Sisimito II--Xibalba

by Henry W. Anderson

  “I just need to go back into the jungle for a short while,” insisted Taat.

  “What for?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” he answered. He raised his head and sniffed the air. “There’s nothing to be uneasy about. The danger’s gone.”

  I nodded. I knew better than to order him to stay. “Go with him, Rhys.”

  “Sarge!”

  I was still apprehensive as I waited for the men reconnoitering, even though Taat had said that no danger remained. I held onto my awareness that they were good soldiers and they would do what they were trained to do and come back to the section. They wouldn’t hurry, but be cautious and vigilant. I just had to wait. Fok! I’m really beginning to mother those boys … soldiers. I looked up at Kinich. It was about 1600 hours. It wouldn’t be sensible for us to continue tabing further into the evening.

  I sat with my back against the quamwood tree thinking. I had a lot to think about. I glanced down the trail we had come and, to my relief, Taat and Rhys were returning. Taat was carrying something; he was bent over, a dirty white band across his forehead. My anxiety was gladfully over. I began to laugh. I recalled, not that dark world I had been forced to journey, one year ago, but the happiest days of my life when Taat and I went to the kool, planted our corn, then waited in the shadows of the jungle for the kitams to come. He’d take his shotgun, fire, and we always had game meat to take home to Nah’. As I grew older, he taught me how to shoot and, many times, I would be the one to aim and pull the trigger. Then it all changed. Father Stiobhan made me go to school. Fok Father Stiobhan! Taat dumped a large kitam in front of me.

  “And there was no gunshot,” said Rhys.

  “When there is the need for silence, I use the sling of my people,” answered Taat, proudly.

  Choco and Choc returned just then. “Mixba’al,” stated Choco. “Teul and Robertson just having another look around.”

  “Good,” I responded.

  “Well fokmi!” blurted Choc. “Meat tonight.” Then he grinned. “Pity though.”

  “Why pity?” I asked. “What more than game meat do we need? Taat said that we had to eat some good food.”

  “Meat without ak’.”204

  “Oh, shut the fok up,” I grinned back, shaking my head.

  I looked at Taat and, remarkably, became emotional. I was proud of Taat. I was proud of my people and I knew my people more than anyone else, for I had been to Ox Witz Ha. I stood up. Emotions had no place in the journey we were undertaking. Nevertheless, I just stood there grinning, looking at Taat. Then I hugged him and walked away for I didn’t want him to see my tears. Rhys immediately took over. He knew. He wasn’t Bas, but he knew what I was feeling for he had become my friend.

  It was around 1730 hours when Teul and Robertson returned. “Nothing,” said Robertson. “We circled Burgos twice. We also examined the adjacent zones and the entire disturbed area. Found nothing to suggest we’re in any sort of danger.”

  “Mixba’al,” added Teul.

  “Saw anything we can use to set up camp?”

  “I saw the remains of one shed. I didn’t really examine it to see if anything was salvageable,” answered Teul.

  “Any water.”

  “No madafok water,” responded Teul, at least not in the field we reconnoitered.

  “That’s no problem” interjected Taat. “They’re several tsu-jipox trees and they have fruit.”

  “Wild custard apple, Medic,’ Teul informed Robertson.

  “There are also rum-p’ok, not too tasty, but will do,” continued Taat. “Those will give our bodies water until we find a creek.”

  “Okay men?”

  “Sarge!” they all shouted.

  “Then let’s set up camp, but we have to keep up our vigilance. Taat will clean the kitam and we’ll have meat tonight even if it’s without ak’. Teul, Choc, and Choco burst out laughing. Taat ignored us. Robertson and Rhys looked puzzled, but refrained from asking us what we were talking about. “Okay, Teul. Take us to the shed.”

  “And who’s going to help me?” demanded Taat. I frowned. Taat didn’t usually ask for help.

  “I’ll help,” declared Teul. I frowned even more deeply as Teul continued. “Now, Taat. What the madafok you want help with?” I moved out.

  Illustration 8: Burgos Camp.

  There wasn’t much left of the shed, but we decided to use that site for our camp. It was already near to 1800 hours so we had to hurry or nightfall would catch us. Choc quickly arranged a machete detail and we had a sufficiently large space macheted and cleaned within half-hour. All that remained of the shed were a few posts and rafters made of Santa Maria205 or dogwood.206 It was difficult to say what wood because they were weather beaten. As we removed the posts and cleared away the wild poinsettia shrubs growing there we found an almost intact fire hearth and a small table. Its survival was again due to the fact that the wood was very durable. I immediately sent Rhys for Taat.

  I watched Robertson take his knife and cut a few stems of the large reddish bracts surrounding the small, green-yellow flowers of the wild poinsettia. “Better not chew on those.” I said, a bit amused. “They’re quite

  nasty. If you think Taat’s shitninz was bad … well, that one will give you vomiting too. Careful with the sap. Don’t get the sap in your eyes. You won’t be able to see for a while.”

  With some suspicion, Robertson looked at the stems he had cut. He threw them into the bush. “They’re pretty. I just thought I’d collect a bunch of them for the table, to brighten our dinner tonight. Oh well! That takes care of that.”

  “If you don’t know something in the jungle, leave it alone,” said Choco. “And you too, Sarge,” he said, looking at me. “You like to just throw yourself down and lean against a tree. One day, popoxkan207 will get into your pants and you won’t like it. Tóolok will swell up and it won’t be because yu gwaan juk.”208

  I laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Choco. I know where I’m putting my ass down.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warned you,” replied Choco, looking around our camp to assess if anything else could be done.

  Teul and Taat walked up and Teul dumped the half-dressed kitam on the table. Choco walked over to look at it. He shook his head. “I know you’re Taat’s apprentice, Teul, but, madafoka, you must could do better than that.” He shook his head again as he pointed at the kitam. “Anyway, you’re Mopan, so I understand.”

  “You’re joking, right?” challenged Teul, roughly. Choco turned away from him and shrugged his shoulders. “What the madafok you mean by “You’re Mopan”? We can hunt and butcher like any Ke’kchi. Even better.”

  Choco still had his back turned to Teul and we all knew, except Teul, that he was trying his best not to laugh out loudly. “Well, judging from what you’ve done to that kitam, I wouldn’t know that.”

  “You’re joking, right?” repeated Teul, a little more gravely, his face looking disturbed at his friend’s comment. At that point, Choco gave in and roared out laughing. Of course, we all followed.

  “Well, Teul,” chuckled Taat. “Someone finally put you in your place; and it had to be your bombali.” Teul shook his head, grinning with relief. “But it’s true,” continued Taat. “You’re not only butchering this kitam, you’re really butchering it.”

  “I’ll take over,” groaned Choco, shaking his head and taking the knife from Teul. “The way you treat a game, Teul, the way you butcher it influences the taste of the meat. Isn’t that so, Taat?”

  “Yes, Choco. But it takes time to train the alas, the young ones.”

  “Young ones?” Teul rolled his eyes.

  Jut-Jut.

  “Well, the Jut-Jut is back,” murmured Choc. He glared at Robertson.

  “Listen closely,” urged Rhys. “It’s saying ‘Good Cook’. That’s what we Kriols call the bird.”

  “Even a bird is saying that we’ll have a good cook tonight.” Teul grinned. “Perhaps we should replace
Taat.” Taat said nothing, just shook his head.

  “We also call it toh or bukpic,” added Choco.

  “It is …” Robertson stopped in mid-sentence.

  Choc sighed loudly. “Go ahead, Medic. Give us the science.” Robertson reddened. “Go ahead, Medic.”

  Robertson’s sigh matched Choc’s. “It is the Blue-Crowned Mot Mot, Momotus momota.”

  Jut-Jut.

  “Did you know that its tail is especially distinctive because the bird strips bare a small area near its end, leaving rounded racquets at the tips. It often sits quietly in trees switching its long tail back and forth like a pendulum.”

  “Thank you, Medic, but let’s get back to what I was saying,” uttered Choco. “This is way more interesting than bird talk. Butchering is an art. It’s as serious as when you’re with a woman, Teul. Even after you have her where you want her, it’s how you handle her from then on that influences the taste, the flavor, the savor of the final outcome.”

  “Yu aan tinait,209 Choco,” joked Rhys.

  “He must have some guaro in his bergen,” murmured Teul.

  “You see, Teul,” continued Choco, not pausing a moment in his butchering, “When you’re making love to a woman, you notice I didn’t say fucking for I’m talking about the real thing; not like when you run into the back of a bar just to …”

  “Wet the whistle,” I commented.

  Everyone stared at me.

  Choco shook his head then continued. “Well, before the interruption, you all knew what I was going to say.” He nodded his head. “I mean the real thing. To make love. You have to use the five senses.”

  “This should be good” predicted Robertson.

  “Yes! Listen to me, Teul. All of you. You start first with ‘sight’. You have your woman lying on the bed, her legs parted, and you watch her t’ot’ with love. Then you take one finger, only one, and use the second sense ‘touch’. Just a slight touch.” It was absolutely quiet. “Only slightly. Then you gently take that finger and delicately rotate it on the ak’. She will want to begin to move. She will look at you with pleading eyes, begging you to slide that wood into her, but don’t. Not as yet. You have to calm her down. Take your free hand and slowly rub the inside of her thighs while keeping your other hand moving on the ak’. All that is still ‘touch’. She will calm down and begin to tremble a little bit. Next is ‘smell’. You bring your face slowly to her t’ot’ until you’re about an inch away and you smell, breathing in and out, having your hot breath gently move her hairs. Then comes ‘taste’.” It was still very quiet. “You slowly put out your tongue and you taste, moving your tongue as if you’re slowly licking a lollipop. And then she’ll moan loudly and that takes care of the fifth sense, ‘hearing’. Okay,” said Choco, slamming down the knife loudly and suddenly on the table, making everyone jump. “That takes care of that. The butchering is done. Let’s get this kitam smoking.”

  For a moment, there was no response from the men then they all began shouting at Choco some of the worst obscenities I’ve heard while Choco kept howling with laughter; and I’ve heard a lot of obscenities. I just lay back laughing, trying to forget Sisimito for a moment, struggling not to see what was coming in the future.

  I sat, leaning on one of the wild custard apple trees and observed our camp. Taat was getting the fire hearth ready, and Teul was bringing pieces of wood while Choc was chopping them into suitable pieces for the fire. Rhys, who was scouting the area around the camp, brought a handful of wild custard apple fruits and lay them down in a pile not too far from me. I immediately reached over for one, threw it to him, then took one for myself. Robertson was seated across from me, making notes in the log.

  It was 1930 hours when Choco announced that the kitam was almost ready to eat. His bare chest and trousers had blood and he smelled of blood, entrails, fresh kitam meat, and smoke; the smell of shit had faded completely. I was concerned, however. “I don’t know how you’ll be able to get rid of that blood and smell, Choco,” I said. “The smell will remain on you and that’s not good while you’re sleeping. You don’t know what it will attract.”

  Choco sighed loudly. “At least I don’t smell of shit anymore. Oh! How I hate not having water.” I’ll just take a dirt bath,” he grinned. “Do

  without the pants for now. At least, if I cover my body with mud it will help. Pity it’s so dry.”

  We put our bergens together, pulled out our ground sheets and sat on them. Robertson soon came over to me, bringing an armful of rum-p’ok which he distributed between all of us. Rhys continued his monitoring of the area, not too far away, and walked towards us every now and again to participate in whatever we were bull-shitting about. Taat remained by the fire, keeping it warmly alive, making sure the kitam did not burn.

  It was completely dark except for the light coming from the fire hearth. The sky was full of stars, beautiful, but not helping much with the darkness. As we were in the third quarter of the moon cycle, the moon would not be up for some time. Teul got up. “There’s some pokono-bwai at the edge of the camp. Let’s get some Choco.”

  “Sure,” Choco answered, jumping up, picking up his machete and slinging his rifle across his back. “Can we have a headlight?”

  “Okey-doke,” replied Robertson, getting it from his bergen. “Remember, conserve.”

  “We will,” replied Teul.

  “Rhys,” said Taat, speaking from the fire hearth and loud enough to be heard above the crackling fire he had going.

  “Yes, Taat”.

  “It’s safe. There’s nothing around here right now. You can relax the patrols a little.”

  “I believe you Taat, but I’ll just keep scouting a little. It’s part of our training. Standard orders.”

  “The packs of kitams and hach-k’ek’ens that were here were regular animals. They were definitely not those of the Kechelaj Jupuq,” Taat added. “And the ek baläm you’re worried about, he’s gone. He caught his meal and is probably still enjoying it.”

  I looked at Taat “You saw the jaguar … the ek baläm?”

  “No. I smelled him and his dead kitam.”

  “Ek baläm?” queried Choco. He and Teul, who had walked a little away did a quick about-turn. “I forgot about him. We heard his whistle.”

  “Sarge and I actually saw a large jaguar walking out the camp area,” said Rhys. “It had a waari in its jaw. It stared at us, as if unconcerned. One second it was there, the other second it was gone. Who knows? It might be coming back.”

  “That’s why I had concerns about the blood on your pants and chest, Choco,” I laughed. “You know that an ek baläm can crush your head and take you out of camp, from around the fire, without any of us knowing. When we get up in the morning, no Choco.”

  “Stop madafoka around, Sarge,” pleaded Choco. The other men chuckled, a bit nervously. Fighting an enemy soldier, they were trained for that. Fighting an ek baläm in his jungle at night was something else.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” I looked at them and couldn’t help smiling. Choco, Choc, and Teul knew the jungle; yet, the mention of the ek baläm made them nervous. “Come on, Teul and Choc. Get those fokin pokono-bwai.”

  “Yes. Get the pokono-bwai,” urged Taat. “That, the rum-p’ok, and the custard apple will help to replenish your body water and salts. Your sweat already smells dehydrated so by eating the fruit you’ll be able to save what little water you have left in your bottles.” Teul and Choco still hesitated.

  “Taat says there’s nothing out there. Get the fokin pokono-bwai,” I ordered. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the fokin dark. You have your rifle and gun … and a light.” They looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and went off to the edge of the camp. “Choc and Robertson. Once the fire hearth is out, we’ll make a ground fire to sleep around. In fact, make the ground fire now. We’ve got enough wood to last us the night and we’re just waiting for the kitam to be done.”

  “Let’s do it, Choc,”
agreed Robertson. “A campfire always lightens the atmosphere.” He smiled. “Good pun, I must say.” He skipped away, puling an astonished Choc after him.

  I leaned back against the wild custard apple tree watching Choc and Robertson start the fire, a second custard apple in my hand, living the smells and sounds of my jungle intermixed with the aroma of Taat’s smoking herbs and kitam. It was a good smell and I tried to keep it that way, but the smell of smoking meat at times recaptured that horrible memory and it forced itself upon me, making me sweat, taking me away from my jungle I so loved. It made me relive how I was, one year ago, messed up with my own wet shit brought about because of all the fruit I had hungrily eaten, how I stood imprisoned in a cage, naked, like an animal, tormented by a kos.

  “Sarge,” said Rhys quietly. He was standing beside me. “Sarge,” he repeated.” I looked up at him, dazed with memories.

  “Are you okay? You’re staring again.”

  I smiled. “I went back there, Rhys. I went back to that fokin place.”

  He looked down at me with concern on his face and I knew that his disquiet was not only for me, but also for the section. “You have to tell them, Chiac. “You have to tell them what you told me, tell them everything. They know what happened at Santa Cruz, but they have nothing to relate it to and, if I am thinking rightly, Santa Cruz will be nothing compared to what they will face.”

  “The horrors they will endure,” I added.

  “We’re getting into unknown jungle and we know Sisimito is near. Whatever is going to happen could happen at any time. There are no more camps, no trails, no truck passes until we are deep into the Vaca Plateau and reach Holec Camp. We don’t even know if we’ll be able to locate Holec, if it’s remnants still exist. There are trails and camps beyond, but that is all in thick broadleaf jungle. We probably won’t find anything unless we later turn northeast towards Millionario and locate the dry weather road to Augustine.”

  “We travel north until we meet Sisimito or Sisimito meets us,” I said.