The Empire of Yearning (11 page)

C
UERNAVACA STOOD UPON A
lush plateau on the western face of the Sierra Madre. The emperor’s new purchase was a mansion that had been constructed by a silver baron of the previous century, a man named Borda. It was famous for its verdant gardens and artificial lake. But the building had fallen into disrepair and was in need of major renovations. Maximiliano told Diego he had approved them all. The mansion, he said, was part of Mexico’s patrimony.

A modest party would be making the journey to Cuernavaca. Their numbers included Doktor Basch and Professor Billimek—the emperor’s naturalist—as well as the Countess Kollonitz and her husband, plus the Count von Bombelles and several other Austrian officers. Sauerthal, leader of the imperial orchestra, made the journey as well, with several string players. Salm-Salm and his wife rounded out the list. The travellers set off early on a Saturday morning, accompanied by a platoon of hussars and a patrol of Mexican lancers. The emperor’s carriage was a sturdy vehicle, newly acquired, drawn by a team of six dun-coloured mules. An outrider cantered alongside, wearing a black uniform with silver spangles.

The route to Cuernavaca took the travellers high above the capital, through a mountain pass of lofty, sometimes vertiginous inclines, flanked by fields of blond grass and dense pine forests that seemed to hum in the sharp, persistent breeze. Eventually, they began their descent along a serpentine course that wound through scattered clusters of adobe huts interspersed by organ-pipe cactus fences. Now and again, they encountered mule teams shuffling along the narrow road. Diego watched as the
arrieros
waved in greeting and then used their wooden switches to swat at their beasts, forcing them to clear a way so that the emperor and his retinue might pass. The creatures tottered off to the roadside, bearing huge loads of firewood or dried cornstalks or rough wooden furniture, their burdens a good deal larger than the animals themselves.

The journey lasted most of the day, and dusk was approaching by the time the convoy of carriages tottered into the semitropical valley surrounding the town of Cuernavaca. Diego wrinkled his nose—a faint perfume of jasmine scented the air. The temperature was noticeably warmer than in Mexico City. It seemed to him that the flora was more profuse and extravagant, the palm trees stouter. The
palmeras
swayed above a feast of vegetation—jacaranda trees, cherries,
amates
, and
guayabos.

Unfortunately, there was bad news. The sorry truth was that the mansion
de la Borda
was uninhabitable owing to the renovations under way. Ladders and flimsy scaffolding clung to the place. Large sections of tile flooring had been dug up, leaving perilous holes and ugly mounds of earth. Whole walls had been knocked down, and plaster dust covered everything. The travellers managed to survive the rigours of their first night, but Diego had a feeling their hearts would quail at the prospect of sleeping yet again in these suspect and uncomfortable quarters. No doubt the mansion would one day make a fine alternative to Chapultepec Castle—but not now, not yet.

It was in these unsettled circumstances that the emperor’s party trooped down to breakfast on the morning that followed their arrival. They gathered on an al fresco terrace in the shade of a small orange grove, while a string trio played a succession of Viennese airs. For a moment, it all
seemed tolerable, but only for a moment. They had only to think of the creaking stairs, the dust and detritus, the sagging floors and broken windows, and their spirits drooped again.

A young woman did her best to cheer them up. She gave her name as Beatríz Sedano and introduced herself as the daughter of the chief gardener at the mansion. Her complexion was as dark as polished mahogany, and she had large, arresting eyes and a small Romanesque nose, all framed by a shock of thick black hair of striking iridescence. She took charge of the breakfast and went about her duties with a degree of ease, assurance, and aplomb that was remarkable in someone so young. Diego could not stop watching her.

Toward the meal’s end, Maximiliano climbed to his feet and declared he had an announcement to make. It was impossible that the party should remain at the House of Borda, he said. Some other shelter would have to be found. As a temporary solution, he proposed an outing on horseback, with the aim of exploring the countryside beyond the town. Meanwhile, more suitable accommodation would be arranged, although he did not know exactly where.

At once, the girl, Beatríz, did an about-face and raised a hand. As if she had long ago mastered the art of contradicting monarchs, she announced that she had a superior idea. If a journey on horseback were to be assayed, she said, why not consider a more ambitious project, one that would entail a journey of several days?

“Go on,” said Maximiliano. “What do you have in mind?”

She put out her hands in a theatrical gesture. The party, she said, must on no account miss the opportunity to pay a visit to
las grutas luminosas.

The name alone sparked an audible reaction from the gathering, a low hubbub of whispers and murmurs. The shining caves.

The girl explained that the structures in question were also known as the caves of Cacahuamilpa, strange geological formations located a two-day ride from Cuernavaca. About halfway along the route there was a fine hacienda called Cocoyotla, whose owner was accustomed to playing host to parties of travellers. He was able to provide comfortable lodging
and acceptable nourishment. Not many adventurers passed that way any longer, owing to the troubles now plaguing the land, but it was her firm understanding that the hacienda might nonetheless still serve as a staging point for such a journey.

All this talk of caves perked the interest of the normally dour Professor Billimek. “I have heard of these formations,” he declared. “They are said to be extraordinary.”

“Haunted, I fear,” said the girl. “They are possessed by evil spirits. It is only fair to warn you.”

“Oh dear,” said the empress. “Why, then, are we even discussing the subject? Evil spirits? No thank you.”

“Pish-tosh,” said Professor Billimek. “These are mere superstitions. Pay them no mind. This excursion could be a great adventure, and I’ll warrant we shall find some excellent specimens along the route.”

The scientist was referring to the region’s flora and fauna and particularly its insects. Diego knew from experience that Billimek never ventured out of doors without his wooden carrying case, stuffed with bottles of various shapes and sizes, which he used to contain his biological discoveries.

“Well then,” said Maximiliano. “I am almost persuaded. But how shall we find our way?”

“I shall accompany you,” said the girl. For once, she seemed to blush, although it was difficult to be sure, so dark was her skin. “That is, of course, if you wish me to. I am familiar with the terrain, which is difficult and even somewhat hazardous in places. We shall ride along cliffs.”

“Dear Lord,” said the Countess Kollonitz, who was rather plump and a timid horsewoman. “What are we thinking? First evil spirits. And now cliffs. I would prefer to conduct my explorations in the garden here, with a book and a glass of wine.”

“Come, Polly,” said her husband. “It can’t be as bad as all that. As the girl says, many travellers have made the trip and lived to tell the tale.”

Diego observed these proceedings without making any comment of his own. He wondered where this was leading. As it turned out, no
further objections were raised, and so the emperor declared the matter decided. He smiled at the gardener’s daughter and reached for his silver cigarette case. “The caves of … what did you call them?”

“The caves of Cacahuamilpa,” she said. “The shining caves of Cacahuamilpa.”

B
EATRíZ
S
EDANO REINED HER
horse about as though she were a miniature cavalry officer, grinning at everyone. She was mounted upon a tall bay mare of impressive conformation and was riding bareback, astride her horse, rather than sidesaddle, as she wove among the other riders. She wore a cotton blouse embroidered with a floral pattern, and a long muslin skirt with several white petticoats, all bunched up about her waist. A pair of loose dark pantaloons reached down to her ankles. Her face was shaded by a large straw hat. But there was something distinctly odd about her. Diego had first noticed it at breakfast. When she shifted her gaze from side to side, the dark pupils of her eyes moved in unison with the rest of her head. The balls of her eyes were immobile. She could not seem to move her eyes without also twisting her neck. She must have noticed him staring.

“I am under a curse,” she said, laughing. “It is an ancient blight handed down through the generations since time before memory. In every generation of my family, there has been someone like this. They say I must be a witch. Do you think it is true?”

Without waiting for an answer and with a fleeting glance at Diego’s missing left arm—did she mean to suggest that he was cursed as well?—the girl slapped the ends of her reins against the right flank of her mare. At once, the horse broke into a stately canter, neck arched, haunches tucked under, tail raised in an ebony plume.

“Remember what I told you, Serrano.” The emperor drew the elegant bulk of Anteburro alongside Diego’s smaller chestnut gelding. A hussar had brought Maximiliano’s favourite mount out to Cuernavaca the previous day on a lead. Now he tapped the leather satchel that was slung around his shoulder. “We are depending on you.”

Maximiliano had decided it would be Diego’s duty during the journey to identify local flora they would encounter on their way to the shining caves.

“I’ll do my best,” Diego said, then added, “Your Majesty.”

“That’s the spirit.” The emperor adjusted the sleeves of his blouse. He glanced up. “You, Billimek. You must hold your tongue this morning. We are going to test Serrano’s knowledge of natural lore. Agreed?”

The scientist merely grunted.

Maximiliano seemed to be in his element, his excitement fuelled by the prospect of the journey ahead. He stood in his stirrups and shifted around in his saddle to address his wife and the Countess Kollonitz. “Are we managing all right, ladies?”

They both nodded.

“Capital.”

With that, the emperor gave the order, and the party set off.

Before long, they had left the town well behind and found themselves riding down a narrow
barranca
thickly flanked with trees and foliage of diverse varieties. Diego was sure he had seen all these plants many times before, but he realized he knew the names of only a very few. He felt as if he were riding through a strange and alien land—a green, irregular valley, partly obscured by a webbing of trees, vines, and many-coloured blossoms, almost all of them unknown to him. Bees droned nearby, and snatches of birdsong darted up from the lower woodlands.

The emperor confessed to being baffled by the surrounding vegetation. He prided himself on taking a keen interest in naturalism, he said, but he recognized almost nothing.

“Serrano. Let us put your expertise to the test.” He pointed at a white bell-like flower that dangled from a low tree with spade-shaped leaves of a watery green. “What, for example, is that?”

“
Floripondio
,” Diego said, feigning a nonchalance he did not feel. “Quite common at this altitude.”

“So I see.” As his horse stepped past the tree, Maximiliano reached up and plucked one of the blossoms.

Another voice spoke up. “Do you know the name of this one, my friend?” It was Salm-Salm. He held up a flower freshly picked.

Diego inspected the blossom, white petals around a yellow stamen. “Come, come,” said the prince.

Diego had no idea what it was.

“Oh, leave the fellow alone,” said his wife. “Can’t you see he doesn’t know?”

“I’m only asking. An innocent question. I see no harm in that.”

“
Yoloxochitl
,” said the girl. She halted her horse, occupying a space that separated Diego from the rest. “This one is called
yoloxochitl.
It means flower of the heart.” She smiled at everyone in turn, shifting her head in small increments due to the unusual fixity of her eyes. “Not a very common plant.”

“It seems not,” said Salm-Salm. “Credit one to the distaff side, then.” As he rode past, he reached out and slapped Diego on the back. “You have let our gender down, my friend.”

The emperor reached up and removed one of the blossoms from its perch, briefly testing its scent. He held the flower out to the Indian girl. “It would look very well in your hair. Take it, please.”

She looped her reins over one arm and proceeded to wind the stem among the strands of her hair, above her left ear.

The journey continued with the accompaniment of scattered bursts of birdsong and the occasional piercing whine of the cicada. Now and again, Beatríz called a halt in order to provide the name and, in many
cases, the nutritional or curative properties of this or that plant, fruit, or flower. Here, she said, was the
izgujochitl
, with blossoms as small and delicate as miniature roses. And this was the
ocelojochitl
, the viper’s head, an eerily lovely flower of flamboyant colours—purple, white, and pink. Here were cedrats and plantains. That was a Mexican oak tree.

“This one I know,” said Diego. “It was from a tree such as this that they hanged Melchor Ocampo.”

“Did what?” said the emperor.

“Hanged Melchor Ocampo.”

“Who?”

“The foreign minister,” said the empress. “Or at least he was. Dead now. Is that not so?”

“It is.” Diego recounted the tale.

“Dear God,” said the emperor. “What a beastly experience. I had no idea.”

“Yes, you did.” The empress’s horse balked momentarily at the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree. She recovered her balance and coaxed the animal forward. “You most certainly did. We read about it even before we came to Mexico. And this man whom you pardoned, along with several others, this Baldemar Peralta. It was he who tried to assassinate the author of that crime, our good friend General Márquez.”

The emperor was silent. It seemed he was thinking, taking all this in.

Beatríz spoke up. “Melchor Ocampo,” she said. “A great man of Mexico and a particular hero of mine. It is true that he was raised in Michoacán, but he came many times to Cuernavaca. My grandfather once spoke with him.”

Diego turned to look at her, a bit taken aback by her knowledge of events. “He did? Spoke of what?”

“Cacti,” said the girl. “They spoke about cacti. Of course, this took place before my birth. But I believe it to be true. My grandfather is particularly knowledgeable about the varieties of cacti that are to be found in this region and, as you may know, Ocampo was an expert on these plants, as on so many other subjects. He wrote a book on the theme, if I am not mistaken.”

It was certainly possible. Diego would not have been surprised. What did surprise him was this girl. The daughter of an Indian gardener? “A book on cacti,” he said. “I must look it up.”

“Indeed, you must.”

For a time, they rode on in silence, following a partly overgrown track through dark pools of shade interrupted by beams of light that shot down from the canopy overhead like transparent columns. Darting insects and motes of dust shimmered in the glowing pillars. Eventually, the path led to a steep ascent, which they scaled by a series of switchbacks. At the summit, they passed through a set of ancient tumbledown gates and soon found themselves in a large orchard that must have been abandoned long ago, for the trees were thickly overgrown. The riders continued through the orchard until they reached a large clearing, surrounded by trees so densely laden with fruit that their limbs nudged the wild grass below. The emperor decided this would be an ideal spot to enjoy their picnic lunch. Everyone dismounted, and the girl immediately took charge of the logistics. The meal was served by several of the
mozos
who had shadowed the expedition with a team of donkeys. In no time, the travellers were feasting on cold chicken, hard-boiled eggs, and a variety of cut meats, served with several kinds of cheese and slivers of tomato sprinkled with chopped green chilies. The servants poured Portuguese sherry from embossed metal flasks into crystal glasses. Later, the
mozos
picked ripe chirimoyas from the branches, cut them open, and spooned the flesh onto china plates, like a kind of pudding.

When the meal was at last consumed, most of the party sprawled on the long grass, basking in the sun. The empress and the Countess Kollonitz wandered off with a pair of lady servants. Maximiliano lounged with his back to the trunk of a sapota tree, smoking a cigarette. He congratulated Beatríz for finding such a splendid place.

“We have half filled my satchel with specimens already,” he said. “Before the day is out, I expect my poor leather case to be overflowing. You will have to help us with the identification, you know. I don’t suppose you can write?”

She seemed taken aback by the question. “Of course. And read the result as well.”

“Educated too?” He raised his eyebrows. “I must say, you are the prettiest Indian I have seen in this country.
La india bonita.
”

She smiled.
“A sus ordenes, Su Majestad.”

Diego lit a cheroot and closed his eyes.

The remainder of the journey to the hacienda at Cocoyotla proceeded through handsome green countryside. Shortly before dusk, the travellers rounded the summit of a broad hill forested in Mexican oak. The hacienda sprawled below, large stands of sugar cane interspersed with the bowed pillars of royal palms, all arrayed around a cluster of stone buildings—the main house, a large stable, several sheds, and a network of low structures that made up the
trapiche
, or sugar works.

“Well done,” said the emperor, addressing the girl. “Come. The future awaits.”

It turned out that the owner of the property, a Señor Nuñez Escamilla, was absent along with his family. At first, the
mayordomo
seemed reluctant to receive the travellers. It was only on learning that the party included the emperor and empress of Mexico that he relented, although it was unclear to Diego whether the man had previously possessed any inkling at all that such a thing as an emperor or empress existed in Mexico or what might be their roles.

The following morning, the
mayordomo
roused the visitors. Groggy, still yawning, they wandered about like ghosts, mostly contenting themselves with bread and tea for breakfast. Professor Billimek alone
declared himself famished and insisted on having eggs in the Mexican style,
revuelto
with chili peppers and tomatoes.

It was still dark when they mounted their horses and set out, with only a crescent moon and a smattering of stars to light the way.