by Mary Morris
His brother, Simon, had gotten word to him. He was being searched for in Taxco, where he oversaw his family’s silver mines. It did not surprise him to learn that there was a price on his head. Two months ago his older sister, Magdalena, was arrested and no one had heard a word from her since. She had always been the most outspoken and careless of the siblings. She refused to eat a pork stew at a neighbor’s house and wore clean clothes on the Sabbath for all to see. Alejandro has been more discreet, but now it doesn’t matter. Magdalena has put them all at risk.
He rode slowly down from Taxco through the hills to the city that was once ruled by Montezuma. Now it is in the hands of Spanish bureaucrats, whose only purpose seems to be to protect the pure blood of Spain. He longs to see Sofia. If he can, he will find a way. It has been months since he has been with her, but he is not sure if he can risk it. It is enough that he is going to see his mother. He fears he will compromise Sofia and her family as well.
Yet it is so difficult for him to come to Mexico City and not see her. For years she was only his little cousin, the daughter of his mother’s sister—a child given to luring birds to eat out of her hand and who plucked wildflowers wherever they grew. One day she began to tame wild dogs. Dogs that bit the ankles of horses riding by, that snapped the meat from the butcher’s hands. These wild dogs roamed the streets, terrifying everyone except Sofia. She carried fatty scraps in her pockets and they followed her like lambs, lying at her feet when she commanded, handing her a paw when she asked.
When she was only fourteen and Alejandro was just turning twenty, he ran into her coming down the street with her pack of dogs, her dark hair hanging loose in the wind, and he recognized her for the magnificent, feral creature that she was. He too began to follow her, though he refused to be tamed. This was the only way he would win her over and he did. One rain-sodden night he approached her and declared his love. “We are first cousins,” she said as if he needed to be reminded. “But I will marry no one else but you.”
For years they have had to steal moments to be together, meeting when they can sneak away. Since he has been in exile, he dreams of her every night. When he can, he sends her messages, and when she is able, she replies. She will wait for him. When he is ready to leave Mexico, which will be as soon as he puts some of his affairs in order, she will accompany him wherever he decides to go. He will try, but only if it is safe. Otherwise he must stay away.
As he follows the canals, Alejandro covers his face with his cape so he will not have to breathe the ripe air. The Spanish use these once teeming waterways as garbage dumps. Thirty years ago when his father, Benjamin Cordero, arrived in New Spain, the canals were lined with orange and lemon and palm trees. The petals of hibiscus filled the banks while gondolas drifted past. His father saw the monuments and pyramids of the great Tenochtitlan upon whose ruins houses and government buildings now stand. Alejandro gasps. The canals are rife with the stench of rotting meat, fetid fruit, and human waste. Normally he arrives at his mother’s house in a carriage or on horseback. He never walks along the canals. But tonight there is no other way.
He has not seen his mother in almost a year, since his father died. But now he is coming to warn her, though he also brings danger to her door. He is almost there, but he will not knock. He will find another way to make his presence known. A knock will send terror through his family. Every Jew has come to fear the knock on the door. When he reaches the house, he goes around to the back where he can peer into the kitchen. Julia, the cook, stirs something on the stove. She is speaking with someone he cannot see, but he can make out the smile on Julia’s face and he can hear her laughter.
After a few moments he taps at the window and Julia looks his way. Julia does not seem surprised to see him. Since his sister’s arrest they have anticipated his return. She lets him in with a hug and tears in her eyes. “You’ve come. We knew you would.”
He hugs the old cook who has worked for the family since he was a boy. Now he looks at her companion. It is Bernadine, Julia’s daughter. Alejandro can’t believe his good luck. Bernadine works for his aunt and uncle. She is also Sofia’s maid. He turns to Bernadine. “How is she?”
Bernadine gives him a shrug. “As good as any of us. She waits for you.”
Alejandro nods. “Tell her I’ve come.” He cannot resist. “I’ll see her soon.”
Bernadine smiles, for she likes Alejandro and she also likes taking messages between the two as she has been doing for years. Bernadine goes back and forth between the houses, carrying food and linens along with notes and small packages. Bird feathers, lockets, a snippet of hair. Bernadine is the only one who knows for certain of the secret love that Sofia bears for her cousin and he for her. Being a go-between makes Bernadine feel indispensable, as if she were the center of some intrigue, which she is, though their families have long ago suspected that the two cousins are in love and also long ago agreed that it would never be consecrated.
Bernadine slips her shawl over her head and kisses her mother goodbye. “I must be going.”
Julia turns to Alejandro. “Your mother is in the dining room.”
Alejandro slips down the corridor, where he finds his mother, poised like a mannequin, in the black dress and veil of her mourning, at the head of the table where his father once sat. Before her is a plate of lamb with apricots that she has barely touched. His heart breaks at the sight of her. He has never seen his mother alone at the long wooden table surrounded by empty chairs made from the finest Spanish cane. Before there were never less than half a dozen people—his parents and siblings, cousins or friends—at a meal and they were all so busy, chattering about their days, laughing at whatever silliness had occurred, arguing over the differences they might have. And now his mother sits in her solitude. It occurs to him that she has been eating like this for months.
It seemed like yesterday that his father had his thriving import and export business. Cacao, pepper, and spices that he shipped from Veracruz to Lisbon and Antwerp. When he came to the New World, he specialized in cacao. His own mother had taught him how to mix the milk and sugar to make the cocoa sweet. And he had sold his beans all over Europe. In New Spain Benjamin had branched off into spices and textiles. Later he invested in the silver mines in Taxco. But that thriving business had also diminished. Fewer and fewer people came to their home and now Leonora eats alone. But it is not only because Benjamin is gone. It is also because he was bathed, then wrapped in linen and buried in a plain casket according to the Law of Moses.
It was a year ago that Alejandro had helped his father whose body was fetid and oozing, turn his face to the wall and leave this world. Alejandro was there to comfort him in his pain. He was with him as he drew his last breath. Alejandro abided by his father’s wishes. He stayed with his body to enable his soul’s journey from this world. He ordered the servants to bathe him in cold water and wrap his body in a white linen shroud. He ordered the plain casket with three holes drilled in the bottom so that the soul might pass through. Alejandro cut his father’s nails and his hair. He said the prayers for the dead. Any one of these servants could have betrayed his family and they would never know. For months they mourned. But now they have an even greater sadness to bear.
His mother looked up and, seeing her youngest son, her dark, troubled eyes fill with tears. “So you’ve come.”
Alejandro nods. “I had to see if you are all right.”
“I am not all right,” she says in a cold, dry voice. “They’ve taken Magdalena.” And she adds in barely a whisper, “To the Flat House.”
“I’ve heard.” His mother doesn’t have to explain to him what this means. Everyone knows that the Flat House is not the Royal Prison where you might be given the courtesy of a trial and have a lawyer for your defense, where you might receive visitors and be brought food. The Flat House is the prison of the Inquisition where you are put into one of the secret cells. You are kept for as long as the proceedings against you take. Days, months, even years. You are presumed guilt
y unless proven innocent. All your worldly goods are confiscated. You might never know who has informed against you or what the charges are, besides heresy. If you do not confess to practicing the dark Law of Moses and repent, you will be tortured until you die. Or you will be broken and made to confess not only to your own heresies but also to those of your family and friends and perhaps even to those of strangers.
Julia slips into the room with a plate of lamb with garbanzos that she places in front of Alejandro, who is now seated beside his mother. It is his favorite dish, one that his mother brought with her from the old country, a dish once famous among the Jews of Córdoba and Seville, so sweet with apricots and so savory with cumin and turmeric. It is as if she knew he would be returning that night.
“Have you seen Simon? Balthazar has written to me. He is in Rome. He wants us to join him,” his mother says.
Alejandro nods. “Yes, it is Simon who told me. And I will write to Balthazar. We will all join him. I am going to put our affairs in order so that we may leave.” He gazes upon his mother more closely. Her face is pale. She has aged in the months since he last saw her. His eyes are drawn to the necklace she wears. Its chain disappears into her bodice. Gently Alejandro reaches for it, pulling out a crucifix. “Why are you wearing this?” he asks.
“I have sworn allegiance to Jesus Christ, our Lord.” She makes the sign of the cross.
“You cannot be serious. We are Jews.”
“I will not burn in hell,” his mother says.
“I will burn at the stake,” her son retorts, “but not in hell.”
His mother lowers her eyes. “It is the only way.”
“This so-called Inquisition is more about filling the purses of the king and queen than saving souls from damnation.”
“Be that as it may, I am now a true believer in Jesus Christ, our Lord.”
Alejandro is stunned. He has come all this way to find his mother a true Christian. He doubts her every word. “You do not mean what you say. I know that. I will not submit to their tyranny.”
With that he pushes himself away from the table and goes to his room. He lies down on his bed but does not undress. In the morning he will go and see Sofia, and he will tell her that he is leaving and he wants her to join him. He knows that she will come. He will urge his aunt and uncle to leave as well. If nothing else he is hoping that this will be the catalyst that will allow his mother and Sofia’s parents to grant them permission to marry.
For years they kept their love a secret. At family occasions they lowered their eyes. They tried not to look at each other, but in the end they could not help themselves. With his dark skin, shiny black hair, and blue eyes, Alejandro was not a man whom women could ignore, but he had only loved one—his cousin Sofia. It seems to him as if he has loved her his entire life and perhaps in some way he has. But both families have refused to allow them to marry. And Sofia’s mother will barely let her see him. Sofia has vowed to go into a nunnery if she cannot marry Alejandro. And so far her parents’ efforts to find suitors and marry her off have been thwarted.
Alejandro spends a sleepless night tossing in his bed, planning for when and how they will leave. Yet even as he thinks about Sofia, a sense of dread fills him. It is almost dawn when the knock comes at the door. The alguacil and his henchmen clomp up the stairs. As Alejandro protests, they beat him with truncheons and when he cries out, they stuff a metal gag into his mouth. They tighten its screws until Alejandro thinks his jaw will break. His mother rushes out of her bedroom and cries out as well, but they slap her until she lies whimpering in a corner. Then they force his hands behind his back and drag him away.
* * *
A decade ago none of this would have happened. Until Alejandro Cordero was thirteen, he did not know a thing about his family’s past. He was a teenage boy who cared only for the small world that surrounded him and a housemaid named Lily, who at times slipped into his bed to comfort him. He never questioned his family’s strange practices of refusing to eat shellfish even when they went to the sea or the grimace on his mother’s face when the butcher offered her a choice cut of pork butt, which she purchased though rarely served unless Spanish officials were coming to dine. Mostly she gave the pork to the servants. These things meant nothing to him until the day when his father, Benjamin Cordero, took him aside and explained as gently as he could that they were Jews.
His father told him the strangest story he’d ever heard. Alejandro thought that it was a story that grown-ups like to convince children is true. His father told him that he had been found on an island in the New World by a woman named Inez Cordero who raised him and that he was descended from the translator who accompanied Columbus on his first voyage. His father explained that both he and Alejandro’s mother were Jews. At first Alejandro did not believe his father. How could it be that he had lived his life one way and now suddenly had to live it another? Why would they hide this from him? None of it made sense and yet it must be true.
He was determined. If he were a Jew, he would live as a Jew. He would not hide who he is. He began to study. He sought out a teacher, a secret Jew, who taught him the Hebrew alphabet. He studied the letters late into the night until they swirled in his head. Through the letters he found his gateway to God. Within weeks Alejandro was able to read the Torah. He learned that Abraham made his covenant with God at the age of ninety-nine by cutting off his own foreskin.
That night in his room in the hacienda where he had lived his entire childhood as a Catholic on the outskirts of Mexico City, Alejandro examined his member. Up until this moment he had enjoyed the pleasure of his own flesh. His large, pulsating cock had served his boyhood needs, bringing him dreams that left him soaked and spent. It had responded well in the hands of Lily, who was soon afterward let go. Alejandro was struck by its considerable size. Even his own mother admired it. Once in front of his father she pulled it out and said, “Look at this son of yours—he’s hung like a bull.” But now he would make his covenant with God as Abraham had.
The next day Alejandro went to the river, where on a chilly fall morning he removed his clothes and stood naked on the banks. He entered the frigid water and stayed until his body was blue and shivering. Here he whispered a prayer, asking for strength for what he was about to do. Then he left the river and dried himself off. He took out the barber’s razor he’d brought with him in a leather rucksack and began to slice off his foreskin. The pain was excruciating, but still he cut. Blood coursed from his groin, down his thighs. He thought he would faint or even die of the pain. When he was done, he tossed his foreskin into the waters. He wrapped his penis with a cloth that was soon soaked in blood. Then he collapsed.
When he woke, the blood still flowed down his legs. It occurred to him that he was bleeding to death. Besides this, what was left of his member was the size of a newborn lamb. Delirious, he staggered home and when he saw his mother, fell into her arms. She feared that a bee had stung him for he was allergic to bees and once she’d had to breathe air into his throat. Then she saw the blood dripping down his thighs.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “What have you done?” She unwrapped the cloth and gasped. Now her son would be marked for life. Later he will think that his member, which he had once admired and which had brought him so much pleasure, resembled a rooster with its ruffled red cock’s comb, and for years he would avoid the intimate touches of women because of the pain it would cause and the laughter it would bring. Indeed, despite his good looks and considerable charms, Alejandro Cordero was certain that he would die a virgin and a martyr. But then he fell in love with Sofia. And while they have touched and caressed, they have never been together—not as a man and woman should be. He has braced himself for the day when in their marital bed he will have to reveal to her his mutilated member and she will love and embrace him without batting an eye. At least this was how he imagined his life would be.
* * *
At the Flat House they yank the metal bulb from Alejandro’s mouth. He spits out his f
ront teeth. Blood spurts from his lips; the corners of his mouth have been ripped open by the gag. He gasps and then sobs. A man in dark robes sits at a desk, writing down his name, his age, the address where he last lived. The seven reales he has on him are also confiscated. “We will open an account in your name. You must sign here.” Trembling, Alejandro takes the pen with which he opens his account. It will pay for his room and board, and his trial and torments and any other expenses he might incur, including his own execution. There is a fixed price for everything.
Without another word he is taken downstairs and stripped of his clothes. He stands naked, shivering, and afraid. Then he is taken to his cell. His heart sinks when he sees the windowless room with a wooden door. On the floor is a bed of urine-soaked straw and a bucket in which to relieve himself. There is no blanket to keep him warm. He is given a candle and a bowl of thin gruel. “May I have a Bible? Something to read,” Alejandro asks his jailer as he takes the bowl away.
“You are entitled to nothing,” his jailer replies, taking his candle away as well. Alejandro lies on his pallet, shivering, gasping. In the darkness he cannot even make out the walls, but he hears the sounds of creatures scurrying. He hears the sound of crying. It sounds like women’s voices, coming from the next cell. He calls out “Is anyone here?” but receives no reply. Only the thinnest line of light from beneath the door lets him know that it is still day.
* * *
He is brought to a room that has black curtains on the walls. In the center is a table covered in a black cloth. He has lost all sense of time, but through the slim opening of the curtains it seems that the light is beginning to fade. Soon he will spend his first night in the Flat House. Still Alejandro is fortunate. Some people wait months to be called. He has had to wait only a matter of hours for his first questioning.
