‘What names do you mean?’
‘I’m talking about the names given to your brothers and sisters. There’s something odd there. Dakini, for instance? What sort of a name is that?’
In the last few hours Sabir had become so hyper aware of everything that concerned Lamia that now he even fancied he picked up a momentary hesitation he might not have noticed otherwise – a sort of physical stutter, as though, walking along an otherwise smooth pavement, she had inadvertently caught the toe of her shoe on a protruding paving stone.
Lamia tried to conceal her hesitation behind a sudden play of turning down the interior visor, opening the courtesy mirror, and then checking her hair and face. Seemingly satisfied, she snapped the mirror back into place. ‘The name is Tibetan. It means “she who traverses the sky”. Also a “sky dancer” or “sky walker”. A Dakini appears to a magician during his rituals. She carries a cup of menstrual blood in one hand, and a curved knife in the other. She wears a garland of human skulls, and against her shoulder, a trident. She has long wild hair and an angry face. When my mother first saw dakini’s face, she called her this. Dakinis dance on top of corpses, to show that they hold power over ignorance and vainglory.’
Sabir shot her a look. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Madame, my mother, is always perfectly serious in everything she does, Adam.’
‘Then the other names. What are they?’
‘A nawal is a Central American witch who can transform herself into whatever animal she chooses. She can be either male or female. Nobody can harm her, because whatever is aimed against her rebounds on the perpetrator. She can use her powers for either good or evil, depending on her whim. According to the Nahuatl, all of us are given familiar animals at birth. Certain nawals or nagual choose at this time to transform themselves into jaguars or vampire bats. Then they can suck the blood from innocent victims at night, while they are asleep. The Jakaltek Maya believe that a nawal will punish any of their number who transgresses from their society and marry mestizos. That is a person of mixed blood. Not pure Indio.’
‘Your mother certainly has a way with her. You can believe that.’
‘Oni, my youngest brother, who is both a giant and an albino, is named after a Japanese demon, with claws, and wild hair, and of an enormous size. These demons have horns growing out of their heads. Their skin is always an odd colour. Red. Blue. In my brother’s case, an unnatural white. An oni has strength beyond strength and cannot be beaten. He is like a ghost. In European folklore, he would be likened to a troll.’
‘And the others?’
‘Asson is named after a sacred voodoo rattle. This rattle would be used by the Hougan priests and the Mambo priestesses during a vodoun ceremony. It will be decorated with beads and the bones of snakes. Alastor, his brother in real life, is named after the Chief executioner of Hades. He is the avenger of evil deeds – Zeus sometimes used him as an amanuensis. He can be the personification of a curse, similar, in some forms, to Nemesis. His name can also mean a scoundrel.’
‘Neat. Great names. Must be nice to be saddled with that all one’s life.’
‘My brother/sister Aldinach is a true hermaphrodite – Aldinach was originally an Egyptian demon who caused violent tempests, earthquakes, and natural catastrophes. He always appeared in the shape of a woman when he did these things. He was a ship-sinker, too.’
‘Well, they had to blame somebody.’
Lamia refused to be bated. She could see the men’s embarrassment at what she was telling them, and the manner in which she was telling it, but she was not about to let them off the hook now. ‘My brother Rudra was named after an Indian demon god. This god used arrows to spread disease. He could also summon up storms and natural disasters. His name can be translated to mean the “roarer”, or the “howler”, or the “wild one”, or simply the “terrible”. Rudra can also mean the “red one” – Nostradamus uses this nomenclature in some of his quatrains, if you remember. It was the equivalent for him of the Devil, or maybe of one of the Antichrists. Rudra might reasonably be viewed as a storm god by people who did not understand his true function.’
‘Which was?’
‘To cleanse things.’
‘Christ. Any more?’
‘Berith was an evil duke in the annals of demonology. He wears red clothing and has a golden crown on his head. He is the alchemist’s demon, because it is said that he can turn any metal into gold. He is also a notorious liar. Athame, the favourite sister I told you about, is named after the sword, or dagger, usually with a black or obsidian handle, used by priests and priestesses. The blade has a double-edge – both a positive and a negative if you like. There are also symbols on the knife. Curiously, though, the athame was not used for cutting but for channelling energy. Such a knife is mentioned in the Key of Solomon. My sister Athame is a dwarf. She is a good person. The blunt knife is a good description of her.’
‘And the twins? One hardly dares ask.’
‘Vaulderie, the youngest twin, and now Viscount de Bale after Rocha’s death, is named after the word the French Inquisition used to describe the act of forming a satanic pact. Such a person could take to the air and go wherever he wished, thanks to the use of a flying ointment. Anyone found guilty of vaulderie would be tortured, and then burned at the stake. Vau’s elder brother, Abiger, now Count de Bale, is named after the most senior of all the demons of hell – the Grand Duke of Hades himself. He is always depicted as a handsome and mighty knight, master of many armies, with sixty of the infernal regions under his command. He carries with him a lance, a standard, and a sceptre. He can read the future, and is wise in the ways of war. Other warriors come to him for help in mastering their men.’
‘Why was your eldest brother, Rocha, not named in this way? Rocha means nothing as far as I am aware. A rock, maybe. That would be appropriate, mind you.’
‘Rocha was already a young man when he was adopted by Madame, my mother. It was thought inappropriate to rename him.’
‘So he renamed himself. Achor Bale.’
‘That is simply the use of a mirror image. It is common in certain quarters. We all have two sides to ourselves. Rocha decided that his dominant side was not as Count Rocha de Bale, but as Achor Bale. It was his choice. He is dead now, so it no longer matters.’
‘And your name, Lamia? Where does that come from?’
Lamia closed her eyes, as if what she was about to say had caused her much suffering in its time. ‘I, too, was older when I was adopted. In fact I am the oldest surviving child of my parents. My younger brothers are simply senior to me according to Salic law. As far as my name is concerned, Lamia was the daughter of Poseidon and the mistress of Zeus, I think. One of his many mistresses.’ She opened her eyes and laughed, although the laugh seemed to hold more regret than actual mirth. ‘That is her only significance. I think maybe Zeus accorded her the gift of prophecy as a down payment for her services to him in bed. That is all I know. She is an unimportant figure in the scheme of things.’
Calque looked at her strangely – then he shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the presence of an intrusive fly. ‘The site at Kabáh won’t be open until eight o’clock this morning at the earliest. We might as well get as close as we can and then pull over down a track. Get a little sleep in the car. Anyone have any better suggestions?’
Lamia and Sabir glanced at each other. Then they both shook their heads.
Calque threw himself back onto his seat. ‘Like Sabir always persists in saying, in that curious American way of his – I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I?’
51
You had not expected the Maya man with the rifle to come back. Maybe, you thought, his pursuit of the pheasants had taken him far away – too far, perhaps, to consider returning? Or else his iguana had proved more elusive than expected? Maybe he had found no firewood? Your head sank lower on your chest.
Soon, you knew, you would simply curl up on the spot and fall asleep. The road between where
you were and Villahermosa had been particularly difficult to accomplish. First you had been lucky. A market trader, his truck empty, had agreed for you to go in the back. Later, as was his right, he had taken on others. By the end of the journey, you were hanging out over the road, scared that you would fall off and burst your head on the highway. But somehow you had held on, your fingers turning into claws.
Then you had waited many hours for your next lift. But this man had taken you all the way to Campeche in his air-conditioned white car. The air had been so cold in the car that you had started to shiver. You would even have asked him to let you out if you had not been so sure that, after him, no more cars would stop for you. This man was a miracle in himself. A rich man. From Sinaloa. A man of substance.
At first you had been scared you would dirty his car, but later he told you that his father, too, had been a campesino, and that this was why he always offered lifts to those who needed them.
Campeche had been endless. You had walked and walked. After much time you had signalled a colectivo bus. You knew this was unwise, since you only had fifty pesos left to your name, but otherwise you knew you would collapse, and they would take you to the Cruz Roja, and you would lose your belongings, if not your soul.
When you looked up again from your thoughts, the Maya man was watching you. When he knew he had your attention he held up two iguanas. Two.
‘You see? You have brought me luck. Climb onto the front of my triciclo. I shall take you home. Can you cook?’
You shook your head. Your mother still cooked for you, and, in consequence, you had never learned how, as it would have been insulting to her.
‘No problem. I can cook. Can you make a fire at least?’
You nodded.
‘Bring yourself, then. We can make a space for you in here, by the firewood.’
52
Both Calque and Sabir were too wound up to sleep. Lamia had no such reservations. She drifted off right away, curled up on the back seat, like she always did, with her ankles drawn up beneath her, and her arms cradling her shoulders. But this time she was using Sabir’s jacket as a pillow.
The two men finally gave up the uneven struggle of the front seats. Without even discussing the issue, they both went outside to watch the sunrise.
‘You know what I love best in this world, Calque?’
Calque snorted in a lungful of fresh air. ‘No. But I suspect that you are going to tell me.’
Sabir closed his eyes ecstatically. ‘The way girls’ bottoms stick out when they walk.’
Calque pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefingers, as if he had acquired a sudden headache. ‘Putain. But you’ve got it bad.’
‘So you were awake, huh? I thought you might have been. Being a police officer and all that. Trained to spy on people.’
Calque shrugged. ‘What did you want me to do? Pipe up and spoil your moment? There are things called Chinese walls, you know. You must have known I was awake because I wasn’t snoring for once. At least according to your theory.’
‘No. You did right. And I thank you for it. You called it, but I was too dumb to listen. If Lamia hadn’t taken the initiative, I’d probably be sitting in some bar in twenty years’ time, wallowing in regret.’
‘What? Like me, you mean?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you thought it.’
‘Haven’t you ever thought of remarrying, Calque? Starting another family? As you made so clear to me the other day, you’re not too old to begin again. Have another kid. You’ll only be seventy-five or thereabouts when she waltzes off with a serial-killing truck driver.’
‘Thank you. That’s very encouraging. I’ll definitely consider your proposition. Any particular woman in mind? Lamia, excepted, of course.’
‘Of course. Give me a little time to think about it. I’ll come up with something.’
‘Ah, what joys and sudden enhancements to confidence the unexpected possession of a woman can bring. You’ve changed, Sabir. Within the space of twelve hours you’ve become a human being again.’ Calque’s attention began to wander. ‘But not an American, eh? This woman you are proposing for me? You wouldn’t suggest that, would you?’
‘No. Never that. I’m not a sadist. You being a Frenchman and all.’
‘Thank you.’
Sabir snapped his fingers together. ‘How about a Mexican woman? Mexican women value men. They know how to treat them properly. Not slice off their balls and serve them back with a topping of vanilla sauce.’
Calque looked at Sabir, his face aghast. ‘Now you may really be on to something. Apart from the testicular analogy, that is.’ He appeared to be lost in thought for a moment or two, as if he were pondering some great, but as yet little-known, truth. ‘You do realize, Sabir, that no woman in the history of this earth knows what she really wants? She only knows when she gets it.’
Sabir was preparing to respond to Calque’s aperçu when Lamia emerged from the back seat of the Cherokee, stretching.
‘What are you two talking about? You woke me up.’ She looked suspiciously at both men, weighing up their mood. ‘At least you’re not arguing again.’
Calque put on his most innocent smile. ‘We were talking about women.’
Lamia flushed.
‘Not specific women, you understand. Just women in general. Except in one particular respect.’
‘And what respect is that?’
‘Sabir tells me he particularly likes how your bottom sticks out when you walk.’
Sabir aimed a pretend cuff at the back of Calque’s head. ‘Damn it, Calque. What are you trying to do to me?’
‘Did you really say that, Adam?’
‘He really did.’ Calque was grinning from ear to ear.
‘And you like that? That part of me? How it moves?’
Sabir hesitated, sensing a trap. Then he threw caution to the winds. ‘I love it.’ He glanced up at her, gauging her reaction.
‘I like your saying it, then.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. No one ever talked to me like that before. I like it.’ She turned back to the car, amused by their open-mouthed response to her statement. ‘Are you both coming? We could stop off for some breakfast before Kabáh opens.’
‘No. We’ll just sit here and watch you, thanks.’
Lamia reached down and picked up a stick, which she brandished at them. ‘I don’t like it that much.’
‘Okay. Okay. We’ll go first. That suit you?’
‘No. I’ll go first. I think I’ve just decided I enjoy being admired.’
53
Acan Teul had been spending the entirety of every day at Kabáh since the news about the eruption of the Pico de Orizaba volcano had reached the Halach Uinic.
There had been many occasions during that period when he had been tempted to bunk off and visit his girlfriend at her juice shack six kilometres down the road, but each time he felt tempted by the anticipation of the joy she would no doubt show at his presence, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to what exactly the Halach Uinic might do to him if he was caught abandoning his post, and he thought better of it. There were always the evenings to look forward to, when the Kabáh site was shut.
The problem was that Acan didn’t really know what he was looking for. The Halach Uinic – who was the most important Maya priest in the whole of the Yucatan, or so people told him – had not exactly bombarded him with information.
‘We are expecting something to happen at Kabáh following the eruption. This has been predicted. But we do not yet know what it will be. You were once a guide at Kabáh, were you not, Acan? You will stay there during the day, therefore. If anything strange happens, you will use the security guard’s cell phone, and you will call me. Your brother Naum will keep watch during the night. After the first two weeks, you will both be allowed time off.’
‘Two weeks?’
‘You will be paid from the fund. More than you could earn from labouring. Isn’t it bett
er to laze around drinking Coca Cola than to break stones for a cheating boss?’
As always, the Halach Uinic had put his finger straight on the meat of the matter.
‘I shall do as you say.’
‘Anything. Anything strange. And you will call me?’
‘I will.’
Now, eight days in, Acan was sitting under the shade of a carob tree, fantasizing about his girlfriend and wishing he was sitting in her fruit booth pinching her bottom. He loved the way she shrieked at him when he surprised her in this way. Sometimes she would even hit him with her towel, which afforded him great pleasure.
Just as he was beginning to doze off in the early morning sun, Acan’s attention was caught by a stranger – a mestizo, it looked like – arriving on his cousin Tepeu’s triciclo.
How did Tepeu, who spent his entire time hunting, ever get to know a mestizo? And, even more unlikely, give him a lift on his triciclo? Acan stumbled to his feet and shaded his eyes. Tepeu and the mestizo were negotiating with the man at the gate. Voices were briefly raised, and then Tepeu handed over a dead iguana, and the gatekeeper waved the mestizo through.
Acan watched as the mestizo walked towards the Palace of the Masks. The man stood for some time staring at the multitude of carved masks that adorned the wall, and then he shook his head, as if something puzzled him. After a moment’s further hesitation he turned around and walked down towards Acan. At first, Acan thought the man was going to talk to him, but then the mestizo chose a neighbouring carob tree, about twenty metres to Acan’s right, and sat down beneath its shade. Then he lay down, using his bag as a pillow, and prepared himself to sleep.
Acan glanced over at the gatekeeper’s lodge, but his cousin had already cycled away. Acan shrugged. What did it all have to do with him anyway? A mestizo turning up at Kabáh, although rare, was not an event in itself. And the man was now clearly asleep.
The Mayan Codex Page 25
