Caribbean (10 page)

Bolón was staggered by the vastness of the buildings, their architectural brilliance, their variation and the manner in which they linked one with the other, providing large open spaces for the assembling of people, ball courts for games with rubber balls and deep, mysterious wells called cenotes into which, after the strangers came with their new religion, maidens were thrown, throats slashed, so that the gods might be appeased. Even though the invaders from the west
had reached this spot a full five hundred years earlier, Ix Zubin still thought of them, because of the cruel religious customs they had imposed, as strangers.

But it was a trial of a different order that she wanted to impress upon her son, and as she stood over one of the cenotes, she told Bolón: “Whenever the city faced a crisis that required immediate instruction from the gods, the priests brought twelve naked maidens here at dawn and tossed them one by one into the deep water down there. At noon they came back with long poles to fish out as many girls as had survived, and these lucky ones were supposed to bring with them specific instructions from the gods.”

“What if none survived?”

“That meant the city was in trouble.”

“I think it was the twelve girls who were in trouble,” Ah Nic ventured, but his niece reproved him for making light of a religious tradition, horrible though it was.

It was two quite different features which Bolón would remember longest: the noble pyramids falling into ruin but with high temples still atop their pinnacles, and the artistic excellence of the Chac Mools who, with their gaping saucers on their bellies, seemed better carved than the ones he had known at Cozumel and seen briefly at Tulúm.

But his mother now called his attention to something else: “Look at how these temples were built, the perfection of their stones, the magical way in which one blends with the other,” and as he studied these details she continued in an almost mystical monotone: “These temples were built by men who talked with the gods, who had seen a vision of a more perfect world.” At one point, when the three stood together sharing a view of four temples whose façades seemed to intertwine, each serving its prescribed purpose, Ix Zubin grasped Bolón’s hands and cried: “In spite of the horrors I saw here, if I’d never seen the glories of Chichén, I would have died blind,” and she continued in an unbroken litany to describe its wonders.

For three days they remained among the ruined temples but seemed barely to have touched the richness of the place, for when Bolón believed that he had exhausted the things he wanted to inspect, he came upon a ball court much smaller than the imposing one he had first seen, and this lesser court was so handsomely set down among larger buildings that they seemed to protect it and the two stelae that marked its end lines. It was a gem, a practice court no doubt, and he was led to dash into the middle of its playing area and
leap and twist as if he were engaged in a vigorous game, and soon he was shouting as if to unseen teammates. His mother, watching as she waited beside one of the handsomely carved markers, said to herself: He’s caught the spirit. He’s prepared to be a priest. And that night, as they camped near the little court, she told him: “You’re ready to be a priest, perhaps even a great one like Grandfather, but in your own way. The problem now is, are you ready to be a man? Let’s move on to Mayapán to see how you do battle against the powers there,” and they went to bed hungry yet satisfied, for the richness of the temples had satiated them.

In the morning Bolón was up early, eager to resume the journey to Mayapán and test his will against the rules of that city, but before they could get started they were surprised by the arrival at the temple of a group of eleven somber men and women, obviously dispirited and without a leader. When Bolón ran forward to interrogate them, one said sullenly: “We’re from Mayapán,” and he cried: “That’s where we’re going!” whereupon all spoke at once: “Don’t do it!” and “No reason to go!” and “We’ve just left and all is confusion.”

Ix Zubin hurried up to ask: “What happened there?” and a man with a black spade beard said almost tearfully: “When our leaders saw their power slipping away, great Mayapán sliding into the dust, they became frantic and did all the wrong things. Stupid laws, beheading citizens who disobeyed those laws, riots everywhere. Flames, houses gone and temples too. The end of the world.”

When the Cozumel people moved among the newcomers they heard ample confirmation: “Yes, Mayapán was in turmoil for many years. When all was chaos, new invaders swarmed from the south with new gods and new laws. Many loud promises …” The speaker, a workingman, shrugged his shoulders, and his wife, gathering her daughter to her, completed his observation: “Promises … and now … who knows?”

“Even to attempt to go there,” the man with the beard warned, “would be to risk life and reason.”

“Where, then, are you going?” Ah Nic broke in, and a very old man with white hair gave a long evasive reply, punctuated with lamentations: “Ah me, when the heavens fall in tempest, wise ones huddle close to the earth so that lightning does not strike them.”

“Good counsel,” Ix Zubin said impatiently. “But where will you find that protective earth?” for she was concerned about her son’s safety, and the old man, after more expressions of grief, started
another aimless answer: “In these days we seek consolation … courage … the wisdom of those who went before,” and a woman who showed irritation at these ramblings broke in with a solid statement: “We’re going to Palenque, where the gods first took us under their protection,” and at the mention of this almost sacred name, both Ix Zubin and her uncle gasped, for that ancient site was strong in their minds, and this sudden opportunity to see it was compelling. Without consulting her two companions, and abandoning any thought of visiting moribund Mayapán, Ix Zubin cried: “Can we go with you?” and before anyone could respond, Bolón cried with equal pleading: “Can we? Can we?”

The verbose old man smiled, and said with condescension: “It’s many days travel, west and south. As a woman, you couldn’t possibly—”

Boldly Ix Zubin interrupted: “I’m the granddaughter of Cimi Xoc,” and when the man with the spade beard heard that august name he held out both hands to greet Ix Zubin, but then he posed certain sensible questions whose answers would prove or disprove her relationship with the revered astronomer. She responded properly, going far beyond expectations and revealing herself as one who had some knowledge of the secrets of the planets and even considerable information about how the Maya people had governed themselves in ancient times.

Her questioner was a prudent man who did not want his group to be saddled with weaklings, so before he gave his answer he pointed to the heavens where a waning moon still showed visible in daylight, and said: “Palenque is far. Before we reach there, that moon will stand once more where it stands today. Before we are able to return, it will have stood there twice.”

Turning to her men, Ix Zubin started to query them to see if they deemed themselves equal to the task of continuing on to Palenque, and when Ah Nic, whom she questioned first, displayed the reticence which she expected, she heard the people from Mayapán murmuring against admitting him to their group. This distressed her, for she could see animosities festering which would destroy their expedition, so with great force she challenged her uncle: “You are a priest of the Temple of Fertility in Cozumel. These women from Mayapán would travel a far distance to receive your blessing. You are the conscience of our people, the custodian of good things. Brace yourself and assume the leadership to which your rank entitles you.”

Her words had a double effect. The women among the newcomers, realizing how indebted they were to the rites at Cozumel, and to any priest who supervised them, began to whisper, while Ah Nic himself acknowledged the truth of what his niece had said. Mustering his courage and assuming a proper demeanor, he spoke quietly: “I am your priest and it is my duty to see that all of you reach Palenque, that holy place, in good stead. Of course Bolón and I can stand the rigors, and as for Ix Zubin, she’s stronger of heart than any of us. Let us move forward,” and the long trek to Palenque began.

Although the Mayapán men were impressed by the old man’s willingness to assume command, they needed two more assurances. “This could well be the last journey any of us will ever make,” they said, “so we must be sure. When you walk from here to Palenque, you travel through jungle, swamps, streams overflowing suddenly … Days without seeing the sun … A million insects, snakes … Few villages …” Staring at the would-be voyagers, the spokesman asked: “Can you face that?” and Ah Nic said grandly: “Yes.”

Then came the crucial question: “We’ll have to buy many things along the way … whenever we have a chance. Do you carry anything of value?”

Bolón started to tell them that yes, they had … but Ah Nic gently placed his hand on the young fellow’s arm, smiled at the Mayapán people, and assured them: “We do,” and they, approving of his reluctance to disclose the exact level of their wealth, nodded and said: “In that case, off we go,” and the company of fourteen started the thirty-three-day walk to Palenque.

It was a magical journey, and, sooner than Ix Zubin expected, the narrow roadway, used only occasionally by the most intrepid wanderers, dived into dense jungle where the upper limbs of towering trees interlocked to form a canopy which obscured the sun and sky. Then the travelers moved in perpetual twilight, with parasite lianas, thick as a man’s leg, drooping down from the trees like writhing snakes seeking to entrap them. Birds screeched as the men struggled to push aside the vines before taking their next steps, and the air was so heavy that bodies glistened with perspiration. Now Uncle Ah Nic came into his own, for as a man devoted to the natural world, he knew immediately which leaves and roots were edible, in which direction the hunters from Mayapán should venture if they wished
to catch some animal whose meat would provide food, and which trees might be hiding combs of honey which Bolón could collect. As soon as the boy shouted “Bees!” Ah Nic was first there to light the fires that would smoke them out and allow others to grab the honey. And it was he who distributed the food supplies to the women cooks, with instructions as to how they should prepare them. He was a fussbudget and the brains of the expedition.

Bolón was amazed that a major road to a place as important as Palenque had been should now be only this grudging track through jungle. But Ix Zubin knew that this experience with the power of the jungle to smother land would be the best preparation for what he would probably see at Palenque, if it remained as it had been when her grandfather described it; she doubted that the ancient city could provide anything equal to what Bolón had already seen in the dry-lands of Chichén Itzá.

There were, of course, a few small villages in clearings where the pilgrims could find food and water, but they were such mean affairs that Bolón asked the white-haired man: “How could Chichén be so grand and these places so miserable?” and the old fellow replied in sorrow: “People and places know greatness for a while, then decline.”

“Why are you making this long journey?”

“To see, once again before I die, the greatness our people knew in the old days, and to mourn its passing.”

The man was so patient with Bolón that the boy stayed close to him, discussing ideas relating to temples and proudly explaining the important role played by his family in the Temple of Fertility at Cozumel. The old man listened attentively, but what really intrigued him was Bolón’s insistence that his mother really did know the secrets of astronomy and the manipulation of numbers, for he had never known a woman conversant in such matters. When he had heard Ix Zubin say earlier that she understood something about astronomy, he had assumed that she knew where the starry figures stood in the sky. Real astronomy? Never. But now, discovering that she really was learned, he sought her out.

The two conducted long talks, both as they traveled and when they rested, and the Mayapán man marveled at this woman’s facility. Once, when they came upon a small temple left in ruins, he led her to a broken stela whose bottom third remained upright and asked her to decipher its glyphs and carvings, and she did so with ease, evoking for him the long-dead events which had once so excited the people
supporting this temple that they had carved this stela to commemorate them.

“I wonder what the missing part would have told us?” the man mused, but not even Ix Zubin was clever enough to reconstruct that.

On the long days when nothing happened except dull plodding through jungle, Ix Zubin and her son pursued different interests, the boy heading off with the other hunters to see what food he might find or catch, and Ix Zubin talking with the two women who had accompanied their husbands from Mayapán. One interested her especially. This strong-minded woman had a daughter of fourteen, Ix Bacal by name, who was especially beautiful by Maya standards in that her mother had carefully trained her to be conspicuously cross-eyed: “When she was four days old I kept a feather dangling before her eyes on a length of grass, and as she stared at it, day after day, her eyes began to cross rather nicely. Then, when she was older, I asked her father to get us a piece of bright shell, and this was hung so that light from the sun reflected into her eyes, and this too helped to train them inward, the way a mother wants them. Finally, when she could walk, I would stand before her and bring my finger from way back here straight to the point of her nose, and in time her eyes locked properly, the way you see them today.”

Then the mother apologized for her own inadequate eyes: “My parents did not take such pains, and you can see that my eyes barely cross, and for certain they’re not locked. Eyes that wander get a woman into trouble. Eyes that turn in bring illumination to her soul, and you can see that Ix Bacal has such eyes.” So the two Maya women, as they rested in the jungle, congratulated themselves on the proofs of their maternal care—Bolón’s nicely sloping head and Ix Bacal’s lovely crossed eyes.

To Ix Zubin’s dismay, her son seemed unaware of the beautiful girl, and since he was soon to be seventeen, she was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to discover the other sex, for to have an unmarried priest in charge of a fertility temple would be unacceptable if not preposterous.