Thirteen Heavens

by Mark Fishman

  Rubén Arenal and Ernesto, turning right on Calle Guadalupe Victoria, heading at a fast clip past Calle 12a toward Gustavo Díaz Ordaz, Ernesto moving at the speed of La Amenaza Elegante, Rubén Arenal keeping up with him, taking a left on Gustavo Díaz Ordaz, a wide boulevard with almost no traffic at night, a bus passing them, two friends following the curve of the boulevard past Juan Aldama, displaying the agility of La Amenaza Elegante, Rubén Arenal and Ernesto holding to the wide curve to the left past Calle Ojinaga, at the corner were chairs, bicycles and tires for sale, and one street after Morelos Nueva, it was a small world they traveled in, separately or together, with the same name for more than one street, they turned right on José María Morelos y Pavón in Cuauhtémoc, past number 1801, past a law firm, and after 1805, the two friends slowing down, and Ernesto Cisneros, I’ve always liked this street, streets named after men in history remind me how much I love our Mexico, José María Morelos, Servant of the Nation, a priest, military insurgent, a Mexican patriot, organizer and architect of the second stage of the war of independence, Morelos was captured in Temalaca by Colonel Manuel de la Concha, tried by the Inquisition, executed by firing squad in 1815 in San Cristóbal Ecatepec, there’re ghosts everywhere, brother, but his lieutenant, Vicente Guerrero, a living hero at the time, Un Estado Libre protégé las Artas, la Industria, las Ciencias y Comercio; y no premia más que la Virtud y el Mérito, “A free state protects the arts, industry, science and trade; and it rewards only virtue and merit,” Guerrero went on fighting in the southern states during the Resistencia, and you know the rest, everything’s connected in our country’s history, and we better not forget it, and Rocket, I haven’t and I won’t, depending on how much energy or curiosity, temptation or responsibility we’ve got left, Esto, mi enciclopedia gigante, but what’re you up to and where are we going? and Ernesto Cisneros, hang on, brother, we’re almost there, it’s a private watering hole, a retreat from the known world, and Rocket, you never told me about it, mi mapa del mundo y explorador, my world map and explorer, and Ernesto Cisneros, trust me, trust me, we’ll drink and face the world tomorrow, the wind that was neither warm nor cold kept up with their Fantômas–like comic book swiftness, pushing them even faster and farther with an occasional gusty shove, until Rubén Arenal and his best friend with Mil Máscaras’ face got to a wooden paneled door in a wooden paneled wall.

  Guadalupe taking off a lightweight blue nylon jacket, Irma in her shirt sleeves, and Luz Elena wearing a T-shirt, a sweatshirt’s sleeves tied loosely around her neck, the three women heading straight for the kitchen, Guadalupe carrying a rolled-up banner under her arm, Irma with a placard of cover stock on a wooden stick, Luz Elena holding a bright orange heavyweight paper, with a slogan written in indelible pen, Irma leaning the stick against the wall next to the refrigerator, Luz Elena doing the same with the handmade poster, Guadalupe putting the rolled-up banner between them, Guadalupe, Irma, Luz Elena, together, their skin glowed with perspiration, and Guadalupe Muñoz, I figured I’d take my jacket along in case it got cold when the sun went down, no such thing, still hot and more sweaty than when we were standing there shouting until we got hoarse, nobody listening to us but each other, the members of a group of relatives, friends, and the three of us, not many but a lot more than a few, and Luz Elena, everyone take a seat, we’ll have something cool to drink, Luz Elena reaching for a pitcher in the refrigerator, pouring three glasses of licuado de fresa, a thick, homemade smoothie, milk, fresh strawberries, ice and sugar, then leaving the pitcher in the center of the table, and Irma Payno, I’ve got to have a smoke, and Guadalupe Muñoz and Luz Elena, in one voice and at the same time, if we’ve heard it once, we’ll hear it forever, your famous last words, ’mana, and Irma Payno, I’m not dead yet, chavas, so don’t count me out, Guadalupe and Luz Elena, despite their sadness, clapping their hands, raising their glasses, Irma taking a 5x50 La Casta Robusto by Santa Clara from her handbag, lighting it, not inhaling but taking a deep drag, exhaling a perfumed cloud that hovered above them, and Guadalupe Muñoz, wiping her mouth, we aren’t winning, and Luz Elena, it’s only been a couple of days since we organized, and Irma Payno, we’re listening, but I get the feeling nobody else is, Guadalupe shaking her head yes, and Guadalupe Muñoz, they aren’t giving us more than the time of day, De Narco Políticos a Narco Estado ¡Ya Basta! From Narco Politicians to Narco State—Enough Already! ¡Basta Ya! Queremos un México Sin PRI, Enough Already! We Want a Mexico Without PRI—la dictadura perfecta, the “perfect dictatorship,” Mario Vargas Llosa was right, and Irma Payno, ¡Vivos Se Los Llevaron! ¡Vivos Los Queremos! They Took Them Alive We Want Them Alive! our slogans, I’ll swear they did it, the army, the federal police, the municipal police, they turned them over to the Guerreros Unidos, or they did it themselves, and don’t tell me nobody knew what was going on, there’s the Iguala C-4—locked up murdered disappeared, may God protect our sons brothers husbands future husbands wherever they are, Irma exhaling another cloud of bluish smoke, and Luz Elena, with respect to nobody listening, and I’m not talking about earshot, the range within which sounds may be heard, but with respect to really paying close attention, taking into consideration what this means, not only for us but for our Mexico, taking into consideration that our country’s sinking lower and lower, this tragedy drags us down so low that in order for anybody in the world to look us in the eyes they’d have to get on their knees and search the earth for what’s left of our dignity, dig where you’re standing, sisters and brothers, our pride’s lying in the dirt! and Irma Payno, it’s an investigation we want, and Guadalupe Muñoz, and who’s going to give us one? they aren’t handing them out with tortillas, and Luz Elena, an investigation, but one that isn’t connected to Alacrán or the Queen of Iguala, and Guadalupe Muñoz, keep dreaming, in the words of Little Richard, they’re “Slippin’ and a-slidin’, / Peepin’ and a-hidin’,” and as for us, we can’t behave as if everything were normal, not ever again—normal, I mean, and Irma Payno, I was going to marry him, and Luz Elena, I was going to pour him a glass of this strawberry smoothie, and Guadalupe Muñoz, I was going to hold him in my arms, like he was a young boy, and Irma Payno, we could’ve offered him a cigarette, or one of my cigars, he isn’t a child, Irma tilting her head back, running her hand through her hair, exhaling another cloud that rolled above the table heading toward the ceiling, and Luz Elena, with respect to where people go when they’re dead, who knows the truth? maybe they’re walking around without bumping into us on the street, maybe sitting right here, at the table, without asking for a drink, not even wanting a smoke, but what I do know is they’re inside us, always and forever, and Guadalupe Muñoz, we aren’t living in a time capsule where everything stays as it is, a kind of storage for a selection of objects that’re picked because they’re typical of the present time, buried for discovery in the future, the days keep on changing, and our emotions are like the days, transformed by this assault on our children, and Luz Elena, with respect to time and the indefinite continued progress of existence, and in Coyuco’s case it doesn’t apply, the Aztecs had an unusual way of counting time, each month had twenty days, named after things or animals, and Guadalupe Muñoz, that’s right, m’hija, there were eighteen months in a year, with five “unlucky days,” or nemontemi, left over, I’ve seen it in the Codex Mendoza, and Luz Elena, each year was named after its first day, and the year, having 365 days, could only begin with four day-names: House, Rabbit, Reed and Flint Knife, that’s the way it was, and it’s not like that today, not for us, and Guadalupe Muñoz, let’s play with math, m’hijas, the Aztecs used two major calendrical cycles, the tonalpohualli, or “count of days,” a sacred almanac of 260 days, and the xiuhpohualli, an annual calendar of 365 days, the tonalpohualli, was put together from a sequence of numbers from one to thirteen paired with a sequence of twenty day-names, the two calendars were combined so that each day was identified clearly and definitely by both a sacred date and an annual date, now here comes the math, since the least common multiple of 260 and 365 i
s 18,980, which equals 52 x 365, the combined cycle of the two calendars repeats after 52 years of 365 days each, and this 52-year period, known as the xiuhmolpilli, or “sacred bundle,” played a significant role in Aztec religious life, Irma taking the Casta Robusto from her mouth, setting it in an ashtray, and Irma Payno, just to tell you I know something about it even if I’m younger than you are, chavas, in the second chapter “Which treats of the months of the year and of the symbols by which the days of the month were known,” of my copy of The Ancient Calendar by Fray Diego Durán, he writes, “In ancient times the year was composed of eighteen months, and thus it was observed by the Indian people. Since their months were made of no more than twenty days, these were all the days contained in a month, because they were not guided by the moon but by the days; therefore, the year has eighteen months. The days of the year were counted twenty by twenty,” Guadalupe and Luz Elena clapped their hands and raised their glasses again, Irma took up her cigar, drew on it, not inhaling, and Guadalupe Muñoz, my son would’ve been a lucky man to have you as his wife, niña mía, and Luz Elena, everything’s upside down, the world is always the wrong way around, if you do somebody a good turn, they blame you for it, and if you try to ruin people, they say you’re right, and Guadalupe Muñoz, what we’re doing is right, and in the end the man or woman who does right is happy, I’m only waiting for Ernesto to come back safe and sound from where he’s gone, then we can try to go on living, and Luz Elena, we’ll do our best, never let go, and hold out for the truth, and Guadalupe Muñoz, Coyuco’s our son, Ernesto’s and mine, and you don’t leave your son to rot in the earth or float away as ashes on the river without saying goodbye to him, and Luz Elena, wishing him a good life in the next world, and asking God to bless him, and Irma Payno, what more can we do but insist on knowing what happened to every one of them? we won’t take no for an answer, and Guadalupe Muñoz, while we’re living we’ll make good use of the days, in God’s eyes and our own, following our calendar, or the combination of the ancients’ sacred almanac and the annual calendar, the tonalpohualli and the xiuhpohualli, Guadalupe lowering her voice, whispering, and Guadalupe Muñoz, because changing or not changing, it isn’t the same to me, some people can take it or leave it, not me, the birds change, they lose their feathers, and so we can shed our own, let’s take the path that’s been dropped in our lap, besides, it’s already happened, it isn’t a question, m’hijas, not really, we’ve had our eyelids cut off, too, our eyes are open day and night, there’s nothing that we can’t see for what it is, it’s a miraculous change, and we aren’t alone, we’re all grieving Coyuco and the forty-three who’ve disappeared, parents brothers sisters wives friends girlfriends, without knowing it, I’m pretty sure Ernesto’s changed, too, let’s wait and see, he’ll be home soon, I can feel it in my bones, there’s a lot ahead of us that we’ve got to do, we’ve just started, and if we don’t find our sons brothers husbands boyfriends friends, if we never find out what happened to them, there’ll be no mercy for those who’re to blame, I’m not saying we ought to kill them, even if they deserve it, I won’t do it, but someone else will, there’ll be no compassion or forgiveness for whoever they are, and as Ignacio would remind us, a few words from the sixth book in the New Testament, La Epístola del Apóstol San Pablo a Los Romanos, 1:18, 1:19, the Letter to the Romans, chapter one, verses eighteen and nineteen: Porque la ira de Dios se revela desde el cielo contra toda impiedad e injusticia de los hombres que detienen con injusticia la verdad; / porque lo que de Dios se conoce les es manifiesto, pues Dios se lo manifestó, “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. / For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them,” and Luz Elena, so we’re supposed to leave it up to God? and Irma Payno, is that what you’re saying? and Guadalupe Muñoz, that’s why, when I’ve got nothing to say, I say nothing, words speak for themselves, silence says it all, and Luz Elena, faith is the beginning of healing, ’manas, Irma shutting her eyes, opening them, nodding her head at Guadalupe and Luz Elena, and Irma Payno, I guess your Ignacio Pardiñas would’ve quoted Hebreos 11:1, Es, pues, la fe la certeza de lo que se espera, la convicción de lo que no se ve, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen,” and Guadalupe Muñoz, ¡le felicitamos! my compliments, he would’ve recited the same words, m’hija, and I’ve got a few more for both of you, not my own, they belong to Brenda Lozano, maybe you’ve read her, maybe not, but they’re words that fit the subject, No saber dónde están los que queremos es no saber dónde está uno, “To not know where your loved ones are is to not know where you are,” and Irma Payno, words that go straight to my heart, and Luz Elena, mine, too ’mana, it’s our truth, and not only ours, and Irma Payno, Tal vez porque quedan las palabras para quien deja que otro se vaya. Porque dejamos que alguien se vaya para recordarlo, como nos vamos para ser recordados. Acaso porque amamos para que nos amen como abandonamos para que nos abandonen, “Maybe because words are what’s left for someone who lets another go, because we let someone go so as to remember them, just as we go to be remembered, perhaps because we love so that we are loved, just as we abandon others so that they might abandon us,” it was Brenda Lozano who wrote that, too, I’m young, but I’ve got more than one book up my sleeve, chavas, and Luz Elena, with respect to Lupe and her wishes, an earnest or humble request, when I’m here I want to be there, and the other way around, if you get my meaning, I’m not always so clear, but what’s God going to do for us? how can we count on Him? there’s our slice of obligation, the course of action to which we’re morally bound, it’s up to all of us, with God’s blessing and our bodies on the street, Luz Elena and Irma looked at Guadalupe, who didn’t reply, but a beatific radiance shone on her face as the sun fell off the edge of the horizon, spreading its last reddish-yellow glow in silence over the spotless windowpane in the kitchen.

  Ernesto pushed open the wooden paneled door of the cantina on José María Morelos y Pavón, a street named after José María Morelos, Servant of the Nation, Rubén Arenal right behind him, the door closing silently behind them, the two friends no longer moving at the speed of La Amenaza Elegante, but heading straight for the bar before taking the time to look around the room for an empty table, the cantina lighted by low-watt bulbs in wall sconces with ornamental brackets, and Ernesto Cisneros, not only have I always liked this street, but I’ve always liked this place, and Rocket, I can’t see a thing, there’s not much light and plenty of smoke, the man behind the bar appearing out of nowhere in the glow of one of the small shaded lamps at each end of the bar, asking them what they’d like to drink, recognizing Ernesto behind his mask, a thinly veiled partially concealed Mil Máscaras combined with Ernesto’s familiar features, and Rocket, you must be a regular, ’mano, no matter what you look like,¡Dos, dos, dos hombres en uno! Ernesto turning his head to look at Rubén Arenal, and Ernesto Cisneros, that’s right, then shaking the owner’s hand, but they didn’t order anything, leaning instead with their backs against the bar, their eyes getting used to the light in the room as conversations cut their way through the cigarette and cigar smoke, Rubén Arenal looking this way and that in order to see where the voices were coming from, at first finding nothing and no one, until his eyes settled on a large painting of Xtabay, a supernatural creature with the torso of a goddess and the legs of an allegorical creature, a demon seductress who lured men to their doom with her captivating voice, a figure from Mayan mythology, the painting covering almost an entire wall of the underlit bar, Xtabay walking along the bank of a river at night, and right behind her, a large five-leaved kapok, or ceiba tree, Ceiba pentandra, set in a lush jungle landscape vibrating with terrible colors, a large bat with a screwy expression on its face flying through the sky strangely lit by a distant fire, the bat appearing to circle the river and the tall tropical tree, and Ernesto Cisneros, what do you think, she’s a knockout, isn’t she, not just the painting, and
when you’ve had enough to drink of what they serve here she’ll start to look a lot less dangerous than she really is, the owner’s from Ticul, almost nineteen miles east of Uxmal, in Yucatán, which explains the presence of this masterly portrait of frightening folklore, don’t look too long, brother, don’t stare, she’ll ask to sit at our table if she gets the idea into her head that you’re interested, and Rocket, there’s a table over there, let’s take a chair, let’s take a chance, and the two friends crossed the short distance to a vacant table shrouded in cigar smoke.