DELIVERING MALINCHE

From our garden in Tepetlixpa, we have a stunning view of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl. Both volcanos are tipped with snow now, but with the afternoon sun warming us, it doesn’t feel that cold. Only late-night expeditions to the outhouse warrant complaints about the winter weather. Right now, sitting on the grass, surrounded by the fragrant presence of chamomile and spearmint, we talk of what the coming summer holds in store. If it’s a girl, her name will be Xochitl Malintzin Ashton González. Those names are Nahuatl, English, and Spanish. The Nahuatl names have been chosen by her Mexican father, my compañero, Arnoldo. The last two are surnames from both of our families. Though my Spanish is fairly fluent by now, Arnoldo knows my Nahuatl is nil. “Xochitl quiere decir ‘flor,’” he explains. My mind calculates: Xochitl=flor=flower. That’s a pretty name! How about Malintzin? What does that mean? He pauses momentarily before replying, “Malintzin es Malinche.” In my burgeoning vocabulary, the only word I know that sounds remotely similar to Malinche is malinchista. Roughly translated, it means ‘traitor.’ No, that can’t be what he’s saying; I must be confused. Well, yes and no.