01 _ Xibalba Murders, The (7 page)

In a few minutes the first busloads of tourists would arrive, but for now the place was ours. For a few minutes at least I was able to put the face of Luis Vallespino aside, distracted by the magic of this place.

None of us spoke for several minutes. Below and behind us, the vendors were arriving with their wares— soft drinks and handicrafts for the tourists—and their conversations carried across the great plaza to our vantage point.

Our personal reveries were broken by the sound of the first tour group coming through the entranceway. Ahead of the pack were two young boys racing to be first up the pyramid, their mothers gasping behind them, telling them to be careful.

“Let’s stay one jump ahead of them,” Jonathan exclaimed, and we moved quickly to descend the steep staircase, I by gripping the heavy metal chain for support and sliding down on my rear end. Going up the pyramid in a hurry may be tiring; going down is positively terrifying.

We quickly crossed the plaza to the Temple of the Warriors. As I approached the top of the steps, I hesitated, savoring a short moment of anticipation.

This temple had been my favorite when I was first here as a young girl. When Isa and I told each other ghost stories up in that old tree, Chac Mool always featured prominently.

The carved stone figure reclines, knees drawn up and head twisted to face the west, the direction the Maya regarded as that of darkness and death. He—it could only be a “he”—holds to his chest a flat plate on which, legend has it, the hearts of sacrificial victims were placed, still beating, to appease the gods.

Worse yet, as you reach the top of the stairs, you find yourself looking right into his sightless eyes. He never blinks. He knows all. He waits. Isa and I, as sophisticated as we used to think we were, still clung to each other as we went up and over the top of the stairs, giggling in embarrassment and fear.

Lucas suddenly looked at me and smiled. “He is rather intimidating, isn’t he?” I liked him for saying that, and thought there might be more to him than his conversation to date had indicated.

Then Isa came up behind me and, putting her arm through mine, said, “Here we go again, Lara, tempting the gods.”

“It’s just a statue,” Jonathan scoffed. “A not particularly interesting example of Toltec carving in my opinion.

“It’s only real interest is the inspiration it gave to Henry Moore, one of my more talented fellow countrymen.” He smiled. “Spawned several rather famous Moore reclining figures.”

“Tempting the gods yourself, aren’t you, Jonathan?” Isa teased.

“Rubbish!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I countered. “Didn’t I hear someone got killed up here fairly recently?”

“Yes, indeed. Struck by lightning. An archaeologist, too, if I remember correctly,” Isa said.

“It is true,” Jonathan admitted. “These temples are not the safest places in a storm. A well-known archaeologist was unfortunate enough to be on the top of the Temple of the Warriors during one. He was struck dead.”

“The Chac Mool, no doubt, was briefly appeased,” I said. “Although he isn’t saying, I suspect he regards Henry Moore as a mere blip in the passage of time.” Lucas smiled for the second time since I had met him.

“Oh, no, here come those little monsters again,” Isa groaned.

She was right. It was the two kids, leaders of the pack, their mothers still in hot and breathless pursuit.

Jonathan grabbed my hand and we descended the steps, turning north across the plaza, then past what is called the Venus platform, then onto a trail, now lined with numerous souvenir stands, heading east.

“This may look like an ordinary trail to you, or perhaps even an excuse for an outdoor market.” Jonathan smiled, still holding my hand. “But it is, in fact, a remnant of an ancient Maya road or
sacbe
There are traces of these
sacbaob
throughout the peninsula, many of them apparently linking the major cities.”

His voice trailed on, noting various points of interest, but I was not really listening. Instead I was thinking how long it had been since I’d held someone’s hand, and how nice it felt. Such simple gestures of closeness had so long been missing from my life—from most of my marriage, not to put too fine a point on it—that I felt I wanted to hold his hand forever.

Too soon we came to the end of the trail and stood by the edge of the Sacred Cenote or Well of Sacrifice.

The cenote, or
dzonot
in Mayan, is huge, 180 feet in diameter, almost exactly circular, and from the high edge, one looks at least eighty feet down to the water. The sides are striated limestone, with scrub bushes clinging to them.

Jonathan slipped amiably back into his role as professor and tour guide.

“As impressive as it is as a natural phenomenon—a cenote occurs when the walls of underground caves and rivers collapse and break through to the surface—it is its man-made context—”

“Cross-eyed virgins!” Isa interrupted, winking at me.

She was referring to the very popular notion that the Itza sacrificed cross-eyed virgins in the cenote to appease the gods.

“As scarce as water is in this area,” Jonathan continued, undeterred, “we don’t believe this cenote was used as a water system. It may have been used for ritual or sacrificial purposes. The well has been dredged several times and a great trove of artifacts has been found—jade, gold, and about fifty skeletons.”

“Aha, the cross-eyed virgins at last.” Isa laughed.

“As it turns out,” Jonathan said, “the skeletons are of adults and children, both male and female.

“And to borrow a phrase from one of my learned colleagues, if any or all of them were either cross-eyed, or virgins, let’s just say their skeletal remains do not give us enough information to be definitive on the subject,” Jonathan said dryly.

We all laughed at that.

“I think what is interesting about these places is that you always have a sense of something, some power, when you are in a place considered to be sacred,” I said.

Lucas looked bemused, Jonathan slightly perplexed.

“Meaning?”

“You can understand why these walls were so special. They were supposed to be the entrances to the watery underworld, to Xibalba, the realm of the Lords of Death.

“Have you noticed how still and heavy the air is here. Almost oppressive. Back in the plaza there was quite a pleasant breeze. I’m sure there is a physical explanation for this—we’re in a sort of a depression here, aren’t we?—but to me there is an almost hypnotic quality to this place. Sacrificial victims might be drawn to their deaths by its power.”

“Or maybe they just fell in,” Jonathan suggested. “This place was occupied for centuries. Fifty skeletons is not a lot over that time period.”

“If they fell in, why didn’t they climb out?” Isa queried.

“Have you seen how far down the water is? And the sides are worn smooth down below by the water. It would be an extremely difficult climb,” Jonathan explained.

“The Itza were supposed to be water wizards or something, weren’t they?” Isa asked.

“That’s correct,” Jonathan answered. “That’s the literal translation of Itza, and Chichen Itza is the Mouth of the Well of the Itza. This was, as Lara points out, a very sacred place.

“But all this talk of water is making me thirsty. How about lunch? If I remember correctly, there is a little cafe nearby. Not fancy but the food is good. You’ll love it, Isa. It has a tacky mural of nubile cross-eyed virgins, all trussed up, being hurled into the cenote while lascivious gods look on.”

We headed back along the
sacbe,
pausing to allow a gaggle of tourists following a guide carrying a sun umbrella to go by.

“Perfect timing,” Isa murmured. “Let’s get out of here!”

On our way, we took a detour through the famous ball court, where games of life and death were played. Jonathan told us that the Itza did not record their history in hieroglyphics, as the classic Maya did, but instead chose to adorn the walls of the ball court with the most amazing pictorial carvings, some depicting their creation mythology, many others their ritual game.

“In this ball game, the ball is believed to have been a symbol of the movement of the sun through the sky, and the game itself therefore had the highest ritualistic importance,” Jonathan said. “To lose was to die—by decapitation or by having your heart cut out. Such deaths ensured that the universe would continue to unfold as it should.”

While Isa, Jonathan, and I lingered over the carvings, enjoying the sunshine, Lucas went off to talk to some of the guides and groundskeepers.

Later we crossed the great plaza, pausing only long enough to see hordes of tourists climbing up and down El Castillo like busy little ants at a picnic. Perfect timing, indeed.

We took the Jeep and headed west, Jonathan driving this time, doubling back along the old Highway 180 to the cafe he had spoken of.

He was right about its decor. There really was a mural depicting young women being hurled into the cenote. Whatever the artist lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. We opted to eat in a little courtyard out back.

After a lunch of
sopa de lima
and grilled fish, we lingered over the last of our wine and beer, and inevitably the talk turned to the murder of Luis Vallespino and the disappearance of Don Hernan.

“Do either of you have any idea where Don Hernan might be?” Jonathan asked.

“None,” we both agreed.

“I suppose we can take some comfort that the police are looking for him, even if it is for the wrong reason,” I said, although I was not entirely convinced of this myself.

We all nodded at that.

“Does anyone really believe he had anything to do with the robbery?” Isa asked.

“Or the murder?” I added.

Isa looked surprised. I told her about my conversation with Major Martinez. “He really seems to feel Don Hernan is implicated in all of this.”

“Speaking of Martinez,” I said, “How did Don Santiago get me sprung, to use your expression, Jonathan?”

“He just called some of his former colleagues in the government. We should tell you a couple of things, though,” Isa said, glancing at Jonathan, who nodded.

“My father does not much like what he is hearing about Major Martinez, and he suspects that your freedom today may not last, unfortunately. He thinks Martinez will have the ban on your leaving the hotel reinstated very soon.”

“So enjoy your freedom while you can, Lara,” Jonathan said.

I took that one in, then changed the subject.

“Does anyone know anything about Luis Vallespino?” I asked.

“Nothing at all,” Jonathan replied.

“All I know about him is that his older brother is in one of Alejandro’s classes at the university. No one has associated him with Don Hernan in any way,” Isa said.

“Except that he was found dead right over Don Hernan’s head, as it were,” Jonathan interjected.

While we chatted Lucas left us again, and I could see him through the doorway, talking in an animated fashion to the waiter. Obviously he was not quite so taciturn in others’ company.

“I have a suggestion,” Jonathan said, changing to a more pleasant subject when Lucas returned to the table. “There’s lots more of Chichen Itza to see, and we could easily spend the rest of the afternoon here.

“But Lucas and I are working on a very interesting project not too far away. We’re excavating in an underground cavern. Would you like to see it?”

“Definitely!” I said. Isa agreed.

Lucas drove this time, back to the highway, then east. Several miles from Chichen Itza, he pulled onto a dusty dirt road marked no exit. We followed it for another mile or two, until near its end, we sighted some activity. Lucas pulled the Jeep off the road and parked it beside a couple of old pickup trucks and three very ancient Volkswagens of the sort endearingly called Bugs.

“The fleet,” Jonathan said, gesturing toward the vehicles with a smile.

We walked a few yards through the forest on a trail that had been cleared in a rudimentary fashion, soon coming upon what at a distance had appeared to be an outcropping of limestone. Up close, it was possible to see a narrow entrance to a cave. A small generator puffed and belched outside.

This part of the Yucatan is very, very flat and there are no surface rivers. There are only two physical features of note, one, the green mounds that often hide ancient ruins, the second, the unseen caves and rivers beneath the limestone surface.

“This is a little tricky here, at the start,” Jonathan said as Lucas slid down a fairly steep slope and soon disappeared.

“Come on,” he shouted, and Isa, casting a mock-terrified glance in my direction, followed him.

I went next. The entrance to the cave angled steeply downward, and it was rather muddy. I found myself sliding as the others had, and was very glad to have Lucas offering a steadying hand until I reached the point where the ground leveled out. Jonathan followed closely behind.

We were in a tunnel, lit by a few lightbulbs strung on a long wire from the generator at the entrance.

In this spot, it was possible for all of us, including Jonathan, who was tallest, to stand quite easily, but ahead there were some very low overhangs.

Lucas led the way, sticking to what appeared to be the main tunnel, which was barely wide enough for one person to pass. Workmen were coming and going, and when one of them approached with a wheelbarrow, we had to press ourselves flat against the wall of the tunnel.

Occasionally we needed to crawl on our hands and knees under low overhangs. From time to time I could see side tunnels branching off into darkness.

The tunnel always angled downward, and the air became increasingly warm and dank as we proceeded.

After several minutes of this, when we must have been many feet below the surface, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, and we found ourselves in a large round cavern, several yards in diameter.

Here a very bright spotlight had been set up, and in its beam, three or four workmen were patiently brushing away at the rock face on one side of the cavern.

Two huge carved masks dominated the cavern, one on each side. Still partially covered in dirt, they were nonetheless impressive, at least seven or eight feet high, with large eyes complete with staring pupils, long noses, and earlobes adorned with large round ornaments. Mouths agape, lips drawn back, tongues protruding, they were Chacs, Maya rain gods, much revered by the Yucatecan Maya at the time of the conquest.