Ines of My Soul (39 page)

Lautaro flees Santiago on the darkest night of summer, unseen by the sentinels, and unbetrayed by the dogs, which know him. He is running along the banks of the Mapocho, invisible in the high reeds and ferns. He does not use the rope bridge of the
huincas
, but throws himself into the black waters and swims, with a yell of happiness in his breast. The cold water washes him inside and out, leaving him free of the odor of the
huincas.
With long strokes, he crosses the river and emerges on the other side, reborn.
Inche Lautaro!
he yells. I am Lautaro. He waits motionless on the bank as the warm air evaporates the moisture on his skin. He hears the screech of a
chon-chón
, the spirit with the body of a bird and the face of a man, and replies with a similar call, then feels very close by the presence of his guide, Guacolda. He must strain to see her, although his eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, because she has the gift of the wind; she is invisible; she can pass through enemy lines and the men do not see her or the dogs smell her. Guacolda, five years older than he, his betrothed. He has known her since childhood, and knows that he belongs to her, just as she belongs to him. He has seen her every time he escaped from the town of the
huincas
to deliver information to the tribes. She was his contact, his swift messenger. It was she who led him to the city of the invaders when he was a boy of eleven, with clear instructions about the role he was to play, learning about the
huincas
, she who observed from nearby when he attached himself to the priest dressed in black, and followed him to town. In his last meeting with Guacolda, she'd told him to flee on the next moonless night, because his time with the enemy was ended; he knew everything he needed to know and his people were waiting for him. When she sees him arrive that night without his
huinca
clothing, naked, Guacolda greets him—
mari mari
—then for the first time kisses him on the lips, licks his face, touches him as a woman touches to establish her claim on him.
Mari mari
, Lautaro replies; he knows that the moment for love is approaching; soon he will steal Guacolda from her
ruka
, throw her over his shoulder and run away with her, as is their way. This he tells her, and she smiles, then leads him in a swift race toward the south, always the south. The amulet Lautaro never takes from his neck was given him by Guacolda.

Days later, the young people finally reach their destination. Lautaro's father, a much-respected cacique, presents him to the other
toquis
so that they may hear what his son has to say. The enemy is on the way; they are the same
huincas
who conquered the brothers to the north, Lautaro explains. They are approaching the Bío-Bío, the sacred river, with their Yanaconas and horses and dogs. With them is the traitor Michimalonko, and he is bringing the rest of his army of cowards to fight against their own brothers in the south. Death to Michimalonko! Death to the
huincas
!

Lautaro speaks for several days; he tells them that the harquebuses are pure noise and wind, that they need fear the swords, lances, hatchets, and dogs more; the captains wear coats of mail, which no wooden arrow or lance will penetrate; with them clubs must be used to stun and lassos to drag them from their horses, and once on the ground they are lost; it is easy to drag them down and hack them to pieces, because beneath the steel they are flesh. But take care! They have no fear. The foot soldiers have protection only on the chest and head, arrows will work with them. But take care! They, too, have no fear. The arrows must be poisoned so that the wounded do not come to fight again. The horses are crucial; we will try to capture them alive, especially the mares, for breeding. Boys must be sent by night to the outskirts of the camps of the
huincas
to throw poisoned meat to the dogs, which are always chained. We will set traps. We will dig deep holes and cover them with branches and the horses that fall in will be impaled on pikes set in the bottom. The Mapuche advantage is numbers, fleetness, and knowing the forest, says Lautaro. The
huincas
are not invincible; they sleep more than the Mapuche; they eat and they drink too much; they need bearers because the weight of their supplies is too much for them to carry. We will buzz around them every minute, like wasps and horseflies; first we will tire them, then we will kill them. The
huincas
are people, they die as the Mapuche die, but their ways are the ways of demons. In the north they burned alive entire tribes. They want us to accept a god that is nailed upon a cross, a god of death; they want us to submit ourselves to a king we do not know, who does not live here; they want to occupy our land and have us as their slaves. Why, I ask my people? For no reason, brothers. They do not appreciate freedom. They do not understand pride; they obey, they put their knees to the ground, they bow their heads. They do not know justice or retribution. The
huincas
are madmen, but they are evil madmen. And I tell you, brothers, the Mapuche will never be their prisoners, we will die fighting. We will kill the men, but we will take children and women alive. The women will be our
chiñuras
, and, if we wish, we will trade their children for horses. It is just. We will be silent and swift, like fish; they will never know we are near until we fall upon them and take them by surprise. We will be patient hunters. The battle will be long. Let our people prepare.

While the young general Lautaro organizes strategy by day and by night hides with Guacolda in the thicket to make love, the tribes choose the war chiefs who will be in charge of the squadrons, and who in turn will be under the orders of the
ñidoltoqui
who is
toqui
of
toquis
: Lautaro. The afternoon air is warm in the clearing of the forests, but as soon as night falls, it will be cold. The tourneys have begun with weeks of anticipation, the candidates have competed and one by one have been eliminated. Only the strongest, with greatest endurance, only those with most courage and will, can aspire to the title of war
toqui
.

One of the strong braves leaps into the ring.
Inche Caupolicán!
he calls out. He is naked except for a short apron covering his sex, but he wears the thongs of his rank tied about his arms and his brow. Two husky youths walk to a felled oak—the
pellín
—they have trimmed and prepared, and with difficulty lift it, one at each end. They display it so that those gathered there can appreciate it and calculate its weight; then they carefully place it on the strong shoulders of Caupolicán. The man's waist and knees yield as he accepts the tremendous load, and for a moment it seems that he will be crushed beneath it, but he immediately straightens. The muscles of his body tense, his skin gleams with sweat, the veins of his neck stand out, near bursting. A quiet
hunh
escapes the circle of spectators as Caupolicán begins to walk, taking short steps, measuring his strength so he will last the necessary number of hours. He must win over others as strong as he. His one advantage is his fierce determination to die in the test before ceding first place. He intends to lead his people to combat; he wants his name to be remembered; he wants children with Fresia, the young woman he has chosen, and they must carry his blood with pride. He settles the trunk against the nape of his neck, bearing its weight on his shoulders and arms. The rough bark digs into his skin and fine threads of blood run down his broad shoulders. He takes deep breaths of the intense scent of the forest, feels the relief of the breeze and the dew. The dark eyes of Fresia, who will be his woman if he is winner of the competition, bore into his, with no trace of compassion, but with love. In that gaze she urges him to triumph; she desires him, but she will wed only the best. Bright in her hair is a copihue, the red flower of the forests that grows in the air, a drop of the blood of Mother Earth, a gift from Caupolicán, who climbed the highest tree to bring it to her.

The warrior walks in circles, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, and saying:
We are the dream of the Earth; she dreams us. Also in the stars are beings that are dreamed, and that have their own marvels. We are dreams within dreams. We are married to nature. We greet the Holy Earth, our mother, to whom we sing in the tongue of the Araucaria and the cinnamon, of the cherry and the condor. Let the flowering winds bring the voice of the ancestors so that our gaze may be hard. Let the courage of the ancient
toquis
flow through our blood. The ancients tell us that it is the hour of the hatchet. The grandfathers of the grandfathers watch over us and sustain our arms. It is the hour of combat. We must die. Life and death are but one . . .

The warrior recites this endless rogative for hours, all the while balancing the tree trunk on his shoulders. He invokes the spirits of nature to defend his land, its plentiful waters, its dawns. He invokes the ancestors to turn the arms of his men into lances. He invokes the mountain pumas to lend their strength and courage to the women. The spectators grow weary, the night mist falls upon them; some burn small campfires for light; they chew grains of toasted corn; others sleep or leave, but later return, amazed. An aged machi spatters Caupolicán with a branch of the cinnamon tree dipped in sacrificial blood to give him fortitude. She is afraid, this woman, because the night before in her dreams the snake-fox,
ñeru-filú
, and the serpent-rooster,
piwichén
, appeared to tell her that much blood will flow in the war, that the Bío-Bío will run red to the end of time. Fresia pours a gourd of water over Caupolicán's dry lips. He sees the hard hands of his beloved on his chest, touching his stone muscles, but he does not feel them, just as he no longer feels pain or exhaustion. He keeps speaking, in a trance; he is sleepwalking. And so the hours pass, the entire night, and the dawn comes, as light sifts through the leaves of the tall trees. The warrior floats in the cold mist rising from the ground; the first golden rays of sun bathe his body, and he continues with a dancer's tiny steps, his back red with blood, his words flowing.
We are in
hualán
, the sacred time of the fruit, when the Holy Mother gives us food, the time of the
piñon
and the young of animals and women, sons and daughters of
Ngenechén.
Before the time of rest, the time of cold and of the dream of the Mother Earth, the
huincas
will come
.

Word has traveled across the mountains, and warriors of other tribes are appearing and the clearing in the forest fills with people. The circle Caupolicán is tracing is growing smaller. Now they urge him on; again the machi sprinkles him with fresh blood. Fresia and other women wash his body with wet rabbit skins; they give him water; they put a portion of chewed food in his mouth so he can swallow without interrupting the poetic flow of words. The elder
toquis
bow before the warrior with respect; they have never seen anything like this. The sun warms the earth and burns off the mist; the air fills with transparent butterflies. Above the treetops, large against the sky, is the imposing figure of the volcano, with its eternal column of smoke. More water for the warrior, the machi orders. Caupolicán, who long before has won the competition but does not put down the trunk, continues walking and talking. The sun reaches its zenith and begins to descend, disappearing among the trees, and still he does not stop. Thousands of Mapuche have gathered and the multitude occupies the clearing, the entire forest; others arrive from the hills;
trutrucas
and
kultrunes
resound, announcing the feat to the four winds. Fresia never takes her eyes from those of Caupolicán; they sustain him, they guide him.

At last, when it is again night, the warrior stoops, lifts the tree above his head, holds it there for a few instants, and tosses it far away. Lautaro has his lieutenant. Oooooooohm! Ooooooooohm! The deafening cry races through the forest, echoes among the mountains, travels across all Araucanía, and reaches the ears of the
huincas
many leagues away. Ooooooooooohm!

It took Valdivia nearly a month to reach Mapuche territory, and during that time he was able to mend enough that occasionally he could ride, though with great difficulty. As soon as they made camp, the daily attacks began. The Mapuche swam the same rivers that blocked the Spaniards, who could not cross without boats because of the weight of their armor and supplies. While some of the Indians confronted the dogs, bare chested, knowing they would be eaten alive but willing to perform the mission of slowing the dogs, others threw themselves against the Spaniards. They left dozens of dead, led away the wounded who could still stand, and disappeared into the forest before the soldiers could organize to follow them. Valdivia gave the order for half of his reduced army to stand guard while the other half rested, in shifts of six hours. Despite the harassment, the gobernador pressed forward, winning each skirmish. He plunged deeper and deeper into Araucan territory without encountering large parties of Indians, only scattered groups whose explosive surprise attacks tired his soldiers but did not stop them; they were used to facing an enemy a hundred times their size. The only uneasy person was Michimalonko; he knew all too well whom they would soon be dealing with.

And it happened. The first serious confrontation with the Mapuche took place in January 1550, when the
huincas
had reached the banks of the Bío-Bío, the line that marked inviolable Mapuche territory. The Spaniards had camped beside a lake of crystalline water, in a well-situated place where their backs were protected by the clear icy waters of the lake. They had not considered that the enemy would come by water, quick and silent, like sea lions. The sentinels saw nothing, the night seemed calm, until suddenly they heard the clamor of the dread
chivateo
: yells, flutes, and drums, and the earth shaking with the beat of the naked feet of thousands and thousands of warriors: Lautaro's men. The Spanish cavalry, which was always prepared to strike, rode out to meet them, but the Indians did not flee as they always had before the charge; instead they stood their ground with a wall of upraised lances. The horses reared and their riders had to fall back, as the harquebusiers loosed their first volley. Lautaro had advised his men that it took a few minutes to reload the fire-breathing weapons, during which the soldier was defenseless; that gave them time to attack. Undone by the total fearlessness of the Mapuche, who were fighting hand to hand against soldiers in armor, Valdivia organized his troops as he had in Italy: compact squadrons protected by breast armor, raised lances and swords, while Michimalonko and his forces took up the rear. The ferocious combat lasted until night, when Lautaro's army retired, not in precipitous flight but in an orderly withdrawal at a signal from the
kultrunes.