The Luck of the Maya. Theodore Brazeau
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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