The First Genesis

by Mark Macpherson

  The First Genesis

  Mark Macpherson

  Published: 2011

  Tag(s): "speculative fiction" Maya adventure romance

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  The Story of the Finder of Caves

  The air was humid and, an hour after sunset, it remained uncomfortably hot within the Southern Mexican jungle. Thatched huts sat in irregular order within an area cleared of vegetation, their disarray a symptom of unplanned, organic growth of the KulWinik Mayan village. A rectangular, white plastic table hosted two KulWinik villagers and five expectant Westerners. A single kerosene lamp burned on the table. Its light highlighted people’s faces like ill-formed masks but did not worry the darkness. Moths and other insects gave the light source busy attention.

  Yax K’in smoked a pungent, hand-made cigar seemingly oblivious to his audience of Westerners. His flat, almost-simian face showed the wear and care of only seventy of his one hundred years. Unkempt jet-black hair fell over his head and brushed the top of his shoulders. His cotton tunic covered him from his neck to his wrists to below his knees. It would have been white if washed but was a shade of grey from the smoke of cooking fires and the dirt and grime from labouring in the milpa, the field cleared from the jungle where the KulWinik grew their food.

  Yax K’in peered through the pall of his own cigar smoke at his late-teenage daughter and then to the Westerners. His eyes finally came to rest on the lamp and the busy cloud of insects.

  ‘Pep’Em Ha will tell the stories,’ Yax K’in said, as if addressing the lamp and not his daughter and audience.

  Arthur Dawkins fidgeted as he glanced at his two friends, Michelle and Hamish and then at Hamish’s late-teenage twin grandsons, Jim and Harry, to make sure they were paying attention. He had heard that Pep’Em Ha was as good a story-teller as her father, even better some had said.

  Yax K’in noticed Arthur drawing in the audience and smiled at his old friend. He hoped Arthur would not be too upset. Yax K’in had withheld hazardous information from Arthur during their forty year friendship. The most damaging omission was the ancient, secret stories Pep’Em Ha was about to narrate.

  Pep’Em Ha leant a little forward. She was relieved that she could finally tell the secret stories, especially to Jim. She spoke in the Mayan language used by the KulWinik.

  “The greatest hunter from the time before Kings, travelled for many days through the ancient jungle searching, unsuccessfully, for game. She,” Pep’Em Ha paused, for a moment. Michelle and Arthur exchanged a quick glance. They understood the importance of what had been said. He was the leading Mayan archaeologist of his generation, and she had been instrumental in translating the ancient Mayan glyphs.

  “She had cornered an ancient and dangerous animal,” Pep’Em Ha continued. “An animal that no longer exists, as large when it walked on its four legs as the shoulder of a standing hunter. She failed to kill it. Even the greatest hunters know failure. Even the gods make mistakes. The animal tore along the length of her leg with its claws and teeth. The hunter’s injury was deep and to the bone. Her intended prey tore flesh from her arm and pierced her side. She was thrown into the air and landed violently. Her mouth filled with her own blood as her teeth pierced her tongue. She lost consciousness for a long time. A pool of red surrounded her when she woke.”

  Pep’Em Ha altered the tone of her voice as she provided a commentary that was part of the story.

  “This story is from a time when Hachakyum lived among us. A previous time. A time before there were kings and scribes. It was a time before ritual. It was a time before worship. A time before our people created stone cities. It was a time when people lived simply. They lived in ignorance of their own past. They lived before all stories. The story of the Finder of Caves is the world’s first story.”

  Pep’Em Ha continued the ancient tale.

  “The hunter dragged her broken body through the jungle as she tried to return to her people. She travelled for many days. Her pain was intense. She became disoriented and weak from loss of blood. She could not discern a common direction. She became lost. Eventually, she understood that her only hope for survival was to find help nearby or a source of easy food and shelter.

  During the first nights of her ordeal she feared an attack from jaguars or other large predators. Each night she found a place where an attack could only come from a single direction and she would prop herself watching and waiting in the blackness. As the days blurred into a single repeated one of agony and weakness she gave up her defence against attack and each night she lay on the jungle floor wherever she fell and slept through the dark hours.

  Her life flowed slowly away as she weakened further. She lost clear vision, her waking world lacked distinction. She hallucinated. She believed she saw a stark white shape, sometimes appearing like a desiccated tree stump and sometimes as an ancient, white-robed man. It remained close to her, shouting its uniqueness in her blurred jungle of greens and browns. She would stare at it to make the vision disappear but the shape shadowed her like a companion until her strength was almost gone so that she no longer registered its presence.

  Her leg, and her arm became infected and the poison spread through her body. She woke one morning and could not stand. She crawled through the jungle, dragging her useless leg and arm. She did not stop. Each morning, when she surprised herself that she was still alive, she continued her struggle.

  On the last morning of her ordeal she woke and lifted her head from the earth where she lay prostrate. She crawled onwards until the jungle fell behind her. She collapsed and lay on the edge of a milpa. She released tears of relief using the last moisture in her body. She let her head fall onto the earth. She slept again.

  She woke in the same place. She heard a voice.

  ‘I’ve been watching you for some time.’

  An old man sat with his back against the last tree of the jungle, he was staring out over the milpa. A white tunic covered him from his neck to his wrists and to his ankles. His feet were bare.

  ‘You will not give up, will you. Even as you are now. At the very end,’ he said. He turned his head to look at the hunter lying on the ground and then looked away again.

  ‘Why is that?’ he asked, not looking at her. ‘Why are you so strong? You are so different from the others.’

  He spoke calmly as if he was chatting and passing the time, after a day of rest and an ample meal. She was angry and indignant, as well as in agony. She abhorred his indifference. She did not understand why he did not help her. She tried to swallow so that she could speak but it was impossible. Coherent words could not force their way through the coagulated blood in her mouth and the stricture of her throat. She wanted to make some sound of annoyance but she was also hindered by her swollen and infected tongue. She croaked an inarticulate sound.

  ‘Will you help me?’ was what she had hoped to say.

  He slowly shifted his gaze from the milpa so that he, again, stared at her. She lifted her head from the earth. She looked directly at him as if she could order him to provide her with assistance. She could not move from where she lay and if the old man did not help her she would die on that spot. His eyes were calm, he was without concern.

  ‘Will I help you?’ he repeated the question she had intended to ask but had not spoken.

  He gazed over the milpa again. ‘I shouldn’t,’ he said.

  She had no more words and no further thoughts. The strength holding her head from the ground failed and her face fell, again to rest on its side.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ he said as if he had convinced himself after a silent argument. ‘I can try again.’

  He walked the few steps to where she lay. He examined her prostrate body like she was an exhibit.

&n
bsp; ‘You are strong. I will grant you that,’ he said.

  Her head would not lift on its own again. Her eyes were the only sign of life and they blazed anger and pleaded pity. He smiled at her as he weighed the fateful, irrevocable and horrifying decision he was about to make. He would live with its consequences for tens of thousands of years. Until the end of the world. Until the end of all worlds.

  ‘Yes. I will help you,’ he said softly.

  She lost consciousness again.

  Chapter 2

  She woke inside a hut, lying in a hammock, swinging gently near a smouldering, three-stoned cooking fire. She tentatively moved her head. The hut was large compared to hers. However, her attention to the hut’s interior was distracted when she realised she was not in pain. She moved her hand and touched her chin and then poked out her tongue and touched it. She felt no pain. She examined the finger that had touched her tongue and there was no blood. She attempted to swallow. She swallowed easily. She was not thirsty, and she was not hungry. She felt down to her injured leg. She grimaced in anticipation of touching her wounds.

  There was no pain. Her injured leg was whole. She raised her head and scanned the length of her naked body. She was as uninjured as the day she had begun her hunt. She swung to a sitting position in the hammock and felt no dizziness or discomfort. She placed her feet on the ground and then stood. She kept one hand firmly attached to the hammock, assuming that her legs would fail. She did not falter. She felt strong enough to start a hunt of many days. She walked to the entrance of the hut and looked outside. She saw a milpa growing maize, squash, chillies, tobacco and manioc. She had never seen such an abundant milpa. She assumed it was the same milpa where she had met the old man.

  ‘The old man must have saved me,’ she thought. She looked down at her body again and touched her mouth, again.

  ‘But, I am more than healed, I have been returned to how I was before,’ she thought.

  She felt a little weak as she wondered, ‘Perhaps I have died. Perhaps I have not been healed. Perhaps I have not been returned to how I was before.’

  She walked out of the hut into the clear area before it. She turned around and looked back. She breathed deeply. She could smell the smoke from the fire. She raised the back of her hand to her nose and smelt the familiar smell of her own skin. She felt the beginnings of a normal hunger. She felt stirrings in her bowels. She knew she must be alive. Those mundane parts of living would be wasted on the dead, she believed.

  ‘However,’ she thought, ‘I have been healed completely.’ She did not understand.

  She walked further from the hut, stopped and stood. She slowly turned in a circle, on the spot. She called loudly, ‘Hello?’ to each of the four directions.

  There was no answer. She heard insects, birds and monkeys in the jungle trees surrounding the milpa. She heard the rustle from close-by maize plants rubbing together in the breeze. There were no sounds of people.

  She was unsure what to do next. She could wait. There was food in the milpa and although she had no weapons to hunt, hunting was not necessary for survival. She assumed a source of water would be close by and there was the hut for shelter. She thought through her predicament. Someone had built the hut. Someone had set and lit the fire that still smouldered. Her thoughts returned to finding the old man, or someone else, and not of waiting.

  She went back to the hut, after deciding what she would do. She would search for clothing, for weapons and for other signs of recent occupation, anything that may help her find a way to return to her people.

  The old man sat next to the fire, smoking a hand-made cigar. He exhaled smoke and watched it join with the rising smoke from the cooking fire.

  She stopped when she saw him. He made no sign that he had noticed her entrance. She was silent for a long time while she stared at him.

  ‘Did you heal me?’ she asked eventually, when she was sure he was not an apparition.

  The old man gazed with pleasure at his cigar. He moved it closer to his eyes and smiled at it as if it was a loved one.

  ‘These are the best things about this place,’ he said.

  He answered her question while addressing his cigar, ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘It is the afternoon of the same day.’

  ‘How?’ she asked. She frowned. She was confused.

  ‘I said, I will help you. And, I have.’

  She had too many questions and was unable to decide what to ask first.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said in gratitude with a soft voice.

  She decided on a question. She was bold with her request. She asked firmly, ‘Can you also help me return to my people?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly.

  ‘No?’

  The old man said nothing in reply as he exhaled smoke to again merge with the smoke from the fire. She became annoyed at his inattention.

  ‘No? You won’t help me?’ she asked again.

  ‘I have helped you,’ the old man said quietly.

  ‘I know. I am thankful. I was asking for more help,’ she said.

  He turned his head and looked at her like she was, again, a child asking permission. She was a hunter, some called her the greatest hunter. She was exasperated.

  The old man felt her exasperation. He explained, ‘You cannot return to your people. Those people no longer exist.’

  She was shocked. Her hands moved to her face. ‘Are they dead? How do you know?’ she asked quickly. The ends of her fingers covered her mouth.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, what?’ She became angry. She was frustrated with the old man’s answers.

  The old man turned away from her to again gaze at the smoke rising from the fire. ‘No, they are not dead,’ he said slowly as if he was explaining the obvious.

  She did not know what to ask him next. She was not asking specific enough questions, she realised. She stared at him. He exhaled, again, from his cigar.

  ‘I have re-made you,’ he said as if that answer should satisfy all her doubts and should answer all her questions.

  She sighed, she gave up expecting sense from the old man. ‘I’m sorry old man. I appreciate what you have done. You do not make sense. I do not understand you.’

  ‘Of course you don’t.’ The old man smiled, with compassion. ‘I re-made you. This world has a new beginning. I created a new world. The world begins with you. It exists because of you. It is for you,’ he said. ‘It had reached a point where I was,’ he thought for a moment, ‘dissatisfied. Without your suffering, without your strength, this would no longer exist,’ he gently extended his hand that held his cigar. She did not know if he meant the whole world, the contents of the hut or simply the cigar in his hand.

  His smile remained on his face. ‘I am grateful. I am fond of this place, if not all of its people. I have not believed my creation was a complete failure. As I have been told,’ he said wistfully. ‘You are the proof of that, although you were an amazing exception. With you as the template, this time it will be better. I am sure,’ he spoke carefully, methodically, as if he had forgotten the hunter and was justifying his actions to some absent audience.

  The old man continued staring at the fire. He said, as if it was not something that would interest her, ‘I re-made your people. But not in the same way as I re-made you. They do not remember.’

  She stared in silence at the old man as if he had spoken a language she did not know. She decided to not ask for further explanation. She was the greatest of all hunters and she knew there was a time to give up on a quarry and start the hunt again.

  ‘When can I return to these re-made people, as you say?’ she asked. Her voice was firm and there was no confusion. Her question was unequivocal.

  The old man turned and stared into her eyes. She had the strange sensation that he approved of her question.

  ‘Now,’ he replied softly.

  ‘Right now or soon? What do you mean?’

  ‘Now,’ he repeated.

>   The hunter turned away from the old man by the fire and walked outside the hut. She hoped her action would force him to follow, so that he could lead her back to her village. Or wherever he understood she was to go.

  She stopped immediately outside the entrance to the hut. She was back in her village and the setting sun was shining in her eyes. She turned and looked back inside the hut. The hut was her hut in her own village. Or, at least, looked like it. There was no sign of the old man or the milpa.

  Her brother came out of the hut and stared at her.

  ‘I’d thought you’d gone?’ he asked with irritation.

  Her brother brushed passed her and out into the village centre. ‘And where are your clothes?’ He said brusquely, not waiting for a reply.”

  Chapter 3

  Yax K’in broke the flow of the story telling and interrupted the trance Pep’Em Ha had caused in her audience with a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Pep’Em Ha!’ he said. His voice was raised.

  Arthur had never heard Yax K’in speak to his daughter in that way.

  ‘That is enough,’ Yax K’in said. He looked sternly at his young daughter. ‘The story is well told. However, your additions are not required. You have not told the ancient story.’ He ended with frustration in his voice, no longer angry.

  Yax K’in turned away from his daughter as if by not looking at her he would diminish his disappointment. He stared at the light from the kerosene lamp. ‘I promised Arthur and Michelle that they would hear the stories of Hachakyum. They are not here for entertainment,’ he said, as if he was alone with her. ‘The Story of the Finder of Caves is from a time before there was maize.’ Yax K’in swung his head and looked at Arthur and then Michelle. ‘It was a time before there were milpas, before our people lived in villages, before we made shelters like these.’ Yax K’in waved his arm at the village huts. ‘It is a story from a creation before ours, a time that no longer exists, a time of which all trace has gone. All that exists are the stories.’ Yax K’in’s eyes, as he again stared at Pep’Em Ha, made her ashamed. She looked down at the surface of the table and studied the marks and scratches resulting from years of use.