Curse of the Mummy's Uncle

by J. Scott Savage

  “As I recall,” Mom said, “you wanted to sleep with the suitcases.” She leaned forward to speak with the driver. “¿Nos alojamos en un hotel esta noche?”

  The driver nodded back enthusiastically. “Sí.”

  The two of them spoke back and forth in rapid Spanish, and again, Nick was blown away that she could speak a language he didn’t understand. “What are they saying?” he asked Angelo.

  “She asked if we’re staying at a hotel tonight. He said we’re staying at a fancy place called El Cisne Elegante, which means ‘the Elegant Swan.’ He says it has a swimming pool, hot tubs, golfing, and all kinds of other stuff.”

  Dad sat up. “Golfing? I used to be quite good with the clubs. Could have gone pro if I’d wanted. Unfortunately I got into trouble when I struck a woman in the head with a badly hit three-iron. Knocked out her glass eye. But even then, the eyeball rolled across the green and straight into the hole. The judges couldn’t decide whether to kick me off the course or give me a hole-in-one.” The three boys ignored his story completely and he went back to resting.

  “Do they have a restaurant?” Carter asked, always ready for something to eat.

  “Yeah,” Angelo said. “And according to what the driver was telling your mom, all our expenses are covered. Which means we can eat as much as we want.”

  “All we can eat?” Carter patted his stomach. “I am in heaven.”

  The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, Nick, Carter, and Angelo headed down to the restaurant with Nick’s mom and dad. The hotel was every bit as luxurious as their driver had promised. Soft red and gold carpet covered the floor, except for the lobby and dining areas, which were tiled in huge marble squares. Paintings of Mexican villages and jungle scenes covered the walls. Their suite had two rooms with big-screen TVs and private bathrooms.

  “I could get used to this,” Mom said as they got off the elevator.

  Dad beamed. “I may be a little forgetful at times, but when I book a hotel, I do it right. I told them, ‘Spare no expense. Only the best will do for my family.’”

  Carter eyed the dining room, where servers were carrying plates of delicious-smelling food. “I could get used to that!”

  “Garçon,” Dad said to the man at the door of the restaurant, “may we get a table for five?”

  “Garçon is French,” Mom whispered. “And it means ‘boy.’”

  The host seated them at a table near the window. Looking out at the sparkling blue water of the pool, Nick couldn’t wait to go swimming. But first, breakfast. He was starving.

  The menu was written in both Spanish and English. Most of the items were familiar, but a few of them, like chorizo and carne asada, he didn’t recognize. When the waitress came to take their order, Nick decided to try the chilaquiles y huevos, which the English translation described as corn tortillas smothered with red chili sauce, cheese, and green onions, and topped with eggs.

  One by one, they went around the table, until it was Carter’s turn. Folding his menu on the table, he smiled and said, “Me quedo como un cerdo llevando un sombrero tonto.”

  The waitress blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Carter licked his lips and tried again, pronouncing each word carefully. “Me quedo como un cerdo llevando un sombrero tonto.”

  The woman taking their order put a hand to her mouth and giggled.

  “What do you think you’re saying?” Angelo asked.

  Carter gritted his teeth. “I said I’d like to try one of everything. My sister helped me memorize a list of important Spanish phrases. I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

  Angelo couldn’t help smiling. “Um, I think your sister was messing with you. What you actually said was ‘I look like a pig in a dumb hat.’”

  Carter’s face went bright red.

  “He’ll have the same thing as me,” Nick said.

  As soon as the waitress left, still laughing, Mom turned to Dad and Carter. “From now on neither of you is to try saying anything in Spanish. Is that understood?”

  Both of them nodded.

  As Nick’s family and friends finished breakfast and got up from the table, a group of tourists came through the front door of the hotel, filling the lobby.

  “Who wants to go swimming?” Nick asked.

  Dad practiced swinging an imaginary golf club. “I’m heading out to the course.”

  “I’m getting a massage,” Mom said. “My back still aches from all those hours on the plane. Then maybe a pedicure.”

  Someone bumped into Nick and hurried past. Nick turned to see who it was, but the man disappeared into the crowd of tourists without an apology.

  “¡Discúlpame!” called the waitress who had served them their food. She approached Nick and Angelo and handed them a black folder. “Excuse me, but you left this on the table,” she said in hesitant English.

  “That’s not ours,” Nick said. But she seemed insistent.

  “Yes. On table.”

  Angelo took the folder and looked at the papers inside.

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  Angelo flipped through the pages, his eyes growing wide. “It’s a whole bunch of newspaper articles about the original group who entered the pyramid.”

  Nick looked at the documents, but they were all written in Spanish. “Where did they come from?”

  “Someone must have left them for us,” Carter said.

  But who? The folder hadn’t been on the table when they got up from eating, which meant someone had to have put it there right after they left. Someone who—

  “The guy who just pushed past me,” Nick said. “He left right after we did.”

  “What did he look like?” Angelo asked.

  Nick shook his head. “I didn’t really see him.”

  “Are you boys going swimming?” Mom asked.

  “Sure,” Nick said. “Do you want to come?”

  “That’s okay. I really do need that pedicure,” Mom said.

  “If you are the family I think you are, there won’t be time for that,” said a dusty-looking little man with a bald head and wire-rim glasses. “You wouldn’t happen to be the Braithwaites, would you?”

  Dad, who was halfway to the elevator, returned. “Who are you?”

  “Hector Jiménez,” said the man, popping out a gnarled hand. “Dr. Canul sent me to pick you up. He wanted to get you back to the camp by breakfast, but I’m afraid I got a flat tire on the way. Some of these roads are brutal.”

  “But I’m going golfing,” Dad said.

  “And I’m heading back for more breakfast,” Carter added.

  “No, no, no. I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Mr. Jiménez waved his hands. “You have a busy day. We need to get you into your tents, show you around the camp, and get you started on the dig.”

  “Tents?” Mom’s face went white. “You mean we aren’t staying here?”

  Mr. Jiménez rubbed his shiny head. “Why would you? The site we’re going to is in the Lacandon Jungle, which is over four hours away. And that’s when the roads aren’t washed out, the bridges are above water, and a herd of cows isn’t blocking the way.”

  Dad looked from Mom to Mr. Jiménez. “Who wants to do boring things like golf and getting your toenails painted when you can risk washed-out roads, underwater bridges, and rampaging cows? Am I right?”

  The only person who seemed remotely to be in agreement was Angelo. But by the way his friend was focused on the newspaper articles in the folder, Nick wasn’t sure he was even listening all the way.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Jiménez said, clapping his hands. “I’ll pull the car up while you get your luggage.”

  By the time they had repacked their suitcases and carried them to the front of the hotel, Mr. Jiménez was waiting in an old four-wheel-drive. Unlike the fancy limousine that had picked them up at the airport, this car was muddy and covered with dents and rust.

  Carter grimaced. “I’m guessing this thing doesn’t have a TV in it.”

  Nick eyed their pile
of luggage. “I don’t think we’re all going to be able to fit in there.”

  “Nonsense.” Mr. Jiménez grabbed the nearest suitcase—which happened to belong to Nick’s mom—and, with surprising strength for a man of his size, threw it on top of the tall car. “Jump to it, boys,” he called, grabbing another bag.

  Nick, Carter, and Angelo each began handing the luggage to Mr. Jiménez, who tossed the heavy suitcases like they were footballs.

  “Can I give you a hand?” Dad asked.

  “No need,” Mr. Jiménez said. He threw the last bag on top of the car, then strapped them all down with a long rope.

  Mom put her hands on her hips and studied the pile of suitcases. “Are you sure those will stay up there? I’m afraid some of them might fall off on the drive.”

  Mr. Jiménez pinched his lower lip and raised an eyebrow. “It’s possible. Hopefully we won’t lose anything you need.” He climbed behind the wheel of the old car and started it up. A cloud of thick black smoke belched from the exhaust pipe.

  Dad gave a weak grin, and Mom sighed. “Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?”

  The ride from the hotel to the site of the pyramid was every bit as bumpy and jarring as Mr. Jiménez had predicted. Dad sat in the front passenger seat. Mom and Carter sat in the middle row, where the bumpy road made their knitting next to impossible. Nick and Angelo were in the way back.

  “How many other people will be there?” Mom asked. “Tourists, I mean. Like us.”

  “You five are the only ones,” Mr. Jiménez said as he swerved to avoid a pothole that looked big enough to break an axle. “You’re quite lucky. No other outsiders have been allowed at this site.”

  “Are you a local?” Dad asked. “Your English is excellent.”

  Mr. Jiménez chuckled. “Born and raised right here in Chiapas. It was a good life. But we were very poor. Every day I swore I would get out as soon as I could. I applied for and was accepted to the archaeology program at Berkeley.”

  “That’s near where we live,” Carter said.

  Jiménez honked and waved at a man selling fruit from the back of a truck. “So what did I do as soon as I graduated? Came straight back home to the city I swore I would leave.”

  “How come no outsiders are allowed at the pyramid?” Nick asked.

  The driver studied him in the rearview mirror. “You mean you don’t know?”

  Nick glanced at Angelo. “Do you?” Angelo had been reading about the pyramid almost nonstop since they left home. If anyone would know, he would.

  Angelo reluctantly put down the folder he’d been going through. “Well, first, Aktun isn’t actually one pyramid at all. It’s two. The pyramid of the sun and the pyramid of the moon.”

  “Two?” Nick stared at Angelo, unable to believe his friend had been holding out on him. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me? That’s like twice as cool.”

  Behind the wheel, Mr. Jiménez watched the boys with a dark curiosity. “Very good.”

  “That’s not even the half of it,” Angelo said, in the same voice he used to get A-pluses on his oral reports at school. “A lot of people around here believe these pyramids are the original temples of Xpiyacoc and Xmucane.”

  “I think that’s the stuff I rub between my toes to cure athlete’s foot,” Dad said. Their driver frowned, clearly not amused.

  “In Mayan mythology, Xpiyacoc and Xmucane were the god and goddess who created the earth and everything on it,” Angelo said. “They are some of the oldest gods of Mayan legend, and are extremely sacred. If these are their temples, it’s possible they could be filled with gifts of untold value.”

  “Gifts?” Carter said, perking up. “You mean, like, treasure and stuff?”

  Nick’s dad whistled. “No wonder the archaeologists want to open them up.”

  Mr. Jiménez laughed. “Of course we all dream of finding lost treasures. Alas, those stories have never been verified. Realistically, if there ever was treasure, it was stolen long ago by Spanish explorers or looters.”

  “That’s not what the first archaeologists were most interested in, anyway,” Angelo said.

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying they didn’t want the gold?” He’d seen a lot of mummy movies, and in every one of them, the people exploring the pyramids were hoping to get rich. That’s usually what got them in trouble.

  “I’m not saying they wouldn’t have taken it if they’d had the chance,” Angelo said. “But writing found on the outside of the pyramid of the sun claimed a king was buried there. The king’s parents died when he was a baby, leaving him to be raised by his aunt and uncle. And apparently, they were holding something of unimaginable power for him. That’s what the archaeologists were looking for, if you ask me. Not mere gold.”

  Mr. Jiménez’s hands jerked on the wheel, making the car swerve. “Where did you hear all that?”

  Angelo slipped the black folder inside his monster notebook. “It was reported in the local newspapers. Fifty years ago, there was a lot of interest in what that item of power might be, and ever since that failed expedition, a lot of people have wanted to go find it. But until this year, the government refused to let anyone go back in. And I know why. I know what the king’s aunt and uncle were holding for him.”

  Jiménez wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “No one knows that.”

  Angelo waited a moment, seeming to enjoy the suspense. He tapped something between his feet, and Nick realized it was the DNA tester. “Remember how I told you that Mayans believed Xpiyacoc and Xmucane were the gods who created the world? What if they weren’t gods at all, but, instead, came from another realm so advanced the Mayans only thought they were gods?”

  Whatever point Angelo had been trying to make, Nick wasn’t sure he got it. “If they weren’t gods, what were they?” He glanced down at the DNA tester, and suddenly it all came together. “You think they were aliens.”

  Angelo’s head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. “It all makes sense. Aktun is the modern name of the pyramid. It means ‘cave’ in Mayan. But originally it was called Ximasutal, which is short for Xma’ Su’tal Hats’utsil. In Mayan, Xma’ Su’tal Hats’utsil means ‘abandoned beauty.’ The aliens named it that because they abandoned the beauty of the rain forest to return to their home planet. But what if the aliens left something behind? Something so sacred and powerful, only the king’s guardians knew about it?”

  Nick could hardly believe what he was hearing. “So the mummy’s uncle was protecting . . .”

  Angelo looked up to the sky. “A way to bring back the extraterrestrial ship.”

  The first person to break the silence was Mr. Jiménez. Laughing so hard that his glasses bounced around on the tip of his nose, he shook his head. “You Americans watch too many movies.” He held one hand up to his ear. “E.T. phone home. E.T. phone home. Such an imagination you have.”

  Angelo glared at the man, his face going white. “You’re saying I’m wrong?”

  Nick couldn’t ever remember seeing his friend so offended. He was really into his alien theory.

  Mr. Jiménez pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his khaki shorts and patted at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have laughed. Xma’ Su’tal Hats’utsil does translate loosely to ‘abandoned beauty.’ And, while there is still so much we don’t know, the pyramids may very well have been temples to Xpiyacoc and Xmucane.”

  “Gods who could have been aliens,” Nick said, feeling like he needed to defend his friend.

  Mr. Jiménez waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve heard of Zeus, Medusa, and Cerberus, yes? According to myth, they were gods too. Does that mean there are really aliens who throw lightning bolts, have snakes for hair, and look like a three-headed dog? They are only stories. Stories told by people long ago to try to explain a world they didn’t understand.”

  Nick had to admit the man made a pretty good point. He loved Greek mythology. But that didn’t make it real.

  “Trust me,” Mr. Jiméne
z said. “I’ve studied Mexican archaeology my whole life. If there was even a hint of your . . . extraterrestrials, I would know about it.”

  “What about the king and his aunt and uncle?” Dad asked. “Could they be real?”

  Mr. Jiménez tapped him on the chest. “Now you are thinking like a historian. It is quite possible their tombs are somewhere inside the pyramids. As you Americans are fond of saying, where there is smoke, there is often fire. It’s even possible there was an important item they were protecting. A trinket probably, with some sort of religious importance. Unfortunately, what little information we have comes from secondhand reports. All photographs and journals were lost when the original camp was attacked.”

  Nick leaned forward in his seat. “Is that what you think happened to the first archaeologists? They were attacked?”

  “What else?” Mr. Jiménez said. “You think they were whisked into space by your aliens? No, it was an attack. That’s the reason the government has kept the site closed. No conspiracy there.”

  Nick didn’t want to admit that a conspiracy was exactly what he had been thinking. “It’s just . . . there was no evidence. Wouldn’t animals have left blood or something?”

  “There are many dangers in the jungle,” Mr. Jiménez said, meeting Nick’s eyes. “Not all of them walk on four legs. And not all snakes slither on their bellies.”

  Nick wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. But it didn’t sound good. There was one more question he felt like he had to ask. “My dad said the pyramids are cursed. Is that true? Or is it just another myth?”

  He expected their driver to laugh like he had at the idea of aliens. Instead he frowned. “I believe I have said enough for now. Perhaps you can ask Dr. Canul when we reach the camp.”

  Angelo stared silently at the monster notebook in his lap, his lips pressed together.

  “Sorry he shot down your alien theory,” Nick said.

  “He didn’t,” Angelo said. “Just because he went to college that doesn’t make him an expert. Besides, he’s not the one in charge of the dig. Dr. Canul is. The doctor’s the one who got permission to return to the site. If there’s someone who knows what’s really inside the pyramids, it’s him.”