The Luck of the Maya. Theodore Brazeau
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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
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