This temple had been my favorite when I was first here as a young girl. When Isa and I told each other ghost stories up in that old tree, Chac Mool always featured prominently.
The carved stone figure reclines, knees drawn up and head twisted to face the west, the direction the Maya regarded as that of darkness and death. He—it could only be a “he”—holds to his chest a flat plate on which, legend has it, the hearts of sacrificial victims were placed, still beating, to appease the gods.
Worse yet, as you reach the top of the stairs, you find yourself looking right into his sightless eyes. He never blinks. He knows all. He waits. Isa and I, as sophisticated as we used to think we were, still clung to each other as we went up and over the top of the stairs, giggling in embarrassment and fear.
Lucas suddenly looked at me and smiled. “He is rather intimidating, isn’t he?” I liked him for saying that, and thought there might be more to him than his conversation to date had indicated.
Then Isa came up behind me and, putting her arm through mine, said, “Here we go again, Lara, tempting the gods.”
“It’s just a statue,” Jonathan scoffed. “A not particularly interesting example of Toltec carving in my opinion.
“It’s only real interest is the inspiration it gave to Henry Moore, one of my more talented fellow countrymen.” He smiled. “Spawned several rather famous Moore reclining figures.”
“Tempting the gods yourself, aren’t you, Jonathan?” Isa teased.
“Rubbish!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I countered. “Didn’t I hear someone got killed up here fairly recently?”
“Yes, indeed. Struck by lightning. An archaeologist, too, if I remember correctly,” Isa said.
“It is true,” Jonathan admitted. “These temples are not the safest places in a storm. A well-known archaeologist was unfortunate enough to be on the top of the Temple of the Warriors during one. He was struck dead.”
“The Chac Mool, no doubt, was briefly appeased,” I said. “Although he isn’t saying, I suspect he regards Henry Moore as a mere blip in the passage of time.” Lucas smiled for the second time since I had met him.
“Oh, no, here come those little monsters again,” Isa groaned.
She was right. It was the two kids, leaders of the pack, their mothers still in hot and breathless pursuit.
Jonathan grabbed my hand and we descended the steps, turning north across the plaza, then past what is called the Venus platform, then onto a trail, now lined with numerous souvenir stands, heading east.
“This may look like an ordinary trail to you, or perhaps even an excuse for an outdoor market.” Jonathan smiled, still holding my hand. “But it is, in fact, a remnant of an ancient Maya road or sacbe There are traces of these sacbaob throughout the peninsula, many of them apparently linking the major cities.”
His voice trailed on, noting various points of interest, but I was not really listening. Instead I was thinking how long it had been since I’d held someone’s hand, and how nice it felt. Such simple gestures of closeness had so long been missing from my life—from most of my marriage, not to put too fine a point on it—that I felt I wanted to hold his hand forever.
Too soon we came to the end of the trail and stood by the edge of the Sacred Cenote or Well of Sacrifice.
The cenote, or dzonot in Mayan, is huge, 180 feet in diameter, almost exactly circular, and from the high edge, one looks at least eighty feet down to the water. The sides are striated limestone, with scrub bushes clinging to them.
Jonathan slipped amiably back into his role as professor and tour guide.
“As impressive as it is as a natural phenomenon—a cenote occurs when the walls of underground caves and rivers collapse and break through to the surface—it is its man-made context—”
“Cross-eyed virgins!” Isa interrupted, winking at me.
She was referring to the very popular notion that the Itza sacrificed cross-eyed virgins in the cenote to appease the gods.
“As scarce as water is in this area,” Jonathan continued, undeterred, “we don’t believe this cenote was used as a water system. It may have been used for ritual or sacrificial purposes. The well has been dredged several times and a great trove of artifacts has been found—jade, gold, and about fifty skeletons.”
“Aha, the cross-eyed virgins at last.” Isa laughed.
“As it turns out,” Jonathan said, “the skeletons are of adults and children, both male and female.
“And to borrow a phrase from one of my learned colleagues, if any or all of them were either cross-eyed, or virgins, let’s just say their skeletal remains do not give us enough information to be definitive on the subject,” Jonathan said dryly.
We all laughed at that.
“I think what is interesting about these places is that you always have a sense of something, some power, when you are in a place considered to be sacred,” I said.
Lucas looked bemused, Jonathan slightly perplexed.
“Meaning?”
“You can understand why these walls were so special. They were supposed to be the entrances to the watery underworld, to Xibalba, the realm of the Lords of Death.
“Have you noticed how still and heavy the air is here. Almost oppressive. Back in the plaza there was quite a pleasant breeze. I’m sure there is a physical explanation for this—we’re in a sort of a depression here, aren’t we?—but to me there is an almost hypnotic quality to this place. Sacrificial victims might be drawn to their deaths by its power.”
“Or maybe they just fell in,” Jonathan suggested. “This place was occupied for centuries. Fifty skeletons is not a lot over that time period.”
“If they fell in, why didn’t they climb out?” Isa queried.
“Have you seen how far down the water is? And the sides are worn smooth down below by the water. It would be an extremely difficult climb,” Jonathan explained.
“The Itza were supposed to be water wizards or something, weren’t they?” Isa asked.
“That’s correct,” Jonathan answered. “That’s the literal translation of Itza, and Chichen Itza is the Mouth of the Well of the Itza. This was, as Lara points out, a very sacred place.
“But all this talk of water is making me thirsty. How about lunch? If I remember correctly, there is a little cafe nearby. Not fancy but the food is good. You’ll love it, Isa. It has a tacky mural of nubile cross-eyed virgins, all trussed up, being hurled into the cenote while lascivious gods look on.”
We headed back along the sacbe, pausing to allow a gaggle of tourists following a guide carrying a sun umbrella to go by.
“Perfect timing,” Isa murmured. “Let’s get out of here!”
On our way, we took a detour through the famous ball court, where games of life and death were played. Jonathan told us that the Itza did not record their history in hieroglyphics, as the classic Maya did, but instead chose to adorn the walls of the ball court with the most amazing pictorial carvings, some depicting their creation mythology, many others their ritual game.
“In this ball game, the ball is believed to have been a symbol of the movement of the sun through the sky, and the game itself therefore had the highest ritualistic importance,” Jonathan said. “To lose was to die—by decapitation or by having your heart cut out. Such deaths ensured that the universe would continue to unfold as it should.”
While Isa, Jonathan, and I lingered over the carvings, enjoying the sunshine, Lucas went off to talk to some of the guides and groundskeepers.
Later we crossed the great plaza, pausing only long enough to see hordes of tourists climbing up and down El Castillo like busy little ants at a picnic. Perfect timing, indeed.