Chapter 9
There was a beautiful collection of books in Don Cristian’s personal library, and he generously offered to let me browse. When I first walked into the quiet annex, I respectfully rubbed the spines of the books on the shelves. My hand lingered on some of the great classics. It was as if I could absorb the energy of Herman Melville by gently stroking the Spanish translation of Moby Dick. Reading that book at a young age had demonstrated to me that words could be accommodated to paint pictures more vivid than those of television. The special awe in which I held the sea-faring author was fueled by a persistent scene from my imagination of Melville composing the work in a tattered pirate suit, sitting at a wooden table drinking coffee from a tin mug.
Clemens’ Huck Finn also received my curious tactile adoration. Like his famous protagonist, I found myself drifting south carried by a current stronger than myself which threatened to determine my destiny. Tempe, Arizona was my Hannibal, Missouri. I imagined I would return there after my adventure. I wondered if Lydia would be waiting for me. She had never realized how sexy she was for some reason, and there was always the chance that if she found out, she wouldn’t sit around wasting herself on me. She might put that resource of hers into circulation.
Doña Florencia peeked into the room to offer me a light Mexican dinner of sweet bread and instant coffee. Her entrance served to interrupt my ritual homage to dead authors and reminded me that I had directed myself to the specific task of researching Mexican history and forming my lesson plans. As I explained the urgency of my work, she graciously offered to minimize my distraction by bringing dinner in on a tray. I accepted and sat down with my food to read.
I have a strong background in history, but I needed to review specifically the lessons I was going to teach. There were several good sources on pre-colonial history on the shelves and I soon sat absorbed in the pages of those texts.
The four children of the house passed consecutively into the study to say good-night. I was pleased to receive their attention and gave each of them a hug. When Cristian and Florencia came in wearing their pajamas to excuse themselves for the evening, I realized it was late. I had learned a great deal, but I still didn’t know how I was going to present the information the following day.
With the books finally closed, I sat in front of a blank sheet of paper and wondered what kind of lesson would write itself there. I was reluctant to ask for help. Roger Panker was considered a master teacher, and the terms of the exchange encouraged him to share his expertise with his Mexican colleagues. They were waiting for me to help them, and I was as ignorant as a virgin wandering into an orgy.
Even though I sat there patiently for hours, nothing came to be written. I unconsciously filled the page with illustrations. First, I drew Jeronimo de Aguilar running into the arms of Hernan Cortez as he was being rescued from his Mayan captors in Cozumel. The caption read, “Thanks, captain. It sucked being a slave. With my linguistic ability, I am at your disposal to exploit the native people of this land.”
Another illustration was an armored Cortez having intercourse in an unchristian position with the Malinche, his captured slave girl. There was a caption below that read, “I’m more than just a sex toy, Hernan. I can help you capture the Mexica Nation and steal their gold.”
At the bottom of the page, I sketched Moctezuma sitting on his throne addressing his government ministers. “Cortez could be an incarnation of the great god Quetzalcoatl, or he could be just a smelly foreigner with a hairy face. I say we give him a generous gift from our treasury and invite him to stay with us in the palace, just to be safe.”
As I sketched one military advisor raising his hand in protest, I finally recognized what the student’s lesson would be. They would make a comic book of the Invasion of Mexico.