Sky People

by Ardy Sixkiller Clarke

  In this chapter, you will meet Rodrigo, an elderly Zapotec Indian, who told me a story of the luminous orbs that once visited the elders of his people.

  On my fourth day in San Cristóbal, Benito and I left early in the morning for the trip to Oaxaca City. It was a nine-hour, laborious drive to the infamous city, known more for the Zapatista rebels and the violence that often came with the rebel movement. One night, as I sat in the inner courtyard of a small, boutique hotel in Oaxaca City, Mexico, an elderly man, who was the groundskeeper, sat down on a bench next to me. “I have seen you around several days, Señora. How long are you staying?”

  “About ten days.”

  “It’s good to take your time and enjoy our beautiful city.” His straight, black hair streaked with an occasional strand of white was pulled back into a small ponytail. His dark, rugged facial features reminded me of a 1950s Western movie star. As I tried in vain to recall the actor’s name, I watched my companion curiously. I had seen him around the hotel on many occasions during my stay. Had it not been for his dark blue jumpsuit, the uniform of the male hotel workers, I would have thought he owned the hotel. He seemed to be involved in every aspect of the management, yet I overheard him tell another guest that he was the gardener. “Thank you for choosing our hotel. We are small, but very proud of our service. If you ever need anything, just call for Rodrigo. I will take care of everything.”

  “I am very happy here at the hotel. My room is wonderful. The food is great and I love your city, the ancient sites, and the chocolate,” I said, emphasizing the word chocolate. A smile crossed his face at the mention of chocolate.

  “Oh sí, the chocolate. This is the city of chocolate.”

  “The city smells of chocolate. Too much temptation.” The elderly man slapped his knees and laughed, shaking his head.

  “It is true. Women love chocolate,” he said.

  “I am no exception,” I replied. He smiled and winked as if I had shared a special secret with him.

  “Have you come for the ancient sites or the chocolate?” he teased.

  “I have come to see the ancient sites, and to talk to people about ancient legends of Star People and Sky Gods—and for the chocolate.”

  “Ah, the Star People. We have many stories. May I ask, where have you visited?” he asked.

  “I spent two days at Monte Alban, and one day at Mitla and Yagul. I went to see the tree at Tule. I have been visiting some of the outlying villages.”

  “Most people come and go and see nothing. There is power here if you are open to it.”

  “I feel the spirituality. It is everywhere.”

  “Very interesting. We will talk again.” He stood and walked away. I caught a waiter’s attention, ordered a bottle of water, and moved to a table in the corner of the hotel plaza. I watched as the elderly man wandered the area removing dead flowers and leaves from the carpet-like lawn area. After he finished, he moved toward my table.

  “Tomorrow—with your approval, of course—I will take you to the place that sells the best chocolate in all of Oaxaca City,” he said.

  “Thank you. I would love to go with you.”

  “And tonight, if you would like to join me for dinner, I can tell you about the star travelers,” he said. “Shall I pick you up at 7?” he asked.

  “Seven is perfect.”

  Promptly at 7 p.m., a knock came on the door of my room. I opened it and Rodrigo stood there, dressed in black dress pants and a white short-sleeved shirt that was a common attire of men in the city. His hair appeared as though he had just visited a barber. “Have you eaten at the Casa Oaxaca Restaurant?” he asked.

  “No. I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “Good. I have reserved a rooftop table for privacy. It offers a wonderful view of the Santo Domingo Church. I think you will enjoy it. And we will be able to talk there.”

  We walked arm-in-arm a few blocks to the restaurant. The city was alive with vendors and people of all ages. The women nodded and the men slightly bowed as we made our way along the streets. Everyone, even children, stepped aside and cleared the sidewalk as we passed by. There did not appear to be anyone who did not know my companion nor held him in reverence. “I think I am in the presence of royalty,” I said.

  Rodrigo smiled and whispered. “Your suspicions might have been true before the Spanish, but today I am an ordinary man of no consequence.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” I said, but Rodrigo offered no response.

  Once we were settled at the only table on the west side of the roof, I enjoyed the view as Rodrigo placed our order.

  “I hope you do not mind, Señora. There is a special five-course dinner here that is their specialty. I inquired about the meal tonight and ordered for both of us.”

  “It is fine. I trust your judgment. Rodrigo, if you do not mind, may I asked you, how old are you?” He waited, as a waiter appeared with a small bowl of fried chapulines, fried grasshoppers seasoned with chili and lime.

  “I was ninety-one my last birthday,” he said, as he picked up the bowl and offered the edible insects to me. I placed a spoonful on my plate and picked up one and ate. “It is well-known in Oaxaca City that if you eat chapulines, you will always return,” he said with a smile. “I feel very guilty right now,” Rodrigo said. “I ordered these chapulines on purpose. The Zapotec say, anyone who eats chapulines will return to Oaxaca City. It is destiny.” He picked up his Crevasse and toasted me. “Here’s to many dinners like tonight with the amazing Americano,” he said, winking at me. I knew at that moment he did not feel guilty at all, but I did not voice my suspicion. Instead, I tried to keep him focused on his story.

  “You were telling me about yourself. I asked you about your age.”

  “Ah yes. I am ninety-one, and I think I will live ninety-one more years and become a legend,” he said with a broad smile. “I am very strong and healthy.” I looked at the man who sat across from me. His demeanor reminded me of a man at least forty years younger. A self-described Zapotec Indian, he spoke English with a slight accent.

  “What is your secret to a long life?” I asked.

  “I drink only on Saturday night. I eat fruit every day. I use only the plants of the people for medicine. I walk miles every day doing my duties. I dance with young women, and I flirt sometimes, too.” I smiled inwardly as he casually flirted with me.

  “I think you have had a lot of practice dancing and flirting.”

  “True. I have never been married, though. I dedicated myself to the hotel and the people who raised me.”

  “Please, tell me about yourself,” I said.

  “When I was twelve my mama died,” he began. “My father found another woman almost immediately. There was no time to grieve. She married my father the day after my mother was buried. I was unhappy. So sad. My father’s new wife did not want me around. I had two younger brothers and she liked them, but not me. The hotel owner was a distant relative of my mother. I turned to him and he gave me a home. I grew up here. The hotel has been my home ever since those days. I have my own room, good food, and a little pocket money, but I am richer than the richest man in this valley. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time when there were still wise men among the people. They have all passed now, but they were my teachers. They taught me about the old ways and I was a good student. I wanted to know everything about our ancestors. I was lucky to live in their presence.”

  “Did they tell you about the Star People?” I asked.

  “The Star Travelers walked this land—this very place—when I was a boy. The elders communicated with them.”

  “Can you tell me about that?”

  “Have you ever seen the orbs that appear in the sky?”

  “Yes. I have seen them.”

  “We regard the orbs as our ancestors,” he said. “They appear in the night skies as luminous white spheres. Sometimes they are blue or light purple, but always luminous. If you watch the skies at night and you see the orbs, you know it is your ancestor t
rying to reach out to you.”

  “What is the difference between the orbs and UFOs?” I asked.

  “There is no difference. Sometimes the orbs become flying craft. Sometimes they take human form. It depends on their mission.”

  “What kind of mission?”

  “At one time, they came to us as helpers and teachers. They possessed all the knowledge of the great mystery. Now they come only as observers or to collect medicinal plants. Many of the plants that we use as medicine were planted by the Star Travelers to help us. They grow better here than on their home planet.”

  “Have you ever communicated with the Star Travelers?”

  “Only as a young man when the old men were living. The old men were their friends. They would come down from the skies during the ceremonies. But they have not communicated for a very long time. I think they are very disappointed in the road we walk.” He paused as the waitress served a black bean soup seasoned with aniseed. “There is a place in the mountains, a cave, where some say they still come. They rest there and walk the mountains like the old days. I have never seen them, but then I do not go to the mountains anymore. Not since the old ones went away.”

  “Do you believe the Zapotec came from the stars?” I asked.

  “No, Señora. We came from the caves. We are the rock people.” He paused as the waiter served a chicken mole. “This restaurant makes the best mole in Oaxaca,” Rodrigo said. “There are so many moles in the Chiapas, but the black mole is the best.

  “What are the ingredients?” I asked.

  “There are about thirty ingredients. I am not sure I know all of them. I know they use several types of chili peppers, chocolate, cinnamon, tomatillos, tomatoes, cloves, and nuts.”

  “It is delicious.”

  “I made a good choice then.”

  “Yes. A very good choice.” We ate in silence for a few moments and then Rodrigo continued.

  “The Star Travelers came from the sky. We were mutual friends in the cosmos. They helped us and we helped them. The wise men say that in the old days, some of them married our women and took them away to the stars, but the women chose to go with them. They were not taken against their will. The Star People never stayed on Earth. They visited. We called them ancestors because they are older than us. They were not our relatives. They were the ancestors. Their civilization was older. They had more knowledge. Therefore we respected them for that knowledge.”

  “Let me clarify. The ancestors are not your relatives, correct?”

  “Correct. We called them our ancestors because they were an older civilization. After all, we are all related. Everything in the universe is related—even the plants, the trees, the water, the stars, the people of Earth, the people of the stars.”

  “Are there stories about the women who married the Star Men? Did they ever return to Earth or bring their children?”

  “I only have heard of Star Men who took Maya women for wives. But they never returned.”

  “Do you believe the Star Men helped build the ancient cities like Monte Alban?”

  He shook his head. “The Star Men who came to the Zapotec were not builders. They were scientists who roamed the universe looking for plants and medicines to help the civilizations of the world. No, Señora. The Zaptoec and Mixtec built their own great cities. Just look at the diversity of languages and cities. They are all unique. It would take dozens of different Star Groups to have built this [sic] cities. That did not happen.”

  “When was the last time you saw the orbs?” I asked.

  The waiter appeared with hot chocolate and ice cream flavored with rose petals, interrupting his reply. When he was gone, Rodrigo continued. “They come almost every night. You only have to look. To most, they are invisible because they do not have that inner eye or a heart that is open. I think you will see them if you look. You have the right kind of heart.”

  That night, we lingered over two cups of hot chocolate and talked about our lives. We walked slowly back to the hotel. He held my hand and guided me carefully over the uneven cobblestone street. Occasionally we stopped and Rodrigo scanned the sky. I knew he was looking for the orbs, but they never came. The next morning, I woke to a knock on my door. One of the young hotel workers handed me a vase of roses as large as a funeral spray and the largest box of chocolates I have ever seen. “From Rodrigo,” he said. I read the attached card. “Si tan solo fuera forty años más joven. Ahora debo esperar hasta mi próxima vida.” I smiled at the message. Translated it read: “If only I was forty years younger. Now I must wait for the next life.” There was no question: Rodrigo was still flirting.

  When I inquired about Rodrigo as I checked out at noon, the hotel manager said that he had gone to one of the villages to visit his brother who was very ill. He was taking medicine to him. “He asked me to apologize for his absence, but hopes that the señora will return soon and he will count the days until you return.” I smiled as I walked out of the hotel with my roses and chocolates and joined Benito at the waiting van.

  Two years later, I returned to Oaxaca City. After registering, I inquired about Rodrigo and learned that he was still working at the hotel. I spent two weeks at the hotel as Rodrigo’s guest. Every evening he arrived promptly at 7 p.m. to accompany me to dinner. On the last day of my trip, I learned that he was not the gardener, but the owner of the hotel. Six months after my last visit, I received word that Rodrigo had passed in his sleep. He had made it to his 94th birthday, a few years short of the life he planned. He left the hotel to his two most faithful employees with the stipulation that I receive free, all-inclusive access to the hotel for the rest of my life. At his funeral, the new owner pulled me aside and said, “You made a big impression on him, Señora. He told me that he would see you again in another life.” I have never returned to the hotel, nor to Oaxaca City. Without Rodrigo, it would not be the same.

  I think of Rodrigo every time I look at the night sky. He told me that he never worried about dying: “When I pass, the ancestors will come for me and I will sit with the wise men once again. I want no one to grieve for me. I will be with my family where I belong.”

  Chapter 27

  The Place of the Gods

  Teotitlán del Valle, a small village located 31 kilometers from Oaxaca City in the foothills of the Sierra Juarez Mountains, was founded by the Zapotecs around 465 BCE. It was originally named Xaquija, which meant “Celestial Constellation” in the Zapotec language, but in the Náhuatl language, Teotitlán del Valle was known as the “Place of the Gods.” Though Stephens and Catherwood never ventured into this part of Mexico, a Spanish friar named Juan de Cordoya recorded a legend in The Catholic Encyclopedia that reportedly occurred in 34 CE in Teotitlán del Valle. According to the legend, a huge bright light came out of the northern sky. It glowed for four days in the sky and then lowered itself to a rock in the center of the village. From the light, there came a great, powerful being who stood on top of the rock and glowed like the sun. He stood there for the whole village to see. He glowed both day and night. He lit up the whole village like day. When he spoke, his voice was like thunder booming across the valley.

  In this chapter you will meet contemporary Zapotecs who offer their own version of the story and their encounters with visitors from the sky.

  One morning after breakfast Benito and I drove to the Zapotec village of Teotitlán del Valle, a place populated by famous Zapotec weavers. The village, about fifteen miles from the city of Oaxaca, is home to approximately 150 families. The majority were engaged in the rug-making business. Weaving had become the main occupation of the villagers since about 1535, when Dominican Bishop Juan Lopez Dezarate arrived in the village and introduced borregos, a type of sheep that produced wool. The first loom, shipped from Spain, arrived shortly thereafter and jump-started a cottage industry producing serapes, blankets, and rugs. Today the village is home to some of the most famous rug-makers in North America.

  As we entered the village sleeping dogs woke from their middle-of-the-road na
ps and ambled toward the side of the road, waiting with reproachful eyes until we passed. We drove directly through the town surveying the many shops on each side of the road that boasted vibrant displays of weavings in many sizes, colors, and designs.

  Stephens and Catherwood never visited this village; their focus was strictly on finding Palenque once they entered Mexico. I, on the other hand, had come to the village to follow up on the ancient legend of the Sky God who arrived in the village on a beam of light from the sky, and to locate a weaver who might create two rugs from my own design.

  I visited several weavers, many well-known in the United States. At my last stop I met a young weaver named David, who admitted he was not famous and explained that he did not have the money to attend major art shows. He was an independent artist, depending on tourists not associated with bus tours. He showed me around his small display room. As I examined his work, I knew I had found the weaver to create my rugs. I showed him my design, and after carefully selecting the yarns, I went to his small office to complete the transaction. As he wrote out the dimensions and information about the rug, I asked him about the ancient legend of the Sky God of Teotitlán del Valle.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the legend?” I asked.

  He shook his head as he handed me a receipt for the rug. “Maybe it is only a legend, Señora, or maybe it is true. I always watched for Sky Gods when I was a boy. My grandfather told many stories about the men who came from the sky. There were many times that we saw lights in the sky that hung over the village.”

  “Have you ever seen a UFO?” I asked. He slowly shook his head from side to side.

  “Not me, but I have a friend who is visiting his grandmother. He is from San Cristóbal. He has seen them many times. He tells me they are tall men, white skin with white hair and white suits like your astronauts wear.”