received, I pay a portion to the village families, equally divided among them. But most of our income is spent on new tools, seeds, breeding stock—whatever will improve and benefit Utopia as a whole.'

'It all sounds most practical and laudable, padre,' I said, and sincerely meant it. 'Especially since, as Erasmo said, you do not make your people drudge like slaves.'

'?Valgame Dios, no!' he exclaimed. 'I have seen the infernal obrajes in the city and elsewhere. Our colonists may be of an inferior race, but they are human beings. And now they are Christians, so they are not brute animals without souls. No, my son. The rule here in Utopia is that the people work communally for just six hours a day, six days a week. Sundays, of course, are for devotions. All the rest of the people's time is theirs to spend as they like. Tending their own home gardens, private doings, socializing with their fellows. Were I a hypocrite, I could say that I am simply being Christian in being no tyrannical master. But the truth is that our people work harder and more productively than any whip-driven slaves or obraje laborers.'

I said, 'Another thing Erasmo told me is that you allow only men and women already married to settle in this Utopia. Would you not get even more work out of single men and women, unburdened with children?'

He looked slightly uncomfortable. 'Well, now, you have broached a rather indelicate subject. We do not presume to have re-created Eden here, but we do have to contend with both Eve and the serpent. Or with Eve as the serpent, I might better say.'

'Ayya, forgive my having asked, padre. You must mean the Purempe women.'

'Exactly so. Bereft of their own menfolk, and learning that there were young, strong men here in Utopia, they have frequently descended on us to—how shall I say?—entice our men into performing at stud. They were absolutely pestiferous when we first settled here, and still to this day we get the occasional female visiting and importuning. I fear our family men are not all—or always—able to resist the temptation, but I am sure that unmarried ones would be much more easily seduced. And such debaucheries could lead to the ruin of Utopia.'

I said approvingly, 'It appears to me, Padre Vasco, that you have everything well thought out and well in hand. I shall be pleased to report that to the bishop's notarius.'

'But not solely on my unsupported word, son Juan. Go all the way around the lake. Visit every village. You will need no guide. Anyway, I would not want you to suspect that you were being shown only the exemplary aspects of our community. Go alone. See things plain and unvarnished. When you return here, I shall be gratified if then you can say, as San Diego once said, that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only.'

XIV

So I went on westward, stopping for at least a night in each village I came to, and then northward, eastward, southward, until I had circled the entire Lake of Rushes and come westward again to the very first village I had visited, San Marcos Churitzio, that one where Erasmo Martir resided.

I found it to be true, what Padre Vasco had said, that the lakeside people all lived in amity and prosperity and conviviality, and were understandably content to live so. And they had indeed mastered the ancient crafts of the Purempecha. One village produced hammered copperware: dishes and platters and pitchers of graceful design and dimpled finish. Another village produced similar utensils, but of a kind of pottery to be seen nowhere else, colored a lustrous black by an admixture of powdered lead in the clay. Another made the long-famous Purempe lacquerware: trays, tables, huge folding screens, all of a rich, shiny black, inset with gold and many vivid colors. Another made mats and pallets and baskets of braided rushes from the lake; they were, I had to admit, even more elegant than those woven by my lost Citlali. Another village made intricate jewelry of silver wire; another did jewelry of amber; another with the pearly nacre of mussel shells. And so on and on around the lake. Between and about the villages were the tilled fields, growing the newcome sweet cane and a sweet grass called sorgo, as well as the more familiar crops like maize and beans. All the fields were bearing far more lushly than any known in former times, before our farmers had the advantages of Spanish-imported tools and ideas.

There was no denying that these Mexica colonists had benefited hugely from their association with the Spaniards. I asked myself: did the virtues of their winsome Utopia, then, counterbalance the miseries and degradations being suffered by their fellow Mexica in the abominable obrajes? I thought they did not, for the latter Mexica numbered in the many thousands. No doubt there existed other white men like Padre Vasco de Quiroga, who took the word Christianity to mean 'loving kindness.' But I knew that any men of his kind were vastly outnumbered by the vicious, greedy, deceitful, coldhearted white men who likewise called themselves Christians and even priests.

At the time, I admit, I was being as deceitful as any white man. I was not, as Padre Vasco supposed, touring the villages of his Utopia just to assess or admire them; I was combing them for any inhabitants who might collaborate in my planned sedition. To every village smith who worked with metals, I showed my arcabuz and inquired whether he could make a copy of such a contrivance. They all, of course, recognized a thunder-stick—and made loud praise of the Mexicatl who had crafted mine. But all were unanimous in saying that even if they were inclined to imitate that talented artisan, they had not the necessary tools. And the replies I got when I asked all the men whether any would rally to me in rebellion against the Spanish oppressors could be summed up in the response I got from Erasmo Martir, the last one I queried.

'No,' he said flatly.

We were sitting together on the bench before his house door, where, this time, he was not shaping a woman-formed piece of guitarra. He went on:

'Do you take me for a raving tlahuele? I am one of the fortunate few Mexica who have ample food, secure shelter, freedom from any master's abuse, freedom to come and go as I please. I have even real prosperity and a promising future for my family.'

Yet another man drained of manhood, I thought bitterly, 'lamiendo el culo del patron.' I growled, 'Is that all you desire to have, Erasmo?'

'All?! Are you tlahuele, Juan Britanico? What more could a man want in this world as it is today?'

'Today, you say. But there was a day when the Mexica also had pride.'

'Those who could afford to. The tlatoantin rulers, and those with the noble -tzin to their names, and the pipiltin upper classes and the cuachitin knights and such. They were so proud, in fact, that they gave no thought to us macehualtin commoners who fed and clothed and attended them. Except when they needed us on the battlefield.'

I said, 'Most of the cuachitin of whom you speak were likewise mere macehualtin, who rose from the common class to the knighthood because they fought the enemies of the Mexica, and were proud to do so, and showed it in their prowess on the battlefield.'

Erasmo shrugged. 'I have here everything that any Mexicatl knight ever had, and I won it without fighting.'

'You did not win it!' I snapped. 'It was given to you.'

He shrugged again. 'If you like. But I work hard to be worthy of it and to keep it. And to show my gratitude to the good Padre Vasco.'

'The padre is good and gracious, that is true. But do you not see, Cuatl Erasmo? He is degrading your Mexicatl manhood just as would a cruel, whip-wielding white master. He is treating all of you as if you were only domesticated wild beasts. Or drooling xolopitlin. Or swaddled infants.'

This appeared to be Erasmo's day for shrugging. 'Even the manliest man can appreciate being treated with tender solicitude.' Now he sniffled, as if near to weeping. 'The way a good wife treats a good husband.'

I blinked. 'What has wifeliness to do with—?'

'Hush. No more, please, Cuatl Juan. Come, walk with me. I would speak with you on something of a different nature.'

Wondering, I went with him. When we were some distance from his house, I ventured to say, 'You do not seem nearly so cheerful as when I last saw you, and that was not too long ago.'

He sniffled again, and said gloomily, 'That is certain. My head is bowed, my heart bleeds, my hands tremble so that my work suffers.'

'Are you ill, Erasmo?'