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DÍAZ Captain Cortés, at last our man is found. From two days inland, natives ferried him. Father Olmedo greets him as we speak- A fellow priest it seems. CORTÉS Bring him to me. Exit Díaz. From Cozumel to here in Yucatán, We’ve hunted this elusive castaway. These Indians hustle us from shore to shore, And, when their gifts of jade fail, toss us rocks. ALVARADO Their dizzying synthesis of amity Backed up with menace proves unsettling. Enter OLMEDO, SANDOVAL, and AGUILAR. SANDOVAL Now, wayward beadsman, meet our strategist. CORTÉS Who is this Indian? Where’s our long-lost priest? AGUILAR Hail, Christian knights! Sweet accents of Castile! CORTÉS Great welcome, cabined friar, you are free! AGUILAR Is it a Wednesday? OLMEDO It’s the Lord’s day, friend. AGUILAR Of course it is! Grace to the only God! My only link with Europe, all these years, Has been to count the crawling calendar. CORTÉS We’ll need your past, to learn their policies. AGUILAR I wish I could. But of their etiquette I’m ignorant, save slavish drudgery. CORTÉS You speak the language, though? AGUILAR Why, like a native. CORTÉS Your name? AGUILAR Gerónimo de Aguilar. OLMEDO Dear Aguilar! Your mother, home in Spain, On hearing you’d been snatched by cannibals, Abstained from meat, and cringed at frying flesh, For fear, by chance, it might be part of you. AGUILAR Oh, rush me home to Écija, back where The only blood drunk is the wine of Christ, The only flesh consumed, our sacrament. CORTÉS What fate befell your fellow countrymen? AGUILAR The luckless women were harassed to death, The men, dishearted. But a happy few Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves, Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can. My freedom have your wax and honey bought. One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:4:1-37
DÍAZ Captain Cortés, at last our man is found. From two days inland, natives ferried him. Father Olmedo greets him as we speak- A fellow priest it seems. CORTÉS Bring him to me. Exit Díaz. From Cozumel to here in Yucatán, We’ve hunted this elusive castaway. These Indians hustle us from shore to shore, And, when their gifts of jade fail, toss us rocks. ALVARADO Their dizzying synthesis of amity Backed up with menace proves unsettling. Enter OLMEDO, SANDOVAL, and AGUILAR. SANDOVAL Now, wayward beadsman, meet our strategist. CORTÉS Who is this Indian? Where’s our long-lost priest? AGUILAR Hail, Christian knights! Sweet accents of Castile! CORTÉS Great welcome, cabined friar, you are free! AGUILAR Is it a Wednesday? OLMEDO It’s the Lord’s day, friend. AGUILAR Of course it is! Grace to the only God! My only link with Europe, all these years, Has been to count the crawling calendar. CORTÉS We’ll need your past, to learn their policies. AGUILAR I wish I could. But of their etiquette I’m ignorant, save slavish drudgery. CORTÉS You speak the language, though? AGUILAR Why, like a native. CORTÉS Your name? AGUILAR Gerónimo de Aguilar. OLMEDO Dear Aguilar! Your mother, home in Spain, On hearing you’d been snatched by cannibals, Abstained from meat, and cringed at frying flesh, For fear, by chance, it might be part of you. AGUILAR Oh, rush me home to Écija, back where The only blood drunk is the wine of Christ, The only flesh consumed, our sacrament. CORTÉS What fate befell your fellow countrymen? AGUILAR The luckless women were harassed to death, The men, dishearted. But a happy few Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves, Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can. My freedom have your wax and honey bought. One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
david-betten
Written by
david-betten
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
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