brother.”
After about an hour, Arnulfo returned, accompanied by a short round man with kind eyes and gray in his hair. Arnulfo introduced him in Mayan and then translated to Spanish for Jeb and my benefit. “This is my very good friend Arturo. Arturo has been kind enough to invite us to a meal with his family and has agreed that it would be a good idea to leave our animals with him for a few days.” Returning to Mayan, Arnulfo introduced each of us to Arturo. This involved elaborate hand shaking and flowery sounding phrases. I didn’t understand a word, but I smiled and nodded and shook. Jeb did the same.
Presently, we started moving, but on foot, leading our horses as Arnulfo had done as it would certainly not do to sit on our horses and tower menacingly over our hosts. After a short walk we entered a clearing. A group of men, boys, women, children, dogs, pigs and a ratty looking burro stood solemnly regarding us. The chickens scratching around didn’t seem as impressed.
LUCY
We rode all the next day and, around noon on the following day, we came to the little family settlement Arnulfo had told us about. There were more people there than I had expected. All one family, Arnulfo had said, but four or five generations of it, from the Taatich to tiny infants. Those little babies were so cute.
They welcomed Arnulfo and—by extension—all of us, like visiting royalty. Even more than that, as I found out later. They regarded Arnulfo as a savior, because he had literally saved them.
Some marauders had attacked them right here in their home a few years ago. Arnulfo happened to be staying here, gathering chicle in the area. He drove them off, killing at least two of them. Clearly, Arnulfo was now their favorite person in this world; he could do no wrong.
They were all impressed with Carlos’ and Jeb’s bushy beards, and those beards really were becoming impressive. I hadn’t noticed them slowly bushing out but they were both beginning to look like the proverbial Mountain Men.
I had to tell them: “the only beards like that around here are on certain monkeys.” I’m not sure they appreciated my observations.
We were also in luck, because the Taatich, Arturo the Elder, had some information on a good route to follow to Kanan Óox, which should save us some time.
“Some of the old gods are there,” he told us, “sometimes you can feel them looking at you. Not a good place. Better stay away.”
“We won’t stay long,” I assured him. “Just in and out. The gods won’t mind.”
The whole family was excited. They wanted to put on a big fiesta in Arnulfo’s honor, and we had no problem with that. There wasn’t all that much traveling time left in the day, and we would get an early start in the morning. Plus which, a good meal would be more than welcome after the cuisine of the past several days.
We all pitched in. I got together with Arturo’s mother and sister and his wives to make tortillas and beans and cook up some Pollo Pibil. Everyone had some assigned task, and things came together in no time. Carlos had made a table out of bamboo and stuff, and was now talking to Arturo. He seemed to be trying to learn Mayan. I’d have to start watching what I said.
CARLOS
We were each presented formally to the older men and women and less formally to the younger generation. They all shyly shook our hands and nodded their heads and said things in Mayan, presumably nice things. They seemed a little taken aback by Ah Cuxtal. I didn’t know if it was his general appearance—we had cleaned him up, but he still looked a little rough around the edges—or the unsettled look in his eye, or just because he was a Lacandón. Probably that had something to do with it, as Lacandones in general were known for their unpredictable behavior. I wasn’t too sure about this one, either, especially in his present state of mind.
They seemed particularly impressed with Jeb and myself. Later Lucy laughed and told me it was the beards. “They don’t see many of those around here,” she teased, “especially not such big luxurious ones. Only on certain monkeys,” she added. Unnecessarily, I thought. I hadn’t realized our beards had gone so wild, but looking at Jeb, I had to admit we did look a little unusual.
The first individual we had been introduced to was a very old man, although he was probably not as old as he looked. Lucy told me he was the father of Arturo and also named Arturo: The Taatich, grandfather and great-grandfather of most of the family. Lucy and Arnulfo sat down with him later and came away with the best description we had had to date as to where Kanan Óox was and the easiest route to get to it. It seems that Arturo the Elder had been there many years ago, when he was young and adventurous and roamed the jungle. He warned us that there were spirits there and not necessarily benevolent ones.
“Perhaps some of the old gods are still there,” he said. He thought he could feel them, felt something, but didn’t know what it was. He didn’t spend any time there and, in fact, left right away. Those old gods are nobody to fool with.
The day was developing into a festive occasion. Everyone was bustling about, preparing foods of various kinds. We contributed our share from our supplies. Chickens were being chased, tortillas patted, children sent into the jungle to gather fruit and whatever else they could find.
Arnulfo seemed to be the main center of interest. I doubted any random group of strangers would get this treatment, so I asked Lucy what all the fuss was all about. She explained that Arnulfo was a bit of a hero to this family. Some time ago when, as he had said, he was gathering the chicle, he had indeed visited them, and more than once. Lucy hadn’t known all the details as Arnulfo didn’t much like to talk about such things, but she asked Arturo and the others about it, and they wouldn’t stop talking, much to Arnulfo’s embarrassment. They were saying that Arnulfo had saved them from a serious threat, saved their lives.
“He had been staying with Arturo and the family while on one of his chicle gathering trips,” she said. ”It was a mid afternoon and Arnulfo was sleeping in one of the houses. That one over there, I think,” she pointed, “when four strangers rode in on horseback. They were armed, the family was not, except for a couple of old shotguns that may or may not actually fire. Antiques.”
“The strangers started pushing people around, threatening them with pistols. They started grabbing some of the girls and shot Luis over there in the thigh—you can see the scar—when he tried to stop them. The only reason he’s alive is they were such poor shots.”
“Arnulfo heard the ruckus, looked out, and realized what was happening. He came out of that doorway over there with his rifle, shooting. Shot two of them dead and wounded a third. The two who were still able to move turned and ran off as fast as they could, shooting wildly but not hitting anything. The other two horses followed. Arnulfo tracked them for two days to make sure they didn’t circle back.”
“So you see why he can do no wrong in this place.” I did, indeed, and I didn’t blame them for idolizing him. He had probably saved all their lives. I was already glad Arnulfo was on our side and Lucy’s story made me even gladder. You’ve got quite a family, Lucy, I said. “I have, haven’t I,” she said, smiling.
I was given a machete and charged with finding materials to make another table, as there weren’t enough to hold all the foodstuffs and dishes. I wandered around in the jungle for a while, watching out, as usual, for the dread nauyaca snake. Any snakes. Eventually I came back with a small tree and some bamboo. This served just fine and, with the help of some of the younger set, we produced a serviceable, if primitive, table held together with strips of bamboo. I didn’t know how long it would last, but it was good for today.
Whenever
