Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  Above the chaos, I heard a soft voice say, “Come to me, Eutimio Chiac.” I looked at the waterfall. The apparition spoke again. “Come to me, Eutimio Chiac.” Yet, I did not see her lips form the words. I was stunned and could not move. She smiled and spoke again, “Are you of so little Faith, Eutimio Chiac?”

  I scanned both sides of us and the howlers were almost on top of us. Sisimito was still standing, his eyes red like the flames of Hell, reflecting the fire that was engulfing his hairy body. Deranged bats, aflame, were flying off his burning body and a petrifying wail came from his flaming torso. He started moving towards us, his blood red demonic eyes staring at us, trying to take hold of us. I was losing the battle and began feeling conflicting desires. Sisimito was calling me, commanding me to pick up Molly and take her to him. I sensed evil emanating from Sisimito and that evil was so powerful that I had difficulty looking away from him. Then the voice came again, “Come to me, Eutimio Chiac.” I concentrated on the warmth I felt around my neck and I prayed to Bas. I picked up Molly in my arms and ran into the waterfall, to the image I had carved on a piece of Maya jade.

  I felt myself falling. The force of the water knocked my breath out of me and as I continued plummeting, my chest tightened and my heart slowed. I embraced Molly, keeping the Green Scapular’s warmth between our bodies. As I began to fade away, I sensed a feeling of intense serenity. It was better that way, I thought, better than being eaten by rabid animals in an unknown and strange land beyond the frontiers of friendship. I place my lips on Molly’s, then I faded and all was peace.

  SOMETIME IN TIME

  I slowly became aware that I was alive and I opened my eyes. Molly and I were lying across some boulders in a creek, half in and half out of the water. I shook Molly and she started to stir. I leaned back against the rock and looked to the southeast. Running from east to west was the Cockscomb Range. Towering over me was the majestic Victoria Peak.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  It had been hot, but a cool breeze was brushing against my face as a thunderstorm moved in from the west. It was August, and although the Cockscomb Basin received ten to nineteen inches of rain during that month, throughout the mission, rain had been confined to a thunder shower in the afternoon. I was on the summit of the mountain where Bas and I had talked and looked in awe at Victoria Peak. I sat, staring at Victoria Peak, just across from me. I had made myself accepted Bas’ death, but I still mourned him. I still missed him. I still cried for him.

  We had arrived at the summit around ten-o-clock and had immediately set about making the cement stand for the plaque we had brought. The plaque simply read, ‘In memory of the following soldiers and civilians who died on Easter Monday, April 3rd, 1972, trying to climb the Victoria Peak. LCpl. Shal, Basilio; Pte. Anderson, Henry; Pte. Hulse, Melvyn; Pte. Taylor, Robert; Mr. Harold Parham, Mr. Vincent Clarke (Barbados). May They Rest In Peace.

  The present expedition had come for that sole purpose. We would honor the dead men with a small monument. The Platoon Commander, Lieutenant Hall, had decided on the route through Cabbage Hall Gap, travelling west-southwestward.

  As I sat and looked around me, I realized that the exhilaration I should be feeling for being in my jungle was absent. To the east was the coastal plain and the Caribbean Sea. To the north was the Cockscomb Range and Victoria Peak, the Maya Mountains and the Augustine Pine Ridge area. To the west were more of the Maya Mountains then the Vaca Plateau. To the south was the continuation of the Main Divide of the Maya Mountains and the coastal plain that ran down to the Toledo District and my home, Santa Cruz. That’s the topography that I saw. Yet, I knew that there was another. To the immediate southwest I had met a creature called Sisimito and to the far west I had visited a magnificent city called Ox Witz Ha. My eyes moistened and my body hollowed.

  After regaining consciousness in the creek, the Sittee Branch of the South Stann Creek River, Molly and I walked downriver until dark. Our cuxtals were still with us and we ate some of the few fruits that remained. Early the next morning, we continued downriver and about midday picked up an old logging road that crossed the river at a ford. The trail was in an east to west direction and we left the river travelling east. We came to an old and deserted logging camp, Locust Bank, and spent the night there. The next day we continued on the old road and came to another old camp, Quam Bank. From there, we were able to see the Forestry Fire Tower at Cabbage Haul Gap. We arrived there in the late evening, much to the amusement of the children of the extremely surprised Forest Officer who was stationed there, and he radioed for help for ‘two Indians who had just walked out of the jungle … dressed like real Indians’.

  Illustration 48: The approach to Cabbage Haul Gap showing the Forest Officer’s Home

  in the center and the Fire Watch and Reporting Station on the right.

  Illustration 49: The Fire Watch and Reporting Station.

  Illustration 50: Victoria Peak as seen from the Cabbage Haul Gap.

  What followed was a nightmare. I didn’t know our small country had so many reporters. But the worst of all were the questions that we could not answer. How did Molly and I meet? We just met. In the middle of the jungle? Yes! In the middle of the jungle. Molly had to answer for herself only, but I had to account for my men who had been killed.

  A search detail had been organized and was just about to begin their hunt when Molly and I returned. A recovery company was then immediately sent to retrieve the bodies. The local families wanted to bury their dead and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Barbados was insisting that Vincent Clark’s body be returned there for burial. I wanted to go on that mission, but I could not because I was being investigated, faced with a possible charge for murder, and being held in military prison for court-martial and psychiatric evaluation. The Recovery Company was better equipped than my section had been and they spent several days searching for the remains of my men. Their remains were never found. The equipment I had left, even Clarke’s glasses, were never found. As Barbados mourned, and my country mourned, I mourned alone.

  I am sure I would have been hanged if it weren’t for the intervention of Molly’s family, at her insistence, and I am still unaware of what story she gave them. They got me a good civilian lawyer and I was released because there was no proof that I had actually committed any crime. All I could say was that something or someone attacked and killed the men and Bas was accidentally shot and he died. But being found not-guilty did not mean that people would believe me innocent. Everywhere I went, I hear murmurs and people turned away. The army wanted me to resign, but army life was all I knew. My lawyer immediately threatened to sue and I was allowed to remain, but my career was gone. There would be no more promotions and I would be watched, constantly, for the opportunity to demote or discharge me.

  I am a different person … at least I try to be. The drinking is minimal. The partying, practically none existent. Women? They are no longer the focus of my life. Of course, I still fuck. I am a man, a soldier, and that is a necessary part of a man’s and a soldier’s life. I visit my family a lot. I enjoy being with Taat and I listen to his stories. It seems that, at last, I am building the bridge to cross that unexplainable void that had separated me from Taat. Friends? No one has yet replaced Bas or Bo, Choj and the Nim-q’ij Guards; I doubt anyone will.

  I am getting along better with Gus and we even have a beer together, from time to time. Of course, he was completely vindicated. He’s courting my sister again and the relationship seems to be heating up. I’ve warned him that if he takes my sister’s maydn355 without marrying her, I’d cut off his cojones. I suppose he has fucked her, however. After all, he’s Maya and I’m now his mentor. Haha! Perhaps, one day we’ll be real friends. It is not that I have become a saint on Earth. Definitely not. I am just a little different. And Molly? I wanted to marry Molly, but it didn’t happen. We never fucked again, so my only memory is of that night at the Hidden Valley Falls. But that’s okay. She left her teaching position and
is now in France as a Seminary Sister of the Daughters of Charity. She is very excited about her life and work. We write every week, me mainly about how I’m doing and how I miss her. I even write some love poems for her and include them. Imagine, me, Eutimio Chiac, writing love poems. Madafok!

  In her last letter she asked me to give her more time to decide whether or not she wanted to go on to receive her ‘Habit’ or return home to me. I am hopeful. I had made another medallion for her and she had written that she always has me around her neck so there is no way she could forget me. I pray to Ix Na Li Kawa, the Mother of God, that Molly comes back to me. I think that is rather unusual. I am asking the Mother of God to give up one of her devotees to me, Eutimio Chiac. Yes, I no longer call myself Stephen. If Eutimio was good enough for the Mother of God, Eutimio is good enough for me and I wouldn’t be totally surprised if Molly is given back to me. There must be something good in me for, after all, it was I, Eutimio Chiac, who saw the image of the Mother of God in the waterfall.

  I feel for my Green Scapular. It is still warm across my chest. I take one last look at the small monument, the mountains, the Cockscomb Range, Victoria Peak, and the jungle around me. There are storm clouds building in the southwest as I say goodbye to Bas and begin walking down to where the men are resting. They are all shirtless, sweating, and happy. As I walk, I kiss the Green Scapular saying, ‘Immaculate Heart Of Mary, Pray For Us Now And At The Hour Of Our Death’.”

  I look once more to the west and can hear the shouts from the ballcourt, the halaw. Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! Fok! Fok! Fok! Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! I can’t stop the tears.

  Rhys looks up at me. “What’s wrong, Sarge?”

  “Mixba’al.” He looked puzzled. “Nothing.” I throw myself down, resting my head on his boots. I light a cigarette made from a’kl. It’s better than tobacco and, after all, I am Ke’kchi … I am a soldier … and I am a Maya Warrior called Fok!

  ONE JOURNEY ENDS

  ANOTHER BEGINS

  PREVIEW

  of

  SISIMITO II - XIBALBA

  CHAPTER ONE

  SANTA CRUZ, TOLEDO DISTRICT,

  BRITISH HONDURAS (BELIZE)

  Easter Sunday, April 22, 1973

  It was just after midday in the village of Santa Cruz. As was normal, the smell of kua still hung heavily in the air after the midday meal had been served and eaten. That day, however, along with the smell of kua baking on many k’els, I smelled ixtama’als,356 roasted haaleb,357 bollos,358 pooch,359 ch’ukcua,360 iik,361 boiled and roasted q’än-jal.362 Two pigs and a young bull had been butchered the night before and the soldiers of my section had a special bollo made for me from the bull balls with a lot of habanero pepper. I had that for lunch, the men laughing and talking over me as I ate, reminding me that bull balls were good for the back, a great aphrodisiac which I was sure to need for the night’s activities. Other savory smells came from large pots of tiáálinbil363 made not only from the pork and beef, but from kitam,364 hack k’ek’en,365 k’ambul,366 ah-cox,367 and kolol.368 There would also be yams, cassava, rice, beans, plantain, banana, other fruits like papaya, pineapple, and watermelon, sweets made from co’oc369 like tablayta and cut-a-brute, fudge made with peanuts, and wangla. It was obvious that the metate370 and the tenleb371 had been put to continuous work.

  Many of the village men were stretched out in their hammocks taking a siesta before they got dressed for the evening fiesta, having done their share in the preparations. No one had gone to their kool that day. It was not only because it was Easter Sunday, but because of the grand event that was happening that evening, at four-o-clock to be exact. Even the Good Friday religious activities two days before had been somewhat overshadowed. That morning, the churches held their Easter Services early, so that the villagers would have enough time to complete preparations. As Molly, my about to be wife, was Catholic, we went to the village’s small wooden Catholic Church for Easter Sunday Services. In my late boyhood, I had been baptized as a Catholic by Father Stiobhan, but as I grew older I had very little to do with religion. At mass that morning, it seemed that even the priest was getting into the spirit of the coming evening festivities as his Easter Sermon was short. For that I was extremely grateful. I had tried to get out of going to the service, my head feeling twice its natural size, but Molly insisted and so I had complied. Afterwards, we proceeded to breakfast under an open shed. I forced down some k’ah372 and a bollo, downing cup after cup of our locally grown coffee as I suffered. I saw Molly looking at me rather often. She shook her head once, but she said nothing. I didn’t think she felt any sympathy for me or my head.

  I tried to amuse myself at the table by bugging my Best Man, Rhys, about the Maid of Honor whom I really didn’t know. She was a colleague of Molly’s, both of them teaching at the same college in Belize City. Maureen was not stunning, but definitely good looking. She was generally trim and had small tempting ledges in the right places. She was a little darker than Molly, her hair wavy black, nose small, mouth a good size for kissing, and her eyes a strange green. I didn’t know if she was a good match for Rhys, but I wished him luck, anyhow. Rhys said he had seen her in Belize City, but didn’t really know her either. He had laughed as I teased him, saying that he never thought he would get the opportunity to dance with her. As the Best Man, he would. I jokingly told him he owed me a few chelas373 for the opportunity I was giving him.

  The village women were very busy, doing something, doing nothing. They were running up and down and around the tall Ceiba tree374 that grew in the center of the village, making sure that the tables were properly covered with traditionally woven white and other colorful cloths, that flowers were in place, that there was enough space for food, eating utensils, and drinks. There would be guaro,375 cususa,376 spudi,377 cashew wine, and even chelas. There would be k’ah, matz,378 and chicha379. Torches had been stuck in the ground for lighting at dusk. Alcalde Cucul had wanted to get tents from Belize City, but Molly and I disagreed. Yes! Molly and I were getting married and we wanted our wedding to be as open to nature as possible, even if it rained. We didn’t think it would as March and April boasted the lowest rainfall of the year in that region of my country.

  The wedding ceremony was taking place at Uch Ben Cah, a Maya ruin situated about one mile from the northeastern end of the village. At daybreak that morning our parents, Rhys as my Best Man, Maureen Wade as the Maid of Honor, Molly and I took the ceremonial walk to the wedding site, as was the tradition of my people. The path had been widened to accommodate the wedding march that would take place that evening and even the chopped grass and bushes had been removed.

  A patchy mist often surrounded us as we walked, reaching out from my green and pristine jungle that lined the pathway …

  APPENDIX

  EXPEDITION BOLD

  Expedition Bold did take place. It was spearheaded by the author, who was then a soldier in the British Honduras Volunteer Guard: Pte. Anderson, Henry, 28567. The expedition began on Holy Thursday, 30th March 1972 and ended on Wednesday, 5th April, seven days later. The attempt to reach Victoria Peak was unsuccessful, the group reaching three miles from the base of the mountain. However, the experience was one of the most fulfilling of the author’s life. The group turned back on Easter Monday, after seeing Victoria Peak and the Cockscomb Range, a decision made because of time constraints. As a marker, they left a brandy bottle with their names in it. Perhaps, one day, it will be found.

  The other members of the group were Pte. Hulse, Melvyn, Pte. Taylor, Robert, Mr. Harold Parham, and Mr. Vincent Clarke (Barbados).

  The author tells the following anecdote. After walking out the jungle and being picked up by Corporal Pascascio at Georgetown, the author noticed that, as they drove along, the corporal kept his head out of the window of the vehicle. After arriving home, all the members of the expedition had a bath and changed, leaving the dirty combats piled in a corner. The following morning, the author went to collect the combats to get them cleaned. He
immediately understood why Corporal Pascascio held his head out the window. The stench from the cloths was unbearable. That’s how badly the brave fellows smelled as they left the pristine jungles of the Cockscomb Basin.

  While going through his report on the expedition, the author came across this note left by Corporal Pascascio at a creek, two miles from Alabama:

  BELIZE FOLK CHARACTERS:

  BRIEFS AND NAMES USED IN THE SISIMITO SERIES.

  Cadejo (Patzapik) is a hairy, goat-like animal or a large shaggy dog. Cadejo means tangled hair. Patzapik is Maya for ‘hairy, shaggy, thick (beard)’. He has the hooves of a goat, horns of a bull, tail of a puma, and his flaming eyes and foaming mouth gives him an aura of evil. He may appear as a white animal and protect drunks, or a black animal who licks the mouths of fallen drunks, follow them for nine days after which the drunks cannot get well again. He can also appear as a human skeleton pulling a chain and the haunting clatter is terrifying. If you hear the rattling sound nearby, Cadejo is far away. If the rattling is distant, Cadejo may be near enough to touch you. If you see him, you are paralyzed with fear and get a high fever only a curandero (bush doctor) can cure.