Xocolatl

Warning: This story contains references to (but no descriptions of) corporal punishment. It is set in an alternate history in which certain peoples are depicted in roles which they did not have in our own history. There is also a graphic image of a beating human heart.

Matangi stood before Binah, the novice mistress, with her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her back.

“This is the third time,” the older woman said to her. “It is an entirely unacceptable way to treat one of your sisters.”

“But her claim was ridiculous! The very idea that things are right just because God commands them. That is just crazy!”

“And that makes it a fourth time. We are not here to debate philosophy. In any case I agree with you entirely regarding the merits of her claim. But our rule forbids arguments ad hominem and it also forbids gratuitous insults. Besides, you are better than this. You are not only our best student academically. You have a well deserved reputation for being a caring friend for making a real effort to address your weaknesses ... Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, Sister. I am sorry ..."

"Well that is not going to be enough at this point. I should impose corporal punishment, but your record is otherwise so good and I believe, in any case, that you will benefit more from a period of extended reflection."

Matangi looked up at Binah, relieved that she would not get the cane but also resigning herself to the fact that she was going to be punished.

“I am sorry to have to do this, especially during the festival, but you are grounded for the next week during which you will spend your free hours in your room preparing an extended self-criticism, which you will read before your sisters, including the person you have offended. And since it is not your first offense, you are also restricted from partaking of any of the little treats that you or your sisters may receive during the festival.”

“Does that mean no xocolatl?” Matangi had been so hoping that her room mate, Citalinicue, would share some of the bittersweet substance which was ordinarily reserved for Mexica nobility.

“I am afraid so. I know that you have an ... inordinate interest in the substance to begin with, and so refraining from it while your sisters enjoy it and when the little boxes it arrives in are all around will be an appropriate penance.”

“But …”

“I think I have heard your perspective sufficiently, and I must say that I am terribly disappointed both in your persistent misconduct and in your resistance to the discipline I am imposing. I suggest that you retire to your room and begin planning your self-criticism.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Oh, and I must take your saffron scarf until your punishment is complete.”

It took every ounce of discipline Matangi could muster to unwrap the scarf, which symbolized her dedication to the cause of wisdom and justice, from around her neck and hand it to the older woman. Then she left without daring speak again.

***

The room which Matangi shared with Citalinicue was small but warm and inviting —hardly an austere place of confinement. There were two beds, two desks facing opposite each other, and two dressers. The walls were paneled with dark wood with a frieze made of Mexica date names. On each desk was a single beeswax candle. Matangi lit hers and then looked around the room. She could not resist seeking it out even though she knew that its presence would only make her more frustrated. And Cital had told her it was expected to arrive today.

And there it was, atop her friend's dresser. It was a small box covered in paper and tied with hemp. On the paper were colorful images of various Mexica gods, including Cital's namesake, who bore the obsidian knife blade used in sacrifice and Tezcatlipoca, waiting in the heart of the Smoking Mirror, the Milky Way, to devour the Earth, humanity, and even the gods.

Matangi knew that she should not, but she picked up the box. It was heavier than she thought it would be and on the bottom was an image of a human heart. A label on the top read Xocolatl and contained the address in Tenochtitlan where Citalinicue's family prepared the sacred substance, combining a small but very lucrative business with service in the Temple. Next to it was the pouch in which it had arrived, carried by a temple courier through multiple portals, as it could only be delivered by hand.

Matangi forced herself to put the box down. The temptation to open it and to do the unthinkable was too great and she knew that even an outstanding student like herself risked expulsion for persistent disobedience. And as a scholarship student, picked out of the slums of Goa by the Cihuacóatl's own agents, the opportunity to study at La Sabiduria was a great stroke of luck. While she would never achieve noble status she was, at nineteen, only a few months from graduation, after which she could take temporary vows in the Order and go on outniversity and eventually become a member of the intelligence service or perhaps an academic, part of the complex emerging gentry drawn from peoples the Mexica had, in this timeline at least, liberated from colonial oppression. She did not want to risk losing this opportunity. And besides, while the Rule seemed extreme to her, she knew that there was no reason to use ad hominem arguments or to insult her sisters. The truth is, she was as disappointed in herself as Binah was. And so she flopped down on her bed, gave herself a few minutes to feel sorry for herself, and then forced herself to sit down at her desk and open the notebook each student at La Sabiduria was given on her arrival, where she would record her achievements and failures, reflect on her growth and struggles --and write the not infrequent self-criticisms which the convent's regime required.

***

It was almost always Citalinicue who was in trouble and Matangi was always walking a fine line between helping her understand what she had done wrong and how she could do better while also being sympathetic and supportive. And when Citalinicue returned that night from the festival with her face lit up and found her friend bent over her notebook dutifully outlining her self-criticism she immediately walked over to her and put her hands on her shoulders and began comforting her.

“I heard what happened. I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk?”

“Sure. I am just really frustrated and embarrassed. I so wanted to …”

“I know. Binah talked to me and said that I was to make sure not to share my xocolatl with you. I will put it away so you are not so tempted. I certainly know how frustrating punishments can be, but you really shouldn't feel embarrassed in front of me. You are nowhere near even beginning to live down your reputation as the school's top goody two shoes!”

Matangi turned and smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “You are a good friend.” But she carefully noted where Citalinicue was stashing the box containing the xocolatl.

“Let's get some sleep,” said Citalinicue. “We still have classes tomorrow and I know you always like to be at your best. Binah has made sure you can't get your mind off your punishment, but being rested and engaged will help. With that the two friends wandered down to the lavatory to relieve themselves and wash. Then they returned to their room, did their evening prayers and meditations, and went to sleep.

After a few hours Matangi jumped up screaming and breathing heavily. Citalinicue responded by also waking with a start.

“Bad dream?” “Yes,” she said. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not really.” “That's fine. Just let me know what you need.” But not an hour later Matangi was awake again, this time trembling.

“Maybe it would best if we talked about it,” said Citalinicue.

Reluctantly, Matangi agreed. “I dreamed that I searched the room until I found the box,” she said, “and opened it.”

“The box?”

“The box with the xocolatl. And then I opened it. But inside was not xocolatl but rather a heart. A real one. Still beating. And it looked human.”

“Come here,” said Citalinicue, taking her friend in her arms. “Dreams are strange. Sometimes, to be sure, they mean something. But I am guessing that you are just overwhelmed. Let me give you something.”

Citalinicue went to her dresser and withdrew a bottle.

“This is honey, but it is very special honey. The bees make it from the morning-glory plant. It will help calm you.”

Matangi took a spoonful of the honey and ate it, feeling a bit guilty at violating the spirit of her punishment. But she felt much better very quickly and went to sleep without difficulty. When she awoke the next morning Citalinicue had already left and she found herself rushing to wash and dress for morning prayers and breakfast and to get to class. She found that she was able to lose herself in the discussion without insulting anyone or making any ad hominem arguments and, when she returned to her room, made an entry into her notebook reflecting on how, much as she hated to admit it, her punishment seemed to be helping her.

Citalinicue was late that night, and Matangi was already asleep when she entered the room. But then the dream returned and she awoke while Citalinicue was in the lavatory and began tearing through her roommate's things, not sure if she was looking for the honey or the xocolatl. Citalinicue returned to find her and was, at first, surprised and angry, but then realized what must have happened.

“Here, let me give you the bottle. I can always get more from the village. But don't take more than a spoonful at a time.”

Matangi took the honey and ate some and returned to her bed. She was asleep again within minutes. In the morning, however, she did not wake up and when Citalinicue returned after prayers and breakfast she was still sound asleep. Since she seemed to be breathing just fine, she went on to class and simply stopped to tell the convent's medic that her friend was not feeling well.

When Matangi did wake up (was it really waking?) she could not tell what time it was. It seemed as if everything was drenched in a golden light which was almost liquid in its density, like the honey she had consumed the night before. She knew what she had to do. Not bothering to worry about what time it was or whether or not her roommate might return, she went over to Citalinicue's dresser and opened the top right drawer into which she had seen Citalinicue place the box.

It was still there, wrapped in the same paper she had seen before. She picked it up with her right hand. She could have sworn that it felt as if it was moving or as if there were a dense liquid sloshing around inside.

Matangi set the box on her desk and sat down. She withdrew a letter opener from the top drawer and ever so carefully ran it between the crevices of folded paper where the package was sealed. The paper unfolded as if by its own power, revealing a plain brown cardboard box.

It was only at this point that Matangi hesitated ever so slightly. But then she carefully lifted the lid of the box. And inside she found not xocolatl but rather an actual human heart, somehow still beating, somehow still full of blood.

***

She must have fainted. When she came to she was still in her room. The golden liquid which had filled her room was gone, replaced by the cold blue of a full moon high in the night sky. The nurse was standing over her, as was Citalinicue.

“So you couldn't resist after all,” said Citalincue smiling gently. “Its actually good to know you aren't perfect. I won't feel so bad the next time that I am the one who is in trouble. I asked Binah to go easy on you but I think you are in for at least another week on restriction.”

“But ... the ... “

“Yes?” asked her friend.

“Nothing,” said Matangi, closing her eyes and pretending to drift back off to sleep. She heard her friend going through her draws and taking a cloak and then leave. Then, when she was sure her friend was gone, but not too far, Matangi got up and snuck silently out of her room, climbed over the cloister wall, and set out through an orchard at the far end of which she could see her friend walking slowly and with determination. Beyond the orchard were some maize and barley fields, which Citalinicue crossed as if she knew exactly where she was headed. Matangi followed her, skirting along the edges, until she saw her friend enter the forest through a narrow passage at the edge of the fields.

By now it was quite late and the sky as brilliant with stars. The aspens glowed with a deep golden orange which reminded Matangi of her forfeited saffron scarf. The air smelled of sage and composting leaves.

After about an hour, she came to a large clearing, at the center of which was a small pyramid. She could see her friend standing at the base of the pyramid, whether just waiting or in meditation, she could not tell. Then Citalinicue climbed the pyramid and entered the tiny room on top. Matangi could not see very clearly what was happening but she was certain that she was opening the box containing the human heart and placing it on altar. Then she withdrew from the chamber and a brilliant light flooded the clearing. Citalinicue lingered for a moment and the descended from the pyramid and walked back towards the convent. Matangi followed, flooded by conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she felt profoundly guilty --and very much afraid that now she would, in fact, be caught and expelled. On the other hand, if what she had seen was real .... Surely it suggested that the Empire rested on a truly terrible secret. Not knowing what else to do, she followed her friend back to the convent. Much to her surprise and relief she was able to enter unnoticed, and return silently to her room, where Citalinicue appeared to be sound asleep.

The next morning, however, she found a note under her door, demanding her presence in the office of the novice mistress immediately after morning prayer. Matangi assumed the worst, and by the time she reached Binah's office she was literally trembling with fear --a fear which, when she saw the cane lying on her superior's desk, she knew was well placed. But next to the cane was an envelope. It was sealed with red wax. The seal bore what Matangi recognized as the kabbalistic Tree of Life. And it was addressed to her.

"I would suggest that you open it," said Binah, handing her a small blade. Matangi took the blade and broke the seal. Inside was a letter addressed to her. It was written in the variant of the Letterae Ignotae which the sisters used for their confidential communications, and which Matangi had deciphered only because she was, as her mistress had told her, academically the best student at the convent.

Reading the letter, Matangi was confused. She had expected it to be a letter of dismissal, or perhaps worse. Instead it read more like a commendation, noting her dedication to the deepest principles of the Mexican Revolution and to pursuing difficult and above all dangerous truths. It furthermore suggested that she might have a calling for a most ancient art --that of espionage. But it came not from the Imperial Intelligence Service, but rather from an organization calling itself Tikkun Olam. The letter concluded with an invitation to visit Tenochtitlan itself, or rather the small community of Las Animas in the Xochimilco District during the coming summer break, to participate in a special workshop, before the entered the university in the Autumn. If everything went well, she would be provided with room and board, a community, and a stipend.

Matangi looked up at Binah, who was smiling gently --but also holding the cane. Pointing to the desk she said to Matangi:

"Let's get this over with, shall we."