Ines of My Soul by Isabel Allende

Author:Isabel Allende
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins

When we came to Chile we knew nothing of the Mapuche. We believed that it would be easy to subdue them, as we had much more civilized peoples: the Aztecs and the Incas. It took us many years to understand how wrong we were. There is no end in sight to this war because when we execute a toqui, another immediately emerges, and when we exterminate a complete tribe, another issues from the forest to take its place. We want to found cities and prosper, live with decency and comfort, while they aspire only to be free.

Pedro was gone for several weeks, because in addition to organizing the operation of the mine, he decided to start building a brigantine that would provide a way to communicate with Peru. We could not continue to live in isolation at the ass end of the world, with no company but naked savages, as Francisco de Aguirre put it with his usual frankness. Valdivia found a well-situated bay, called Concón, with a wide, clean sand beach surrounded by a stand of good wood suitable for a ship. There he left the one man who had some vague notion of things maritime, aided by a handful of soldiers, several work bosses, his auxiliary Indians, and others provided by Michimalonko.

“Do you have a plan for the boat, Señor Gobernador?” the supposed expert asked.

“Don’t tell me you need a plan for something as simple as this!” Valdivia challenged.

“I have never built a boat, Excellency.”

“Then pray that this one doesn’t sink, my friend, because you will make the first voyage,” the governor told him, and said good-bye, very content with his project.

For the first time, Pedro was excited about the idea of the gold. He could imagine the faces of people in Peru when they learned that Chile was not as godforsaken as was said. He would send them a sample of the gold on his own boat. That would cause a sensation that would attract more colonists, and Santiago would be the first of many prosperous and populous cities. As he had promised, he let Michimalonko go free, and bid him farewell with a great show of respect. The Indian galloped away on his new mount, hard put to hide his laughter.

On one of his evangelizing excursions, which up to that moment had not been fruitful—the natives of the valley had shown a stunning indifference to the benefits of Christianity—González de Marmolejo returned with an Indian boy. He had found him wandering along the shore of the Mapocho, thin and covered with filth and scabs. Instead of running away, as the Indians did every time they saw him in his worn and dirty cassock, cross held high, the boy began to tag along after him like a dog, not saying a word, his burning eyes watching the priest’s every move. “Scat, youngster! Shoo!” the chaplain shouted, making menacing gestures with the cross, but the boy paid no attention, and instead followed him all the way back to Santiago.

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