instantly became tails. The spell had been triggered. Within seconds, the older brothers were transformed into spider monkeys. They leapt from the gigantic madre de cacao into the branches of smaller nearby trees and then went swinging their way into the dense mountain forests, chattering and howling wildly.
And so One Monkey and One Artisan were defeated by the divine magic of Hunahpu and Xbalanque. The matter of their grandmother still remained, of course. When they got home, they immediately called to her.
“Grandmother! Something’s happened to our brothers! Their faces have changed: now they look like animals!”
“If you have done something to them, boys, you will break my heart. Please tell me you have not worked your magic on them!”
“Don’t be sad, Grandmother. You’ll see our older brothers’ faces again. They’ll be back. But this is going to be a test for you. You can’t laugh at them, okay? Now, let’s see what fate has in store.”
They sat down outside the house and began to play the flute and drum, singing a song they called “Hunahpu Spider Monkey” in which their brothers’ names were repeated. Soon One Monkey and One Artisan approached, excited, and began to dance to the music. When she saw their ugly little simian faces, Ixmukane could not contain her laughter. Her guffaws startled the monkeys, and they scampered off into the forest.
“Grandmother! Didn’t we say not to laugh? Look, we’re only going to try this four times. Three more. You simply have to keep yourself from laughing next time.”
They started up the tune once more, and their transformed siblings rushed to the patio to dance with wild abandon. Ixmukane struggled not to even giggle, but the monkeys had truly funny faces. Their little potbellies jiggled and their genitals were showing. Their grandmother could not help herself: she burst into gales of laughter that made them run off toward the mountains.
“What else are we supposed to do, Grandmother? Here goes attempt number three.”
Again the song. Again the dancing. Now, however, their grandmother kept her composure. So the monkeys clambered up the wall, making foolish expressions. They puckered up their red lips and snorted at the twins. It was too much. Ixmukane cackled and howled, and her grandsons left in a hurry.
“This is the last time,” Hunahpu and Xbalanque warned, and they struck up the melody again. But the monkeys did not return. They stayed in the forest instead.
The twins shook their heads in disappointment. “We tried, Grandmother. They’re gone. But don’t be sad. You still have two grandsons, right here with you. You can give your love to us. Our older brothers will always be remembered, you know. For they were given names and titles. Down the ages, musicians and artists and scribes will call on them for inspiration. Yes, they were prideful and mean, and their cruelty brought ruin on their heads. But people will always remember that One Monkey and One Artisan accomplished great things, in a distant time, when they lived with their grandmother in a small house near the mountains.”
Their Journey to the Realm of Fright
And so Hunahpu and Xbalanque took their rightful places as their fathers’ heirs. For a time they tended the family milpa, enchanting axes and hoes and animals to do the brunt of the work while they went hunting with their blowguns.
After a while, however, they found their fathers’ rubber ball in the rafters. Strapping on their siblings’ gear with great joy, they headed down to the ball court. For a long time they played there alone, sweeping the field of their fathers.
The dark lords of the Realm of Fright could not help but hear. “Someone has started a game again there above our heads. Are they not ashamed to be stomping about like that?” the King of Death asked. “Did not One and Seven Hunahpu die precisely for this reason? Just like these knaves, they wanted to prove their importance. Go, then, messenger: summon these fools as well.”
Hurricane’s falcon, who had watched many of their fathers’ games, winged his way to the surface to call the twins before the nether council. As he approached, he cried out, “Wak-ko! Wak-ko!”
“What’s that sound?” Hunahpu exclaimed, dropping his yoke. “Quick, grab your blowgun!”
They shot the bird out of the air, a pellet impacting against his eye. When they went to grab him, they asked why he was there.
“I’ve a message for you, but first heal my eye.”
They took a sliver of rubber from their ball and used it to cure his wound. As soon as his vision was restored, he spoke the words in his belly:
“You are commanded by the King and Queen of Death to present yourself in the Realm of Fright in seven days. Bring your kit, for you will be playing ball against the dark lords of the netherworld. They promise it will be great fun.”
The twins went to their grandmother, who was devastated by the news.
“We’ve got to go, of course,” they told her. “But first let us be your advisors. Each of us will plant an ear of unripe corn here in the center of the house. If one dries up, you’ll know that grandson has died. But if they sprout up, you can be sure we’re alive.”
After the planting, the twins took up their gear and their blowguns and departed. They wended their way down toward the Realm of Fright, over the rim of the world, along the canyons, through flocks of strange birds. They came to the river of pus and the river of blood, intended as traps by the dark lords. But the brothers caused their blowguns to swell as they had the madre de cacao tree and simply floated across without a care.
Then the brothers came to the crossroads, but their mother, the Lady Blood, had taught them about the roads: Black, White, Red, and Green. Hunahpu plucked a hair from his knee and with a whispered spell transformed it into an insect he called mosquito, the perfect spy.
“Go, little guy. Bite each of them in turn till you’ve tasted them all. Then forever the blood of travelers will be yours.”
“Good,” said the mosquito, and it flew down the Black Road. When it reached the council chambers, it alighted first on the wooden statues that had been dressed up to resemble the king and queen. It bit the first, but got no response. The second said nothing either.
Next he bit the third one, the real King of Death.
“Ow!” he cried.
“What, Your Majesty?” asked the dark lords. “What is it?”
“Something stung me!”
The queen looked at him. “It is merely a…ow!”
“What, my queen?” asked the king. “What is it?”
“Something stung me!”
“Ow!” cried the fifth one seated there.
“What, Peeling Scab?” asked the queen. “What is it?”
“Something stung me, Majesty!”
Then the sixth one was bitten.
“Ow!”
“What, Blood Gatherer?” asked Peeling Scab. “What is it?”
“Something
