Читать книгу The Luck of the Maya - Theodore Brazeau - Страница 11

LUCY

It was good to see Nelda again. She is, without doubt, the best horse I’ve ever had, and a good friend. Much as had I loved them all, from my pony, Linda, on, Nelda was the best.

We spent a little time getting reacquainted, and then packed up to move out. I saw that Carlos and Jeb were both mounted and ready to go.

As planned, we didn’t travel far that day. The day was almost over when we started, but we wanted to get out of sight and this was the best way to do so.

Arnulfo called a halt just before dusk, which was fine with me. I planned let him call the shots on anything to do with the actual traveling. He knew what he was doing. Much as I loved the forest, I had spent too much time away from it the last few years. I hoped I wasn’t becoming a city person.

Since it was closer, we decided to head first to Kanan Ka’a, and from there to one of the others. At Kanan Ka’a we might get information as to where the Pol was.

The ancient pyramids used to protect the Pol didn’t really have names. They were referred to as Guardian One, Two and Three—Kanan Han, Ka’a and Óox in the Mayan language.

CARLOS

We finished packing up the horses and mules. I was glad to see that we all had some lightweight rifles and pistols. Even though I don’t really like guns, I know how to use them and, in this case, they gave me a warm and cuddly feeling. I did some spot-checking. It looked like Arnulfo and Arnoldo, or whoever put this together, had done an admirable job. Besides the guns, we had a good supply of machetes, knives, hatchets and even some bows and arrows. The food supply looked adequate, I didn’t expect gourmet.

My horse was a gray mare, but definitely not the proverbial old one. She was a sleek animal that looked capable of a good run. I was told her name was Mirabal.

Mirabal and I spent a little time getting acquainted. I found some horse munchies among the provisions and there’s nothing like a little bribe to start off a good relationship. Mirabal seemed to appreciate it. I rubbed her behind the ears, talked to her for a while. We seemed to get along.

Then it was time to saddle up and move out.

“We won’t get far today, we’ll make camp in a couple of hours,” said Arnulfo, “but we want to be on our way and, especially, we want to get out of sight. This place might look deserted to you city folks, but there are too many eyes and ears for my taste.”

I didn’t think we were exactly city folks, but his point was taken. We traveled for two or three hours through a varied terrain, mostly quite pleasant. We made fairly good time since, for the most part, the underbrush was minimal. Numerous fallen tree trunks caused continual minor detours and uneven terrain covered with leaf debris was a hazard to the horses, although the mules didn’t even seem to notice.

The canopy of trees above kept us in a pleasant twilight and had prevented thick underbrush from forming by stealing most of the sunlight. It was certainly not cool, but it was way cooler than traveling in the direct sunshine. That would have been deadly. The atmosphere was still and humid, with drops of water falling from the treetops overhead. But it was not still to the ear. There were constant bird and animal calls and screeches and chattering, including some really impressive hooting and hollering by the saraguatos, the howler monkeys.

We were constantly inundated not only with sights and sounds, but also aromas. The overall fragrance could be called ‘deep jungle’: a blanket of decaying vegetation accompanied by a melody of other smells, mostly unidentifiable. The result was, except for a false note here and there, a rather agreeable background potpourri.

We three ‘city folks’ went single file in the center while the rest spread out ahead and behind, to the right and left, but never out of earshot. We each had our own bird or animal call to identify us and we would sound it out every now and again as an all-clear signal. I had chosen the easiest, a parrot call. Lucy had a very good spider monkey repertoire and Jeb had invented a sort of cough that wasn’t going to fool anybody. The rest had a variety of calls, just different enough from the real bird or animal to be identifiable. No one chose the howler monkey.

Not long before dusk Arnulfo called a halt to make camp. Instead of tents, we each tied our hammock between trees wherever we could find a good spot. We then hung mosquito netting over it, propping it with sticks to provide room enough for sleeping, and laying a tarp over that to deflect the dripping water and any potential bird or monkey droppings, not to mention falling critters like scorpions. The mosquito netting had to be tied just right around the hammock ropes, otherwise undesirables like those scorpions would crawl up the rope and right on in to disturb our slumbers in nasty ways. We drew straws for guard duty. Naturally, I got one of the short ones, which meant I was going to be up and around from midnight to about three AM.

Since we didn’t believe we were in any immediate danger, Arnulfo permitted us a small cooking fire. “Keep it small and hot,” he said, “the hotter it is, the less smoke and the faster it cooks.” Most of the food we brought with us was deliberately the non-cooking type: jerky, hard sausages, dried fruits and vegetables, cooked grains. Fresh fruit and other edible plants we could find as we traveled. Even meat if someone wanted to operate a bow and arrow but we weren’t going to be announcing our presence by shooting off guns.

That first evening and night was actually fun, kind of like a very humid beach picnic. I felt like singing Kumbaya, toasting marshmallows and making out, but didn’t think I could talk Lucy into it. Besides we were supposed to be reasonably quiet and those activities wouldn’t qualify. Well, the marshmallows wouldn’t be too noisy.

We updated our immediate plans. Of the three possible sites we chose to head toward Number Two, Kanan Ka’a. It was a little closer, and Arnulfo knew about where it was. We knew exactly where Number One, Kanan Hun was, too, somewhat farther off, but the location of Number Three, Kanan Óox was a bit vague. Arnulfo had a general idea where it might be, and we had directions, but it would be a little more work to find. Lalo and Licha said they thought they had been there, from the description we had, but it was a long time ago and they couldn’t be sure of finding it based just on that. Better than nothing, though.

“Whether or not it’s at Kanan Ka’a,” Lucy said, “we’ll leave one of our replicas there. I don’t think it is going to fool anyone who knows much about the real thing but, if they don’t, it might confuse them for a while. As I’ve said, I’ve been told you can feel the real one’s presence when you’re close. No one has been able to explain to me exactly how. Some sort of vibes. They say it’s something you can’t have ever experienced before and once you have, you won’t forget it, so I guess that in itself is a description.”

I turned in early since I had to be up at midnight for my shift. The forest was noisy, but oddly calming. The tone had changed, I supposed the day critters had gone to bed, like me, and the night critters had come out to play. I hoped none of them were hungry for juicy morsels dangling in hammocks. Arnulfo had told me to watch out for the dreaded nauyaca snake, especially if I got up in the night, as there might be one hanging out underneath my hammock.

“They won’t go looking for you,” he said, “but if you annoy them, they’ll bite you a good one. Then you bleed out, you know, from your eyes and ears, nose and so on. The only advantage is that you die real fast. No painful lingering.”

I was reassured.

My shift at guard duty was uneventful, the best kind. I stayed awake and was very watchful, but I didn’t see any nauyaca snakes. No snakes at all, actually. Three o’clock came around fast, and I wasn’t even bored. Lalo relieved me and I crawled back into the hammock to nap until dawn.

As the forest brightened from pitch dark to twilight dim, we packed up our camp, saddled our horses and moved on. The day proved long and without surprises. Later the evening and night were repeats of yesterday except that I drew the early shift. I was in the hammock by midnight and sleeping five minutes later.

The next day, however, did harbor an ‘event’. We were, as usual, plodding along at our horse’s walking speed, a little slower than we had been. The trees had thinned slightly, letting more underbrush get a foothold. It was beginning to impede our progress and I hoped it wouldn’t get thicker. Arnoldo assured me there was nothing to worry about. In terms of brush, at least.

LUCY

The next day was uneventful. I love riding through the forest, especially on Nelda. I think she enjoys it, too. I hadn’t realized how tense I had gotten. When people shoot at me it tends to tense me up. There was no good reason to start relaxing. We were heading into a tricky situation, but even so, the forest had a relaxing effect on me.

The following day, we did have an event. Arnulfo, scouting in front of us as usual, had stumbled on a Lacandón, who was staggering through the forest in a disoriented sort of way.

I went to speak with the man. He spoke a few words of Spanish, but basically only spoke Lacandón, which is a little hard to follow, but I could get most of it. The poor man needed some medical attention, too, so we got out the first aid kit and did what we could.

He had an appalling story to tell. His brother had been murdered, and he himself left for dead at the hands of a party of vicious men who sounded a lot like Macalusa’s crowd.

As near as I could figure from what Ah Cuxtal—that was his name—said, they were headed to the area where Kanan Óox was, so after some discussion, we—I—decided that we had better head there, too. If the Pol was actually there, and they got there first, we might be out of luck. Literally out of Luck.

We didn’t want to go charging into the Kanan Óox area on horseback. A more stealthy approach was indicated. Arnulfo said he knew a place where we could leave the horses and mules, but we’d have a good walk to where he thought Kanan Óox was.

So be it. Walking is good exercise. Firms up the old butt.

CARLOS

Arnulfo’s birdcall on our right changed subtly. If I hadn’t been hearing it constantly for two days, I wouldn’t have noticed anything different. We all stopped. Lalo and Licha motioned us to stay where we were and faded into the undergrowth to the right.

In a few minutes, Lalo reappeared and approached Lucy. “Your Mayan is better than ours”, he said, “come and help, if you would.” We stood up from the log we had been sitting on. “Just Lucy for now, please, we’ll be back and explain,“ said Lalo. They went off in the direction he had come from.

As it was described to me later, Arnulfo had contacted or been contacted—this was unclear—by an individual in the brushy area he was pushing through. Arnulfo and the others accompanied the new arrival back to our group.

He was dressed in a long garment that had once been off-white but was now stained and torn and in rather bad shape, as was its owner. He had a woozy look about him and was covered with bruises and cuts wherever we could see.

Lucy was talking to him. I couldn’t understand the words, but her tone of voice was calm and reassuring. She sat him down on our log and examined what she could see of his wounds. Lalo handed her the medical kit.

Lucy and Licha went to work cleaning the cuts and spreading antibiotic on them. Their patient bore up stoically under this treatment but his eyes had a look of fear and misery.

Lucy was still carrying on the reassuring sounding monolog in Mayan with Licha throwing in the occasional supporting word. As they were finishing their ministrations, Arnulfo announced that, it being late in the day and time for a consultation about our plans, we would call it quits and set up for the night. No fire, he said.

Our new friend, it turned out, was a Lacandón named Ah Cuxtal. One of the Haah Wiinikoob—Real People—as the Lacandones call themselves. He was a bit outside of the usual Lacandón roaming area, but not that far. He and his brother had been hunting a little north of their usual haunts, he told us, when four or five men suddenly surrounded them. Outsiders, not locals. Not even Mexicans, much less any kind of Mayans. Foreigners that sometimes spoke Spanish. Ah Cuxtal knew some Spanish, but they also sometimes spoke some other language. English? We asked, but he had never heard English, didn’t know what it was.

Apparently these men had also been out hunting and had stumbled on Ah Cuxtal and his brother. They took them to their camp where there were “many many people”—Ah Cuxtal was not good with numbers—and they tied them to trees.

The strangers had been preparing their camp for the night and continued to do so. They cooked their food, not offering any to their captives. “We would not have eaten it anyway,” Ah Cuxtal said. “But we were very thirsty.”

The meal finished, a bottle was produced and made the rounds. After a while two of the group came over to the captives and began asking questions. The biggest one seemed to be in charge and the other one did as he was told. The big one started asking questions in Spanish, and when he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, directed the smaller man to translate.

Ah Cuxtal was not impressed with the short man’s Mayan, but it was comprehensible, if barely. Lacandones speak their own version of the language, some say it is a purer version, but it is understandable, with difficulty, to those speaking Yucateco and Itzá and most other Mayan languages.

As near as we could figure, given the language problems and the lack of detail in our questions, these people were headed for where we thought Number Three—Kanan Óox—was located. The questions they had asked Ah Cuxtal and his brother seemed to also imply that they had a pretty good idea of where Kanan Óox was but weren’t exactly sure.

After a while and more passing of the bottle they had become frustrated with their captives not knowing the answers they thought they should know, and were sure that if they beat them they’d suddenly acquire the knowledge. Or maybe they just enjoyed beating helpless people. Ah Cuxtal didn’t regain consciousness until the next morning and found that the men were gone and his brother was dead.

The ropes were also gone. Why waste good ropes to tie dead men to trees? Ah Cuxtal in a panic escaped into the forest to the north of the kidnappers trail and had been running ever since, blundering through the trees.

He had seen Arnulfo and, at first, was terrified that he had stumbled back on the killers. He realized that that couldn’t be and, in fact, vaguely recognized that Arnulfo was a sometime chicle gatherer and not an enemy. Certainly not a foreigner.

Arnulfo and Lucy questioned Ah Cuxtal at some length as to where this had taken place and what direction the group was headed. Ah Cuxtal said it was near tunich b’ox k’as—place of the big black rock—and they were headed west.

“I know the tunich b’ox k’as,” said Arnulfo. “If they start there and head west, that will put them in the general area of where we think Kanan Óox is.”

Lucy also wanted a description of the men in the group, which Ah Cuxtal was glad to supply in detail and with some animation. She told me later she had been sure that the Runt would be among them but, if he had been, Ah Cuxtal hadn’t seen him.

“I told Ah Cuxtal he was free to go back to his family, and that we would supply him with enough provisions to get there. He told me ‘my family is dead. I am dead’. I want that…something…to be dead’, he used a Lacandón word I didn’t know, but I can guess.”

Do you think that’s a good idea? I asked. This could all be a set up. “No, I don’t,” Lucy answered, “but I wanted to know what he’d say. I don’t know how much he understood last night, since we were speaking Spanish and English. I have no reason to believe he knows anything about our purpose but he does understand that we are going in the same direction as the guys who killed his brother. He wants to come with us and I would rather have him here where we can keep an eye on him. Lacandones are sometimes not too trustworthy, but I basically believe him.”

He might try to sneak off in the night, I said. “True,” Lucy agreed. “The night guards will have to watch for that, difficult as it will be in the dark.” Yes, I agreed, and he is a woodsman. “So are we,” she answered, “some of us are pretty good at it.” I had to agree with her on that and that it was better to have him around where we could see him. We talked to the rest of the crew. They made it unanimous.

We sat in the dark around our non-fire and discussed developments. We decided we had better change our course to find Kanan Óox and beat that bunch to it.

“We start at dawn, or just before,” Arnulfo said, “and now we’ll have to start pushing it. We will travel more quietly without the horses and after a certain point we’ll need to. There is a place we can leave the animals about halfway there and pick them up on the way back.”

I drew the straw for the last watch. That made for early rising, but at least I would be ready when it was time to leave. The forest seemed scarier tonight for some reason.

Early rising was right. I was up at three and spent a couple of hours nervously listening to the dark, which didn’t seem nearly as friendly as it had the night before. I knew those guys were far away, but even so, they were out there somewhere.

It was still dark when we saddled up. I hoped Mirabal could see something because I knew I couldn’t. It wasn’t long, though, before things started to be merely dim instead of pitch black and presently we were back to our usual twilight. The night sounds went away and the day sounds came out. I felt better.

We spent the day traveling at a slightly increased speed, but couldn’t go much over a fast walk. Even so we seemed to cover a good distance. Ah Cuxtal refused a ride at the start, insisting he was used to walking in the forest but along toward our lunch break he began stumbling and weaving. Lalo convinced him to get up behind him on his horse, telling him we needed to keep moving. He no doubt was used to walking through the forest, but he wasn’t used to being beaten up and needed some rest. Takes a lot out of you—I know from experience.

We fixed a utilitarian lunch from our dried supplies. Ah Cuxtal pointed out some fruit hanging from a climbing vine as a welcome desert. Then we were on our way again.

Over a supper that was not even as tasty as lunch, Arnulfo told us we would be leaving the horses sometime the next day and continuing on foot with backpacks. We could take one mule, but might wind up abandoning him. Even though I was getting a little tired of being on horseback, I didn’t think that walking was going to be a change for the better. And it wasn’t. Besides, Mirabal and I had become new best friends and I was gong to miss her.

We packed our backpacks as best we could in the dark to be ready for an early start. We did have flashlights, but used them as sparingly as possible to save the batteries. At some point we might really need them. I was glad the ammunition was in belts that I could wear. That was going to be hot, but the backpack was already plenty heavy. Some of that ammo would hopefully go on our remaining mule, but there was a limit. If we overloaded him he would balk and we would wind up carrying the stuff ourselves, or throwing it away.

I drew the first watch for a change, but otherwise the night was a repeat of the one before. A certain sameness, but I was definitely not bored. The dark was just as dark and the sounds were the same. Mostly twittering and cooing but, so far, no roaring or gnashing of teeth. That at least was reassuring. If the sounds suddenly changed, then I would really worry.

We were up again before dawn and started out in the dark. “I think we’ll be there around noon,” Arnulfo said. “There’s a family encampment about that many hours from here. They’ve been living in that general area for a long time. They raise some chickens, a few pigs, make a clearing to plant some corn and chiles and stuff until the soil wears out, then move on a little bit and start over. I know this family because I’ve stayed there from time to time when I was doing the chicle and I’m hoping they’re still there so we can leave the horses and mules with them. The animals will be all right and they’ll take good care of them.”

We moved through the forest, dodging huge extended tree roots, immense fallen logs, outcroppings of stone and the occasional pit. I had no idea where we were in relation to anything. I had a compass, which I looked at from time to time, but it didn’t tell me much. The others, except for Jeb, seemed to have a better idea, especially Arnulfo, who was in the lead. How he, or anyone, could navigate through this dim green ocean was beyond me. Jeb and I were used to desert terrain full of bright sunshine where you could see to the horizon all around you.

Eventually we came to a slight ridge and turned to follow it. Aha! I thought, an actual landmark, now things will make a little sense. After a couple of miles we turned again, losing the comforting landmark and headed in the same direction we had been going.

Suddenly, I smelled smoke. Arnulfo called quietly for a halt. He came back to us and said, “We’re here. Let me go on ahead, they don’t trust strangers, but they know me. I’ll get them used to the idea and come back for you all.”

He strode on ahead, leading his horse, as the rest of us dismounted. We all stood around, not saying much, except for Ah Cuxtal, who was standing apart from us, muttering to himself. What is he saying? I asked Lucy.

“I can’t make sense of most of it,” she answered, “about all I can make out is cimzic. Means kill. And p’ec, kind of like hate.” Do you think he’s completely lost it? I asked. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” she answered. “I don’t think I’d want to be the target of that. He’s saying suku’un, too. Older brother.”

After about an hour, Arnulfo returned, accompanied by a short round man with kind eyes and gray in his hair. Arnulfo introduced him in Mayan and then translated to Spanish for Jeb and my benefit. “This is my very good friend Arturo. Arturo has been kind enough to invite us to a meal with his family and has agreed that it would be a good idea to leave our animals with him for a few days.” Returning to Mayan, Arnulfo introduced each of us to Arturo. This involved elaborate hand shaking and flowery sounding phrases. I didn’t understand a word, but I smiled and nodded and shook. Jeb did the same.

Presently, we started moving, but on foot, leading our horses as Arnulfo had done as it would certainly not do to sit on our horses and tower menacingly over our hosts. After a short walk we entered a clearing. A group of men, boys, women, children, dogs, pigs and a ratty looking burro stood solemnly regarding us. The chickens scratching around didn’t seem as impressed.

LUCY

We rode all the next day and, around noon on the following day, we came to the little family settlement Arnulfo had told us about. There were more people there than I had expected. All one family, Arnulfo had said, but four or five generations of it, from the Taatich to tiny infants. Those little babies were so cute.

They welcomed Arnulfo and—by extension—all of us, like visiting royalty. Even more than that, as I found out later. They regarded Arnulfo as a savior, because he had literally saved them.

Some marauders had attacked them right here in their home a few years ago. Arnulfo happened to be staying here, gathering chicle in the area. He drove them off, killing at least two of them. Clearly, Arnulfo was now their favorite person in this world; he could do no wrong.

They were all impressed with Carlos’ and Jeb’s bushy beards, and those beards really were becoming impressive. I hadn’t noticed them slowly bushing out but they were both beginning to look like the proverbial Mountain Men.

I had to tell them: “the only beards like that around here are on certain monkeys.” I’m not sure they appreciated my observations.

We were also in luck, because the Taatich, Arturo the Elder, had some information on a good route to follow to Kanan Óox, which should save us some time.

“Some of the old gods are there,” he told us, “sometimes you can feel them looking at you. Not a good place. Better stay away.”

“We won’t stay long,” I assured him. “Just in and out. The gods won’t mind.”

The whole family was excited. They wanted to put on a big fiesta in Arnulfo’s honor, and we had no problem with that. There wasn’t all that much traveling time left in the day, and we would get an early start in the morning. Plus which, a good meal would be more than welcome after the cuisine of the past several days.

We all pitched in. I got together with Arturo’s mother and sister and his wives to make tortillas and beans and cook up some Pollo Pibil. Everyone had some assigned task, and things came together in no time. Carlos had made a table out of bamboo and stuff, and was now talking to Arturo. He seemed to be trying to learn Mayan. I’d have to start watching what I said.

CARLOS

We were each presented formally to the older men and women and less formally to the younger generation. They all shyly shook our hands and nodded their heads and said things in Mayan, presumably nice things. They seemed a little taken aback by Ah Cuxtal. I didn’t know if it was his general appearance—we had cleaned him up, but he still looked a little rough around the edges—or the unsettled look in his eye, or just because he was a Lacandón. Probably that had something to do with it, as Lacandones in general were known for their unpredictable behavior. I wasn’t too sure about this one, either, especially in his present state of mind.

They seemed particularly impressed with Jeb and myself. Later Lucy laughed and told me it was the beards. “They don’t see many of those around here,” she teased, “especially not such big luxurious ones. Only on certain monkeys,” she added. Unnecessarily, I thought. I hadn’t realized our beards had gone so wild, but looking at Jeb, I had to admit we did look a little unusual.

The first individual we had been introduced to was a very old man, although he was probably not as old as he looked. Lucy told me he was the father of Arturo and also named Arturo: The Taatich, grandfather and great-grandfather of most of the family. Lucy and Arnulfo sat down with him later and came away with the best description we had had to date as to where Kanan Óox was and the easiest route to get to it. It seems that Arturo the Elder had been there many years ago, when he was young and adventurous and roamed the jungle. He warned us that there were spirits there and not necessarily benevolent ones.

“Perhaps some of the old gods are still there,” he said. He thought he could feel them, felt something, but didn’t know what it was. He didn’t spend any time there and, in fact, left right away. Those old gods are nobody to fool with.

The day was developing into a festive occasion. Everyone was bustling about, preparing foods of various kinds. We contributed our share from our supplies. Chickens were being chased, tortillas patted, children sent into the jungle to gather fruit and whatever else they could find.

Arnulfo seemed to be the main center of interest. I doubted any random group of strangers would get this treatment, so I asked Lucy what all the fuss was all about. She explained that Arnulfo was a bit of a hero to this family. Some time ago when, as he had said, he was gathering the chicle, he had indeed visited them, and more than once. Lucy hadn’t known all the details as Arnulfo didn’t much like to talk about such things, but she asked Arturo and the others about it, and they wouldn’t stop talking, much to Arnulfo’s embarrassment. They were saying that Arnulfo had saved them from a serious threat, saved their lives.

“He had been staying with Arturo and the family while on one of his chicle gathering trips,” she said. ”It was a mid afternoon and Arnulfo was sleeping in one of the houses. That one over there, I think,” she pointed, “when four strangers rode in on horseback. They were armed, the family was not, except for a couple of old shotguns that may or may not actually fire. Antiques.”

“The strangers started pushing people around, threatening them with pistols. They started grabbing some of the girls and shot Luis over there in the thigh—you can see the scar—when he tried to stop them. The only reason he’s alive is they were such poor shots.”

“Arnulfo heard the ruckus, looked out, and realized what was happening. He came out of that doorway over there with his rifle, shooting. Shot two of them dead and wounded a third. The two who were still able to move turned and ran off as fast as they could, shooting wildly but not hitting anything. The other two horses followed. Arnulfo tracked them for two days to make sure they didn’t circle back.”

“So you see why he can do no wrong in this place.” I did, indeed, and I didn’t blame them for idolizing him. He had probably saved all their lives. I was already glad Arnulfo was on our side and Lucy’s story made me even gladder. You’ve got quite a family, Lucy, I said. “I have, haven’t I,” she said, smiling.

I was given a machete and charged with finding materials to make another table, as there weren’t enough to hold all the foodstuffs and dishes. I wandered around in the jungle for a while, watching out, as usual, for the dread nauyaca snake. Any snakes. Eventually I came back with a small tree and some bamboo. This served just fine and, with the help of some of the younger set, we produced a serviceable, if primitive, table held together with strips of bamboo. I didn’t know how long it would last, but it was good for today.

Whenever I think I need a relaxing laid back time, not to mention a good meal, I think back on that day. No modern ‘conveniences’ to worry about, nobody looking for you (except maybe The Runt. He and his friends were always at the back of my mind), no telephones or television, no news. We knew we had some problems ahead of us, but could put them aside for the moment to enjoy the good food and the good company. Even the two infants seemed to sense the festiveness. They hadn’t learned to walk yet, but they did know how to eat.

When the day ended, we sat around the fire and stories were told. Mostly in Mayan, some Spanish, even a little English. Lucy and Arnoldo translated to Spanish for Jeb and me. I was actually learning some rudimentary Mayan. I could say Bix a bel? (How are you?), Tziminoob (Horses), Coten uaye (Come here) and my favorite so far Coox hanal (Let’s eat). I thought if I hung around here it wouldn’t take me long to learn passable Mayan.

But that was not to be, at least not for now. We all retired early, looking forward to a long day of hiking tomorrow. Besides, early to bed seemed to be the local custom, there being no good reason to sit up in the dark. The fire had been in our honor—or Arnulfo’s—and normally the stars and the moon would provide all the light there was. We posted our usual night guards—I drew the midnight to 3am shift again, my favorite.

Ancient Mayan Ruins