II. Moctezuma’s Nap

The chapter opens with the ritual precision of Moctezuma’s afternoon nap—an act of imperial discipline that momentarily suspends the entire machinery of the Aztec empire. The silence demanded by his sleep is profound, yet its cessation, marked by the ringing of a silver bell, sends ripples through Tenochtitlan like a stone dropped in water. This carefully orchestrated pause becomes a metaphor for the fragile calm before historical upheaval, as the emperor’s rest coincides with the Spaniards’ uneasy acclimation to palace life. Aguilar, ever the observer, smokes his pipe while Caldera frets over clean clothes and cultural codes, their exchange laced with dark humor about impending sacrifice. The scene underscores the surreal tension of the moment: two civilizations hovering on the brink of collision, each misunderstanding the other’s rituals.

Within the palace’s labyrinthine corridors, the conquistadors grapple with their paradoxical status as both honored guests and potential captives. Caldera’s awkward attempt to don Aztec garments under Aguilar’s guidance—a comic yet poignant scene—reveals the Spaniards’ vulnerability beneath their bravado. The friar’s tattooed body and fluent cultural navigation contrast sharply with Caldera’s pale, horseman’s physique, highlighting the dissonance between European and Mesoamerican ideals of masculinity. Meanwhile, Cortés and Malinalli’s private exchange exposes her growing linguistic autonomy, a secret that threatens to upend the power dynamics of translation. When she reveals a priest’s ominous warning—“This wall has eyes”—the chapter crackles with paranoia, suggesting the palace itself is an active participant in the unfolding drama.

Moctezuma’s post-nap inertia mirrors the empire’s political stagnation. Resisting the demands of governance, he lingers in bed, delaying audiences and avoiding the regalia of power. His request for Atotoxtli—to be summoned only after her own smoke-induced calm—hints at the strained familial alliances underpinning the empire. The chapter’s quiet moments are its most revelatory: Aguilar’s wry observation that their reality would be dismissed as “chivalric romance bullshit” if ever recorded, or Caldera’s fleeting arousal at the thought of Tenochca warriors “dying to take a nibble of his leg.” These glimpses into the protagonists’ psyches lay bare the absurdity and terror of their predicament, where cultural fascination and mortal peril intertwine.

As the afternoon wanes, the Spaniards’ boisterous bathing in the palace pool becomes a metaphor for their entire enterprise—a disruptive splash in the still waters of an ancient civilization. Caldera, watching his comrades with detached unease, recognizes their ghostly transience: “a pack of ghosts” destined to either conquer or be consumed. The chapter closes with Moctezuma’s deliberate inaction, a sovereign’s hesitation that speaks volumes. His refusal to rise—to fully awaken—prefigures the empire’s fate, suspended between ritual and reality, between the old world and the new storm gathering at its gates. The nap ends, but the dream of empire lingers, heavy with portent.