Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  I felt as if my heart had already been removed from my body. I felt the blade cutting through my skin, my diaphragm, opening the sac in which my heart lay, and severing all the blood vessels that held my heart in place. My mouth was dry and I trembled with shock at the words I had heard.

  “Thank you, Ah Holpop. It is wise,” responded the Batab.

  “Hand me that golden mug with sweetened water and oils that I may pour it over my body and rid it of this heinous crime I am committing.” I heard the water falling to the floor.

  “It is wise, Ajawinel. I leave.”

  “And it must also be just. So, wait! I have not finished. Do not rush off to the priests with prophecies of the strangers’ deaths. I will give the strangers up for sacrifice, but they will be given an honorable chance to live.”

  “What do you mean, Halach Uinic?” asked the Batab, sounding puzzled.

  “Tell the priests that I, K’an II, Lord Stormwater Moon, Ajawinel of Ox Witz Ha, rules that the male Warrior, the one known only as Ke’kchi, and his woman, Xch’úup Xma’ K’aaba’, that they will honor Kukulcán. The Warrior will participate in the ballgame and the woman in the procession to the Ch’ajch’oj Tz’ono’ot. Should Kukulcán grant them their lives, they will be treated as honored guests of the Nim-q’ij City of Ox Witz Ha.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll accept.”

  “Make them accept. You are my chief diplomat. Use diplomacy and the threat of force, if necessary. If you fail, I will have them killed.”

  “Killed?”

  “Yes. Killed.”

  “You jest again.”

  “No! I don’t.”

  There was a brief moment of silence then the Batab answered. “I will not fail you, Sak Witzil Baah, my Ajawinel.”

  “Go … and have my servants return so that they may dry and dress me. I will then have my breakfast in the courtyard where I hope I will not be disturbed. Batab! Tell the servants to feed the strangers well,” added the Halach Uinic, his voice saddened. “They will need their strength this k’iin. And they will need the strength of their God … and the strength of the Na’ of their God, Ix Na Li Kawa.”

  I was the ear in the abix, the cornfield, and I was crushed by what I had heard. I sat up and looked towards Molly. How was I going to tell her? What was I going to tell her? I wasn’t even sure what the fok would happen. I was to play in a ballgame I knew nothing about. Molly was to participate in a procession to the Sacred Cenote, Ch’ajch’oj Tz’ono’ot, a ritual she knew nothing about. The only information I had was that women were thrown into the cenote to drown. That wasn’t good.

  I was getting angry. I glanced to the doorway, but the two guards were there so there was no escape. I looked back at Molly and was almost stupefied. The medallion was glowing in the semidarkness and I blinked my eyes to ensure that I was not mistaken. I wasn’t as it was glowing a little brighter, radiating a soft green aura about it. I reached over and touched it and there was warmth and strength in the touch. I pulled away my hand, not sure what had happened. I lay down again, thinking that I must be more tired than I thought, and, some time later, I heard the guards hit their chests as they moved away from the doorway and more light poured into the room. The Halach Uinic walked in. He was dressed in a white loincloth, a plain white cloak, and a jade necklace carrying the symbol of the jaguar. I jumped up.

  “Good morning, Ke’kchi,” he greeted, looking directly at me.

  “Good morning, Halach Uinic.” I bowed my head as I spoke to him.

  “You are learning, Ke’kchi. That is good.” He smiled. “The Ahau Can Mai and his priests will be having ceremonies today in honor of Kukulcán. Both you and your woman will participate and the outcome of that participation will decide whether you live or die. Sometime after Kinich Ahau is directly overhead and shadows are not cast, the ceremonies begin and you will play pitz. It is normal that the losers be sacrificed in the gods veneration.” He seemed to hesitate. “He who wins is greatly exalted, but it is also a great glory to be sacrificed to Kukulcán for one is assured a good life in Xibalba. Should you win, you will be my guest. After the ballgame, there will be a procession to the Ch’ajch’oj Tz’ono’ot. Your woman will be offered to Kukulcán at the Ch’ajch’oj Tz’ono’ot. Should she be returned to us, she too will be honored.

  “Listen closely, Ke’kchi. You must win the ballgame and she must survive the fall. That is my command. After the fall to the water, when she surfaces she will have to call out. She will have to speak in our tongue. You will teach her what to say. Listen! This is what she is to do. She must dive into the Ch’ajch’oj Tz’ono’ot and not allow herself to be thrown by the priests. She must not even allow the priests to draw near her, to touch her. Once she is underwater, she must remain as deep as she can, for as long as she can. When she comes to the surface she is to call out, I have seen many of your people below. Men. Women. Children. They send me back with good news. Send down a rope to pull me up. After she is brought up, she will say, What I have to say is for the ears of K’an II, Ajawinel of Ox Witz Ha, only. I will then have her escorted away to the Nim-q’ij Temple where she will be safe. Now, awaken her and have her eat as she will need her strength, then teach her quickly. You have very little time.” He turned to go.

  “Halach Uinic.” He stopped but did not turn around. “I do not know how to play pitz.”

  “What happened to the halaws309 in Pusilhá, Ke’kchi? Have they been planted with abix?” That was definitely not a time for lies. I started to answer but hesitated as K’an II held up his hand to stop me.

  “Then you have even less time,” he continued. “When Kinich Ahau is three hands up, I’ll send for you. You will have until the ceremonies begin to learn and to prepare for the ballgame. Win or you will die … and your woman also. I leave now as my wife, the Chichu’ Ajawinel, and my Na’, the Lady Batz’ Ek’, await me for breakfast.” He walked away towards a table in the courtyard where servants were laying out breakfast. The guards had not blocked my view, as yet, and I saw the Chichu’ Ajawinel smile as he approached. Lady Batz’ Ek’ did not smile, but I saw no more as the guards moved back into place at the entrance of my prison. Moments later, servants brought us our meal and took away the leftovers from supper. We were served water, a cacao drink sweetened with honey and flavored with vanilla, atole, avocado, boiled squash, beans and kuas. I woke Molly and, although we ate heartily, the excellent meal struck me as a bad omen. As far as I knew, prisoners sentenced to death were always given a good meal before they were hanged.

  When we finished eating, I told Molly what the Halach Uinic had said. She put her hands to her face and sobbed. “I’m crying, but I’m not weak,” she professed. “I’ll do what’s necessary. I was just hoping that it was over and we were safe.” I wiped her tears away with the cloth she had covered with during the night. “The Halach Uinic seemed a reasonable man,” she whispered, looking at me.

  “He’s under a lot of pressure,” I explained.

  “Pressure? That doesn’t give him the right to kill us. For God’s sake! Don’t validate his actions. We’re the ones faced with death, not him.”

  “He is,” I countered. “I overheard a conversation he had with the Batab. He’s faced with many deaths … his own, his entire family, his full Lineage.”

  “That still does not give him the right to kill us. He is a ruler in a violent society. He expects it. We don’t.” She sniffled. “Why are we here, Stephen? Is this real? I still don’t understand what happened. I still don’t know why we are here in this land. This shouldn’t exist. The Maya Empire is dead. Are we dead?”

  “I’m not dead,” I answered, emphatically. I don’t understand either, but I won’t let that interfere with living. Is this fantasy? Is this magic?” I shrugged my shoulders and then gently brushed her hair that had fallen across her forehead. I looked softly at her and questioned myself, Was I falling in love with this woman? “No!’ I insisted, adamantly. “I’m not dead and neither is you. When we fucked, it was real
. It was good. Special. I’ve never felt like that when I fucked before.” She looked pained and I wanted to hit my head on the wall. But I was Stephen Chiac, a soldier. I didn’t lie and I didn’t talk sweet and, really, I couldn’t fokin worry about any of those things right then. “We are not dead and we have to live,” I grunted.

  Molly was quiet for a moment, but then continued to speak, throwing her hands into the air. “And so, after that what comes? Is this where we live and die? Is this cruel fantasy now our home?”

  I said nothing for a while, but I knew she was waiting for a response. “The Halach Uinic has given us a chance and we have to take it. It’s the only chance we have. You must practice, in Ke’kchi, the words I will tell you. They are, I have seen many of your people below. Men. Women. Children. They send me back with good news. Send down a rope to pull me up. And after you’re up, you’ll say, What I have to say is for the ears of K’an II, Ajawinel of Ox Witz Ha, only. The translation is, In wuila yaboo a we’tokilo yalamil. Uinic. Ixchup. Etel tzu’bo’oj. U tuca’ata jeeno ete’l kichpa’n pektzil. Tuca’ate’j te’n aj’ su’m hi’ilteen ti’ ca’jnal. After you’re up, you say Le’ek cui’ i’n ka’ti’ i’nwadu’u che’n ti’i uxikin aj’ Halach Uinic.”

  “Why?”

  “If you succeed, that is, if you live through the ordeal, he will have you escorted to his palace and to safety.”

  Molly remained quiet for a short time and I waited patiently for her response. “I won’t have much trouble with the language,” Molly answered, her face grave. “I’ve been listening to the language for three days now. You probably don’t even realize it, but, recently, you have often spoken to me in Ke’kchi. I sometimes understood you.” She shrugged her shoulders and her face lightened. “I’m very good with languages. That’s my job. I teach English and Spanish at school and I am learning French for which I have a private tutor helping me. And, as I told you, Gus has also been teaching me Ke’kchi and Mopan. So, let’s begin. At least, it’s a distraction.” After fifteen minutes she could repeat the words after me. Within an hour, she was saying them by herself.

  By that time, both of us needed to piss and shit. I asked the guards and was told that we could not leave, but that something would be brought. A servant soon came with a large clay pot that had a pot fragment to cover it. The servant also brought some soft bark which I did not recognize. I suppose that was because it had, thankfully, gone through some process of softening. Molly went first and then me. I noted that while I was using the pot, the guards kept fidgeting as if wanting to move away, each pulling at his nose. Well, it was their decision to stay in the doorway and smell. Molly simply curled up in a corner.

  I finished and washed my hands. Molly got up, suddenly, and pulled at the cloth she had covered with during the night. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m making up the bed.”

  “Making up the bed?” I questioned, somewhat bewildered.

  “Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “No.”

  “I don’t want them to think we have no brought-upsy.”310 She pulled at the cloth again and the medallion fell out. She picked it up, looking at it intently.”

  “Where did this come from?” she asked, not looking away from it.

  “I made it for you. Last night. I asked for the materials and the Halach Uinic agreed for me to have them.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She looked up at me. “Thank you, Stephen. But it must have taken a long time. Did you get to sleep?”

  “Yes. Not much, but I did sleep. Somewhat. I’m good at carving,” I bragged. She came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you. Do you know the story about the Green Scapular?”

  “No.”

  “Sit down.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear a religious tale right then, or ever, but I sat as ordered, sulkily, on the mat across from her, accepting that I had no choice in the matter.

  “It was on January 28, 1840 that the Blessed Virgin appeared to Sister Justine Bisqueyburu, a seminary sister of the Daughters of Charity. That happened in Paris, France.”

  “Is that why you’re studying French?” I interrupted, immediately feeling threatened.

  She lifted her head away from the medallion and looked at me. I could see that she knew what I was thinking. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It may not matter anymore.”

  “I’m sorry. Continue.” I muttered, but I could not control the agitation in my voice.

  “During the first four or five visits, the Blessed Virgin did not request anything of her. It is believed that those visits were simply to strengthen the relationship between Sister Justine and the Blessed Virgin. Shortly after Sister Justine received the ‘habit’ …” She looked at me and realized I did not understand. “That is, she became a full nun … took her final vows. Well, shortly after that, she had another visit or apparition as it is called. Mary held in her right hand, her own heart surrounded by flames. In her left hand she held a type of scapular. It was made from a piece of green cloth suspended from a green cord. On one side was a picture of herself, the Blessed Virgin, as you have carved here. On the other side was her heart, all inflamed with rays more brilliant than the sun and clearer than crystal. Through her heart was a sword. Surrounding her heart was an oval inscription surmounted by a cross. The inscription read, ‘Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us now and at the hour of our death’. At the same time, a message was revealed from the Blessed Virgin to Sister Justine which explained the meaning of the vision. She understood that the new scapular and the prayers of those who said them would be a means God would use to bring Himself to those who had no Faith and to reconcile with those who had strayed from their faith. They would be assured a happy death.”

  “That may come in handy later today, then,” I sneered, without humor. “I don’t want a fokin happy death. I want to live.” I was surprised at Molly’s angry answer that followed my comment.

  “Do not make fun of me or the scapular,” she cried out. “Millions have been converted, thousands cured of illnesses and helped in other ways because of the Green Scapular. You wear one. Do you know why you wear it? If it’s just a piece of cloth to you, take it off,” she cried out.

  I felt my heart in spasm. It wasn’t just a piece of cloth for it carried Bas’ blood on it. I bit down violently on my teeth to stop a sudden rush of tears. Tears! Tears for Bas, or for me. Boy, was I really foked-up.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” I mumbled, standing up and leaning against the wall. I held the scapular, staring at it. “I wear it for Bas.” I looked at her. “Only for Bas. I’m sorry, but I can’t rationalize that we may be dead before the day is done. As I said, I am not looking for a happy death. I want to live. Fok death!” I added angrily. She did not say anything, but I saw her hold the medallion close to her heart. “Bas gave the scapular to me before he died.” I murmured. I kicked the wall, I hit the wall. Our guards watched us nervously, their eyes darting. I felt pain, but continued until I felt her arms around me and heard her voice calling to me. My tears flowed. “I loved him deeply and I couldn’t save him.” She brushed away my hot tears and I saw that she was crying too. We hugged each other, standing together, and we slowly calmed ourselves.

  “I’ll get this blessed,” she promised herself, pressing the medallion against her lips. She looked at me and smiled. “But let me continue my story. It will take our minds off other things. Yes, Stephen, there have been many conversions and miraculous cures because of the prayer. We just have to say it every day. Once a day.”

  “Sometimes, I find it hard to believe in anything.” I sighed, kicking the wall violently, again.

  “Stop! You’ll only hurt yourself. Then, you’ll be no good at the ballgame.” She was absolutely correct and I was being an idiot. I calmed myself again.

  “The Blessed Virgin Mother has visited many times, over many years,” she continued. “Guadalupe in 1531. You must know about Guadalupe.”
<
br />   “Everyone does. We hold a procession to Her every year. We pray that She protects us against hurricanes. We still have hurricanes.”

  “Do you go to the processions?”

  “No.”

  She smiled. “Maybe that’s why.” Then, she sighed. “The story of Guadalupe is a particularly special one and it involves a person from your own race. You shouldn’t treat it so lightly.”

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  “There have been many other apparitions,” she continued. “Rue du Bac in 1830. La Salette in 1846. Lourdes in 1858. Pontmain in 1871. Pellevoisin in 1876. Knock in 1879. Fatima in 1917. Beauraing in 1932. Banneaux in 1933. And there are other claims being investigated at this time.”

  The more Molly talked, the more I felt that I was losing her and it made my heart ache. But I did not want to upset her. Also, it was good that she was not thinking about what lay ahead. She paused. “You list them off like a recitation,” I interjected. She got red in the face. I had again said something wrong. “I remember something I had to recite in school once, a long time ago,” I quickly added. I stood up from the wall, put my right hand behind my back and my left arm straight down my side. I bowed and I began:

  “Abou Ben Adhem, by Leigh Hunt.

  Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)

  Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

  And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

  Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

  An angel writing in a book of gold:–”

  I was reciting loudly, gesticulating and really expressing myself. Molly was all smiles, the most smiles I had ever seen on her face. As I watched her, I stopped.

  “Go on,” she encouraged. “It’s a lovely poem and you’re expressing it so well.”

  I laughed out loud and continued:

  “Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,