Gods of Jade and Shadow

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  He kissed her knuckles and closed his eyes for a moment. His hand fell upon her throat. No mark of the wound she’d inflicted remained, but he traced the invisible line nevertheless, before opening his eyes and looking at Casiopea.

  Then he pulled out the bone shard that lay deep within her flesh, the last piece in the puzzle of his immortality.

  The dark thread that bound them snapped. She stared at him as he placed a hand on his chest and gasped. His heart was grinding to dust beneath the palm of his hand, and it hurt to see this, but she did not look away.

  When there was but a gray speck of his heart left, he bent down and kissed her again, briefly, a brush of lips. A grain of dust may contain a universe inside, and it was the same for him. Within that gray speck there lived his love and he gave it to Casiopea, for her to see. He’d fallen in love slowly and quietly, and it was a quiet sort of love, full of phrases left unsaid, laced with dreams. He had imagined himself a man for her, and he allowed her to see the extent of this man, and he gave her this speck of heart, which was a man, to hold for a moment before taking it back the second before it faded.

  As he straightened up, his eyes all darkness, a curious thing happened. The speck did not fade, instead turning vermillion, and it lodged behind those dark eyes, unseen. But Xibalba, so intimately connected to its lord, must have seen, must have known. Xibalba sensed the echo of this silent goodbye.

  The inhabitants of this realm, who had been startled when the land held its breath, now had a second chance to be surprised. Such a dark place, Xibalba, built of bitter nightmares and fever dreams, with the stones of sorrow; a land where lost souls could never find the proper road. But the Lord Hun-Kamé had dreamed a different dream, and this dream that was now nothing but a speck subtly transformed the land.

  There were no flowers in Xibalba. Trees and weeds and the strange orchids that were not orchids dotted the Underworld, wild desert anemones grew upon its white plains, but there were no flowers in its jungles, its swamps, nor its mountains. Yet now flowers bloomed in the most astonishing of places, across the gray desert. Tiny, red flowers, as if demonstrating for Hun-Kamé what he could no longer demonstrate, so that Casiopea, instead of observing the cold face of a stranger as he’d warned her, beheld instead the appearance of the red flowers, like the ink of a love letter. The stars, when traced by the human eye, formed constellations, and the flowers, linked together, spoke to her. They said, “My love.”

  Hun-Kamé bowed his head to her, like a commoner instead of a lord.

  Then he took Casiopea’s hand again and wrapped her in his cloak for a second. It was like slipping into an absolute blackness, the darkness of the garment blotting out Xibalba, and within another second she had slipped into her hotel room. Alone.

  Grief arrived, eager to keep her company, and she clutched her hands together and raised them to her lips, head bowed. Yet as Casiopea stood in the middle of the room she did not consider her heartache for long, because the sound of crying reached her ears, startling her. It was as if someone else gave voice to her unhappiness. Cautious, she approached the doorway of the room Hun-Kamé had occupied and found Martín sitting on the floor. Her cousin wept.

  Casiopea leaned down next to him, slowly, like one might when dealing with a scared child.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Grandfather is going to kill me when I get back to Uukumil,” he said, sniffling. “You might as well have asked Hun-Kamé to cut off my head.”

  “Grandfather won’t kill you,” she said with a sigh.

  “Why didn’t you ask him to murder me?”

  “You didn’t kill me either,” she replied.

  He hunched his shoulders. His clothes were dirty, his hair a mess. She recalled how much he’d prided himself in his nice clothing, in his freshly polished boots. She had polished those same boots, swallowing her tears when he said cruel things. It was his turn to be miserable. Yet even though she’d pictured a scene like this when he was bad to her, it did not please her to witness it.

  “Yeah…well…I’m not a killer,” he muttered.

  “Neither am I.”

  Casiopea went to the bathroom and fetched a towel. She handed it to Martín and sat down in front of him. He hesitated, but took the towel and cleaned his face.

  “I’m horrible to you,” he said when he was done. “I’m a terrible person.”

  “Maybe you could stop being so horrible, then.”

  Martín bunched up the towel and gripped it tight, blinking back further tears.

  “I’m…I’m thankful, you know. For your asking him to send me back here. And I’m sorry. About everything. Will you accept my apology?”

  He looked shattered, his voice thick with shame. Casiopea thought he meant it. But it wasn’t that simple. He’d left scars. She did not trust him. She didn’t want to hate him either. It was pointless now.

  “I can’t forgive you in an instant,” she said.

  “Well…maybe one day, maybe after a while. After we go back to Uukumil. Although I don’t want to go back to Uukumil, but I must. Oh, the old man is going to be so mad at us,” he mumbled.

  “If you don’t want to go back, maybe you shouldn’t?”

  “Where would I go?” Martín asked, looking rather shocked.

  Casiopea shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you can find your forgiveness on the way there.”

  Martín was quiet. She stood up, and he shoved his hair away from his face, his eyes red.

  “You’re not headed back, are you?” he asked her.

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I suppose this is goodbye.”

  “Yes. So long, Martín,” she said.

  In the end “so long, Martín” is what she had yearned to say all along, and there was more satisfaction in it than any elaborate revenge fantasy she could have conjured. They were headed in different directions, and this was sufficient.

  Casiopea returned to her room and curled up on top of the covers. She was tired, not only the weariness of the road, but a spiritual ache. When she woke up it was morning and Martín had left. He’d scrawled a note for her, saying he’d likely travel to Guadalajara. There was money with the note, his final apology. She stuffed the bills into her suitcase and packed her clothes. While arranging her things she realized that she still had her old shawl, the one she’d worn in her village. A flimsy, cheap piece of cloth that had seen better days, but she placed it around her shoulders. It had traveled with her, weathering distances and foes. She thought it might bring her luck.

  When she was done packing, she went to Hun-Kamé’s room and stood there, feeling its emptiness. On the nightstand lay the hat he’d worn; in the closet, his suits. She ran her hands over the clothes, but there was nothing of him left, not a strand of hair. She might have imagined him, dreamed him.

  She knew it had not been a dream.

  Casiopea checked out and noticed the lobby looked different. The luster of it was gone. It was a feeling, as though she were standing in an empty shell. She asked for an automobile to drive her to Tijuana. The clerk apologized and said it might take a few minutes. There had been a small earthquake and problems with the water. Several guests had left.

  Casiopea went outside to wait by the hotel’s front door. She looked at the sky. Then there came an automobile, and she grabbed her suitcase. She recognized it as the vehicle that had delivered her to the hotel. But the chauffeur was different. He wore a green jacket and a matching flat cap. It was the man she’d met in Mérida, Loray.

  “Good morning,” he said as he stopped the automobile. On the lapel of his jacket he wore a silver pin in the shape of an arrow and his eyes were forest green, the color of the hunt. His raven was perched on his shoulder.

  “Good morning,” echoed the bird.

  Casiopea approached the automobile, frowning. “What are you doing here?”r />
  “Hun-Kamé kept his bargain and allowed me to walk the Black Road. I’ve finally been able to leave Mérida behind.”

  He leaned out the window to give her a friendly smile, which she did not return. “That doesn’t explain why you are here.”

  “Oh, well. He thought you might need a ride, and I very nicely offered to see to that. Jump in.”

  Casiopea clutched the handle of her suitcase with both hands and held it in front of her, but did not move. The man sighed theatrically.

  “Look, despite whatever you’ve heard about demons, we’re not that terrible. Besides, I’m not interested in your soul. Unless you’re selling,” he said, and he got out of the automobile, opened the trunk, and motioned for her to toss the suitcase in. “That was a joke.”

  “You’re not funny.”

  He rolled his eyes at her.

  “I’m hilarious. Come on. You can’t stay here. Zavala has run off with his tail between his legs and this place is going to wither away pretty soon. There’s no magic left in it. The tiles are going to crack, windowpanes will fall out, and there will be a million roaches. Don’t lay your foundations with magic. It’s too difficult to keep it going.

  “Now, this is Zavala’s automobile and technically I’m not supposed to be driving it. So, would you like a ride in a stolen vehicle, or are we going to waste a bit more time?” he concluded.

  Casiopea shuffled her feet, but she moved toward the back of the automobile. He attempted to put her luggage in the vehicle for her, but she would not have it and shoved it in without his assistance. He closed the trunk and went to the passenger’s side of the automobile, holding the door open for her. Casiopea sat down.

  They drove in silence, and Casiopea contemplated the pleats of her skirt.

  “Hun-Kamé sends a gift, by the way,” Loray said and reached into his jacket pocket.

  He took out a small black bag and handed it to her. Casiopea opened it and found it was full of black pearls. She smiled. Hun-Kamé had kept his promise. Her smile turned sour and she flinched, the pearls rattling against each other.

  Loray looked at her from the corner of his eye.

  “I’d think you’d be happier,” he said. “That must be worth a pretty penny. I wonder what black pearls go for these days. We could find out in Tijuana.”

  “What? Should I pawn them to satisfy your curiosity?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he replied lightly.

  She had a feeling he took everything lightly. The raven on his shoulder turned to look at her and nodded, as if he were agreeing with her assessment. She wondered what Hun-Kamé had told Loray about her, or if the pearls had been delivered with a stern silence. Whether they were merely the result of the god settling his account very precisely, or if this final measure of attention for Casiopea possessed some warmth.

  She chose not to dwell on this. It was not the kind of thing she wanted to discuss with a stranger. Perhaps, one night, she would ask the stars, she would ask the dark, and the dark might whisper back an answer.

  “Where are we headed?” she said.

  “I can drop you off anywhere you want. But myself, I’m going somewhere where they speak French. It’s a gorgeous language and I haven’t heard it spoken widely in a few decades. I’m trying to figure out whether New Orleans or Quebec is more appetizing. What do you think?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know anything about either.”

  “Do you like gumbo, that’s the question.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Want to taste it?”

  “Taste,” the raven said. It hopped down from Loray’s shoulder and onto the back seat of the automobile.

  “Are you asking me to tag along?” she told him.

  “Well, you’re in my automobile.”

  “Is it your automobile if you stole it?”

  “Right of possession, girlie,” he said cheerily.

  Casiopea ran a hand down the dashboard, considering the situation. She did need a ride, and she wasn’t too inclined to remain in Tijuana, even though she had not planned her next stop. Going home was out of the question. She wanted to remain in motion.

  “Why would you take me with you?” she asked.

  “For a lark. Also, I can’t read a map to save my life. Can you read maps?”

  “Of course,” she said. She had spent enough time contemplating Grandfather’s atlas and tracing routes with her fingertips.

  “Good. I have no sense of direction.”

  “You called me a soiled parcel,” she reminded him.

  “Lady Tun, I tried to make it up to you by getting you nice dresses. By the way, very fetching skirt. I appreciate someone with a sense of color.”

  Casiopea wasn’t ready to concede. She let out a hmpf and gingerly placed her hands on her lap.

  “So…want to go to New Orleans or Quebec?”

  “I don’t know if I want to make up my mind now,” Casiopea said.

  “Take it from me. Now is always the answer. Besides, do you have anything better to do? Mope around for a decade or two?”

  Casiopea drummed her fingers against her skirt and chewed her lip. The dramatic poetry she’d read would have called for this and more. There was sadness in her, of course, but she didn’t wish to crack like fine china either. She could not wither away. In the world of the living, one must live. And had this not been her wish? To live. Truly live.

  Loray took out a silver flask from his jacket and pressed it against his lips. He offered her a swig, and she declined.

  “Should you do that? Drive with one hand?” she asked, alarmed.

  “I’m a demon, remember? Don’t worry,” he replied, tipping his head back.

  “I know you’re a demon. That’s why I’m worried.”

  “Oh, small potatoes. I won’t steal your soul, promise.”

  Casiopea slumped back against the car seat, watching his hands upon the wheel, the feet on the pedals. She’d wanted to drive an automobile; she had confessed this truth to Hun-Kamé. Here was an automobile, at last.

  “Would you teach me?” she asked.

  “What? To steal souls?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “To drive!”

  “What if you crash the car?”

  “It looks like a straight line,” she said, scoffing and pointing at the dusty path they were traveling. There didn’t seem to be any art to moving the vehicle down the road. He certainly handled it in a casual way.

  “Same with life, and then it branches off.”

  “I want to drive.”

  “But now?” he asked, looking doubtful.

  “Now is always the answer.”

  Loray had a constant look of mischief about him, and her answer made him give her an even more mischievous smile.

  “Got me there,” he admitted. “But if you drive, who is going to handle the maps?”

  “Show me how to drive a bit, and I’ll show you how to read a map properly.”

  He removed his cap and smirked. “After this you must call me your friend, you know?”

  “We’ll see.”

  He stopped the automobile, just stopped in the middle of the road and got out. She pushed her door open and they switched places. Casiopea sat very straight, contemplating the wheel. The sun had reached the highest point in the sky, and there wasn’t a single shadow in sight, the desert burning bright, the sky a canopy of blue. No other vehicles were on the road. She felt bold.

  “What do I do first?” she asked.

  “First,” said the raven.

  Loray took a sip from his flask and mimed the turning of the automobile keys, then he explained how the vehicle worked. Casiopea chuckled as the automobile began to move. It was a long road, and she feared the automobile would get away from her and she wouldn’t know how to st
op, but she smiled.

  There is no such thing as a homogeneous Mayan language. There are twenty-nine recognized Mayan languages spoken throughout Mexico and Central America. The way these languages are represented in Latin script has changed over time. Therefore, if you open a nineteenth-century Mayan dictionary you may find the spelling of a word is different from a contemporary dictionary.

  In this novel, I have used a modernized spelling of most words. As an example, the names of the Lords of Xibalba are commonly spelled Hun-Camé and Vucub-Camé in older texts, which I’ve rendered as Hun-Kamé and Vucub-Kamé (they could also be Jun-Kamé and Wukub-Kamé, although this spelling is rare). The names translate, at any rate, as One Death and Seven Death.

  Gods of Jade and Shadow is inspired by the Popol Vuh. Many elements of Maya mythology are woven throughout this novel, some more explicitly than others. However, this is a work of fantasy and should not be considered an anthropological text. Nevertheless, I provide a simple glossary below, which may be of interest to readers.

  aluxo’ob—Trickster spirit that can cause mischief, but with certain offerings may be appeased and protect the crops.

  balché—A fermented drink made from the bark of a tree, which is soaked in honey and water. The Lacandon utilized it in ceremonies, where ritual intoxication was practiced.

  bul—A board game, played with kernels of corn. Bul can also be used to refer to any game of chance, such as dice.

  caiman—A reptile, member of the crocodilian order, found in marshes and swamps.

  ceiba—A tropical tree. When young, the trunk of the ceiba is deep jade green and as it ages the coloration changes to a more grayish tone. In Maya mythology, the ceiba is a world tree that connects the planes of existence.

  cenote—A waterhole. Like caves, certain cenotes were considered entrances to the Underworld and were of ritual importance.