When he arrived back at the hotel, Nick found Charlie showered, refreshed and ready for the next great adventure, whatever that might be. “Funny what an extra four hours of sleep will do for one’s disposition,” Nick cracked when he saw him. They checked out of the hotel, found a convenient greasy spoon diner, and settled down for a late morning brunch to get caught up on last evening’s and this morning’s events. While they waited for their order, Nick flipped through photos on his camera, and would show Charlie one when something of note came up.
“Here is the sun rising off the side of the butte. Here are some of the ruins, and oh, get a load of this guy,” Nick chuckled.
“What the hell is that, a white St. Bernard, or a polar bear?” Charlie asked.
“No, that’s Nanook. From what I understand he’s mostly wolf. For some reason he seems to have adopted me. Oh, and check out his owner, she didn’t see me snap this one.”
Charlie let out a low whistle, which was his habit when something impressed him. He grabbed the camera away, held it closer, and cracked, “Maybe she’ll adopt you too. Does she know you have a better looking, more established older brother?”
Nick grabbed the camera back. “Easy whiskey, she knows one thing about you, and that is that you can’t dance worth a hoot. She was at the bar last night and personally witnessed your epileptic fit out on the floor. And maybe that other subtle little detail, you know, you have a wife and two kids, that might get in the way too. By the way, she’s Bidzii’s sister. We had a nice little visit this morning after sunrise. I gotta admit, there is definitely something about her. And you know, she can’t help it, chicks dig musicians.”
“Well let’s hope she doesn’t meet one, for your sake,” Charlie teased. “My little brother could use some romance.”
“Yeah, as always thanks for the moral support. What was the line from that Bob Seger song?” Nick remembered it and started singing.
“She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high . . .”
The song Night Moves was now in his head, and he hummed it as he gathered his things.
The brothers discussed where they would scatter the ashes at sunset, the rub being that doing so around here was not officially sanctioned, so they would have to do it on the sly, within the context of a sunset photo shoot. The best bet seemed to disperse them from the west wall of the canyon, overlooking Pueblo Bonito, where the wind would blow over the greater canyon. It was a good spot, a little more discrete with fewer visitors. There were also several kivas and a lot of beautiful petroglyphs in that area, so it was decided to make a trip out later in the afternoon.
“If his quest ended here, if this was as far as he got, then having their ashes scattered here was intended so we would pick up on the trail. I distinctly remember being here, more than once, but man, it’s a big place. Without that one journal, this is challenging, maybe too challenging,” Nick said, watching Charlie devour his food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“Well, if you asked me bro,” Charlie said between veracious bites, “I’m not sure there is a simple way to unwind it. While we at least now have a few clues, they are pretty vague. Alexandre was posted at a fort near here, there is some type of marking somewhere out in the big, wide desert that might or might not point us in the right direction, but it is goddamn hard to decipher even his writing, much less the meaning of it. Yup, no problem at all, at least for someone with as finely honed an intellect as yours.”
The boys sat in silence for a while, and Nick pulled out a copy he had made of the letter, not wanting to handle the original any more than necessary.
“Well, my supposed intellect did pick up a few things, and I have been doing more than a little research. Alexandre was at Fort Wingate when he wrote this. The necklace I’m wearing has to be the same one he references, based on what Grandma Ingrid said to me, and the mere fact that she still possessed it. He said it was part of an old treasure of the Mixica, hid from the conqurors. Well, Mixica, in his garbled English and spelling, probably meant Mexica, which is distinctly different from our modern Mexican. The Mexica were the indigenous people of central Mexico, and they spoke a distinct language which was the main dialect of Nahuatl. Meaning if we go back in time, the old medicine man talking with Alexandre was probably referencing some type of treasure of the Aztecs.”
Charlie put his fork down long enough to look up and let out a “whew,” then tucked back into his plate.
Nick traced a passage on the sheet. “I’m not sure whether conqurors means conquerors or conquistadors, but if we are truly talking about Aztecs from that timeframe, it would pretty much mean the same thing. A couple of details continue to throw me off. First, this area is a hell of a long way from the home ground of the Aztecs, and while there are lots of documented expeditions of the Spanish from around that time frame banging around the Southwest, there is no record of the Aztecs ever coming anywhere close to here. They were being decimated by war and disease and then subjugated, and frankly I don’t know what the hell they would be doing around here anyway. Just way, way too far from their home base. The second thing is the description of the clue he gives, he calls it an outsa, a taleys, and an eyeteden. I cannot for the life of me decipher or translate any of those. And trust me, I’ve tried everything.”
Nick tapped that part of the letter with a nervous fingertip. “Just makes no sense, none at all. And the rub from a greater historical perspective is that the Aztecs left so little of their own documented history. The Spanish tell their version, but how accurate is that? Churchill said it best, ‘History is written by the victors.’ And the victors always had an agenda, whether obvious or hidden. Hell, the Spaniards, driven by their clergy, eradicated any written history the Aztecs had.’”
Charlie let out a satisfied belch, pushed his plate away, and said, “I didn’t know the Aztecs could write, or even had any kind of written language.”
“That is exactly the point, nobody could contradict what they wanted history to believe. Maddening, it’s like George Orwell in his book 1984. They just keep erasing things and changing meanings until people don’t remember it ever happened. The Aztecs did have their own written language, sort of like the Egyptians did, also based on pictures. We call the Egyptian writing hieroglyphs, and the Aztec’s pictographs. The Aztec’s in fact had a beautifully documented history in pictographs on codices, which were long folded sheets of deerskin or plant fiber. But of course, the Spanish and their priests and their missionaries systematically burned the codices on a massive scale. Couldn’t have any conflict with their own precious religion. Frickin’ worse than the Nazis. That and the fact that any of the few codices that survived didn’t preserve well, especially in a tropical environment. And of course you’ve got all the conspiracy theorists who figure since the Aztecs and Egyptians both wrote with small pictures, and both built pyramids, that it took aliens or the lost tribes of Israel to tie them together.”
Charlie started laughing at him and said, “You know, you tend to get just a little too worked up talking about dead things. You should consider becoming an archeologist or something. I’m sure that’ll get Bidzii’s sister all worked up.”
Nick flicked a straw at Charlie and gave him a mock look of disgust. “You know, here I am working things out way beyond your pay grade, pouring my soul out to you, and all you can do is take a shot at the first girl I’ve found remotely interesting in, like, forever.”
Charlie made a pained face but couldn’t keep it and started laughing again. Nick gave him a kick under the table. “Seriously, I think instead of looking at everything around here and trying to pick up a singular clue, I could cover a lot more ground doing some real research. I think what I need to do is go to the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City. I know people there, and can triangulate things better with their resources, along with access to some of the Spanish archives.”
Charlie pulled himself together and finally got a little
serious. “Well bro, sounds like a plan, you follow Pedro south of the border and go play Indiana Jones. I on the other hand gotta fly back home tomorrow, you know, to those little details like a wife and kids and a real job. Maybe I’ll even work out my epileptic dance moves with Sophie under the sheets.”
Nick rolled his eyes, that was a visual he just didn’t need, and said, “Let’s boogie, we’ve got a date with some ashes.” With that Charlie paid the tab on the table, put his arm around Nick as they got up and left, and gave him a noogie for old time’s sake.
A short, swarthy man who had been sitting in the booth directly next to them, with his back to their table, patiently waited until he saw both walking across the parking lot. His sunglasses and pulled down ball cap hid his wandering eyes, his long sleeve shirt hid his gang tattoos. Once he was sure they were leaving, he pulled out a cell phone and hit a number. “Yeah boss, both of the gringos are here. They were whining about having to dump some ashes off some fuckin’ cliff somewhere. Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on them here, but I won’t need to for long. The older one is headed back to Chicago mañana, the other rock hugger is going to be a pain in the culo. But the good news is he’s saving you the trip and coming directly to you.”
Chapter 15 – Afternoon, June 20
Come on, we’ll camp out like old times, it will be great. I’ve got all the gear, and if you are still feeling too citified you can sleep in the back of the truck, you wuss,” Nick needled his brother.
Charlie made a pained expression and held the small of his back. “The last time I camped with you, you gave me an air mattress that went flat during the night, I woke up with roots going up my ass and had black fly bites in places no bug has a right to go.”
Nick laughed easily at the memory, Charlie wasn’t exaggerating. “I love camping with you, no matter how bad the bugs, they always go to you and leave me alone. You’re like bait man, every hiker needs one of you. I should patent your sweat and sell it. We’ll call it something with a good marketing ring to it, maybe a little esoteric like ‘Clogged Pore of Fat Ass White Man,’ I’d make a million I tell you!”
The decision reached by default, the brothers grabbed food and beer for the night and set off for an afternoon of exploring, with the goal of being at the west rim of the canyon overlooking Pueblo Bonito before sunset. The first stop was to the Wijiji Trail, a mile and a half hike to see a series of petroglyphs popular with the tourist crowd. Not too hard of a pitch on the trail, at least until the end, so Nick thought it was something Charlie could hack. Later they stopped for the same view Nick had of Fajada Butte at sunrise, but now the sun was high in the sky with no shade in sight.
Then it was on to Peñasco Blanco, or White House, at the far western edge of the canyon. This was a fairly arduous hike, but Nick intentionally wanted to push Charlie a little, and they had both the time and the rare opportunity to do it.
“Alright, billy goat, no need to keep showing off,” Charlie huffed, pausing to catch his breath. The trail from the parking lot to Peñasco Blanco was just a under four miles in length, with little elevation gain and plenty to stop and see along the way. Mother Nature was turning up the thermostat.
“I see what city living, sleeping in and eating a big breakfast has done for you. Dad would have loved to have hiked that desk-jockey belly fat right off of you brother,” Nick taunted.
“Yeah, I know, and I wish he were here to do it too.”
They stopped at a bend in the trail, Charlie starting to sweat heavily, Nick’s pulse barely even picking up yet. Nick pointed to a series of clearly visible illustrations on a sheltered rock surface.
“Get a load of the pictograph here, rumor has it this is of a supernova that was clearly visible in the sky back on in the year 1054, when this area was still inhabited.”
Charlie took a deep drink of water and caught his breath. “If this is a pictograph, then what the hell is a petroglyph?” Nick smiled inwardly, he liked it when he possessed knowledge his brother lacked, which had always been the other way around growing up.
“Good question. A pictograph is something painted onto stone, using some type of pigment native to the area. A petroglyph is when something is etched or carved into the surface. Obviously petroglyphs hold up better if exposed to the elements, and pictographs do better if they are in some type of sheltered environment.”
Charlie grimaced, he knew more information than he wanted was coming his way.
“Probably the most famous pictographs are in the Lascaux Cave in France, over 17,000 years old. You see that, and you know our ancestors thought more deeply than most people give them credit for. But take a good look at this one, they saw something unusual in the nighttime sky, a supernova that they couldn’t comprehend in today’s terms, yet they assimilated it into their own way of thinking. And a few days later it was no longer visible in the sky to them, but here it is, over a thousand years later, for us to see. Pretty amazing when you think about it.”
Charlie let out a low whistle. “Some of the pueblos around here look like they could still be used today. How long ago did they abandon this area?”
Nick held up a finger indicating wait a moment, finished taking a photograph of the pictographs and the surrounding area, then grabbed Charlie around the neck and extended his arm for the obligatory selfie.
“Say whiskey,” he said, taking a quick snap before Charlie could give him a backhander where it hurt.
The ongoing contest between brothers, whenever the situation called for a nice smile or a straight face, had always been to see who could get the other to laugh out loud, or failing that, give them a shot in the nether regions to double them over. Their mother would feign disgust and tell them to act their age, but Dad would just laugh and say, “Boys will be boys,” and then prudently cover himself up too.
“The thinking today is that an extended period of drought hit the area sometime in the early eleventh century, which led to gradual emigration out of the region. A similar dynamic was happening much further south about the same time with the Maya in the Yucatán peninsula, although for both it is still educated conjecture. Some think it was the encroachment of more aggressive tribes, or some combination of that plus the drought. Whatever it was, they certainly left their fingerprints on this whole area for eternity.”
When they reached the end of the trail, Nick walked over to a particular viewpoint and yelled to his lagging brother, “Hey bubba, get a load of this. Tell me if this rings any bells.”
Charlie finally caught up, took off his sunglasses and wiped down his brow, then squinted into the distance for a moment. “Ha, you’re kidding me. I forgot all about this, but there it is. All that’s missing is the four of us standing in front of the ruins right there.”
Their Mother, Josephine, always made a big production out of taking the perfect photograph in some obscure, out of the way place each year for their annual Christmas card. The more exotic the locale or outrageous the picture, the better. He could feel her playfully pinching his earlobe even now to get him to smile. One year when the boys were young, it had been taken right there.
Nick turned melancholy for a moment, the black dog of depression peeking through, and thought, I seem to remember things most vividly in snapshots, like the actual memories are already fading away. It just wasn’t that long ago, all of us here laughing, exploring, and reveling in just being together. And now just Charlie and I are left, and I’m losing details of the memories of Mom and Dad I hold most dear. If I don’t take a picture now, will I forget we even did this? Charlie has a legacy, will always be here through his kids, or their kids. Maybe I should find some ocher and outline my hands on the cliffs. At least when I’m gone, that would still be here.
He looked up and saw Charlie talking to him but hadn’t tuned in on the words yet. “. . . I said are you doing OK man? You looked like you were somewhere else for a moment. I know, I feel it too. You know they wanted us together here, now. For a good reason too, and not just to scatter their ashes. A
nd yes, let’s take a photo and recreate the old Christmas card for old times’ sake, Mom would have wanted it that way.”
As the sun finally started its inevitable decent, Nick and Charlie hiked back out, pausing to look at some of the sites they had hurried past on the way in. Reaching the truck at the trail head, they jumped in and drove over by the Visitors Center for a quick shower to refresh and recharge. After an exchange of wet towel whip snaps, Nick getting the larger welt on the buttock of the two, they drove back toward Pueblo Bonito.
Charlie chuckled when Nick hit a bump and grimaced. “Yup, that’s gonna leave a mark,” he wryly commented. The loop of the roadway took them almost directly there, and they went past it and parked the truck at a nearby trail head and hiked above to an overlooking plateau.
With the sun slowly setting over their shoulders, the brothers sat, cracked open a beer, and clinked them together. The view was stunning and looked out to the northeast, with nature’s sunlit kaleidoscope slowly turning the landscape different hues before their eyes.
“It wasn’t all about the search, although that was a big part of it. They wanted us together, bonded, doing something worthwhile together. I guess that’s the difference between being smart and being wise,” Charlie reflected.
Nick nodded his head, took a long pull on his beer and added, “There were just so many lessons, the best ones were when we never knew we were being taught. Integrity and moral compass are overused phrases you hear bantered about everywhere today, but they just set the example by living it. Really all their closest friends too, if you think about it, just a very impressive generation. Dad would say, ‘No, your grandparents were an impressive generation, the greatest generation.’ Mom and Dad both always said, ‘You boys know right from wrong, you know it innately, there was never any gray area.’ They set tough standards to live up to, but great ones to aspire to.”
Aztec Odyssey Page 12
