“That is what we’re trying to find out, isn’t it? Where the Grolier might have been?” he observed.
I nodded. If Antonio was prepared to lie to this man, so was I.
“That would be an interesting area of study. There are lots of rumors, of course.”
“For example?”
“The most likely one is that it was found in a cave near Tayasol, by grave robbers.”
“Where’s that?”
“Tayasol, or Tah Itza, was the last stronghold of the Itza before they were subdued by the Spanish in the late 1600s. It was located where the town of Flores in Guatemala is now.”
“So if it were in a cave, wouldn’t that take care of a lot of the problems—light, for example? The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in caves,” I said.
“Yes, but not the bugs, and certainly not the mold. The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in caves in a desert climate.”
“What about tombs? You’d think sealing them in tombs would do it, wouldn’t you?” I said, growing slightly impatient with all these musings.
“We might think so, but that has not proven to be the case. Books were very special to the Maya, so we would expect they were put in the tombs all right. Something to pass the time in eternity.” He laughed. “But they haven’t been found in tombs.”
“Tomb robbers?”
“Maybe, in some cases. But really, tombs are not that well sealed, and even if they are, there is a lot of air in them when they’re closed up. Damp air, at that. So the air and the pests just work away at the books in the tomb.”
He paused for a while, munching an enchilada.
“What we would be looking for would be an environment in equilibrium. Away from energy sources like light, heat, vibration, and other materials that would react with the book.”
He paused for a few seconds. “Ideally, we’d want our book sealed in a container, something waterproof and resistant to the alkaline environment.”
“What would that be?” I asked.
“Well, limestone itself, although it’s pretty porous. Most siliceous materials—ceramics, glass, and stone— would do. Jade survives nicely, as does flint, obsidian. Terra-cotta, too, although that may be too porous.
“It should be a small container. Not too much air. If it could be sealed, well, all the better. The idea here is for the environment in the box to come to equilibrium quickly and stay that way.
“So we’d say a box. A stone box. With only the codex in it. We’ve never heard of them making stone boxes, but why not? Maya scribes worked in stone all the time—the Maya built whole cities. So why not carve out a box of some kind?
“If we remember correctly, these codices had wooden or jaguar-fur covers. It would be better if they were not in the box with the paper. Too complicated when there are greater numbers of materials. They react differently and can affect each other detrimentally.
“What we’d really like would be to seal the box in plastic wrap. Won’t do, of course.” He laughed.
“So what would we seal it in, then?” I asked, falling into his particular speech affectation.
“We’d have to think about that for a minute. We wonder if the Maya had raincoats of any sort at that time. Cloth—they had cotton, I’m sure—coated in some substance to repel water. We used to think the Maya didn’t know about rubber, but recently there has been evidence that suggests they might have. Don’t know much about natural rubbers myself, what the long-term survival of natural rubber would be, so couldn’t say much about that. Maybe some kind of gum.”
He chewed on his enchilada some more.
“Waxes!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Of course! Much more waterproof than gums. The Maya were great beekeepers. How about beeswax? Gum elemi? It’s found in the Yucatan. Or candelilla wax. It’s from a weed native to Mexico. Even bitumen. It’s a natural asphaltic material we bet they knew about. Any of these could be used.”
“So are we saying that it is possible one might have survived, in reasonable condition, all this time?” I asked.
“Depends on our definition of reasonable. The Grolier is in terrible condition. Theoretically, though, it should be possible for one to survive in better shape than that. But we were researching the Grolier, were we not? Or perhaps we are looking for another!” he said slowly, excitement in his eyes.
“Only in theory,” I said, wondering if this conversation had gone too far.
I thanked him for his help and changed the subject as quickly as I could without looking too obvious. I could see I had not been that successful, so I excused myself and went looking for the washroom.
It was at the back of the restaurant, and on my return, I once again found myself witnessing, from the relative darkness of the restaurant proper, a scene between friends. As I watched, Ernesto reached out and put his hand on Antonio’s knee, and then quickly kissed him on the cheek. The Cafe Piramide was quite a romantic spot.
By the time I got back to the table, everything was back to a businesslike atmosphere. Both were discussing some research that was needed. But I understood a little better why Antonio had spent so much time helping the conservator find the picture of the vase with the rabbit scribe, and why Ernesto had been so helpful on first meeting.
I told them it was time for me to go, thanking Ernesto for his help and Antonio for lunch, and headed back to the inn. I made a slight detour, however, to the hospital where Dona Josefina still lay paralyzed. There was little or no improvement, the sister told me.
I sat by her bedside once again, holding her hand. I asked her if I should be looking for a fifth Mayan hieroglyphic codex, and she pressed one for yes.
I asked her if she knew where it was. She pressed two for no.
I wanted to sit with her a little longer, so I told her I had been to a spectacular party, and all about the house, the food, the guests, my new dress. But when I told her that it was at the Gomez Arias residence, she became agitated, so much so that I called the nursing sister to the bedside.
Sister Maria told me that she would take care of her, but that it would be better if I left. I did, much agitated myself. I did not wish to cause Dona Josefina grief, but I thought I needed to know what upset her about Gomez Arias.
All of this was forgotten, however, when I got back to the hotel. The Ortiz family was in considerable distress, to an extent that it took me a while to figure out what happened.
Major Martinez had arrived at the hotel with a warrant for Alejandro’s arrest, not just for the robbery of the statue of Itzamna, but for the murder of Don Hernan.
Ricardo Vallespino, Luis’s brother had also been charged, as were a couple of other students at the university. The police said these were the ringleaders of the Children of the Talking Cross. Luis, though dead, was named as a participant.
Alejandro had been led away in handcuffs. Once again I was confined to the hotel, as an important witness to some of these events.
IX
Our champions, the hero twins, after entering the realm of Xibalba by climbing down into a deep abyss and crossing a river of blood, are set a series of tests by the Lords of Darkness, any one of which would appear to mean certain death.
The first night they must spend in the Dark House, given one lit torch and a lighted cigar each, and told that the torch and the cigars must be returned in this same condition when the night is over. The crafty twins substitute a bright macaw feather for the torch flame, and fireflies for the cigar tips, and are able to return the objects as requested.
Next they enter the Razor House, but are able to persuade the knives not to cut them by promising them the flesh of animals. As a little added joke, they send an army of ants to take the flowers of One and Seven Death, two of the nastiest Lords of them all.