by Rice, Anne
“I’ve betrayed your trust, young woman,” I whispered immediately.
“Don’t be so foolish,” she fired back. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do. Do you think I wanted to be humiliated? Of course not!”
“You’re putting the wrong meaning on everything,” I argued.
She reached for the back of my neck, held my head as firmly as she could, and kissed me.
“Let’s go,” she said, as if speaking to a child. “We’re wasting time. Come on.”
14
In the jeep, we managed an hour before the road gave out. Then, hefting our machetes, we proceeded to follow the trail on foot.
There was very little conversation between us, all of our energy being given over to the difficult and steady assent. But again that sense of bliss descended upon me, and the sight of Merrick’s forceful slim body up ahead of me was a constant guilty delight.
The jungle now seemed impenetrable, regardless of the altitude, and again there came the clouds with their wondrous sweetness and damp.
I had my eye out all the time for ruins of any sort, and indeed we saw them, on both sides of us, but whether they were temples or pyramids or whatever, I was not meant to know. Merrick dismissed them out of hand, and insisted that we press doggedly on.
The heat ate through my clothing. My right arm ached from the weight of the machete. The insects became an unendurable nuisance, but I would not have been in any other place just then for anything in the world.
Quite suddenly Merrick stopped, and motioned for me to come to her side.
We had come upon a clearing of sorts, or the remains of one, I should say, and I saw decayed plaster hovels where there had once been houses, and one or two shelters which still maintained their old thatched roofs.
“The little village is gone,” Merrick said as she surveyed the disaster.
I remembered Matthew Kemp’s mention of Village One and Village Two on his map and in his letters of years ago.
She stood for a long moment staring into the remnants of the place and then she spoke in a secretive voice. “Do you feel anything?”
I had not felt anything until she asked me, but no sooner did I hear the question than I was aware of something spiritually turbulent in the air. I resolved to apply all my senses to it. It was quite strong. I cannot say I felt personalities or an attitude. I felt a commotion. For one moment I felt menace, and then nothing at all.
“What do you make of it?” I asked her.
Her very stillness made me uneasy.
“It’s not the spirits of this village,” she answered. “And I’ll bet you anything that whatever we’re feeling is precisely what caused the villagers to move on.” She started off again, and I had no choice but to follow her. I was almost as obsessed as she.
Once we had circled the entangled village ruin, the trail appeared again.
However, the jungle soon became denser; we had to hack our way all the more fiercely, and at times I felt a dreadful pain in my chest.
Quite suddenly, as if it had appeared by magic, I saw the huge bulk of a pale stone pyramid looming before us, its steps covered by scrub growth and dense vine.
Someone at some time had cleared it, and much of its strange carving was visible, as well as its flight of steep steps. No, it wasn’t Maya, at least not insofar as I could see.
“Ah, let me savor this,” I said to Merrick.
She didn’t answer me. She seemed to be listening for an important sound. I too listened and there came again that awareness that we were not alone. Something moved in the atmosphere, something pushed against us, something sought with great determination to move against gravity and affect my body as I stood there, machete in hand.
Merrick suddenly veered to the left, and began hacking her way around the side of the pyramid and onward in the same direction that we’d taken before.
There was no trail now. There was nothing but the jungle, and I soon realized that another pyramid loomed to our left, and that it was much higher than the building to our right. We were in a small alley way before the two immense monuments, and we had to make our way through cumbersome rubble, as someone had done digging here at some time before.
“Thieves,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “They’ve plundered the pyramids many times.”
That was hardly uncommon with regard to Maya ruins. So why should it not happen to these strange alien buildings as well?
“Ah, but look,” I said, “at what they’ve left behind. I want to climb one of these. Let’s tackle the smaller one. I want to see if I can make it to the platform on top.”
She knew as well as I did that that is where a thatched-roof temple might have stood in ancient times.
As for the age of these monuments, I had no indication. They might have been built before the Birth of Christ or a thousand years after. Whatever, they seemed marvelous to me and they maddened my already boyish sense of adventure. I wanted to get out my camera.
Meantime, the spiritual tumult continued. It was wondrously intriguing. It was as if the air were whipped by the spirits. The sense of menace was strong.
“Good Lord, Merrick, how they’re trying to stop us,” I whispered. The jungle gave forth its chorus of cries, as if answering me. Something moved in the brush.
But Merrick, after stopping for only a few moments, pressed on.
“I have to find the cave,” she said in a dull flat voice. “They didn’t stop us last time and they’re not going to stop you and me now.” On she went, the jungle closing all too readily behind her.
“Yes,” I cried out. “It’s not one soul, it’s many. They don’t want us near these pyramids.”
“It’s not the pyramids,” she insisted, chopping at the vines and pushing through the undergrowth. “It’s the cave, they know we are going to the cave.”
I did my best to keep up with her, and to aid her, but she was definitely the one clearing our path.
We had gone some yards when it seemed the jungle grew impossibly thick and that the light was suddenly altered, and I realized we had come to the blackened doorway of an immense edifice, which spread its sloping walls to our right and our left. It was a temple, surely, and I could see the impressive carvings on either side of the entrance, and also above as the wall rose to a great apron of stone with intricate carvings visible in the scarce high rays of the desperate sun.
“Lord, Merrick, wait,” I called out. “Let me photograph this.” I struggled to reach my small camera, but I would have to remove my backpack and my arms were simply too tired.
The airy turbulence grew extremely intense. I felt something similar to the light tap of fingers against my eyelids and my cheeks. It was altogether different from the constant barrage of the insect world. I felt something touch the back of my hands, and it seemed that I almost lost my grip on the machete, but I quickly recovered.
As for Merrick, she stood staring into the darkness of the hallway or passage in front of her.
“My God,” she whispered. “They’re much stronger than they were before. They don’t want us to go inside.”
“And why would we do that?” I asked quickly. “We’re searching for a cave.”
“They know that’s what we’re doing,” she said. “The cave is on the other side of the temple. The simplest way is straight through.”
“God in Heaven,” I said. “This is the way you went before?”
“Yes,” she answered. “The villagers wouldn’t go with us. Some never made it as far. We went on, through there.”
“And what if the ceiling of this passage collapses on us?” I asked.
“I’m going through it,” she answered. “The temple’s built of solid limestone. Nothing’s changed, and nothing will.”
She removed her small flashlight from her belt and sent the beam into the opening. I could see the stone floor in spite of the few pallid plants which had struggled to cover it. I could make out lavish paintings on the walls!
Her flashlight hit
great rich figures of dark skin and golden clothes proceeding against a backdrop of vivid blue. Above, as the walls rose to a vaulted ceiling, I saw another procession against the deep shade of Roman red.
The entire chamber seemed some fifty feet in length and her feeble light struck a bit of greenery at the other end.
Again, there came those spirits, swarming around me, silent yet nevertheless intensely active, trying once more to strike my eyelids and my cheeks.
I saw Merrick flinch. “Get away from me!” she whispered. “You have no power over me!”
There was an immense response. The jungle around us appeared to tremble, as if an errant breeze had worked its way down to us, and a shower of leaves fell at our feet. Once again I heard the unearthly roar of the howler monkeys high in the trees. It seemed to give voice to the spirits.
“Come on, David,” Merrick said; but as she meant to go forward something invisible appeared to stop her, because she stepped back off-balance and raised her left hand as if to shield herself. Another volley of leaves descended upon us.
“Not good enough!” she said aloud and plunged into the vaulted chamber, her light growing brighter and fuller so that we found ourselves surrounded by some of the most vivid murals which I’ve ever seen.
Everywhere around us there rose splendid processional figures, tall and thin, complete with ornate kilts, earrings, and lavish headdresses. I could not mark the style as Maya or Egyptian. It was like nothing I’d ever studied or seen. Matthew’s old photographs had failed to capture one tenth of the vibrancy or detail. A lovely detailed black-and-white border ran along the floor on either sides.
On and on we went, our every footfall echoing off the walls as we proceeded, but the air had grown intolerably hot. Dust rose in my nostrils. I felt the touch of fingers all over me. Indeed there came the grip of hands on my upper arm, and a muffled blow against my face.
I reached out for Merrick’s shoulder, both to hurry her and to stay with her.
We were in the very middle of the passage when she came to a standstill and flinched as if receiving a shock.
“Get away from me, you won’t stop me!” she whispered. And then in a long stream of French she called on Honey in the Sunshine to make the way.
We hurried on. I wasn’t at all sure that Honey would do anything of the sort. It seemed far more likely that Honey would bring the temple down on our heads.
At last we came out in the jungle once more, and I coughed to clear my throat. I looked back at the edifice. Less was visible on this side than on the front. I felt the spirits all around us. I felt threats without language. I felt myself pushed and shoved by weak creatures desperate to stop my advance.
I needed my handkerchief for the millionth time, to wipe the insects off my face.
Merrick immediately moved on.
The path went steeply upwards. And I beheld the sparkle of the waterfall before I heard its music. There came a narrow place where the water ran deep, and Merrick crossed over to the right bank as I followed, my machete working as hard as hers.
The climb up the waterfall was not difficult at all. But the activity of the spirits became increasingly stronger. Again and again Merrick cursed under her breath. I called on Oxalá to show the way.
“Honey, get me there,” Merrick said.
Quite abruptly I perceived, just beneath an overhang, where the waterfall jetted forward, a monstrous open-mouthed face carved deep into the volcanic rock that surrounded an obvious cave. It was precisely as the doomed Matthew had described it. His camera had been ruined by moisture before he could photograph it, however, and its size was something of a shock.
Now, you can well imagine my satisfaction that we had reached this mythic place. For years I had heard tell of it, it was inextricably bound up in my mind with Merrick, and now we were there. Though the spirits kept up their assault, the gentle mist from the waterfall was cooling my hands and face.
I made my way up to stand beside Merrick, when suddenly the spirits exerted immense pressure against my body, and I felt my left foot go out from under me.
Though I never cried out, but merely reached for purchase, Merrick turned and grabbed hold of me by the loose shoulder of my jacket. That was all I needed to recover my footing and climb the remaining few feet to be at the flattened entrance of the cave.
“Look at the offerings,” Merrick said, putting her left hand on my right.
The spirits redoubled their efforts, but I held firm and so did Merrick, though twice she swiped at something near to her face.
As for “the offerings,” what I beheld was a giant basalt head. It struck me as similar to the Olmec, but that was all I could say. Did it resemble the murals in the temple? Impossible to judge. Whatever it was, I loved it. It was helmeted and tilted upwards so that the face with its open eyes and unique smiling mouth received the rain that inevitably fell here, and at its uneven base, amid piles of blackened stones, stood an amazing array of candles, feathers, and wilted flowers, as well as pottery. I could smell the incense where I stood.
The blackened rocks testified to many years of candles, but the last of these offerings could not have been more than two or three days old.
I felt something change in the air around us. But Merrick seemed as distressed by the spirits as before. She made another involuntary gesture, as though to drive something unseen away.
“So nothing stopped them from coming,” I said quickly, looking at the offering. “Let me try something.” I reached into my jacket pocket and took out a pack of Rothmans, which I was keeping for the inevitability that I would smoke.
I opened them hastily, lighted one with my butane lighter, in spite of the incessant spray of the waterfall, drew in the smoke, and then put the cigarette before the immense head. I put the entire pack with it. Silently I said the prayers to the spirits, asking them to allow us access to this place.
I felt no change in the assault of the spirits. I felt them pushing on me with renewed energy in a way that was beginning to unnerve me, certain though I might be that they would never gain very much strength.
“They know our motives,” said Merrick, gazing at the giant upturned head and its withered flowers. “Let’s go into the cave.”
We used our large flashlights, and at once the silence from the waterfall descended upon us, along with the smell of dry earth and ash.
Immediately, I saw the paintings, or what I perceived to be paintings. They were well inside, and we walked upright and swiftly towards them, ignoring the spirits which had now produced a whistling sound near my ears.
To my utter shock, I saw that these splendidly colored wall coverings were in fact mosaics made with millions of tiny chips of semi-precious stones! The figures were far simpler than those of temple murals, which argued perhaps for a more ancient date.
The spirits had gone quiet.
“This is marvelous,” I whispered, because I had to say something. And again I tried to reach for my camera, but the pain in my arm was simply too sharp. “Merrick, we must take photographs,” I told her. “Look, darling, there’s writing. We must photograph it. I’m sure those are glyphs.”
She didn’t answer. She stared at the walls as I did. She seemed entranced.
I could not quite make out a procession, or indeed attribute any activity to the tall slender figures, except to say that they appeared to be in profile, to wear long garments, and to be carrying important objects in their hands. I did not see bloody victims struggling. I did not see clear figures of priests.
But as I struggled to make out the intermittent and glittering splendor, my foot struck something hollow. I looked down at a wealth of richly colored pottery gleaming before us as far as we could see.
“This isn’t a cave at all, is it?” Merrick said. “I remember Matthew saying it was a tunnel. It is a tunnel. It’s been carved out entirely by man.”
The stillness was shocking.
Stepping as carefully as she could, she went on, and I behind her, though
I had to reach down several times to move some of the small vessels out of my way.
“This is a burial place, that’s what it is, and all these are offerings,” I said.
At that I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head. I spun around and shone my flashlight on nothing. The light from the cave entrance hurt my eyes.
Something pushed my left side and then my right shoulder. It was the spirits coming at me again. I saw that Merrick was jerking and moving to the side, as if something were striking her also.
I uttered a prayer to Oxalá again, and heard Merrick issuing her own refusals to back down.
“This is as far as we got last time,” said Merrick, turning to look at me, her face dark above her flashlight, which she politely directed to the ground. “We took everything we found here. Now I’m going on.”
I was right with her, but the assault of the spirits grew stronger. I saw her pushed to one side. But quickly she steadied herself. I heard the crunch of pottery beneath her feet.
“You’ve made us angry,” I said to the spirits. “Maybe we don’t have any right here. And maybe we do!”
At this I received a heavy silent blow to the stomach, but it was not sufficient to cause pain. I felt a sharp increase in my exhilaration suddenly.
“Go on, do your damndest,” I said. “Oxalá, who is buried here? Would he or she have it remain secret forever? Why did Oncle Vervain send us to this place?”
Merrick, who was several yards ahead of me, let out a gasp.
I caught up with her at once. The tunnel had opened into a great hollow round chamber where the mosaics ascended the low dome. Much had fallen away from age or dampness, I knew not which, but it was a glorious room nevertheless. Round both walls the figures proceeded, until there stood one individual whose facial features had long ago been broken away.
On the floor of the room, in its very center, surrounded by clear circles of pottery offerings and fine jade statues, lay a beautiful arrangement of ornaments in a nest of dust.
“Look, the mask, the mask in which he was buried,” Merrick said, her light falling upon the most glorious polished green jade image, which lay as it had been placed perhaps thousands of years before, the body of the wearer having long since melted away.
