Ñusta: the Inka Love of Francisco Pizarro

By Xlibris US

Dr. Rafael Olivares uses historical fiction to transcribe the recently found personal diary of usta Yupanqui. The daughter and sister of Inkas, usta was also the lover of Francisco Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru. Although she was an Inka princess and gave Pizarro the only children he ever had, the official history of the Spanish conquest ignores her. This novel suggests that, because she was in the middle of the struggle, the successes described in the diary could be the real history of the Spanish domination of the Inka Empire. ustas narrative not only presents the historical interpretation of the conquest as seen by the defeated but also reveals the existence of a treasure still hidden in the Andes Mountains. This Inka treasure is bigger than anything found until now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499024623

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Copyright © 2014 by Rafael A. Olivares.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

For information address Editorial Quipu Olivagenni@,aol.com or regular mail at 316 Hickory Ave. Bergenfield, NJ 07621 USA.

Rev. date: 07/03/2014

Xlibris LLC

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www.Xlibris.com

Contents

Acknowledgments

New York: How this diary came into my hands

Cajamarca: A day of infamy

Tumbez: The first encounter

España: How Ñusta enchanted the Spanish court.

El Cuzco: The Center of Tawantinsuyo

The Garden of the Sun: The Belly of the Mountain

Lima: Francisco is murdered.

Extremadura: The land of the exiled

Trujillo: The escape continues.

The additions to the original diary

The first addition (1636).

Transcription of the first addition To the future guardians of the Garden of the Sun:

The second Addition (1781)

Transcript of the second addition To the future guardians of the Garden of the Sun:

The third addition: The first years of independence

Transcript

Epilogue: New York, June 2006

Transcript.

Glossary

Bibliografphy

Acknowledgments

I cannot fully express my thanks to my wife and partner of all my life for her patiency and support to carry on this project.

For their generous assistance helping me to translate this book, I would like to acknoledge my dear friends: Sandy Lee and her husband Walter Bilsky.

My gratitude to Susan Dallon and Caroll Odell for their help with the English grammar.

New York:

How this diary came into my hands

A lthough reading a description of how this diary came into my possession could take a while, I think it is important for the reader to know its origin. That it can be traced to the year 2000 when I was discussing characteristics of the Spanish language in South America with my students and one of them told me that she had received an old Spanish manuscript as part of an inheritance from her Grandmother. She said that, by the way it was written and the condition of the paper, the manuscript seemed to be very old. So old, she said, that although she was proficient in Spanish, she was not able to decipher the language used in it. She also explained that because of the headings and format, she thought it was a personal diary. Unable to hide my enthusiasm, I commented that such a document could reveal a great deal about how a person lived and felt in prior times. I pointed out how historians use this kind of document to reconstruct past social settings. I also took the opportunity to explain how the name of what we know now as Spanish was originally called Castilian. The name Spanish was originally adopted in Spain only at the end of the last century and in many Latin American countries the language is still called Castilian.

The next time I saw her, she brought me the actual manuscript. My impression of it was that indeed it appeared to be a personal dairy. The yellow pages were bound with a beautiful cover of soft white leather. When I opened it, the color of the paper was a pale yellow and in the center I saw pages that were least discolored. The lines of the letters were so irregular, that clearly they were traced with a feather, the writing instrument used by the old timers. However, although the appearance of each letter was uneven, each line of the text and the alignment of the words in those lines were written with such skill, that the page as a whole was clear and pleasant. In addition to the text, some pages showed several sketches incorporated in the manuscript. It could be assumed that the author of these illustrations was likely the same as the one who wrote the text. At the back of the pack, several folios of more recent origin had been tied to the rest of the pages. We judged these pages were more recent additions because they were light blue, with very little discoloration. Being an enthusiastic history buff, I listened eagerly as the student described to me in great detail the circumstances that put this interesting piece in her hands.

Some years ago, when she had been very young and free of family and professional obligations, one of her aunts invited her to vacation in the house of their family ancestors in Trujillo, Spain. The student’s Grandmother was living there by herself, and since she was no longer able to maintain her house, she needed help. The aunt suggested that in exchange for help with the house, she would pay for her nice’s airfare. Without any personal obligation, the offer was accepted.

It is difficult to explain why, my student said, but although I was young and my Spanish was very poor, Grandma and I made an instantaneous connection. Maybe it was because Grandma and I had a very foreign name. She and I were named Ñusta and this is not a known name in Spanish. I had never heard of anyone else with that name.

"Since my relatives in Trujillo have money, Ñusta continued, they paid my airfare to and from Trujillo several times. Actually, I came back to New York to visit my parents frequently but, because I felt more comfortable with Grandma Ñusta, I always returned promptly to be with her. My original plan to stay in Spain a few weeks extended into several months. My father and mother let me do this because they had always wanted me to learn my ancestral language, which I had resisted doing since I was a child. Now, because of my love for Grandma, I practiced Spanish intensely.

Unfortunately, Grandma Ñusta had terminal cancer, and she died within the year. However, during the time we spent together we had very interesting conversations. During one conversation, she told me how thrilled she was when she learned that I would be visiting her because I carried her name and for that reason I was a very special granddaughter to her.

Because of that, Grandma said, I was the one who needed to hear something important from her before she left this world. Although she was not sure, she estimated that she was around one hundred years old, and in many opportunities she had been afraid that she could not complete her mission because she felt was running out of time.

But now that I was there, she said, she could carry on the family tradition that she had feared she would not be able to accomplish.

During that conversation, we were sitting in the house in Trujillo on a patio surrounded by many orange trees. The afternoon was beautiful, the fragrance of the orange blossoms was wonderful and the light was bright when, taking a very serious attitude, Grandma Ñusta told me that in that moment she would be passing to me the secret that her Grandma had passed to her. Then, she ceremoniously handed me this diary. That was the first time I ever saw it.

When Grandma handed me the diary, her eyes were filled with emotion, Ñusta she said. As I would traid do it later too, my Grandmather had tried to read this diary but she couldn’t because the old Spanish format of it is complicated for a modern person. However, because of her love for her own Grandmother, she wanted to maintain the tradition by putting this book on my hands.

At this point, when Ñusta, my student, continued, her voice revealed she was also full of emotion. That is the story how I got this diary, she said. To maintain the family tradition I must keep it and give it to one of my granddaughters. Not to my son or my daughter but to my granddaughter.

Ñusta finished her story by remarking that since her Grandmother died soon after the day of their last conversation on the patio, she came back to New York bringing with her the diary, and used her new found ability in Spanish to become a bilingual teacher.

Since from the moment she was finishing the story Ñusta had been seeing the enthusiasm with which I was gripping the manuscript, she asked if I would like to study it for a while and handed it to me. Her only condition was that I will examine it and if I can translate some pages, do so and then return it to her intact.

Now you know where the content of this story originated. After much effort decoding the ancient Spanish, I discovered that the older pages, which made up the bulk of the diary, were written by a woman relating the conversations she had had with her Grandmother when she was young. As the names of both of these women were also Ñusta, one could assume that this story transcends time and space because despite the fact that the identity of the narrator and the recorder of the diary have been lost for centuries, the name of Ñusta has prevailed. It seems that for generations the Grandmothers of this family were concerned with keeping the name Ñusta at least in one of their granddaughters. We can also assume that when the author of the diary created the tradition of passing the name Ñusta to her granddaughter, she unwittingly projected the story into the future because the name continued being passed down from Grandmothers to granddaughters until now.

Since some readers will recognize in the very first pages of this diary several characters that are historically known, I must warn those who are looking for historical accuracy, that the physical condition of the manuscript were so poor that I could not decipher it completely and, to maintain the flow of the narrative, I had to fill the blanks with my own research and imagination. Actually, several paragraphs and even some full pages have been lost forever and I have been filling those gaps keeping with the style and spirit of the original narrative. Moreover, to preserve as much as possible the spirit of the original, I have incorporated in the book most of the drawings that appears in the diary.

In addition, you should know that this book has been also published in Spanish and that there are three reasons for this. The first one is that Ñusta, the student that gave me the diary, was extremely interested in translating not only the old Spanish of the diary to a modern version of that language, but also to English because, as a bilingual teacher, she wants to make it accessible to the population she serves.

The second reason to present the story in these two languages has to do with the content of the story itself. After deciphering the diary, I do not have any doubt that this is a story that relates as much to the very first Latinos, who are the native inhabitants of what is now Latin America, as it does to actual Latinos in the United States, which currently make up the largest immigrant population in the world. It seems to me that the experiences of the first Latinos and those of present-day Latinos in the US have much in common. Not only must they live between two different groups of people but they also have to use two languages and learn how to handle two cultures.

The third reason to present the stories in Spanish and English is that Latinos in the US comprise a bilingual population with varying degrees of proficiency in these two languages. Consequently, presenting the story in Spanish and English allows them to choose to read it in the language in which they feel most comfortable.

Finally, I should remind the readers of the English version, that this is a third translation of the original. As explained above, the first translation was made from the old Castilian to the modern standard Spanish and that was the version used for the translation to English. In order to keep some of the spiciness of the first translation, the English version maintains the Quechua terms used in the diary, which appear in italics. At the end of this book, you can find the meaning of those non-English words in the bilingual glossary.

Cajamarca:

A day of infamy

I am so happy to realize that the notes I have of my conversations with Grandma Ñusta finally have a purpose. They will be the foundation for writing this diary. The truth is that after what happened last Saturday, all those things that Grandma told me are starting to have a new meaning. I think that writing those memories in a diary will help me overcome the unidentified bitterness that I have been feeling for some time. Before this weekend, I was not able to recognize where the bitterness originated, but now I can relate it to something specific. Now, I know it appeared the moment I learned what was said by those who call themselves chroniclers because through their so-called Chronicles of the Americas, these people have disseminated so many false stories about my Grandma’s country, that the more I listen to them, the more bitter I became.

At last, after this past Saturday, I was finally able to identify the specific source of my anger. It happened during this past weekend at my Uncle Francisco’s birthday party where I meet in person one of those chroniclers. I still get upset remembering the tone in which he talked about those things that I know didn’t happen the way he described them. That is exactly the reason why this diary is necessary. I have to put in writing each of the stories that Grandma told me and keep the record clear. I have to describe the facts the way she explained because she was a real Inka and her version is very different from how the gentleman whom I met this Saturday describes those very same facts. Who does he think he is anyway? Does he think he is important because he uses the title Don Garcilazo de la Vega? How dare he call himself Inka Garcilazo? What does he know about the Inkas? From what I know, he was not there and all his knowledge of the Inkas’ history before the Spaniards invaded Perú came from what he was told by others. He says he is a member of the Inka nobility, but I do not think so. If it’s true that he is the son of an Inka princess, how come everything he says and writes favors the Spaniards and little that is good is said about the Inkas and their descendants?

If we are going to talk about the real Inka nobility, then few will know as much as Grandma Ñusta knew. She was there when the last King of Kings, the Inka Atahualpa, was captured and killed by the soldiers of my Grandpa, Francisco Pizarro. I say that Atahualpa was the last King of Kings because after the invasion, each of the Inkas that followed him were under Spanish rule and they couldn’t govern independently. What kind of king would an Inka be that does not rule his people? Among the Inkas nominated by the Spaniards, with only one exception, all of them were puppets that did whatever the conquerors told them to do. That is why I am saying that the last of the authentic Inkas was Atahualpa and although he never lived with Grandma, she knew him well because sharing the same mother and father, as children they played together many times and those childish playful activities, evolved into erotic games when they became adolescents. As Grandma told me, in the Inka court, those kinds of games were common among teens who were brother and sister. Grandma also told me that during their intimacies court secrets were exchanged. Later, those secrets would become very useful in her adult life.

The state of outrage that prompted me to listen to Señor de la Vega, brought back many of the stories that Grandma had told me and made me recall vividly the times when we sat on the patio by the orange trees to talk. At those moments, she would tell me about her life as a young woman in the Tawantinsuyo, which is what she called the Inka Empire, and I listened attentively to her fantastic stories. Well, then I thought they were fantastic, but now, after learning about those who called themselves chroniclers, I realize that the stories were not fantasy, they were real. I also realize that Grandma knew much more about what happened in the Tawantinsuyo during the Spanish invasion than any of the chroniclers. For example, I do not recall hearing Grandma refer to her country as Perú. However, Perú is what all the so-called chroniclers called the Tawantinsuyo. For her, the Inkas’ country was always Tawantinsuyo and she never called it Perú.

Although I came to know Grandma well, it is still not clear to me why she always felt so much a part of the Inka Empire. Especially, since she was actually born in one of the regions conquered by the Inkas in the extreme Northern part of the Tawantinsuyo. Although her mother was a member of the Quito nobility, I never understood why she did not feel like a Quiteña. Maybe it was because her father was the great Inka, Huayna Capac that prompted her to consider herself a member of the Inkas rather than a member of the ethnic group, known as the Quitos. I am not sure why she felt that way and I never dared to ask her. Nevertheless, she always felt she was a noble Inka and behaved as such. This seems to be the first form of ambiguity in which she lived her life.

When I decided to write this diary, I choose to start with the successes of Cajamarca because of all the stories Grandma told me, this one is the one stands out the most. I think I remember it so well because of the passionate way that Grandma related it to me and I will describe it exactly the way I heard it from her lips. I also think I remember it so well because, to my knowledge, it was the most terrible tragedy for the Inkas. Actually, we could say that Cajamarca was the beginning of the end for the Inka Empire.

It was a very clear summer afternoon. Grandma and I were sitting near the orange trees. We were sitting on the same bench we always sat on after our siesta. Although it was very sunny, it was not hot because of the soft breeze. Without me noticing, Grandma Ñusta involved me in her memories and started her narrative with the story of Cajamarca.

"Did you know that the day your grand uncle and your Grandpa met, it was a morning as clear as this one? In the high mountains of the Tawantinsuyo there are not many days like this, but I think the bad gods knew this was a very special day. It was so terrible, that I remember it as though it was today. I remember the exact date. It was Saturday, the 16th of November in the year of the God of the Spaniard, 1532. You should know that I only found out the day before, that my brother Atahualpa was going to meet with your Grandpa Francisco at Cajamarca Square. Well, I call it a square so you can understand, but in Quechua, the language of the Tawantinsuyo, we call it differently."

"I already knew your Grandpa very well because I had been living with him for many years. To give you an idea about the timing, we already had your mother, who was two years old then. As I have already said, we met in Tumbez in1528, when I was much younger than you are now. In 1532 we had already completed our first trip to Spain before coming to Cajamarca. It was during that trip to Spain that I assisted him in getting help from the Spanish court to conquer the Tawantinsuyo. Some other time I will tell you exactly how we met and what happened in the Spanish court. Those details are very interesting and entertaining. Today, I am sad and I only want to talk about Cajamarca."

In a very cadenced tone, Grandma continued her story saying: Let me start by telling you that ever since I was a child I knew how much pride Atahualpa had. I also knew the stubborn temperament of Señor Don Francisco Pizarro when he was determined to get something. It was for these reasons I knew that any encounter between the two would create a difficult situation.

Grandma paused and looked at me. She was waiting for my reaction to the way she had named Grandpa. She did so because she had used that very special tone of voice which she sometimes used when referring to Grandpa. On these occasions she would call him Señor Don. I knew that it was a redundancy of titles but I said nothing. I had heard her addressing him using that tone several times before and I never understood why. The truth is that I never knew if she did because she was upset and used it sardonically or whether it was simply a joke. Actually, I didn’t know how to react and just waited for her to continue with the story. After a short period of silence, she continued:

I had a premonition that something terrible would happen. She was talking to me as though I was her confidant and was revealing a secret that had never been revealed before. This time, she said, "I didn’t go with Francisco to do the translating. Instead, I stayed away and sent one of my yanaconas to act as a translator. You must remember that none of the Spaniards spoke Quechua, the Inka language, and of course none of the members of Atahualpa’s court spoke Castellano (Castilian). The Castellano that I knew, I learned from the poor starving, miserable Spaniards who were brought to Tumbez from the mountains. That was way before Francisco had come to Tumbez by sailing across the ocean. Later, my Castellano was almost perfected during the year we spent in Spain asking for help from the Spanish court. When Francisco and Atahualpa met, I knew enough Castellano to teach others and that is exactly what I did. For some time, I had been preparing several of my yanaconas to become proficient in Castellano so they could take my place translating whenever necessary. As my personal servants, they owed me unconditional loyalty and I knew they would be faithful to me. By using one of my yanaconas as a translator, I did not have to be between the Conquistador, who became my lover, and the Inka, my brother. I did not have to translate for them when I knew how terribly they would behave surrounded by their soldiers. As individuals, they were magnificent people when they interacted with me. In public, however, they had to perform in accord with their titles and each would become a different person."

When Friar Vicente Valverde walked in front of the Inka Atahualpa with a big cross in one hand and the bible in the other, I never thought that something so terrible would happen. Friar Valverde, was the priest sent by Francisco to request the submission of the Inka to the Spanish crown and he did it with great fanfare.

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Looking back, I keep thinking how wrong Atahualpa was. I will never know whether he forgot or whether he ignored my advice to be careful when dealing with these people. I told him several times they were fanatics about their religion. I told him that they were different from us in many ways. We respected the gods of those we conquer and adopted them as gods of the Inka Empire. Not only did we respect their belief, but we also took their images to El Cuzco and revered them as our own gods. I also told him I had declared myself a convert to their religion only to satisfy Francisco, but in actuality I did not like their god because He punished those who did not believe in Him. I described to him, what I observed about the religious behavior in Spain. There, the Spaniards did not accept anyone who believed in a god other than theirs. I even told him about the bloody wars between Spanish Christians and those who called themselves Muslims. I don’t think my brother ever understood what I was talking about. For him it was as though I was talking about another world. What could he possibly understand about Spain, Christians and Muslims if he never heard the names before? For all it mattered, to him it was all fantasy. For him, only the Inka Empire was real.

Anyway, even now it is difficult for me to understand why Atahualpa had to go to Cajamarca to meet with Francisco. I repeatedly used different arguments, telling him it was important not to trust the Spaniards. I suggested that regardless of being surrounded by all his soldiers, it was dangerous to get close to them. Maybe it was his pride, maybe it was the confidence he had because of the size of his army or maybe he had a definite strategy I was unaware of. As I told you, I warned Atahualpa that the Spaniards suspected that he was plotting something against them. They were suspicious about this, because on their way to Cajamarca, they observed the absence of men in the small towns, and when they asked about it, the answer was always the same—They were called to serve the Inka—To the Spaniards, to serve the Inka meant that Atahualpa was drafting the men and building an army. I know this because during the trip from Tumbez to Cajamarca, I did all the translating and later listened to the comments made at the captain’s table, where I managed to sit next to Francisco.

"Before and after the meeting in Cajamarca, Francisco and I never spoke of it, but I think he had been expecting a violent response from Atahualpa. I say this because instead of receiving the bible with the veneration that the Spaniards expected, Atahualpa tossed it aside. In reality, this action wasn’t done as an act of disrespect, but for Francisco’s men it was a signal. They drew their weapons and jumped ahead attacking the Inkas. Actually, Francisco was the first because anticipating the moment; he leapt at the Inka and grabbed his right wrist. Atahualpa was so stunned by Francisco’s sudden move, that he froze and missed the opportunity in which some of his soldiers could have liberated him. My poor brother was never a good warrior and on this occasion, like so many others, did not react the way he should have. Francisco was fighting like a wild animal, and although the Inka guards were numerous, he never let go of Atahualpa. That caused him to get wounded on is right arm. When Atahualpa’s bodyguards saw that regardless of Francisco’s wound, he continued fighting, they abandoned the idea of rescuing their king.

The surprise and speed of the attack created a general panic among Atahualpa’s troops. The kicks from the Spaniard’s horses, as well as the cuts from the swords and daggers penetrating the Inkas’ cotton armor took their toll. Additionally, the smoke and sound from the harquebusiers firing as well as seeing their comrades falling dead without seeing the enemy near them, resulted in a state of desperation and disorganization among the Inka troops. It was not too long before the Tawantinsuyo army started running for their lives."

"My dear granddaughter, when I think about why this tragedy happened, I believe it was not Atahualpa’s pride, but that his generals were over confident. Honestly, I think they never thought such a small number of men would be able to oppose thousands of Inkas. It is painful to estimate how many died in the slaughter at Cajamarca. I think several thousand were killed. I say slaughter, because among the Spaniards none were recorded as dead. Some