The conquistadores will hear the story of the raft and the lake and cut – artfully, in their view – a hole in the mountain. They’ll use dynamite in an attempt to drain it. They’ll dig in the mud, on all fours, and force others to work for them. Some, like Antonio de Sepúlveda, whom the king of Spain had authorized from Madrid to drain it, will die poor and exhausted after trying all possible ways to empty it. That was the sawed-off mountain I encountered while growing up, with a V-shaped slash halfway through. On the summit, a green bowl that sometimes goes turquoise, of suspended waters: what’s left of the lake. Today, a sign in Spanish says in all caps: DO NOT APPROACH THE WATER.
Suspended Waters (excerpt)
Translated by Robin Myers