Civilizations

by Laurent Binet

  When Atahualpa’s army finally reached the valley of Quito, it was too late. They had suffered too many losses to have any hope of rebuilding their forces before several moons had passed – and that was more time than they possessed. So Atahualpa gave the order to his best general, Ruminahui the stone-eyed, to burn his city, and he climbed to the top of the highest hill – the ‘heart of the mountain’, as the Quitonians called it – to watch the inferno. When Huascar took Quito, he would find only ashes.

  Atahualpa did not shed a tear. He set off again, heading further north, beyond the borders of the Empire. The remains of his army entered a dense forest filled with venomous animals. He had hoped that Huascar would give up following him, but he had underestimated his brother’s stubbornness, or perhaps his hatred. Tupac Hualpa’s cavalry nipped at his heels. Soon the glorious army of Chinchaysuyu, the Empire of the North, would be nothing but a hairless, flea-ridden old dog.

  Nevertheless, the fallen emperor plunged ever deeper into the humid jungle. After the icy bite of the Andean peaks, he and his men were now assailed by oppressive heat. Not one of his remaining soldiers dared utter a word against him, but his spies reported that they were starting to curse the day they were born and to wish for death to bring their misery to an end. One after another, death granted those wishes.

  Quizquiz, however, had survived Tupac’s attacks. Now he was riding alongside the royal litter, guarding his monarch. Atahualpa’s generals had not deserted him. They would accompany him to the edge of the world.

  One morning, they thought that their pursuers had given up. But soon the sound of a war song rose in the damp air:

  We’ll drink from the traitor’s skull

  And make a necklace of his teeth.

  We’ll turn his bones into flutes,

  His skin will be a drum.

  And then we’ll dance.

  If Atahualpa heard this, he did not show it. Under no circumstances did he ever let slip his imperial dignity.

  The retreat began to resemble a strange dream. Here and there, they encountered primitive villages filled with naked men, some curious, some frightened. Some of the villagers gave them food and drink. Others were more hostile, but they had only a few bows and iron-tipped lances for weaponry and were quickly defeated. Atahualpa’s men took their horses, killed their oxen, and pillaged whatever they could find. There were no shops now, but this softened the blow. Their greatest difficulty was the absence of a road. Over and over again, men and animals found themselves sinking into insect-infested swamps. A slave and then an ox were taken by crocodiles.

  The court of Quito was now following the army, since it would have been slaughtered had it stayed behind, and this added another patchwork of colours to the long, tatty procession.

  Finally they reached the northern isthmus, bordered to the east by the mythical sea, only ever mentioned in a few ancient legends passed on by some surviving caravans or the lost representatives of distant tribes. So it wasn’t a legend, after all. Even amid their suffering, a few of the men swelled with pride like explorers. Others, remembering old stories about the Red Queen, daughter of Thunder, envoy of the Sun, raised their arms respectfully to the sky. As for Atahualpa, he paid no heed to superstitions. He crossed the isthmus, in one last effort retreating from the northern borders of the known world, then stopped, blocked not by poorly armed tribes but by the fear of powerful warriors who, in all those distant rumours, were invariably described as deeply aggressive, with an excessive love of human sacrifices. Atahualpa and his men, his women, his gold, his beasts, his court, at the end of their interminable retreat, now completely cornered, found themselves washed up on a long, sandy beach, after crossing the Andes, the swamps, the isthmus at the end of the world, after marching further north than any Inca ancestor had even dared to dream – not Huayna Capac, his father, nor Pachacuti the great reformer – and now they simply waited for Huascar, for the last, fatal conflict, which they had, ultimately, only postponed.

  But as the sovereign was thinking gloomily about the lamentable circumstances in which he would now enter the underworld, General Ruminahui came to request an audience. Despite the situation, and the fact that Atahualpa himself – who had descended from his litter and now stood facing the sea – did not smell as fragrant as usual, had dirty hair, and had been wearing the same tunic for almost half a day; despite the fact, then, that his monarch no longer respected all the formalities due his own rank, probably because he was anxious at the prospect of not being embalmed, the great general presented himself barefoot and head lowered, with all the marks of humility required by protocol. After all, Atahualpa still wore the braided imperial crown on his forehead, red tassels hanging from it and a pompom of falcon feathers sprouting from its top; this was sufficient for his father’s old soldier.

  ‘Sapa Inca, do you see those boats, out at sea?’

  Without raising his head, he pointed at some little dots that were floating on the water, then clapped his hands to summon a naked man held on a leash by two slaves. He pressed down on the naked man’s shoulders to force him to kneel.

  ‘According to this man, whom we captured this morning, some great islands exist, only a few days’ journey from here. Their inhabitants come here to fish and trade, aboard hollowed-out tree trunks that they call canoas. To judge from the provisions of fruit that we confiscated from the prisoner, those must be lands of plenty, just waiting to be picked by us.’

  Atahualpa was a tall man, but his general was a giant and towered over him by a head, even when bowing. Out of habit, the emperor did not allow his expression to show whether he was intrigued by or disdainful of this suggestion.

  He simply said: ‘We have no boat.’

  ‘But we have the forest,’ the general replied.

  And so the evacuation was organised. The valiant Quizquiz and his men held the beach. Ruminahui mobilised the remaining uninjured soldiers to cut down and carry trees, while on the beach Chalco Chimac was in charge of the boats’ construction. Men were sent out on hastily carved canoas; animals and crates of gold on rafts built from tree trunks tied together by ropes of llama wool and equipped with sails cut from tent canvas. The nobility, who had never served themselves more than a drink in their entire lives, who had never dressed or even washed themselves, clumsily helped to cut, assemble and load the rafts. Meanwhile, Quizquiz’s soldiers heroically drove back the attacks of the Cuzco army, and the clash of arms, the yells and hoofbeats reached the beach from the edge of the forest and mingled with the sound of the waves.

  The evacuation took place. Quizquiz was the last man to embark, under a rain of arrows and insults, leaving behind him a beach strewn with corpses. The last, panic-stricken horses ran amok because they could not be fitted on to the rafts, while a few turtles, nested in the sand, had not moved during the entire battle.

  4. Cuba

  The sea was calm and the fleet was able to stay close together; there were almost no losses.

  They landed on a white beach bordered by languid palm trees. The screeches of parrots filled the air. Pink pigs played happily in the sand and they took this as a good omen. This new country was beautiful. The air was mild. Weeks of fatigue evaporated. They sang as they climbed the snowless mountains. The peaceful rivers were forded effortlessly, and fish could be caught with their bare hands. From the heart of the game-filled forests a few people would occasionally appear, driven by curiosity. They were naked and handsome, and above all they seemed to have no hostile intentions. With the aid of a merchant from Popayan, who claimed to understand their language, Atahualpa discovered that an old queen reigned over the archipelago, which comprised three large islands – Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica – and an infinity of small islands such as Turtle Island. They marched north, without knowing why, other than for the simple pleasure of exploring this land’s beauties, or perhaps out of habit, since the north had always been their home within Tawantinsuyu. In the evenings, they grilled pigs and ate the flesh of lizards. Did Atahualpa think that, h
ere, they would be able to forget war? Perhaps. But was he even capable of peace? The series of circumstances that shaped his destiny makes that question difficult to answer. Let us say that peace did not lean over his cradle.

  As anxiety ebbed from their hearts, the people of the procession returned to the old protocols: the sweepers in their chequered tunics opened a path, followed by singers and dancers who preceded the horse cavalry in gold armour, then came the emperor seated on his throne, surrounded by his guard of Yanas, his generals on horseback, the dignitaries of the court, the most eminent of whom were carried in litters – his sister-wife, Coya Asarpay, his very young cousin and future wife, Cusi Rimay, his equally young sister Quispe Sisa – then came his secondary wives and his concubines, the priestesses of the Sun, the servants, the footsoldiers and, last of all, the bedraggled flood of Quito’s survivors. Quizquiz and his men drew up the rear of this long herd.

  One day, the procession came to a halt. The men at the head moved aside to let the Inca’s litter pass. Before them were forty horsemen, all naked, all armed, with painted faces and feathers on their heads. Over his shoulder their chief carried a sort of wooden stick inlaid with pieces of iron. As he did not seem disposed to let this troop of foreigners any further into his lands, the emperor had to engage in a dialogue. The chief’s name was Hatuey and he served the Queen Anacaona. Lacking civilised decorum, he looked the Inca in the eyes as he addressed him, without kneeling, without even descending from his horse. Atahualpa gave his answers through Chalco Chimac. In any case, neither side understood the other’s language. Somehow, though, they agreed to a meeting with the queen, in a place named Baracoa. It is likely that Atahualpa thought about slaughtering these men who were barring his passage. It is no less probable that Hatuey sensed this, for he pointed his stick at the sky and, with a noise like thunder, shot down a red-headed vulture. Panic spread through the Quito army. Old legends rushed back into memory. Voices yelled: ‘Thor!’ Even the giant Ruminahui lowered his head, as if the sky was about to collapse. Only Atahualpa remained impassive. The son of the Sun did not fear thunder. Nevertheless, he judged it prudent to let Hatuey depart unscathed.

  In other circumstances, he would have had all those who had trembled executed, but the fallen emperor was in no position to waste men and, most importantly, had no intention of losing his best general.

  5. Baracoa

  When they reached the sea, they realised that the island was a narrow strip of land that could be crossed in a few days. They had not come to this country as conquerors but as fugitives and that, assuredly, was not without consequence for the fate of Cuba and the world. Atahualpa sent messengers loaded with gifts ahead of him. He offered the queen gold plates, tunics, parrots. In return, the queen received him as an old ally, to the sound of tambourines, amid games and dances, under a rain of flowers. Servants carrying palm leaves and bouquets came to meet the procession. The village had been cleared. Garlands of greenery hung from painted huts. Atahualpa’s generals noticed some long houses with plant roofs and a forge at rest, with a thread of white smoke still drifting upwards from it. On the beach, surrounded by wild cattle, were the skeletons of two gigantic ships. A banquet had been prepared. The queen invited the Inca to sit next to her. Atahualpa was less arrogant than his brother and decided it would be a good idea to treat her as an equal. He himself tasted the food he was served. The queen’s beauty was faded, but she had a gracefulness that pleased him.

  The festivities went on late into the night and began again the next morning. The visitors from Quito were enchanted. Amid all the games and songs, however, Anacaona sent them a message: Hatuey, who was her nephew and who reigned over this part of the island, would offer them the spectacle of a simulated battle. Naked horsemen pursued men dressed in white tunics, who defended themselves with long sticks inlaid with iron. The sticks pointed at the air, and again the sound of thunder terrified the visitors. But at the end, the horsemen won the battle and – a pertinent detail – took the firearms. Observing his generals, who were trying hard to conceal their nervousness, Atahualpa saw that the message had been received. He understood that the foreigners had come from the sea, almost forty harvests before, aboard the boats that were now stranded on the beach, and that they had been defeated. The queen’s daughter, Higuénamota, enjoyed telling him this story. So the Inca swore that he had come not to wage war, but as an exile seeking refuge. The people of Quito humbly asked for asylum, and the Taínos – for such was the name of Anacaona’s people – graciously granted it. Furthermore, they both shared the cult of Thor, that secondary divinity of obscure origins.

  6. Huascar

  There is no way of knowing how long the Inca might have enjoyed this hospitality. Inaction hardly seemed to bother him, so pleasant were his dealings with the queen. In truth, what she’d told them about the foreigners from the east was completely unbelievable. He knew that the fire sticks required a certain powder to blow thunder, and that there was little or no such powder on the island, meaning that their use was strictly rationed, reserved for special occasions – and the arrival of new foreigners was undoubtedly a special occasion. He also knew that the foreigners from long ago had been obsessed by two things: their god and gold. They liked to plant crosses. They had all died.

  The people of Quito abandoned themselves to the delights of Baracoa. They mixed so well with their hosts that some of them shed their clothes and went around naked, while the Taínos had fun putting on their tunics. The memory of their past trials faded and they let the present flow like sand.

  But the future, though briefly hidden from view, marched ever onward.

  Anacaona’s spies reported that other foreigners, in all respects similar to the people of Quito – except for their superior numbers – had landed on the neighbouring island of Jamaica. Atahualpa had to inform the queen that it was his brother, come to find him, and that his intentions were not peaceful. A council gathered around Anacaona, including her daughter and her nephew, and Atahualpa and his generals were invited to attend, as was his sister-wife, Coya Asarpay.

  What did Huascar want? What did this stubbornness mean? Could fear of his brother’s return have driven him so far from Cuzco, for such a long time? These questions did not interest the Taínos, who feared that they would suffer the consequences of this fratricidal war. Hatuey angrily told the Inca: ‘Go away! To the mountains, to the sea, wherever you want!’ He had to flee again … but where? Nobody knew. Atahualpa saw his generals roll their eyes helplessly. Higuénamota pointed at the sea: ‘The answer lies before you.’ The east … but how? Where were those lands? How far away? They were shown some maps found in the boats. Atahualpa and his people stared uncomprehendingly at the representations of a world in which Cuzco did not exist. They were incapable of deciphering the little signs written on the paper. Higuénamota had learned the invaders’ language when she was a child, but not their system of transcription. Had they known how false those maps were, the invaders would probably never have agreed to take that leap into the void.

  But how could they cross the sea? Again, it was Higuénamota who provided the answer: those boats abandoned on the beach … The foreigners came all the way here with them, and would have returned. The wood had rotted, though, and the boats were in no fit state to sail. Besides, they had too many people to fit on two ships, even ones of such extraordinary size. But Atahualpa’s retinue included the best carpenters in the Empire. The order was given to repair the two boats and to build a third, even bigger than the others. Chalco Chimac organised his engineers, who drew up plans for a gigantic vessel, based on the models they had before their eyes and on the words of Anacaona and her daughter as they described the enormous ship that had smashed against the rocks so long ago before being swept away by the waves.

  In the meantime, Anacaona’s spies kept watch on Huascar. The Cuzco army was still in Jamaica and, luckily for Atahualpa and his people, did not seem to know where to search for them. The instruction was sent out to all the inhab
itants of the archipelago: do everything you can to lead them astray. Huascar would find his brother in the end, but first he would waste a long time lost in these lands, and each day spent exploring a wrong island was another day for Atahualpa’s carpenters. If necessary, he could be sent towards Haiti, Anacaona’s homeland, to gain a little more time.

  Atahualpa’s men cut down trees and sawed them into planks. The women sewed multicoloured sails. The Taínos made thousands of nails, which they soaked in oil to protect them from rust. And, as if by some miracle of nature, the skeletons came back to life, like a snake shedding its skin. This slow rebirth offered hope of a happy ending to both sets of people: they had loved each other briefly, they would part ways as good friends. Of course, the departure of the Quito army would not mark the end of the story for anyone, and there was nothing to guarantee that the boats would be able to return whence they had come, nor that Huascar, out of bitterness at seeing his prey escape him once more, would not avenge himself upon the Taínos. But thanks to the hard work of the woodcutters, the carpenters, the seamstresses and the blacksmiths, the worst was no longer inevitable.

  One thing was certain, however: life would not return to its old order. The world was slipping off its axis. Coya Asarpay, the sister-wife, did not want to leave, and her anxiety was shared by many of the others, despite their steadfast work. ‘Brother, what is this madness?’ she asked. Within her, fear of the unknown battled with fear of the known. She was terrified by the knowledge that Huascar’s army was prowling around, but contemplation of the horizon did not make her shudder any less. How could anyone imagine what lay beyond the seas? Atahualpa found the right words: ‘Sister, let us go and see the place from where the Sun comes.’ And, aware that his people needed a leader, he ignored the protocols and addressed them all: ‘The time of the Four Quarters is over. We are going to sail towards a new world, filled with lands no less rich than our own. With your help, your emperor will be the Viracocha of the new age, and the honour of having served Atahualpa will redound to your families and your ayllus for generations to come. And if we are to founder, then let it be like this. We will find Pachacamac at the bottom of the sea. But if we make it across the sea … What a voyage that will be! So let us go, now, to the Fifth Quarter!’ The Quitonians, reassured and emboldened by these words, responded with a single voice: ‘To the Fifth Quarter!’