I sat in the study for a long time, watching the shadows grow longer as the sun set.
I heard a car approaching. Jonathan, I assumed. I went to the study window and watched as the Jeep parked. It was not Jonathan who got out, but Lucas.
My heart pounding, I grabbed my shoulder bag and let myself out by the glass doors at the back, running past the swimming pool, through a hole in the hedge, and then onto a dirt road. I didn’t stop running until I was completely out of breath, then I ducked into the brush at the side of the road and waited, almost paralyzed with fear, to see if Lucas was following me.
When it was completely dark, and there was no sign of anyone coming after me, I crept back on to the road and walked out to the old highway, where I flagged down a car. I told the driver, a very pleasant man by the name of Renaldo Salinas that I needed to get to La Huaca de Chac, the name I’d heard at the taxi stand. He told me it was not far, and he obligingly took a slight detour down a road marked no exit to drop me off.
I found myself in a little town not far from Jonathan’s archaeological site. The town was marked with a bright pole light, and was made up of only a few buildings, including a general store, not open, and a little cafe.
I went into the cafe where the wife of the proprietor, who told me her name was Guadelupe, offered me a home-cooked meal of panuchos with a glass of cold beer. I showed her Don Hernan’s photograph, and she recognized him at once.
“He had a meal here, a week or so ago,” she said. “He was a very kind man. He gave Arturo—my little boy—a few pesos and was very nice to him. He sat out on the veranda for quite a long time. I did not see him leave.”
“I need a place to stay, Guadelupe. I’m tired, and I’m kind of desperate. Can you think of anywhere I could stay that is not expensive?”
She gestured toward the back, and I followed her through the kitchen. We crossed a little yard—I could smell oranges—and she showed me into a little na, or wood hut with a palapa roof. In it was a hammock, a washbasin, and some towels. Everything was scrupulously clean.
The price, she said, was twenty pesos, just a few dollars, which would include a light breakfast the next morning. The bathroom was across the yard in the main building, next to the kitchen. I nodded and she left me there with a candle or two and some matches.
I lay in the hammock staring up at the palapa roof. I felt that all the information there was to know, maybe I knew already. That somewhere in my mind I knew where the codex was, and that if only I thought hard enough, the idea would surface. Today being Caban, a very powerful day in the Maya calendar, one associated with earthquakes and thought, the idea should come to me soon.
I lay there waiting for inspiration, convinced that I would be unable to sleep in a hammock, but sleep—and dream—I did.
I am running through the forest chasing a giant rabbit once again. This time I see that he carries a codex with Smoking Frog’s glyph on the cover.
As I am about to catch him we come upon a portal marked with the sign of the Maw of Xibalba. It looks odd, a doorway in the middle of a path in the forest, but the rabbit and I step through it.
Then I am falling through utter darkness, a babble of voices I cannot understand around me. The wind whistles in my ears.
Watching me from way above are two hooded figures. One has the face and the bright tail feathers of a macaw, a bird often part of the headgear of the Lords of Xibalba.
The other has the face of an owl, a death bird, and one of the few creatures left to worship the dark Lords after their defeat.
I fall farther and farther into the darkness until this time I hit bottom. I am in inky darkness, barely able to tell which way is up.
I know there is another presence here, but for some reason I am not afraid. The smallest glimmer of light reveals a black jaguar watching me, and I realize that his eyes are providing the light by which I can see him.
The jaguar makes a gesture with his head that I take to mean “follow me,” and I step into the darkness.
I awoke and needed a moment to get my bearings. I had been awakened by the arrival of a pickup truck, its muffler in serious need of replacing.
I crept to the door of the little hut and looked back toward the cafe. It was closed now, only one light illuminating the back door.
Guadelupe had told me that her husband had taken a second job to help make ends meet and that she was expecting him very late. I saw a light in the cafe come on briefly, then go out, then another go on in the bathroom just off the restaurant. I assumed the proprietor was home for the night.
It was a while before I returned to my hammock and was able to sleep again. For a long time I sat in the doorway, looking up at the millions of stars of the southern sky, which seemed to me to be suspended only a few feet above my head.
I was not entirely sure what my dream meant, all those strange creatures, and the fall into darkness. But one thing it had made clear to me was that what I sought was right under my nose, and had been all the time.
ETZ’NAB
And how, and by whom, are the Lords of Darkness defeated? Is it by someone pure of heart and spirit who overcomes all temptations to win the day? Or by a great warrior who kills the monster and saves the world? Or someone who gives up his life so that the rest may be saved?
Not at all. The Lords of Darkness are defeated by a pair of ragtag dancers and magicians, through nothing more lofty than trickery.
The Xibalbans, convinced their enemies the Hero Twins have been utterly defeated, are interested to hear of two vagabonds who are said to perform amazing feats of magic.
Looking for some entertainment, the Xibalbans command the two to come and perform for them. The two vagabonds protest that they are not adequate enough entertainers to perform for the Lords, but they come anyway. They will not reveal their names.
So they appear before the Lords of Darkness. They dance the dance of the poorwill, the dance of the weasel, the dance of the armadillo.
They set fire to a house and restore it. They kill a dog and bring it back to life. The Xibalbans thirst for more and demand a human sacrifice. A man is chosen, his heart ripped out, and then he, too, is brought back to life. Needless to say, he is very happy to be alive.
Even that is not enough to satisfy the Lords, who demand that the vagabonds sacrifice themselves. So Xbalanque (because of course the vagabonds are the Hero Twins still—or is once again?—alive) sacrifices Hunahpu and brings him back to life as well.
The Lords of Darkness then ask to be part of the performance. They want to be sacrificed and brought back to life, too. One Death, head Lord of Xibalba, and Seven Death step forward.
One Death goes first. He is sacrificed. The vagabonds do not bring him back to life. Seven Death pleads for mercy, but he, too, is sacrificed. The rest of the Lords cower before the magicians, and the Hero Twins reveal themselves. The defeat of the Lords of Xibalba is complete.
i awoke to a very strange sensation. I felt as if the room were swaying, and I could feel hot breath on my face. It was a baffling experience, but when I opened my eyes, all became clear. There was little Arturo peering at me from very close up. He was also rocking the hammock. It was the first time I had felt like laughing in days, and I did, a hearty laugh that sent him scurrying for safety. Guadelupe was looking for him, and she was displeased to find her son bothering me. I told her it was okay, and that I would be over to the cafe shortly for a cup of coffee.
It didn’t take me long to get there. I’d slept in my clothes, of course. I had nothing else. I was counting on the general store for a lot of things.