The Mayan Codex as-2

by Mario Reading

  A great crashing and banging began from below. Sabir squinted into the gloom. He shook his head in wonder. The Maya women had brought their cooking implements with them in preparation for the forthcoming feast, and now they clashed their saucepans over their heads while their menfolk twirled their machetes, smashing them one into the other as in a sabre dance.

  Sabir sat down on the top step of the pyramid and put his head in his hands. He felt drained. Unwitting. Incapable of action. Lamia crouched beside him and rested her head against his.

  ‘You did the right thing. What you said was beautiful. How did you grasp so perfectly what was needed?’

  Sabir leaned across and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. Then he tilted back his head, looked at her speculatively, and kissed her again. ‘If I told you, you’d never believe me.’

  85

  Abi held the cell phone tightly to his ear. He protected his other ear from the racket with his free hand. With all the din going on around him, now seemed as good a time as any to get his telephoning done. ‘All well at the warehouse? No unwelcome visitors?’

  ‘It’s quiet as the grave here. I’ve told Berith to get some sleep while he can.’ Oni cocked his head. ‘What’s all that banging I can hear?’

  ‘Sabir’s been playing the crowd. And our sister’s been translating for him. Went down a storm. Like something out of King Solomon’s Mines .’

  ‘What mines?’

  Abi shrugged. Pointless explaining. You could take a horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink. ‘Athame’s gone to see if she can find out where they are taking the skull and the book. In these happy egalitarian days, nobody dares object to a female even smaller than themselves, so if she’s unlucky enough to be seen there’s a fair chance that nobody will dare pay any attention to her. The rest of us are in hiding and have the camp encircled. When the main body of the Maya have fed themselves, and either gone to bed or drifted off home, we’ll pounce. We’ll fix it so they’ll think Sabir and Calque changed their minds and ran off with their holy relics. Greedy gringos, out for the main chance – that sort of thing. Playing to the archetype, Monsieur, our father, would have called it. Should create one hell of a stink, and keep us nicely in the clear. We don’t want trouble at Cancun airport when we leave the country. There’s no telling with these people.’

  ‘Wish I was with you.’

  ‘No you don’t. It’s boring as hell out here. This could take hours yet. I’m beginning to wish we’d thought to bring some sandwiches.’

  ‘I’ve got sandwiches here. Chorizo. Lomo. Cheese. Chicken. Aguacate…’

  ‘Fuck off, Oni.’

  86

  The Halach Uinic motioned to Calque, Sabir, and Lamia that they should enter the sweat lodge ahead of him. ‘This is the touj I was telling you about. What they call a temazcal in other parts of Mexico. Please wear no metal or other ornaments about your person. Any such possessions will be taken out and looked after for you while the ceremony is under way.’

  Ixtab stood at his side, as did the Chilan who had read from the codex. The mestizo from Veracruz stood a little behind them, looking apprehensive. The evening’s events had clearly told on each of them, just as they also appeared to have done on Sabir, for he stood there, staring at the sweat lodge, shaking his head like a horse tormented by flies.

  The Halach Uinic glanced at Ixtab, and then made a small inclination of the head towards Lamia.

  Ixtab approached Lamia and lowered her voice. ‘Senorita, forgive me, please, but I have to ask you this. Are you menstruating? For it is not allowed to enter the touj when that is occurring. It is not good for the womb, you see.’

  ‘I am not.’

  The Halach Uinic nodded and cleared his throat. ‘This place will allow us to talk freely amongst ourselves. No one can hear us in here. I have prepared four substances. Firstly, peyote, from the Huicholes, which we call aguacolla. Secondly k’aizalah okax, which is known to your people as psilocybe cubensis or the “magic” mushroom, and to our people as the “lost judgement” mushroom. Also seeds from the quiebracajete, which you would call “morning glory”, which we shall mix with balche, our sacred drink that the Spaniards forbade us to make. And finally venom from the cane toad, bufo marinus, which we shall mix with tobacco made from the water lily, nymphaea ampla. Some amongst us also use vuelveteloco, datura, for spiritual purposes, but Ixtab tells me that this is not suitable for use by Westerners. She has heard of gringos going mad under its influence. These substances will allow us to see clearly, and for our bodies and souls to unify, as they should, and allow the life force to come through. Ixtab will search inside each of you, and decide which of the preparations is in tune with your nature, for they may not be mixed. Are you willing to experience this?’

  ‘I’m not going in there.’ Sabir’s head was still now, but his face was deathly pale. ‘I’m claustrophobic, you see. Nothing you say or do is going to make me go in there.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I don’t mean that I just don’t like small spaces. I mean that I’m seriously claustrophobic. Shrieking the house down claustrophobic. Drooling and gibbering and pleading to be let out claustrophobic. Grovelling and mewling and scratching my fingernails to the quick claustrophobic. Bashing my head against the wall claustrophobic. Do you get the picture? Have I made myself clear?’

  There was a short, awed silence.

  ‘I’ve heard about these places before. They seal you inside with a bunch of red-hot volcanic stones. Then they ratchet up the temperature to 180 degrees. You can’t see anything. You’re in pitch darkness. Sort of like hell, but without the River of Fire.’ Sabir gave an involuntary spasm. ‘I can’t do it. Drugs or no drugs.’ He shook his head. ‘Can’t do it? What am I talking about? I won’t do it.’

  The Halach Uinic placed his hand on Sabir’s arm. ‘Ixtab has warned me of your fears. She has prepared you a bowl of chocah, which is principally made of chocolate, which we call xocolatl, and peppers, and honey, and tobacco juice. This will calm you before you enter.’

  ‘How the hell did Ixtab know I was claustrophobic? Who told her?’ Sabir glared at Calque and Lamia.

  Both of them shook their heads.

  Sabir’s voice trailed off after his initial diatribe. He was getting used to Ixtab’s uncanny insights into his psyche. ‘You don’t understand the half of it. Six months ago I had a crazy experience. It was like being buried in one’s grave, but with all one’s everyday faculties still intact. I died, in a manner of speaking, and then came back to life again.’ He glanced at Lamia, hoping she’d forgive him for rekindling memories of her brother’s death, and also for his tacit accusation that she had betrayed the secrets of his claustrophobia to Ixtab. ‘It echoed a similar experience I’d had as a child, in the trunk of someone’s car. But not in a way I ever want to relive. I can’t go in there, I tell you. I don’t see why I should do it.’

  The Halach Uinic held up both his hands. ‘We are not going to force you, Mr Sabir. Please stay outside the touj if you so wish. It will be a tragedy for us, however, as I believe you have a further gift to pass on to us. A secret gift which Akbal Coatl says in his writings that you received via the prophet Nostradamus.’

  Sabir’s eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t fucking believe this.’ He took a step backwards. ‘Calque. Did you tell them about Nostradamus?’

  Calque shook his head. He looked as mystified as Sabir. ‘I never mentioned Nostradamus to them. Nor your claustrophobia, come to that. What would have been the point? And I don’t know about any secret gifts, either. And particularly not in your case, Sabir.’

  Sabir turned back to the Halach Uinic. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that Akbal whatever-his-name-is mentioned me in his writings? And linked me to Nostradamus? You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘Not by name, no. Of course he did not. Our brother wasn’t a prophet – he was a scribe. He merely said that a messenger, guided by the writings that he and Nostradamus had devised between them, would come, f
ollowing the eruption of the great volcano of Orizaba, to restore the thirteenth crystal skull to its rightful owners. Just as he wrote that a guardian – an elected ak k’u hun – an elected keeper of the sacred books – would return the sacred codex to us at the appropriate time. Here is the guardian.’ He pointed to the mestizo. ‘And here are you. You are both clearly members of Los Aluxes. You remember what Akbal Coatl said about them? That the Aluxes are enlightened beings who have been left behind by the gods to guard the magnetic spiritual places and objects of the earth, and that it is only via the intercession of these spiritual guardians that the destiny of the world may be secured? Do you remember this?’ The Halach Uinic couldn’t disguise his satisfaction at the outcome of proceedings. He pointed first to Sabir, and then the mestizo. ‘You and he.’

  ‘You don’t even know this guy’s name, for Christ’s sake. And if you do know it, you never bother to use it.’ Sabir waved at the mestizo, forgetting, for a moment, that he had never got around to finding out the man’s name either. ‘And yet here you are, busy trying to convince me that his coming was in some sense preordained. What is it with you people? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  The Halach Uinic looked first at the Chilan, and then at Ixtab, as though in search of some much needed moral support. He seemed unaware that not everybody was privy to the minutiae of Maya religious custom. ‘But we don’t need to know his name, you see. For us he will always be the “guardian”. Just as a shaman loses his name and inherits a different one when he is dreamed of by a third party – for it is only then that he can begin to heal. When the “guardian” brought us the book, we recognized immediately who he was. Both Ixtab and I had dreamed of his arrival on the night following the eruption of the Pico de Orizaba. It had long been written that a revelation would be made to us in Kabah. But I was scared to believe in the reality of my dream.’ He held his hands up, palms to the fore, in a gesture acknowledging his guilt. ‘Ixtab persuaded me of the dream’s truth, however, when she recounted all its details back to me without my having told her anything about it. It was then that I decided to station a man both day and night at Kabah. And it was for this reason alone that we came so swiftly when you and your companion discovered the crystal skull. To find the “guardian” there as well reinforced for us the truth of the dream. This was why we were able to hold the ceremony so quickly. We had long prepared for it, you see.’

  ‘I am the “guardian”?’ The mestizo stepped forwards in response to Ixtab’s simultaneous translation of the Halach Uinic’s words. ‘This is what you call me?’

  The Halach Uinic turned towards him. ‘You are the “guardian”, yes. You will be forever known amongst our people also as the “bringer of the book”. Whatever you need, you will have from us. A collection has already been made for you. Each has given according to his capacity. Tepeu has told us that you have no wife. That your mother is lonely in her hut. This is not acceptable to us. If you had sold the book, as was your right, you would have had untold sums of money in your possession from the gringos. But you chose not to do so. We cannot replace or match this money, as would have been just. But we can offer you enough to enable you to build another hut next to your mother’s – for you to afford a wife – for her to provide grandchildren to comfort your mother’s old age. This we can do for you. This you must accept.’

  ‘I cannot accept.’

  ‘You must accept. Or we must return the book.’

  The mestizo stared at the Halach Uinic. Then he turned to Ixtab. Then he turned to the Chilan who had read out the words from the book. All were waiting for his response. All were urging him with their eyes not to let the Halach Uinic down. Not to reject his offer.

  The mestizo nodded. ‘I accept. My mother will be happy with me. She has despaired in the past of my bachelorhood. There is a young widow. Her name is Lorena. She lives in Miatlisco, which is the next village to ours. If I were to build her a house, she would come to live with me and be my wife. This she has told me. I have explained to her that I cannot do this. I have told her to search for another man. A man more suited to her needs.’

  ‘Now you can do it.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Now I can do it. Now I can build her a house.’

  87

  Athame de Bale watched the group outside the sweathouse. When she cupped her hands behind her ears, she could make out about one word in every three of what they were saying. She clearly heard the words ‘Nostradamus’, prefaced by ‘secret’, and then ‘gift’ – all hidden amongst a pile of other dross.

  She could feel her stomach churning in triumph. What was said to the mestizo didn’t interest her. She was only interested in Sabir. Would he have the balls to enter the sweathouse or would he not? Dare she make that assumption? Either way, she would only have the briefest window of opportunity to do what she needed to do.

  For the time being the group seemed totally preoccupied with soft-flannelling the mestizo and persuading Sabir that he would really – no really, despite his hysterical protestations to the contrary – benefit from the sweat-lodge experience.

  Athame offered up a silent prayer. If only the Maya woman with the spondylus necklace would move to another spot, she would have a free run of it. Lamia and the ex-policeman both had their backs to her, as did the Halach Uinic and the priest who had done the reading. Sabir was too wound up inside his own problems to notice anybody else, and the mestizo was pissing himself with joy at the thought of getting married, and wasn’t looking anywhere but at the big chief.

  As if to order, Sabir abruptly twisted on his heel and began to stalk off back towards the pyramid. The Maya woman with the necklace made a ‘cool it’ sign to the Halach Uinic and hurried after him. For a moment, everyone was busy watching Sabir’s antics and not the sweat lodge.

  Athame sprinted across the open patch of land between her hiding place and the sweathouse. Without daring to look behind her, she ducked down and slipped through the doorway. The narrow opening was no problem for one of her diminutive size, and she was soon comfortably out of sight of the assembly.

  The lodge was in total darkness. Athame slipped a torch out of the side pocket of her backpack and cracked it on, shielding most of the glow with her free hand. She looked wildly around for a hiding place, still unsure whether anyone had caught a hint of movement out of the corner of their eye. A ring of small boulders had been constructed in the centre of the sweathouse in preparation for the coming of the heated stones. It was surrounded by a dozen or so fabric-covered cushions. The sweathouse was built like an igloo, with an internal circumference of maybe thirty feet, and a gap of perhaps seven feet between the circle of cushions and the retaining wall.

  Snatching two of the cushions from out of the circle, she wriggled into the farthest corner of the lodge and adjusted the cushions so that they covered the entirety of her four-foot ten-inch frame. She could feel the hard edges of the Walther P4 digging into her ribs through her backpack. Perhaps it was a message?

  She reached behind herself and freed the Walther. At eight and a half inches in length, it was a very big gun for a very small woman. A P5 Compact would have been eminently more suitable. But Athame was happy with what she had, even though her tiny six-fingered hands could scarcely span the butt. Two-handed, she could handle it perfectly well.

  She cocked the pistol and unhitched the safety. Then she switched off her torch, cradled the weapon against her chest, and settled down to wait.

  88

  Ixtab caught up with Sabir just as he was beginning to wind down from his snit. He was leaning against a tree, sucking in great lungfuls of night air, and staring at the distant pyramids as if he suspected that they might have something of great wisdom to impart to him.

  Thirty or so volunteers were handing buckets up to each other on the main, father pyramid. First they hosed down the steps. Then they swept them clear of all their ceremonial detritus, in preparation, or so Sabir supposed, for next morning’s grand reopening to the tourist trade.

  Ixt
ab came to a halt behind him. Sabir knew that she was there, but he refused to acknowledge her.

  ‘We have been waiting many years for your arrival. You know that.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Still. You know it to be true.’

  Sabir inflated his cheeks and then blew out through them, like a child. ‘If you’ve come here to try and persuade me to go inside that fucking cabin of yours, you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Drink this anyway. I made it for you. It will calm you down.’

  ‘You’ve laced it with one of the Halach Uinic’s concoctions, I suppose?’

  Ixtab hardly registered the insult. ‘No. I would never do that. Everything in it is natural. There are no hallucinogens. The whole point of the Halach Uinic’s preparations is that people must take them voluntarily, in the correct frame of mind, and towards a spiritual end. They are not toys for gringos to play with. And you are in no frame of mind to take anything at the present time.’

  Sabir accepted the gourd with a grudging inclination of the head. He hesitated a little, and then drank deeply from it, surprising himself with the sudden extent of his thirst. He felt churlish, and ungrateful, and angry, and small, all at the same time. ‘Thank you. I meant no offence, you understand that?’

  She nodded. ‘We should have prepared you. Explained the purpose of the ceremony beforehand. But the Halach Uinic has the second sight. He is very advanced in these things. It was his instinct that we should continue right away. He senses something evil approaching. According to him, there is a deadline we must fulfil, or all will be lost. I have never known him to be wrong in these things.’