There were only two more presents to go. The first was my own idea, one I’d had made so that she could be surprised by at least one thing, not that gifts around here were supposed to be surprises. I unrolled its case and laid it next to the hearth-fire stones myself. It looked like an ordinary ironwood hand flute, but it was actually chromatic, with six-hole transverse fingering and pitched to D, instead of to the double-pentatonic minor scale they used around here. I’d started the project a hundred and twenty-six days ago, the day Koh introduced me to my severed leg, and it had taken until now to get it tuned and to the flautist to play it. I’d adapted the fingering to the Teotihuacanob style, so she could deal with it, but it would still put out scales no one here had ever heard before.
The last item was definitely a not-least. With an air of finality, the head bearer laid three accordion-folding tribute books across the cold hearth-fire stones. Each book was bound in plucked eagle skin and filled with tribute lists and coded maps representing rights to a hundred and eighteen villages and thousands of acres of Harpy farmlands. They were the only really serious part of the bride-price.
Enough, already, I thought. I’d been thinking of throwing in twelve bloods a-blooding, eleven dwarves a-dwarving, fifty-four other items, and a vulture in a prickly-pear tree. In fact-even though I know it sounds like some conspicuous-consumption event a la the Duc de Berry or the Miller Sisters-this wasn’t even the most elaborate royal wedding. Supposedly, seven hundred and twenty days ago, at the wedding of 1 Chocolate of Caracol, the eight-year-old groom had had four hundred thralls killed just for spectacle, without even offering them to any particular immortal. Of course, he might have been another victim of bad publicity.
The so-called in-laws looked everything over. If only Marcel Mauss could see this, I thought. Finally the room servants started gathering up the loot and 1 Gila said it was okay for me to enter the fucking house.
The room was big, maybe about the size and shape of the Oval Office-which isn’t that big-and except for an opaque screen of state at the back it was totally empty. Not for long, I thought. The two sets of parents and godparents sat on mats at the right side of the door. Teentsy Bear and I sat and faced them from the other side. The girls and the other female relations crowded behind the screen. It was rare for women ever to see men eating, but Koh was making an exception for her mother and my surrogate mother and the various godmothers. 1 Gila sent a “runner” to go get the High Midwife, who was probably watching everything through a hole in the wall anyway. A bearer brought him a basket and he took out a long halach wex, that is, your basic loincloth but very fancy with tiny scales, that is, beads, showing my glyphs and dubious accomplishments. More than a couple seamstresses must have gone blind getting the thing ready in just twenty days. He presented it to me with a presentation speech and I accepted it with an accepting speech. Before I was done everyone snapped into a respectful attitude. The high midwife crouched in.
She was an old Rattler greatfather-mother and besides being a midwife she was also what you might call the Rattler Society’s head. In a way, in the context of this one ceremony, she was the most important person here.
She saluted my father, Koh’s father, my mother, and Koh’s mother.
The toastmaster did the same. The bridal family struck “welcome” poses and saluted everybody else, in order of precedence, by name, with me last. Then the toastmaster saluted everyone again, with me last. I saluted back. Finally the midwife launched into her spiel to Koh’s parents. She said I obviously wasn’t good enough for their daughter, but since I’d worked so hard maybe they should go against their better judgment and let Koh come out of the gynaeceum. Finally, Koh’s parents gave in. One of the girls ran to get her. I counted two hundred and ninety-three beats before Koh appeared in the door. The strata of encrusted ornament seemed to grow out of her flesh, even the smiling jaws of the giant nurturing snake around her head didn’t so much seem to be a separate creature swallowing her as another part of a compound animal, antennae coiling in, under, around, and through her in stitches too complex to follow, fangs curling over her cheeks and around her neck down to her male-Rattler-adder pectoral insignia-and the two shrunken heads looking up from the sides of her wide belt set with eighteen Mixtec crystals, each of which was carved, in intaglio, with her portrait glyph:
She was all backlit by the morning sunlight and looked new-hatched just for display, like the mouthless imago of a male tiger moth on a milkweed, drying its wings. The four parents rose. I turned my head so I could see her with my right eye, even though it was gauche for me to move. My right eye-I mean, the one that wasn’t there-had developed this kind of nondarkness, this absence, like the part behind your head where you can’t see. It’s not dark, it’s just nothing, like death. At first it had just looked dark over there, like it was shut, but now I was this visually lopsided person.
Koh squatted at the threshold, morpho scales and quetzal and macaw plumes fluttering like she’d just flown down for a beat from her gemstone forest on the surface of the sun and she was still shaking off drops of thermoluminescent liquids that deliquesced in the air, leaving flakes of spiced copper-leaf floating to the floor. She held a long k’inil wal in her dark hand, sort of a long combination fan and fly whisk, basically a bunch of thin cloth streamers and strings of flower-petals on the end of a rod, with a perfume sachet at the base, like a Japanese hare stick. Her face would have seemed blank if there hadn’t been a hint that something was unbearable to her. The effect was childlike or even frightened, and I almost thought that through everything I could make out some emotion, maybe even that same old bittersweet song twitching at the curved border between dark and light that ran just left of her left eye.
(51)
I still wish I could say Koh decided to marry me because she was crazy about me, but I don’t think that was the way it was. I think she found me intriguing. Or at best fun in a liberating way. More than once during my convalescence-that is, when she had a free minute to drop in, and wasn’t busy booting up her new empire-she said she owed me for my silence. She used the words “ makik uchi,” “meritorious silence under torture.”
I hadn’t spilled the beans on the earthstar stuff, I hadn’t sold her out to 2JS, and so she was going to honor her promise to force the five Ixian clans to make me ahau of Ix for the remainder of my section of the cycle. But like I say, that wasn’t the main reason either. What she really needed to do was to legitimate her name. As a first step I’d already been installed in absentia as head of the Harpy House of Ix, that is, I had to take 2 Jeweled Skull’s former position and titles. I got the feeling from her-as much as I could get out of her, in my little room, with her monkey secretaries there, and the sounds of construction outside-that legitimating me had been one of her trickier behind-the-scenes manipulations, and even though her army was in control of Ix it had taken more than a few little assassinations and exiles. But Koh was never one to say anything had been difficult. It was always fait accompli, no prob. I could hardly even get her to talk about how she’d gotten away from Ix and back to her army after the first battle, or ten thousand other things, although I did get a notion of what had gone on that I figured was close to accurate. Evidently Koh had let herself be “protected,” or really captured, by the Ocelots. Then, when 2 Jeweled Skull had taken over, she’d bought her freedom by giving him the tzam lic drugs and apparatus and three captives that he thought were the Scorpion-adders from the Puma House of Tamonat. The trade probably helped make 2JS overconfident, and certainly it gave the Ocelots of Ix fewer bargaining chips. But at some point after Koh had rejoined 1 Gila, 2JS probably found out the Scorpion-adders were impostors. At any rate he sent people after Koh to kill her anyway. After that Koh had managed to stay ahead of the hit squad-who killed two of her doubles-until they got the gossip about the bad situation in Ix and gave up.
But during the second battle for Ix-“after 2JS’s short reign had collapsed in a hallucinogen-sodden rout,” as I liked to think of it-K
oh had had to trade 2JS the three real Scorpion-adders to get me out. She also had to let him go, of course, and he’d probably taken them with him in his retreat force, which she said was only eight score or so bloods. I figured Koh had probably mastered the tzam lic anyway and didn’t even need them anymore.
I felt not quite like a pawn, maybe, but definitely like a commodity. Still, Koh had kept to her end and gotten me out and that meant a lot, even if I was just part of her bid to establish herself. It all got me to thinking about my whole thing, what was going on and what had gone on before, I mean, before the downloading. I’d just look up at the lengthening cracks in the new plaster and flip through images of my life, trying to think of things that would distract me from my itching stump.
I asked Koh where she thought 2 Jeweled Skull had gone, and without answering that-annoyingly, a lot of people around here didn’t exactly answer questions, they just sort of commented on them-she said that she thought she might be able to take him again, and that there were people working on tracking him down. I figured she meant the Caracara Clan of Teotihuacan, the ones she’d invited down here along with everybody else. Even back on the mul in Teotihuacan, when she was talking to 3 Talon and I hadn’t heard what they were talking about, she was probably already making that deal, that if she were in charge she’d help the Caracara Clan of Teotihuacan expand into the Ixian area and would deed their leaders some choice formerly Ocelot land-on the condition that they turn over 2 Jeweled Skull. She’d probably convinced them that he was a danger to the house anyway.
Which was true, kind of. Or at least he was a loose cannon. In the end 2JS was too much of a fraidycat. He didn’t take his new information far enough, he couldn’t get his head around the various paradoxes my consciousness had brought him, and really it was no wonder he’d gotten confused and screwed up.
Koh was curious. I mean, she had curiosity. She couldn’t get enough history. She made me go over and over the dates and events of the Conquest until she could recite them herself, which she did with a kind of morbid relish. She’d spent her whole life training to figure out just a little bit of the future, and as good as she was at it, for her it was at best like being blindfolded and given ten beats to feel her way through a cathedral. And then suddenly here was someone who’d actually seen it. She was fascinated by the idea of a time when women were closer to the social equals of men. She kept asking whether I thought of women as equal in every respect, and I said I flattered myself that I did, except it was obvious they weren’t as good as men at collecting baseball memorabilia. She couldn’t get enough of whatever I could remember about powerful women in Old World and latter-day New World history, and she’d just sit there filling my sickroom with cigar smoke while I told her about the three Cleopatras, Zenobia, Joan of Arc, Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, Catherine the Great, Margaret Thatcher, Eva Peron, Madonna, Hillary Clinton, Rigoberta Menchu, Marena, Jenny McCarthy, whoever. She asked whether women fought in wars and I said combat still-and of course I’m using the word still inadvisedly-wasn’t so popular with them as it was with guys. She asked a lot about war, to the point where I thought she might be thinking about training a crossbow squad. She still didn’t get the captives thing, though. She was like, what’s the point if you have to give back your trophies? Nor did she grok the concept of an equal-opportunity society. In her world you either baked tortillas or whacked your enemies-or, rather, watched your hirelings whacking them-and if you didn’t, you were a social nothing, no matter whether you were an architect, a great fresco painter, a Rattler monk, a cantor like On The Left, a flesh picker, or her much-loved favorite dwarf.
Nerds are forever, though. As I might have expected, she made me go over math more than any other subject. She wasn’t too impressed by Arabic numerals-which are actually Indian, by the way, that is, East Indian-but she was amazed by trig and higher equations and, especially, game theory. Sometimes, after a couple of hours of giving her Probability 101 problems and watching her work them out on a bean abacus, I’d start feeling like if I’d wanted to teach freshmen I’d have stayed home, but I don’t think I ever quite lost patience. Anyway, she was a quick study. She was less interested in art and literature and didn’t get the notion of art for art’s sake, whatever that was. But that stuff is hard to describe. She asked about modern musical scales a couple of times and I tried to demonstrate them but Chacal’s singing voice was one thing that wasn’t much better than Jed 1 ’s. We made paper helicopters and airplanes and unit-origami crystals. She loved them so much she refused to burn them. “They’ll rot in a few revolvings”-seasons-“anyway,” she said, which was true.
At first I thought I was just opening up to her because I was lonely, but I have to admit I got to liking her. Obviously she reminded me of Marena in a lot of ways, except Marena was all screwed up and sassy-talking and flashily brilliant, and Koh was graver and about a million times more spiritual. Koh had a stately centeredness that would seem chilly. To twenty-first century Westerners, she’d have made Gong Li look warm. As exceptional as she was, she was totally Maya.
Which did ultimately become a source of friction between us. At one point when she’d dropped by late in the afternoon with some accounts she wanted me to look over she’d mentioned that two villagesful of Ocelot partisan captives were going to be offered at a “racing feast” that night, that is, just for entertainment. It meant that everyone was going to get popped, including the smallest kids. And if I knew anything about the behavior of victorious bloods, Rattler or not-who were mainly just pumped-up corn-beer-soaked teenagers, after all-the civilians were going to be in for a bumpy time. One thing they were doing lately-that is, one of the trendy torture fads-was making the captives swallow little bags of bean flour, one after another. Then they’d force water down their throats and the poor bastards would puff up with beans and gas and explode. Another one they’d probably do at the same event was this thing where they’d tie the subject on top of a stump and force him to kill himself with a little hook, ripping at his own veins. The idea was that if he wasn’t dead by sundown they’d stake him up and leave him for the birds. Anything where the subject was given a choice was considered more interesting.
Anyway, I told Koh I wished she’d tell them to just cool it. She said I could make humanitarian laws when I was in charge.
I said it didn’t matter what I did, that she should do what she oughta do. I started laying this whole trip on her about personal responsibility and innocence and everything.
She asked how many people I figured had died in agony in this k’atun. When I didn’t answer right away she asked how many I figured had died badly in the seventeen hotunob between ours and yours?
I said between ten and twenty billion, but that it didn’t make it all right. One does what one can, I said.
She just said it sounded like the so-called twenty-first century was a lot worse, and without any dignity besides.
I agreed but said it wasn’t my fault.
Fault is treachery to your own family, she said. Not doing the ordinary thing with your enemies.
I said maybe she had too many enemies and not enough family, but the minute I said it, it sounded like Deepak Chopra or something. Anyway, I wasn’t going to change her on this issue anytime soon. Koh wasn’t a cruel person, she was just from her own patch of the space-time curve.
So maybe in some ways we really were too different. At least she didn’t have self-esteem problems, I thought. No hesitation in asserting authority. She was a textbook illustration of how, no matter how patriarchal the society, a few of the very smartest women always manage to get themselves put in charge of things. Even if she had to get hitched to a weirdo like me.
But she and I couldn’t spend much time getting more acquainted. There were still problems. On the day of the ball game 9 Fanged Hummingbird had been counting on the fact that whatever happened with 2 Jeweled Skull, the Puma coalition under Severed Right Hand was only eighteen or nineteen days away. Now-that is, now at the time of the wed
ding-he’d camped north of the later Palenque, only four days away, undoubtedly trying to find out if Koh was solidly enough in charge to get a defense together. At least she’d entrenched her position enough to force Severed Right Hand to be careful. And if she stayed on top of things and shored up her defenses, he might be reluctant to attack the city at all. Supposedly his troops were feeling the water shortage and the distance from home. But it wasn’t anything to get flip about. Anyway, one way or another, I let her get everything together and here we were.
Koh looked up. My “father” 14 Wounded crossed to her and took the end of her k’inil wal, her fan, in his right hand. She inclined her head and said the equivalent of “Yours” or “At your service,” calling him “Father” for the first time. He handed the fan to her own “father,” 1 Gila, and she saluted him in the same way, and then she greeted her mother, and finally my so-called mother took her fan and helped her up. An attendant folded up the door cloth and let in about twenty other relatives, or I guess you’d say guests, Alligator Root and Koh’s other advisers, and Hun Xoc and 14 Black Gila, and basically the whole gang. Koh and her party took their mats on the right side of the door, facing the so-called parents. I was in the middle, facing the screen in the back, sort of linking the two sides. Sometimes at these things there was another big screen down the center of the room to keep even the closest-related women separate, but in Ixian society, at least when I was there, it was considered classier for the women just not to look at the men and be sure to eat a course after the men were done with it. The whole thing was who could look at whom, the married parents could look at each other, the toastmaster could more or less look at everybody, the thralls couldn’t look at anybody, Koh and I could look at each other, a cat could look at a queen, whatever.
The Sacrifice Game jd-2 Page 31
