Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  Fortunately, the rocks were weather worn and there were no sharp edges as we hurried across them. We were soon among the trees and out of breath so we threw ourselves to the litter and, forthwith, I started putting on our jungle sandals, Molly’s first. I was amazed that the bark was still holding out, but the leaves had to be replaced. I studied around us, but there were no leathery leaves. I saw some wild yam208 and tore several of the heart shaped leaves, accepting that those would have to do for the lining. After rapidly tying up our sandals, I took out a couple cocoyols that were in one of my pockets. I gave Molly one and I took one. “We’ll eat on the run,” I said and we started up the mountain side.

  I wanted to look back at the approaching malignant storm but resisted the desire. The occasional hostile howl of the Black Howler Monkey was enough to remind me that Sisimito was drawing near.

  The grade was steep, but there were many branches and vines that we could hold on to and pull ourselves along, so I was pleased with our advance. We had climbed about five hundred feet when we arrived at a small ledge that continued under the waterfall and across to its northern side. We were again out of breath and I was surprised that I was, but then I supposed I had Tóolok to blame for that.

  “Let’s rest here a little. I want you to listen, as best you can, and let me know, immediately, if you hear anything coming behind us.” I was giving her a duty, trying to distract her, keep her mind off Sisimito. I knew it would be difficult to hear anything, however, for the sound of the waterfall carried through the jungle.

  I leaned against a yax-nik209 tree, very tired. I had fucked all night, probably broke my personal record for koming,210 and everything that had happened was probably just catching up with me … at the wrong time. I should have slept more during the night, but it was difficult to get enough of Molly’s body and Tóolok had a mind of his own. I had allowed Tóolok to take over and I was paying for it while he was quite happy and comfortable sleeping. I craved sleep. I craved Molly. I always seemed to be craving something just out of reach. I must have been born a restless soul.

  Molly had curled up on the litter and appeared to be listening intently. Yet, her eyes seem to be faraway. Perhaps, she thought of being in the safety of her home and with her family in Belize City. I could not let myself be distracted, however, so I closed my eyes, narrowed my focus, listened intently to the sounds of the jungle. There were none … only the waterfall. I kept my eyes closed and felt a faint wind brushing my face. I wondered, absentmindedly as I began to drift, how the wind was able to reach me where I sat … if it could be Etzelal Iq’.

  The breeze and my tiredness must have made me nod momentarily for it was only faintly that I heard Molly’s voice calling to me. Unintentionally, I fought against her voice as I wanted to fall deeper into sleep, the breeze was so cool against my face, but I forced myself back to the jungle and where I was and opened my eyes. Hovering just inches from my face was the hideous living mask of the most notorious of all bats, a chikoop211 … a vampire bat. Its nose was like a pig’s snout, the extremity of which was cut off. On either side of the horrendous nostril was a brown eye covered with mucus and set deep into the light brown bristles that covered its face. Its mouth had no upper lip and just below where the lip was supposed to be, two very sharp and white incisor teeth drew nearer to me. The vampire bat was getting those teeth ready to remove a piece of skin off my neck, allowing my blood to flow. Its gums were already bloated and filled with blood from a previous feed, but the vampire was not satiated. Other sharp and long teeth protruded and retracted from those gums in anticipation. Its fleshy blood red tongue moved forward and backward above its lower lip which had a split forming a central channel still carrying traces of blood drawn in from its last victim. Its large wings, supported by four long fingers, the hind legs and its tail, moved slowly up and down above the bat, sending the soft breeze that I still felt against my face. Hooked claws, or thumbs, projected forward from the wings and were vibrating nervously. I stared as it drew closer. I stared and did nothing.

  I had seen many horrors over the last few days but staring into the evil face of the chikoop held me petrified. Its eyes seized me and its teeth trembled, wanting to leap out of its mouth into me. Chikoops were often rabid; I could not have it bite me nor have its spittle on my face. Yet, I was not hurling myself away from it as I should have. I watched Molly as she got up, stealthily, and picked up a stout piece of broken limb that lay on the jungle floor. She held it high above her head and brought it down forcibly onto the chikoop. The bat cried out in pain, eek-eek, a loud cry that carried with it the most eerie tympanic noise I had ever heard. I knew something was wrong for I had never heard the cry of a bat. As far as I remembered, humans could not hear the noise a bat made as it was high-pitched and at a higher frequency than the human ear. The only sounds that were heard was from movement, scratching and flapping sounds. Yet, the injured bat had cried out, eek-eek. The bat fell to the jungle floor, its wings broken; yet, it began pulling itself forward with its claws, towards me, pushing with its backwardly directed legs. Molly’s branch came down again and the chikoop still screamed, eek-eek-eek-eek-eek-eek. That time there were answers. From under the falls, many bats were leaving the ledges where they had hung and were shrieking and flying towards us.

  “Get up,” shouted Molly. “Let’s get out of here.” She jumped over the wailing mammal and shook me.

  I responded and was up, grabbed her hand, and we ran as fast as we could up the steep slope. The hysterical eek-eeks continued, but they were not getting closer to us. I stopped and looked around, Molly doing the same. Between the trees below us was a whirling mass of madness as hundreds of vampires had descended upon the injured chikoop. Those nearest to it were tearing it to pieces then flying away with pieces of flesh in their angry viscous mouths, leaving droplets of blood to fall to the jungle floor. The swirling back mass grew and the deafening mayhem increased until we had to cover our ears. Suddenly, from within the violent black torment rose an almost human form, reaching out at passing bats, grasping them, biting off their heads, sucking them dry of their blood. Xwáay Chikoop looked towards us, suspended in a pool of droplets of blood floating around her. She gave a ghastly smile and two sharp and bloodied teeth began to protrude from her mouth.

  “Oh God!” lamented Molly, making the sign of the cross. Xwáay Chikoop shrieked in laughter.

  “Fok me!” I shouted. Then I screamed out “Oh Lord”, for I remembered villagers saying that crying out ‘Oh Lord’ while Xwáay Chikoop was in flight would weaken the strength of her evil forces. The sinister laughter stopped and Xwáay Chikoop hovered in alarm. I held Molly’s hand and shouted “Oh Lord” again, then I frowned. There was the strong smell of asafoetida, a foul-smelling gum resin, and Xwáay Chikoop snarled, her face becoming angry with hate and evil. She screamed out as she transformed herself into a flying ball of fire and quickly disappeared into the dense jungle.

  “Well fok!” I sputtered, relieved that the threat appeared to be over, at least, at that time.

  “Stephen,” I heard Molly say, falteringly.

  I turned around and stared into the brown face and black eyes of a Maya man, his bow drawn, an arrow pointing at me. Then there was another one beside him, then another, and we were soon completely surrounded by Maya men, armed with bows and arrows,212 slings213, spears,214 and atlatls or spear throwers215 with quivers216 of darts or short spears. They gazed at us as if puzzled then moved apart and one, obviously the leader, came into the circle. He was a little taller than the others, but shorter than me. He scrutinized me and I saw him frown. He regarded Molly, reached out and touched her hair. We were then just about completely petrified.

  “What kingdom are you from?” he asked me. I was shocked. He spoke a language very similar to my native tongue, Ke’kchi, so I was able to understand him.

  “I am Ke’kchi,” I answered.

  “What kingdom are you from?” he repeated.

  I didn’t know what to answer. I
didn’t think saying British Honduras or Belize would have helped, so I remained silent.

  “Are you a spy? If so, of which kingdom?” I still did not answer. He scowled, reached over and touched Molly’s hair again. He studied her, up and down, then focused on her hands for a few moments, but he did not react to or say anything about her missing thumbs. “Are you from Xunantunich, Lubaantun, Lamanai, Altun Ha?217 he continued. “Or are you from Yax Mutul218 or Maxam?219 Answer me or have you had your tongue already removed for lying?”

  When he named Yax Mutul and Maxam, I saw a change in his demeanor, a slight tension presenting itself. I knew I was running out of time so I decided to take a chance. “I am from Pusilhá.”220

  “And the woman? She does not seem to be one of us. From which kingdom and dynasty is she?”

  I suddenly realized I didn’t know what Molly was. I hadn’t even thought about it and to compound the situation, I wasn’t even sure what I was being asked. “She’s Kriol or Mestizo,”221 I answered, not knowing a Ke’kchi word for Kriol or Mestizo. “She is from a different dynasty,” I added. “From a distant kingdom.”

  “You speak my language closely, but dress differently and, your hair is short. I am not sure you are one of us. And the woman, is she your woman?” I nodded. “Does she speak my language?”

  “Just a little,” I answered, remembering that Gus had been teaching her.

  “Then spend less time with her in the hammock and more time teaching her your language. How will she answer to your wishes if she can’t understand you?” There were chuckles from the others.

  He stared at me. “Is the Ajaw of Pusilhá222 still trying to build that stone bridge across the river?”

  I didn’t know what the fok to say. “Yes,” I answered.

  Until that time, I had not looked at Molly. I did then and noted absolute bewilderment in her eyes. Like me, she wanted to know what the fok was happening to us? Where were we? What world had Sisimito transported us to? Who were those people?

  “Your woman looks pale. Do you feed her properly?” At that, the leader’s comrades laughed loudly. “And, her hair? It is brown and light and it curls. Not black and rich like ours. Even her eyes are like the color of the small deer. Again, not black and rich like ours.”

  How to respond? … I was totally at a loss. I did believe, however, that it was important for me to continue talking.

  “Sit down. The woman too and don’t try to escape. There are many of us and you are only two and one a woman.” He looked at us, apparently in deep thought. “You are both lucky we were here. The xwáay223 used to visit only at nights, but now she visits anytime. Why do you travel in these parts without the means to defend yourself and your woman?” He shook his head, staring at us. “But then it seems you travel light.” He chuckled, then started moving away. He turned back and looked at our feet. “And your shoemakers … they aren’t very good.” At that comment, they all laughed again then turned a little into the jungle. Two of the men stayed with us while four went with him. I could hear them talking and although they didn’t seem to be arguing, they were talking rapidly.

  “Where did they come from?” asked Molly, obviously perplexed and fearful. “Real Maya Indians don’t exist anymore.”

  “Of course, we do. What do you think I am?”

  “You know what I mean,” she responded, angrily.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a bit sensitive … ‘

  “You! Sensitive? That’s a joke.”

  She looked ready to cry and I held her hands, trying to allay her fears. It was the first time my touch was aware of the fact that the thumbs were not there. I fought away any antipathy that may have wanted to present itself and quickly realized that, sensuously, I was not bothered.

  “What will they do with us?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I don’t know what is fokin happening to us.” I put my confusion aside and examined our situation, quickly. Who they were and where they came from was not important, at that time. “We’ve survived so far, Molly. If they wanted to kill us, they would have done so already.” I held my head askewed and nodded. “I’ll think of something.” I tried to look amused and added, “Yes, Private Cervantez. I knew what you meant earlier and, yes, I am a real thoroughbred Maya Indian.” Then macho me decided to be funny, lighten our desperate situation, and, grinning, said, “A real Maya stud … as you know.”

  I saw her lift her hand and realized she was about to slap me a good one. My jaw dropped open in disbelief. She lowered her hand, her face agonized, shook her head, then turned away to look into the jungle. “Where’s your sensitivity now,” she murmured.

  “Fok!” I cussed. Why do I always have to be the worse side of Stephen Chiac? I decided to become the soldier I was and recce the area with my eyes. That was what was important. Fok!

  The two men who guarded us were dressed alike. They were bare except for the skimpy white loincloth each wore along with a belt made from ocelot224 skin. Around their necks was a chain made from white bone and teeth. They both carried a quiver fabricated from ocelot skin in which they had several arrows and each of them had a bow in one hand.

  The leader was dressed in a short skirt of narrow parallel brown cloth strips, spaced about five inches apart, running from the waist to just above mid-thigh. He wore a shirt, more like a short vest without sides, covering his chest and back. It was made from jaguar pelt with matching garters around his ankles. His feet were bare. A necklace of jade was around his neck and he wore several jade bracelets on his wrists. For his weapon, he held a long spear in one hand.

  The other four were dressed alike. They wore brown loincloths only and they each wore a jade necklace. Two carried short spears and atlatls while the other two carried slings.

  From their demeanor, it was obvious that those men were nobles and not ordinary members of the society to which they belonged. They were young, the leader seemed about my age, and the group did not look like a war party, but more like a hunting party on a leisure walk through the jungle, probably celebrating the life their high lineage gave to them. Yet, even though they were relaxed, I sensed that they could be very dangerous if they chose to. I looked around to see if I saw any others, but I didn’t. Then I heard the roar of the Black Howler Monkey and our captors all responded by looking towards the direction the roar came from. It did not sound as if it were far away, but then the roar of the howler can travel for miles.

  The leader and his corps returned from their parley, but their initial ease had disappeared. Their faces, as they stood looking at us, conveyed the impression that they were agitated, probably wondering what to do with us, an inconvenience that had complicated their hunting trip. Once again, the roar of the howler penetrated the jungle. One of the nobles whispered in the leader’s ear. He looked down at Molly’s hands once again, frowning briefly.

  “Bind them and blind them,” he commanded. “One of his comrades clapped his hands. Immediately, about a dozen more men appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Some of those men were dressed only in white loincloths. Some of them were completely naked and I assumed those were slaves. They carried cloth bundles, additional weapons, baskets, some with fresh animal carcass, others with gourds and clay utensils and other items. One of the baskets was open and contained a white grainy salt. The man who had clapped spoke to one of the other men who, immediately, produced rope hemp and cloth from one of the baskets. Again, the roar of the howler drew nearer. The sound had minimal effect on the leader and his close associates, but I saw the servants and slaves fidgeting nervously as they looked at each other and the jungle that surrounded them. One man, salting the carcasses, stopped and listened for a moment before he continued.

  “Why are you doing this?’ I asked, pulling away from the man who had approached me. I looked at the leader. “What purpose will binding and blinding us serve? We are not your enemy.”

  “Don’t question the Halach Uinic,”225 ordered the man who had clapped his hands, seemingly ready
to thrust his short spear into my abdomen.

  “Wait,” declared the Halach Uinic, to the man who had moved towards me with his spear. “You may not be my enemy, but you are also not my friend. Strangers are often friends of my enemies rather than friends of my friends. I must be careful. But there is something about you and your woman that intrigues me. It saves your lives, Ke’kchi. We blind you with cloth only. The cloth will eventually be removed.” He smiled. “If you are indeed a friend from a distant kingdom, nothing is lost if you do not learn the way to our great city. It may even prove advantageous to know little, if you are caught by our enemies. These are troubled times, Ke’kchi. What you do not know you cannot be forced to tell. And if you are a spy, then you must not know this way to our city.” The man who had clapped, once again, spoke into the ear of the Halach Uinic. The Halach Uinic looked at Molly’s hands again. “We know of the evil one called Mahanamatz who removes the thumbs.” He raised his forehead. “We are told of him in stories and legends. It was said that Tzultacah had taken the evil one and placed him in dense jungle far away. But now many say that he walks the jungle with his Kechelaj Jupuq and Kechelaj Komon once again. You may not know this, Ke’kchi, but my priests have been prophesying that my ideas of change will, once again, bring this evil along with death and destruction to our cities and villages. I have now met with two strangers and one of you,” he looked at us, “has no thumbs. Already, we hear mysticism within the roar of the howler. It is not a natural roar, but a voice of evil. It is not normal. It is a voice within a voice. It would be well-advised to kill you both, without delay. Now! If I don’t, I fear my priests will see you as an evil omen and be angered that I, Ajawinel226 K’an II, brings you into my city. But I don’t believe everything my priests say and,” he gazed up into the canopy and into the jungle, “the voice of evil is near. We have no time to talk more. We must move on. I see in your eyes that you deserve the death of a Warrior, Ke’kchi, not the death of a slave. It would serve no real purpose for me to snap my fingers and have my friend here run his willing bate’227 through your body … and through hers. Perhaps, one k’iin,228 Ke’kchi, if I spare your life, you may play a game of bate’s with my friend.” He looked at me and smiled, almost sadly. “According to my priests, Kukulcán229 is always willing to receive one such as you in sacrifice. But I have no priest, no altar, and no time to offer a sacrifice.” He looked up again. “Already, above the trees, I see the dark clouds of the evil one spreading over us.”