But the Maya are a resilient people. Denied their language and their books, they wrote down their history in secret, using the only alphabet they knew by that time, the alphabet of their conquerors. Without that stubborn tradition, the Popol Vuh of the Quiche Maya and the books of Chilam Balam of the Yucatecan Maya would not exist, and the ancient culture would be virtually lost in the mists of time.
What was lost for centuries, in fact until very recently, was glyphic literacy, the ability to read the old hieroglyphic language and many of the stories and history that went with it.
It was an unbelievable tragedy. The Maya were not as technically advanced as some civilizations. They did not use the wheel, for example, nor did they work with metals. They were no more or less warlike than their neighbors, no greater custodians of the environment.
Instead, their great achievements were those of the intellect. They invented zero and place-system numerals, something the cultures of ancient Greece and Rome never did. They had an intricate way of measuring and recording the passage of time. They measured the visible cycles of the heavens and had the ability to understand them mathematically.
But perhaps their greatest achievement was their literacy. The Inca of Peru, despite their artistic and architectural achievements, had no written language. There were other written languages in Mesoamerica certainly and the Maya were not the first to develop a writing system.
What the Maya had that many other groups did not was a fully functional written language that represented the spoken word and could be used to convey complex ideas, something that made them the most literate of all Mesoamerican civilizations.
Scribes were valued and honored members of the society, and their work recognized through glyphs that named them. Writing, whether in the folded bark-paper books now called codices, or in stone on monuments, was treasured. And while it is highly unlikely that everyone in classic Maya times could read and write, there is evidence to suggest that the elite could.
All that is left of this language, which the Maya themselves nurtured and preserved for centuries before the arrival of the Spaniards, are fragments from ruined cities, and four codices, each one a tattered window into the past.
The question for me was, was it possible there were five? And if so, where would the fifth be?
The question of whether or not there could be another was a pretty basic one. While, as Alex had told me, one codex, the Grolier, had surfaced in 1971, found somewhere in the region maybe thirty years earlier, it was in extremely bad condition. As time went on it became less and less likely that another could be found.
Under what conditions, I wondered, would one of these survive at least five centuries?
Jonathan had said we should work together on Don Hernan’s murder. And he would know the answers to my questions if anyone would. But I was afraid to ask. It required a level of trust in him and our relationship that I could not yet summon.
Who else? Lucas? That would require even more of a stretch than Jonathan.
Antonio Valesquez.
I returned to the museo and his dusty little library. He actually looked mildly pleased to see me.
“Antonio,” I said, “I’m exploring your idea about a book. But I keep wondering how a book would survive these many years. Even the first-edition Stephens that Don Hernan left me in his will is not in great condition. The leather is worn, the pages damaged in some cases by the damp. And it dates from 1841.
“How could something made of paper survive from before the Conquest?”
“Certainly I can find you some books on conservation, piles of them actually, since this is a museum. I think, however, there may be a faster way,” he said. “I think I owe you what you call lunch. Meet me at the Cafe Piramide. It’s in the market area.”
“I know where it is,” I said.
“I’ll be there with a colleague of mine. One-thirty all right with you?”
“See you there.” I nodded.
I had no trouble finding the cafe this time around, and was waiting at a table when Antonio approached with a young man, early twenties I would say, in white slacks and T-shirt, his ears well decorated with pierced earrings and studs. The most surprising thing about him was his hair, cut very short, and very blond, bleached to within an inch of its life, and by an amateur at that. It was quite the fashion statement.
“Meet Ernesto Diaz, one of our more talented conservators. The one who was working on the vase I was telling you about the other day.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Same here,” he said.
We ordered our meal. In Mexico, the food at this time of day is often taken from what is called the corn kitchen, a cuisine that dates back to Aztec times. In those times, corn had to be dried, then boiled with lime, then ground. Now, of course, you can buy the flour, masa harina, in any grocery store. Sort of takes the romance out of it, though.
We ordered an assortment of green enchiladas with coriander and green tomatillos, enchiladas with mole sauce, and tamales, Yucatan style, with spicy peppers and chicken, and a pitcher of beer to wash it all down.
We were well into the food before we finally got around to the subject at hand.
“Senora McClintoch has an interesting question for you, Ernesto, for a paper she is writing for her graduate degree in Mesoamerican studies,” Antonio began. He could lie with almost the same facility as I.
“It’s Lara, please, Ernesto,” I said as the young man turned to me with some interest.
He smiled. “And the problem?”
“I’m researching Maya codices,” I began. “The background, the provenance, of the last one, the Grolier, is rather…”
“Vague?” he offered.
“Vague,” I agreed. “I know that carbon dating has made it the oldest of the four—”
“Early 1200s,” he agreed.
“But surely that is not possible! How could something as old as that, and that kind of material survive, even in terrible condition for that long?”
“Interesting question,” he said. “Not our field, you know. Terra-cotta is what we do. We would have to think about that, wouldn’t we?”
We waited.
“They’re made of fig-bark paper, we believe. Organic. Cellulosic. But coated in gesso or something, probably mineral in origin. The worst thing in this climate is the dampness, the relative humidity. Encourages mold. That’s the real killer. That’s one of the reasons the codices in Europe are in such bad shape. Even if they were cared for once they arrived, which they probably weren’t, there was only one way to get there in those days—by ship. Nasty, damp journey!
“At least one kept here would not have to survive a sea journey. And the good news is that bark often contains a natural fungicide. That would protect it for a while. But it would still have to be somewhere where it could be kept relatively dry.
“Lots of other things to worry about; secondary, though. Paper is very susceptible to acids. But the soil here is alkaline—limestone. That’s one good thing. And paper is relatively unaffected by light, although we’re not so sure about whatever they used for inks. Colors might easily fade. Probably not a problem, though, since the fact that the Grolier only surfaced recently would indicate it was kept well hidden, presumably in a dark place. Bugs, though. Insects and bacteria. Thrive in the warm damp climate,” he mused.