We took the Jeep and headed west, Jonathan driving this time, doubling back along the old Highway 180 to the cafe he had spoken of.
He was right about its decor. There really was a mural depicting young women being hurled into the cenote. Whatever the artist lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. We opted to eat in a little courtyard out back.
After a lunch of sopa de lima and grilled fish, we lingered over the last of our wine and beer, and inevitably the talk turned to the murder of Luis Vallespino and the disappearance of Don Hernan.
“Do either of you have any idea where Don Hernan might be?” Jonathan asked.
“None,” we both agreed.
“I suppose we can take some comfort that the police are looking for him, even if it is for the wrong reason,” I said, although I was not entirely convinced of this myself.
We all nodded at that.
“Does anyone really believe he had anything to do with the robbery?” Isa asked.
“Or the murder?” I added.
Isa looked surprised. I told her about my conversation with Major Martinez. “He really seems to feel Don Hernan is implicated in all of this.”
“Speaking of Martinez,” I said, “How did Don Santiago get me sprung, to use your expression, Jonathan?”
“He just called some of his former colleagues in the government. We should tell you a couple of things, though,” Isa said, glancing at Jonathan, who nodded.
“My father does not much like what he is hearing about Major Martinez, and he suspects that your freedom today may not last, unfortunately. He thinks Martinez will have the ban on your leaving the hotel reinstated very soon.”
“So enjoy your freedom while you can, Lara,” Jonathan said.
I took that one in, then changed the subject.
“Does anyone know anything about Luis Vallespino?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” Jonathan replied.
“All I know about him is that his older brother is in one of Alejandro’s classes at the university. No one has associated him with Don Hernan in any way,” Isa said.
“Except that he was found dead right over Don Hernan’s head, as it were,” Jonathan interjected.
While we chatted Lucas left us again, and I could see him through the doorway, talking in an animated fashion to the waiter. Obviously he was not quite so taciturn in others’ company.
“I have a suggestion,” Jonathan said, changing to a more pleasant subject when Lucas returned to the table. “There’s lots more of Chichen Itza to see, and we could easily spend the rest of the afternoon here.
“But Lucas and I are working on a very interesting project not too far away. We’re excavating in an underground cavern. Would you like to see it?”
“Definitely!” I said. Isa agreed.
Lucas drove this time, back to the highway, then east. Several miles from Chichen Itza, he pulled onto a dusty dirt road marked no exit. We followed it for another mile or two, until near its end, we sighted some activity. Lucas pulled the Jeep off the road and parked it beside a couple of old pickup trucks and three very ancient Volkswagens of the sort endearingly called Bugs.
“The fleet,” Jonathan said, gesturing toward the vehicles with a smile.
We walked a few yards through the forest on a trail that had been cleared in a rudimentary fashion, soon coming upon what at a distance had appeared to be an outcropping of limestone. Up close, it was possible to see a narrow entrance to a cave. A small generator puffed and belched outside.
This part of the Yucatan is very, very flat and there are no surface rivers. There are only two physical features of note, one, the green mounds that often hide ancient ruins, the second, the unseen caves and rivers beneath the limestone surface.
“This is a little tricky here, at the start,” Jonathan said as Lucas slid down a fairly steep slope and soon disappeared.
“Come on,” he shouted, and Isa, casting a mock-terrified glance in my direction, followed him.
I went next. The entrance to the cave angled steeply downward, and it was rather muddy. I found myself sliding as the others had, and was very glad to have Lucas offering a steadying hand until I reached the point where the ground leveled out. Jonathan followed closely behind.
We were in a tunnel, lit by a few lightbulbs strung on a long wire from the generator at the entrance.
In this spot, it was possible for all of us, including Jonathan, who was tallest, to stand quite easily, but ahead there were some very low overhangs.
Lucas led the way, sticking to what appeared to be the main tunnel, which was barely wide enough for one person to pass. Workmen were coming and going, and when one of them approached with a wheelbarrow, we had to press ourselves flat against the wall of the tunnel.
Occasionally we needed to crawl on our hands and knees under low overhangs. From time to time I could see side tunnels branching off into darkness.
The tunnel always angled downward, and the air became increasingly warm and dank as we proceeded.
After several minutes of this, when we must have been many feet below the surface, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, and we found ourselves in a large round cavern, several yards in diameter.
Here a very bright spotlight had been set up, and in its beam, three or four workmen were patiently brushing away at the rock face on one side of the cavern.
Two huge carved masks dominated the cavern, one on each side. Still partially covered in dirt, they were nonetheless impressive, at least seven or eight feet high, with large eyes complete with staring pupils, long noses, and earlobes adorned with large round ornaments. Mouths agape, lips drawn back, tongues protruding, they were Chacs, Maya rain gods, much revered by the Yucatecan Maya at the time of the conquest.
After several minutes of gazing almost hypnotically at the masks, I became aware of the sound of water. At the far side of the cavern was another tunnel. This one, however, dropped off precipitously into darkness.
At the bottom, Jonathan told us, was a cenote, a smaller version of the Well of Sacrifice we had seen earlier at Chichen Itza. A rather rudimentary rope fence strung from wooden stakes protected the edge. Leaning over, it was not possible to see the water below. Jonathan dropped a pebble. It bounced down the sides, and then splashed. The water was a long way down.
“Are there artifacts down there?” I asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Jonathan replied. “We aren’t planning to dredge the cenote until we finish the work up here, several weeks from now. As you can appreciate, it will be quite a task, with no daylight to help us.”
Over to one side was a mound of pieces of rock, bits of bone, pottery, and other things.
“What are these?” I asked.
“That”—Jonathan smiled—“is what we archaeologists lovingly refer to as the GOK pile—God Only Knows. We’ll work on identifying it all later.
“But come and see what we can identify,” Jonathan urged, taking us over to some large wooden crates, about three feet by four feet, in which were laid out trays of pottery shards, all carefully numbered and cataloged and set in unbleached cotton, beads that might be jade, and in one tray, beautifully carved flint blades, each different, and each a magnificent work of art.
“So far we have found eight of these blades,” Jonathan explained.
“There will be nine,” Lucas said. “Nine blades for the nine Lords of Darkness.” His infrequent contributions to the conversations never failed to surprise me.
“Lucas may be right. There is no question these caves were considered to be entrances to the underworld, to Xibalba. We believe this must have been a very sacred spot. We don’t really know why these blades were hidden here, or what ceremonies may have taken place beneath the surface of the earth, but we feel it must have been important,” Jonathan said.