As she felt that desperate throbbing, La Señora covered the bird of prey’s head with the black hood, turned from the iron grillwork, the altar, and the painting, and accentuating the disparity between her shameful vigil and her lordly hauteur, slowly and silently, almost on tiptoe, her head held high, she climbed the spiral stairway and emerged into the blinding light of the flat ground where blocks of granite, boards, and tools were stacked.
The palace: The crypts, the chapel, and the choir loft were completed, and alongside them extended the nuns’ cloister, El Señor’s bedchamber, and a bare patio where stone arcades communicated with other rooms, which were in turn to communicate with the church proper, as yet not built. But in each room a double window was already installed — one stained glass, one solid like a door — designed to enable one to hear Mass from one’s bed, if necessary, and to attend services apart from the religious community.
But until the plan was completed, to return to the cloister and her own room, La Señora, choosing not to pass through the chapel itself and ascend the monumental but still unfinished stone stairway, had to make a complete circle around the chapel, beneath the burning sun, through the construction and materials (and worse, in view of the workers), always with the hawk poised upon the greasy gauntlet and fondled by a pale hand; no one was aware what delight the woman derived from that tumultuous throbbing, from possessing such a fine bird, from that good hawk body — more flesh than feather — whose pulsing manifested the desire to fly, bells jingling, announcing his rapacious hunger, his consuming desire to swoop down upon his prey, talons sinking so deep and sure that not even the fiercest boar could free himself from that grip.
Every morning she would return to the chapel, accompanying from a distance the pain and professions of faith of her husband, El Señor. She would stroke the bald, hot, throbbing hawk. From the corner of her eye she would look at the painting brought (it was said) from Orvieto.
The painting: The naked men turn their backs to El Señor and La Señora to look at the Christ; El Señor looks at the direction of Christ’s gaze and La Señora looks at the small, tight buttocks of the men. And Guzmán will look at his masters, who are looking at the painting. Disturbed, he will glance up toward the painting; the painting is looking at him.
Every morning, La Señora would return to her rooms, holding the bird, unaware that anyone might suspect the sensual delight that caressing the hawk’s pulsing body afforded her. Lost in her pleasure, La Señora paid no attention to the palace laborers.
Martín, bent almost double beneath the weight of the stones, paused with his loaded hand barrow. He licked the sweat rolling down his temples and cheeks, mixed with the dust that powdered his eyelashes. Once again he saw the mirage seeming to float over the flat reverberating ground: the erect woman, her pace swift but deliberate, so firm and sure she seemed not to touch the ground, dressed entirely in black velvet, farthingale belling, the outer skirt dragging through the dust, the tiny feet barely visible, lace appearing and disappearing with that subtle, incorporeal movement, one hand pressed to her waist, the other extended to support the hooded hawk upon its perch on the greasy gauntlet, red-jeweled rings absorbing the unbearable heat of the sun in their bloody coolness, face framed by the high white wimple … Droplets of sweat stood out on La Señora’s forehead; she withdrew the hand from her waist to wave away the flies, and entered the palace.
For a long while Martín stood doubled beneath the weight of the stones, captured by that vision, at the same time imagining his own rough and powerful body, tan and hairy, shirt open to the navel and stained with sweat, his square face shaved only on Sundays, his hands tough as pigskin. Then he shook his head and continued on his way.
The painting: And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain; and when he was set, his disciples came unto him: And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. No man can serve two masters. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
El Señor, lying face down, arms opened, sobbed; he raised his head to look at that minute scene, only a remote echo in the great painting in the chapel; and believing himself alone, he cried out: Tibi soli peccavi et malum coram te feci; laborabor in gemitu meo, lavabo per singulas noctes lectum meum; recogitabo tibi omnes meos in amaritudine animae meae …
The painting: And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name: him they compelled to bear his cross. And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull. They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall; and when he had tasted thereof, he would not drink. And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots; And sitting down they watched him there; And set up over his head his accusation written, THIS IS JESUS THE KING OF THE JEWS. And the people stood beholding. And the rulers also with them derided him, saying, He saved others; let him save himself, if he be Christ, the chosen of God.
With no intent of hurting him, El Señor softly patted the dressing covering the wound of the mastiff Bocanegra. The dog growled, and sniffed at his torturer. Then Guzmán moved forward from the concealment of the column, and as he knew he would, the mastiff ceased his growling, retreated into silent fear, and with complete naturalness the vassal walked to the prostrated figure, stopped, leaned over, and, barely touching El Señor’s outspread arms, murmured that such penitence was harmful to his health. El Señor closed his eyes; he felt utterly defeated, and at the same time aware of a voracious appetite.
He allowed Guzmán to help him to his feet and then lead him to the bedchamber constructed beside the chapel so as to enable him to attend services without moving from his bed, as well as to be able to pass directly (as now) from the chapel to the bedchamber, unseen by anyone.
Aided by his servant and followed by his dog, El Señor, lips parted, eyes expressionless, breathed heavily through his mouth; there was a finger’s breadth between the upper and the lower lip. He complained of an intense pain that originated in his brain, but spread throughout his entire body; as he walked clumsily to rest against the doorframe of his bedchamber, he mumbled something Guzmán could not understand.
The painting: Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour. And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent in the midst. And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit; and having said thus, he gave up the ghost.