45 pages • 1 hour read
The hummingbird, embodied in Huitzitzilin’s name, emerges as a powerful symbol in the novel, representing the link between the protagonist and her cultural heritage. The hummingbird’s association with Huitzitzilin’s cultural identity is established early on, as she makes sure to translate her name for Father Benito, saying: “My name is Huitzitzilin, but because I know the difficulty my language causes your tongue, you may call me Hummingbird, since that is what the word means” (16). This is a direct translation from her first language, Nahuatl. The hummingbird also held significance in Mexica religion, often associated with Huitzilopochtli, the powerful sun and war god, often represented as either a hummingbird or an eagle. This association is hinted at in Huitzitzilin’s physical description—she has a “bird-like” eye and a downward hooked nose reminiscent of an eagle. Thus, the hummingbird serves as a powerful symbol of Huitzitzilin’s enduring connection to the land. The humming sound that emanates from the ground after her death is a poignant reminder of this bond. This sound transcends the physical and becomes a manifestation of Huitzitzilin’s spirit that is forever intertwined with her ancestral homeland.
Beyond its cultural significance, the hummingbird symbolizes the act of storytelling itself. The act of singing, which is a recurring presence in the novel, is explicitly linked to the hummingbird through the songs Huitzitzilin often hums to herself. This “song” becomes a metaphor for her story—a personal narrative that defies the dominant, colonially constructed version of history. By sharing this song with Father Benito, Huitzitzilin ensures that her voice, and by extension the voice of her people, will not be silenced. The title of the novel itself underscores the importance of this symbol of remembrance and The Power of Narrative in preserving cultural memory.
At its core, Huitzitzilin’s confession is not about seeking absolution or forgiveness from the Church; rather, it symbolizes her reclaiming her voice and agency. Through her confession, she is fighting the systematic silencing of her people’s history and experiences. The dual nature of her storytelling—straddling both personal confession and historical recounting—blurs the lines between individual trauma and collective memory, highlighting the interconnectedness of personal and communal histories. Father Benito’s struggle to categorize her account reflects the rigid framework of Christian confession and Western historiography, which makes it difficult for him to reconcile the personal and historical elements of her story. This confusion highlights the complex nature of Huitzitzilin’s confession; it is a narrative that resists simple classification and challenges the dominant narratives of the historical events she describes.
The physical space of the confession, emphasized by the ever-present confessional mantle, reinforces the symbolic weight of the act. The mantle alludes to the judgment and authority of the Church. It is a reminder of the power structure that seeks to control and suppress Indigenous voices, constantly looming over the confessional process. When Benito hurriedly takes it out in response to Huitzitzilin’s confessions of sin, it underscores his role as a judge of morality. Conversely, when he anticipates that she will talk about sin and takes it out preemptively, it highlights his internalized biases and the anticipatory judgment he carries. This act symbolizes the pervasive and often intrusive presence of colonial and religious authority in the lives of Indigenous people.
Silence embodies the devastating impact of colonization on the Mexica people. The most immediate manifestation of silence follows the Mexica surrender. Huitzitzilin describes a “stillness” that descends upon the community, which is a physical manifestation of the collective trauma they endure. The vibrant traditions and rituals that once filled their days give way to a suffocating emptiness, starkly reminding them of the world they have lost. This “silence that smells of hollowness and nothingness” haunts them with echoes of their vanished past (97).
Silence also serves as a weapon wielded by the colonizers. The “silence reigned like an evil scourge” following the execution of Mexica warriors (111), underscoring the brutality of the conquest and the systematic suppression of dissent. By silencing the voices of the Mexica people, the Spanish seek to erase their history in order to consolidate their power. This enforced silence becomes a tool for control, robbing the Mexica people of their agency and their ability to shape their own narrative.
Within this pervasive silence, Huitzitzilin’s act of sharing her story, filled with pain and defiance, becomes a powerful act of reclamation. By breaking the silence, she challenges the colonial narrative and ensures that the Mexica experience is not forgotten. Furthermore, Father Benito’s act of listening becomes a counterpoint to the enforced silence. His initial skepticism gradually gives way to empathy as he allows Huitzitzilin’s story to unfold. As Benito truly hears her story, he begins to shed his preconceived notions and engage with her experiences on an emotional level. This shift to active listening underscores the transformative power of human connection, even in the face of oppression.
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