AZPEYTIA, THE MEMORY OF STEPS

Karina Vargas.

Day by day the same path: closing the gates of a modest casona1 on Calle del Desdén, she continues on the 1st of San Agustin and turns at the 1st of Santa Clara until arriving at the front of Plaza de San Francisco, from there, she goes north, stops at Puente Grande and strolls through the shore of Río Blanco, enjoying the peace that its crystalline waters provide. She observes – with an almost scientific curiosity – the behavior of ducks and herons, while making an effort to interpret the singing of the diverse birds that flutter amongst the mesquite and the lavish colorful flora of that one shore. “So many worlds made by the same God” – she thinks –. When the sun starts to set, around five o'clock in the afternoon, she continues her way down Calle de Miraflores and from there she penetrates the alley that leads to scarce meters from St. Anthony of Padua's temple, as solid as Teresa's faith and as sobering as the cell of a Carmelite friar. The walk seems long, not because of the distance, but for the stony road of the improvised Spanish Colonial streets.  

Teresa, the daughter of a Spanish Creole merchant of moderate fortune, walks slowly, almost tiptoeing with her small half-heel ankle boots tightly tied up to her feet, she lifts -barely- the hem of the skirt aiming not to show more than what is deemed appropriate, just enough to avoid soiling the trimming; a long shawl covers a decolletage that, although not very pronounced, allows one to guess the round and voluptuous quality of her still firm breasts, just like the church domes that day by day -in the company of a maid- she visits. 

The young creole halts her step to patiently admire the simplicity of the façade of St. Anthony of Padua, saint to whom Teresa, occasionally questions and other times, with almost obsessive fervor, prays for guidance to end her loneliness. How many words must these walls not hide? – she thinks, remembering one of her father's lessons –: “It's one of the oldest buildings in town. Two friars of the Franciscan Order from San Diego de Mexico' s province lead in 1613 the start of the construction; the carved wooden gates were opened in 1629”. And they would remain closed until 1867, when during the Siege of Queretaro, the building was turned into military quarters. But that wouldn't be seen by Teresa's black eyes. What she does have in sight, and no doubt perceives with total disdain, is the pair of stories that flank the entrance: two monumental oil paints that shamelessly demand the visitor's attention: to the right: Heaven, Earth, and Purgatory; the last one eye-level to the worshiper, maybe like a warning of what awaits if one is not conducted under strict Christianity. Teresa notices how the maid, frightful, lowers her head to such an image.

“Don' t be afraid, Maria” – she tells her. “The true punishment is here, on Earth; on the spilled blood of equals, in the bodies that burn from the inside without consolation, in the injustice of the abundance of a few at the expense of others. That's the true hell, Maria”.

The maid, nervous, says:

- “Silence, Girl, do not let the Priest hear you!”.

To the left, a painting dedicated to the Saint of Padua reads:

Mad the man for, jealous. 

Death to his wife he gave.

If Anthony wouldn't prevent it with a prodigious case.

He takes in his arms, pious. The newborn infant. 

And, making him rise the voice freeing the mother. 

Says he, it is none other my father, but you who is before me. 

“Goodness, gracious, the offense! Needing a saint's hand to acquire the trust of the loved one”.

“Girl, by God!” – claims the maid again. The young woman addresses her with a mischievous smile, she goes to the holy water pile and per-signs herself.

Once knelt before the altar, Teresa exercises her freedom: to think, to think Time: “What would be of time if by me were it not named? Time exists as long as I express it in Past, in Future, in hopes, wishes, and thoughts. If it were not so, I would be an ageless woman, nevertheless, the social convention of counting has already marked 27 years of my existence and it has imposed a limit on me to enjoy some things and the obligation of exercising others, because time has run out -they say- because time has come. Why Time? …  Life does not meet my expectations, expectations set in the future, a future that is now past. I refuse to continue waiting to build a life, I want to live, in this space, in this world! To reach pleasure here and now. I reject with all that I am that, because of my age, I have to resign myself to occupy a convent cell. I want to love and be loved.

It is the fifth month of the year 1760, the earth expands to receive the crystalline juice of the sky. Teresa abandons the temple's sky-high ceilings, leaving unmoving Christs, virgins and saints. She hurries the step towards the street, and, like Mother Earth, rejoices the wind's caress and the water's tight hug that seeps through her dress. She goes free, in a subtle dance with a shawl wrapped around her waist, she delights with the scent of lavender that slips from her hair. She passes the Portal of Carmelitas, seeing without watching the people who seek shelter from the rain. Her distraction leads her to stumble with one of the little pebbles that, loose, tumble the path. Instead of falling, though, her eyes set on strong long fingers grasped to her waist. Those hands lift her slowly, with great caution and … in one involuntary motion, Teresa's soaked body brushes with the one of the man that, pious, rescues her. Time stops. Fernando of Azpeytia's face, framed by beard and hood, fills with light; his skin, centimeter by centimeter becomes bristled by that sublime touch. Not even the long loose tunic manages to conceal his emotion. Teresa's reaction is no less intense, her body is screaming for her to never part from that other. But, old Maria's voice brings her back to reality: 

“Teresa, girl, just look at the state you're in, what a mess!”.

The maid takes her hand and, just like that, they make their way to Calle del Desdén. Fernando stays there, unmoving, with a shawl in his hand, the scent of lavender on the tunic and desire in his body.

Under the ledge of house number 9 of Calle del Desdén, six gargoyles watch Time. Rainwater sprouts from the muzzles of those pink-stone beasts. Teresa and Maria go straight to the kitchen to dry their clothes next to the fire, and to calm their souls with very hot chocolate, before going to her father. 

Maria, an elderly Otomí Indian, has not yet lost her agility or swiftness, and in a flash arranges everything. After a couple of sips, the sweet heavy drink manages to calm Teresa's eagerness.

“Come, nana Maria, sit down and drink as well, I'm sure you're tired from coming and going”.

“Oh, my girl, it is not tiredness what burdens me, but the daring words that came out of your eyes when that man of God got so close to you!”.

“Oh, nana … it was a shock that brought all my dreams to life. A constant tickling went through my bones, skin, flesh. Nothing else occupied my mind but the shape of that man covered with that holly armor that, together, we brought down. But don't take my words the wrong way, Maria, something as sacred cannot be vanquished by the simple desire of two bodies, it is needed, above all, to give the heart, the soul…”

“Teresa, I have not always been old, I know what you speak of. Very young I came to serve at this house, your mother needed someone to tend for her, and to accompany her while she carried you in her belly. The sadness I felt when she died without even seeing your little face! Your father, inconsolable, looked at you, kissed your forehead and placed you in my arms. Since then, girl, I have not parted from you … or him. I, too, knew how to recognize love and I have stayed by his side … quietly.” – Says Maria with a faint smile of complicity.

Three days passed since the sudden encounter. Three days in which Fernando remained inside his cell, kneeling before a crucifix, questioning his call. “If by God I was guided, then why does my body not behave accordingly to the laws of my faith? Why am I rejecting now, with terror, the idea of living forever under the precepts of my Order?  I was stunned, feeling her warmth in my hands my whole body was invaded by a sensation of indescribable fulfillment”. His long pondering came together in one thought: Teresa.

The whole town: rich and poor, servants and masters, Spaniards and creoles, Indians and Mestizos (a few on horseback, others by foot) leave Plaza Mayor towards Sangremal Hill to begin the celebration of the founding of the city. Colored ribbons fly on every street; parades chariots, pulled by mules, revive weaponless scenes of the fight at the Sangremal Hill. It's the 25th of July, a day to remember victory and defeat, the conquest and the submission; a day in which the Indians surrendered (or pretended to surrender) to the miracle of an armed saint. A human carpet lays at the feet of the church of the Convent of La Santa Cruz. A seashell calls to the wind, announcing that the Indian’s dance is about to begin. Teresa tries to squeeze through the crowd, and in that futile attempt stumbles before the man who, for weeks, has been the protagonist of her visions. He sees her. A chant is heard. She intertwines her hands with the friar's hands. It is time to join man and cosmos. Fernando and Teresa penetrate the sweetness of the abyss. The voices travel towards the four cardinal points. The lovers, silent, guess each other. The vigil starts. The sahumadores2 do their tasks and the scent of copal indicates that the sacred fire has arrived. Teresa and Fernando sink into a state of hypnosis. God is inside the beings. Teponaztles3, mandolins, and tambourines set the rhythm, the echo of firm strong steps is heard all over town. The palpitations of two bodies synchronize. Bare feet sink into the earth, rattling the seed within the shells that wrap their calves. The rain falls, water giver of life of the beloved land.

The ritual finalizes. Fernando and Teresa do not succumb to the crowd. They recognized themselves as eternal inhabitants of the sweet abyss. Love has transcended the word. Nothing will take that light away from them. They go down through Monte Sacro street until they arrive again to Plaza Mayor; there, without saying goodbye, they take different paths … 

Darkness and silence already contain the casona of Calle del Desden. Teresa goes inside, stops at the patio's fountain and goes towards the second floor, she doesn't search for answers anymore, she already found everything in that other being. She arrives at a little circular room, where a weak candelabrum allows to guess, barely, the presence of her father that, patient, awaits her. And without any ado, tells her:

“Ready your bridal gown, child. Don Fernando of Azpeytia will return without habit and with fortune before the fall”.

Fernando, in his layman persona, converses with the Prior, who in spite of being understanding, is now trying to convince him of not leaving the Order:

“Nothing in this world is alien to man. God in his infinite kindness, has given us Reason. Thanks to it, our appreciation and knowledge of the world go beyond mere instinct. We have transformed nature to satisfy our basic needs, but that is vain, what is truly transcendent is the will of the spirit, the deep knowledge of ourselves through which we manage to silence the mundane impulses that, not in few occasions, manifest. Prayer, my young novice, patience and a lot of work will make you desist of vulgar love. You are one step away from completing your theological preparation. Don't quit now your votes of poverty, chastity, and obedience”.

— Padre Prior, el amor en ninguna de sus manifestaciones es vulgar. El amor es sagrado, es entrega, sacrificio. Es dar lo que no se tiene aún cuando nada se nos ha pedido. Dios es amor, de la misma forma que el Amor es un dios que ha movido a la humanidad desde su origen. Nada, absolutamente nada se volverá a repetir, es el presente lo que Dios me pone a la mano y no lo desdeñaré. Los años no dejarán de correr, y yo, estoy consciente de mi finitud. Con todo respeto, le recuerdo que profesé votos temporales. Hoy he tomado ya una decisión. 

“Father Prior, love in none of its manifestations is vulgar. Love is sacred, it's surrender, sacrifice. It's to give what you don't have even when nothing has been asked. God is love, in the same way, that Love is a god who has moved humankind since its origins. Nothing, absolutely nothing will happen twice, the present is what God placed within my reach and I will not refuse it. The years won't stop running, and I am aware of my finitude. With all due respect, I must remind you that I took temporary vows, and today, I've made a decision”. Fernando goes back to his cell. He unties the leather belt that hangs from his tunic, he starts to dispatch himself from the Carmelite armor (that had become so heavy to him in the last months). He does it with calm and respect, but happy with the decision he made. “My circumstances – he thinks – have changed. I love God, I worship him, and because of that, I am honest and don't deny what I am nor what I feel. My meditations have taken me to assume myself as a whole; a being formed by mind, body, soul, and spirit. I love as a believer of Your existence as my Father creator. You have given me life, you've placed me on this earth with its goodness and its miseries. And you, my Lord, know that my faith goes beyond the walls of this cell.

The sereno sings “nine in the afternoon”. A smiling moon guides Fernando of Azpeytia's steps through the street in which Don Juan Antonio of Urrutia y Arana lives, Marquis of La Villa del Villar del Águila; well-known for bringing drinkable water to the city; Fernando thinks about that and about a thousand things more while he walks, he is relaxed, walking the night, perceiving his surroundings from a different perspective. Finally, he arrives at his destination: the house number four, on the same street. A big bronze knocker hangs from the door that, despite being quite large, is not ostentatious. Three knocks, and a servant peeps from a little door that could very well be mistaken for one of the carved pallets of the mesquite door.

“Don Fernando!” – the servant exclaimed, opening without delay. Fernando greets him affectionately while they walk towards the sitting room. Baltazar of Azpeytia, an old good-nature man fond of revelry and music, but money smart, leaves the cherry glass on the coffee table and rises to give his nephew a tight hug.

“Uncle” – says Fernando. “Forgive the time and null announcement. But I have left the Order's House and I don't have a place to spend the night.”

“What do you say, boy? You know very well that this is your home, you are my family, my only family. Having you here again fills me with joy. But go on, tell me everything… What happened?”.

Fernando, with the same warmth, greets and thanks his father's younger brother. And, without any ado, explains the story with Teresa.

“Nephew, with no offense to the Almighty, this is the best news you could have ever given me! Life is sacred and it is not Christian to waste it in prayers”.

“Uncle, you don't change.”

“But you do, Fernando, and for the rejoice of this family. The name Azpeytia will not die with you. So say no more: Welcome to the world! …”

The next day, Baltazar of Azpeytia gave his nephew the house on Bajada de Guadalupe. All the houses facing north of Callejón del Rincón de Aspeytia alley were now Fernando of Aspeytia's property. 

At three o'clock sharp in the afternoon, the day of September 14th of 1760, wedding bells chimed. From the front of the Church, the saint of Padua welcomes the golden arrows from the Sun. At the altar, Fernando awaits with a shawl in his hands. Seconds later, Teresa comes in holding her father's arm, happiness comes out from every inch of her being. The ceremony starts, and just at the moment of the symbolic union, Fernando wraps their two bodies with the shawl that, on that day of May, Teresa lost at his hands.  

The table at House Aspeytia has been set, obeying doña Teresa's words: “Mestizaje entered from the convent's kitchens”. Indigenous and Spanish ingredients came together to name new dishes. The feast is brimming with color and offers a wide variety of textures, tastes, and scents that the guests welcome and enjoy. Baltazar of Aspeytia and Teresa's father engage in expert conversation about the peek of the region's textile production; nana María, silently, cares for their needs.

At six in the afternoon, with the moon about to show, Fernando discretely pulls Teresa's hand, she, compliant, allows his guidance.

“Let's go, Teresa, the time has come for us to claim the stars and the suns that we are yet to see.”

A lavender branch decorates the window frame, permeating with its perfume every corner of the room. The pale hue of the recently embroidered sheets contrasts with Teresa's taciturn hair. With obvious restlessness, but without rushing, Fernando outlines with every finger his wife's face. That same way... slowly, inch by inch, he gets to her cleavage. There he stops, and kisses her for a long time … and, with patience, unbuttons her dress … The ritual of two bodies knowing each other starts: the curvature of the female figure is drawn along the formerly novice Carmelite … he meets the abyss in Teresa and … about to sink in the sweetness of her womb, a muted, heavy noise steals the intimacy of the couple. Fernando, after a long sigh, walks to the door … nothing … all is still. He looks at the window, the same: all around him is silent. Suddenly, an inside door opens without discretion, showing, before the astonished eyes of the couple, a cruciform stairway.

 “Where does that staircase lead to, Fernando?” – asks Teresa dumbfounded.

“I don't know” – he answers, laconic. 

“Come, let's go through that door, just like the water went through my dress and my wet body through your tunic. Paradise is a promise for those who refrain their passions, but only those who face fear get to know the paradise on this earth.”

“Uncertainty, my beloved Teresa, is the worst drink a human being can have. It leads to desperation, to uneasiness. And that is what this life offers us. So, come, I invite you to figure out where the wind that forbid me from loving you leads to”. – declares Fernando, while he places his bare feet on the first step. 

It was then that a flame burned from the very center of the moon. Teresa and Fernando penetrated, without knowing, the universe of the no-life, the no-death, the time-less.

Nothing more was heard from them, except fragments of poetic whispers revealed sometimes, by the thick walls of the house that remained closed and almost abandoned. 

Un par de años después de la desaparición de la pareja murió Don Baltazar, y la casona del callejón del Rincón de Aspeytia y Bajada de Guadalupe fue tomada como cuartel, así permaneció hasta 1802, cuando éste fue trasladado a la calle del Cebadal. Al tiempo, un peluquero de nombre Luis Mendoza, llegó a vivir a una de las casitas del mismo callejón, contigua a la casa grande. Corrían ya los años próximos a la guerra de Independencia y don Luis se declaraba ferviente admirador del movimiento. Cuentan los más enterados, que una noche de septiembre, estando don Luis a punto de meterse en la cama, percibió un ligero golpeteo en la puerta que daba a la casa grande; rápidamente, sin pensarlo siquiera, cogió un candelabro y el machete que guardaba detrás de la cabecera. Quedó atento, con los cinco sentidos alertas al grueso y pesado tablón… un intenso olor a lavanda le entró por la nariz y… al instante, con franco terror, vio deslizarse por debajo de la puerta un ramillete. Se armó de valor, avanzó tres pasos, soltó el machete, cogió el ramo y al levantarlo una nota cayó de entre sus tallos; en ella se leía: “Es su momento, Don Luis Mendoza, de hacer Patria. Vaya hacia la caballeriza y ponga ante los ojos del alcaide Pérez lo urgente”. Su espíritu independentista pudo más que su azoro y sin dilación obedeció al mensaje. Soltó a su yegua y antes de que él pudiera hacer nada más, el animal salió a trote con un mantón en la grupa. Contaba el propio peluquero, que el alcaide Ignacio Pérez se ayudó del mantón para auparse en la bestia que lo condujo a dar la noticia enviada por la Corregidora, sobre el descubrimiento de la Conspiración. Y esa noche —decía el viejo y solitario don Luis—, como todas las noches del día 15 de septiembre, una flama ardió en el mismísimo centro de la luna.