Why did I go willingly?
Maybe some recessive impulsive gene surfaced in me at this late stage. Maybe all the hurt and resentment of the past year or so got focused on these events. Or maybe I just got mad.
I think, though, it was something more fundamentaclass="underline"
Don Hernan had called me amiga. He’d thought he needed a partner in this undertaking, and he’d called on me.
I guess I just had to do something.
The next day, Lamat, a day associated with the rabbit, was as good a day as any to start. I’d have to solve the riddle, find the rabbit, and follow it wherever it took me.
I’d already committed at least one illegal act—theft— and from a murder scene at that. Better make that two. I’d withheld information about a crime, the robbery in the bar, from the police. Before this was played out, there might be more.
This would not make the federal police, particularly Major Ignacio Martinez, happy.
I decided that when it came right down to it, I didn’t much care what Major Martinez thought.
LAMAT
It is the bottom of the eighth inning of the final ball game between the mythic Hero Twins and the Lords of Xibalba. It does not look good for our heroes. The evil lords have cut off Hunahpu’s head and have substituted it for the ball!
The other twin, Xbalanque, however, has a plan of his own. Taking a leaf from the Xibalbans’ book, he asks a rabbit to wait in the bushes near the edge of the ball court and then lobs his brother’s head in that direction.
The rabbit, in a star turn if ever there was one, bounds away right on cue. The Xibalbans think the rabbit is the head, of course, and run shrieking after it. With the Xibalbans thus distracted, Xbalanque has time to replace Hanahpu’s head. Victory over the Xibalbans is near.
Rabbits pop up everywhere in Maya mythology and history, I found as I worked my way through the reference library at the museo. It was a tedious process. The museo, a private institution, always suffered from inadequate funding, and while the office was the proud owner of a new computer, and the collection itself was gradually being cataloged electronically, the reference-library contents were still cataloged on little cards in little drawers.
Other rabbits I found that day: there is a ruin of a classic Maya structure called Muyil on the eastern coast of the Yucatan peninsula, south of Tulum Pueblo. Muyil means the “Place of Rabbits.”
The Moon Goddess, a young woman sitting in the crescent of the moon, is often shown holding a rabbit, according to the texts. This is probably because the Maya discerned the outline of a rabbit in the dark areas of the full moon, just as we think we see a man.
Rabbits are also listed in Friar Diego de Landa’s Relation de las cosas de Yucatan, a document the infamous Spanish priest wrote in 1566 to defend himself against accusations that he had been too harsh in his treatment of the Maya—even for the times of the Inquisition! He describes the local hare as large and good to eat.
I even found a traditional recipe for rabbit cooked in sherry, tomatoes, and jalapeno peppers.
As far as I knew, none of these rabbits was known to have written anything.
The library at the museo was a dusty, airless old place with only one window, presided over by one Senor Dr. Antonio Valesquez.
Valesquez struck me as the quintessential librarian, a man with an obsession about order, procedure, and silence. I don’t expect anyone ever called him Antonio in that place.
I got an early start, and learning that Dona Josefina was still indisposed, due to the shock of Don Hernan’s death, made my way directly to the library when the museo opened at nine. Exactly at the appointed opening time of nine-fifteen, Valesquez opened the library doors, a most unusual occurrence in Mexico.
Considering the events of the last few days, this punctuality was particularly surprising, but Valesquez was not the type of person to let a murder or two disrupt the order of his day. Fiftyish, with a shock of gray hair and a habit of absentmindedly picking imaginary lint off everything, he looked at me over the tops of his reading glasses and stated quite firmly that this library was for serious research only, and not open to the general public.
Fortunately I had brought my University of Toronto student card, which identified me as a graduate student in Mesoamerican studies. That was enough to get me through the door, but not as a welcome guest.
“Senor doctor,” I began. I found myself whispering as he was, even though only two of us were in the room. “I am doing a research paper on natural symbolism in the Maya pantheon, and was directed to you as a possible source of material.”
“And who might have directed you here?” He sniffed.
“Dr. Hernan Castillo,” I lied. I’d rehearsed this lie, as usual, and it slid off my tongue with amazing facility. “Dr. Castillo has been most helpful with my research, which he felt was an unusual subject that held much promise. I’ve had several conversations with him from Toronto, and I hoped to be able to speak with him on this visit, but have been unable to reach him,” I continued.
It looked for a moment as if Valesquez’s composure would crack, but his library training took over.
“Dr. Castillo has met with an unfortunate accident,” he said, ignoring as I had the lurid headlines on the front pages of all the local papers. I made suitable noises of surprise and regret.
“While his expertise clearly exceeds mine manyfold,” he went on, “I will assist you in any way I can. What particular natural symbolism are you interested in?” he whispered.
“Rabbits,” I said.
He nodded gravely. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. I expect one gets all kinds of weird requests in a library such as this. He showed me to the card catalog and led me through it. As he spoke he patted any index card foolhardy enough to be even a millimeter out of line back into place.
“Everything here is cataloged by subject and author using the Dewey Decimal System. I am personally familiar with most of the books here, and can direct you to some to begin your work. Rare books and first editions are available only on special request, in writing, to my office. No book may be removed from the premises. And of course, no food or drink is allowed here,” he concluded.
He didn’t need to tell me this. There were signs everywhere.
I made my way to a table at the back of the room protected by the book stacks and pulled out a chair. It made a scraping sound as it slid against the marble floor, and brought the inevitable “look” from the librarian. I would obviously have to mind my library manners here.
After a couple of hours I had found the rabbits I’ve already mentioned, and had several more books to work through. It was laborious work hand-copying anything I wanted to remember. There was no photocopier in sight and I was afraid to ask if one might be available. Clearly I was here on sufferance, and I didn’t wish to wear out my welcome.
I still had not told anyone about the writing rabbit, and I would have dearly liked to ask advice from someone more knowledgeable in this field. My study had been restricted to the Mayan language, to hieroglyphics, and while one inevitably learns a great deal about a civilization this way, my studies were still at a very rudimentary level.
The only two people I knew who would know more about this than I, now that Don Hernan was gone, were Jonathan and Lucas.
And what did I know of them, other than that both were archaeologists? Jonathan Hamelin was British— Cambridge University, he had said—pale and aristocratic in bearing, wore nice shoes, and rented a nice little house. I also liked holding his hand.