Jungle Crossing (11 page)

The guide stopped at the bottom of El Castillo, the big pyramid, and blabbered on about how the pyramid has ninety-one steps on each side, plus one more at the top. "It all adds up to three hunded and sixty-five, same as the days of the year. See? Weren't those ancient Mayans smart? Okay, time for some photos and—"

"Good thing we can't climb. Kat's legs aren't long enough," Talia said.

"She'd be too chicken anyway," Barb said.

That's it!

I slipped under the rope blocking off the pyramid. "Hey!" the guide shouted, but his voice grew faint in my ears as I leaped up the steep steps, still glossy polished marble in places. My thighs started to burn, but I didn't even look down, I just kept going. Why was Talia trying to turn my own sister against me? Why did everyone treat me like such a baby? And why did I feel like such an idiot around Nando—he's no Zach B! Next year I hoped Zach B. would finally notice
me
and not just joke around with Fiona all the time. What if Fiona and her precious Five crank call him from mini-camp? Or what if they meet up at the movies with his friends? I pictured Fiona going out with Zach B., holding hands in the hall, slow dancing at the holiday formal, doing homework together at the library, even though Fiona called libraries "oh-so Dullsville."
I can't take it anymore!

I pounded my anger into each step. My breath came fast, and my chest hurt, but I didn't care.
I'd rather die from some freak heart attack up here than suffer another minute with Talia and her precious Barbie.
Sliding a bit, I grabbed the step in front of me and pulled myself to the top. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes. Hands on my knees, I sucked in gulps of air, then flapped my shirt to create a breeze. How hot could someone get before bursting into flames? Turning around, I felt dizzy as I stared out across miles of green—the whole world rolled out to the horizon in one long green shag carpet. I towered over the other pyramids.

From up here, the steps looked even steeper. How would I get down? Clinging to the wall, I slipped into the little room built on top of the pyramid. Thick black soot darkened the walls, and I crinkled my nose at the smell of the hot, dank air. I traced my name across the blackened walls, wondering if all this soot was left over from ancient prayers and offerings. I closed my eyes and whispered my own short prayer: "Please let eighth grade be different."

I walked back out, squinting in the hot sunshine. How did those short ancient people get down from these steps? Or was this pyramid another form of sacrifice? I waved at Nando and the others, who stood staring at me from the bottom. Nando shook his fist at me. The guide shouted something that didn't sound friendly.

But I ignored them and walked around to the other side of the pyramid, overlooking the Temple of the Warriors with its forest of carved columns, and tried to imagine it as a thriving marketplace. Muluc saw all this when it was new and painted with bright colors. Today it seemed like such a gray place. If only I could zip back in time and see it all painted red, blue, and yellow. Plus, I could help Muluc. Were they going to dump her into that nasty green water? Nando
would
tell a story like that.

I breathed in the hot air at the highest point in Chichén Itzá, thinking that I wasn't going to allow people to make me feel beneath them anymore. Starting now with Talia. And Nando. And even stupid, traitorous Barb. My heart thudded as I looked down the steep steps, wondering if someone could maybe send a helicopter to get me off of this thing. How many tourists break their necks climbing pyramids? I'm sure that's why they closed it. I imagined thunking down the steps the way I'd skidded on the stairs at the movies, popcorn flying everywhere and Fiona laughing her head off because I was "oh-so stairway-challenged." But I thought of Muluc struggling to stay strong, and I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and counted to ten again. Then I just did it.

I walked down like they were any old stairs.

Our whole tour group cheered for me—except Nando.

"You've got the guts," Dante said with his sexy accent, staring down at my legs. "Strong."

"Thanks." Does blushing increase your chances of spontaneous combustion? Dante offered me his water bottle. I took a long drink, and his fingers brushed mine when I handed it back, causing my whole body to tingle, alive and triumphant. Is this what it feels like to win an Olympic medal or something?

"Dang, how did you
do
that?" Josh asked. "How did those tiny Mayan people do this all the time, wearing all those feathers and capes?"

"Maybe that's the trick," I said. "You have to be small."

"Small, but strong as hell," Josh said. "You're amazing."

Nando spat out, "She's a disrespectful tourist. The worst kind. Using our temples like a playground. Not caring about our culture—just wants to come take her pretty pictures."

Did he have tears in his eyes?

"Gosh, I'm sorry." My stomach fluttered almost as bad as it did on top of the pyramid. "I didn't hurt it. I didn't even take any pictures, but how could that hurt anything anyway?"

"That's not the point. You didn't care. You rich Americans don't care." Nando turned on his heel and stomped away, still cursing me.

The guide pushed through the group and continued to scold me, blending Spanish-English-Mayan, and that's when Alfredo decided the tour had better be over. No one really complained, because we'd seen the highlights and it was like a million degrees outside. The Bronze Sun Goddess actually thanked me as we walked back to the bus in the sweltering afternoon sun.

But Nando wouldn't even look at me.

Barb kept begging him to continue the story, but he wouldn't look at her either. And even though she's a total pain, it made me mad. Barb didn't do anything to him or his precious been-there-for-hundreds-of-years-withstood-thousands-and-thousands-of-tourists pyramid.

"Hey, tell her the story," I said when we sat down in the bus. Even though Josh invited me to sit back with the group, I sat next to Barb because she was upset, not that I cared
that
much, but
I
was her sister and I wasn't about to let Talia take over. Not anymore.

"You don't care about my story," Nando said. "You're just bored. You don't have your American television out here in the jungle. I'm just a clown to you."

"Omigosh, Nando. I apologized. I'm really sorry that I climbed the pyramid." My shoulders sagged. "Even though I totally didn't hurt anything."

"Yeah? Well plenty of tourists have—someone damaged the Chac Mool, jumping on it like playground equipment."

"But I didn't."

"But you have the same attitude."

"No, I don't—"

Nando turned around, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. He was right. I didn't respect the boundaries. I just did what I wanted—kind of like Fiona.

I peeped, "I am sorry, okay?"

I felt a million times smaller than I did standing in the great ball court.

Barb touched Nando's shoulder. "Please tell me the story. I have so much respect for your cultural heritage, and I'm here to learn and expand my mind." She totally copied something that Mom had said, but Nando simply raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"I'm telling this for you. Not her." Nando glanced at me. Barb took that as an invitation to jump up to Nando's seat. I stayed behind, watching the jungle through the windows. From the top of the pyramid it had looked almost smooth, but down here everything was far more complicated—tangles and tangles of life.

"So, Muluc was staying at that Snake guy's house," Barb said. "He's like meaner than the bad guy from—"

"My story is much better than your American television."

I leaned forward so I could hear as Nando started telling the story. Riding on the bus
was
totally boring.

***

T
HE
D
AY
5 M
EN

Elderly Moon Goddess, Waning Phase of the Moon

Muluc woke to the sound of Snake arguing with his peccary woman. When the crash of a clay pot shattering echoed throughout the compound, Muluc crept to the main room, peeked around the corner, and watched Snake's wife lift an incense burner above her head. It was shaped like a sturdy warrior.

"Do not dishonor our family gods." Snake's voice trembled.

The incense burner struck the stone floor, the warrior's body breaking into pieces. One of his large round ear ornaments skipped across the floor near Muluc.

"I can replace that old pot," the woman yelled. "You will not dishonor
me
by bringing home pretty young slaves." She brushed her hand across the altar, tipping a carved vase to the floor. The feather-adorned Lord on the vase split in two.

"That was a gift from the Lords' Council," Snake hissed, picking up a pottery shard from the floor and flinging it at his wife. She squealed as a few drops of blood bubbled up on her arm.

"You will not threaten me!" She threw the next vase at Snake, but he caught the slender vessel before it struck him.

"The girl stays." Snake glared at his wife, then turned and strode out of the compound.

Muluc sneaked back to the cooking hut, cringing at the thought of living in a house where the gods suffered dishonor. The gods would bring sickness, or worse. She stayed in the kitchen, crouched on the floor like a dog.

The cook came and began making
atole—
a warm cornmeal drink—then fresh tortillas with honey. And chocolate. Muluc's mouth watered as the spicy smell of hot chocolate warmed the air. Girls came in and fetched platters of food.

Muluc had spent no time in her own family's cooking hut. The food appeared; she ate what she wished. Even in drought, when the food became monotonous, she had never suffered hunger, not like she had these past few days. The cook tossed a misshapen tortilla to Muluc.

"The lady will not keep you," the cook said. "She's very jealous and worries about her fading beauty." She motioned for Muluc to stand and handed her a gourd of water, not chocolate, and another overcooked tortilla. "But you might as well work while you're here," she said.

All morning Muluc helped the cook and her girls slice tomatoes, peppers, and potatoes; shell beans; stew meat. The cook kept scolding her for making mistakes and not knowing how to prepare even the simple dishes. Snake and his family ate well, especially for such a dry rainy season.

Later in the day, Muluc heard the piggish woman's heavy footsteps approaching.

"She's with the cook, eating, getting strong," Snake's wife said.

Muluc quickly kneeled, spit in the dirt, rubbed a little mud onto her finger, and smeared it across her lip plug and the jewels in her nose and ears.

"She has the strange looks of Cobá. They even press common babies' skulls, but she is strong." Snake's wife entered the hut with another woman. "She will be a good worker."

Muluc stood straight but cast her eyes to the ground.

"You're very generous, but I don't think I can—" The woman spoke in a quiet voice.

"Take her," Snake's wife said. "You can have her for almost nothing."

The woman's forehead crinkled. "How much?"

"How about three vases and a clay incense burner? My son accidentally broke some things on the family altar, tossing a ball in the house," she said. "I do not want his father to be angry with him—nor the gods."

"I don't know." The woman took Muluc's hands in her own. "She does have delicate hands, maybe good for forming pots."

"Yes, her hands are lovely." Snake's wife blew her breath out through her nose. "Take her. I insist."

"I will send the items with my boy before sundown." The woman bowed, glancing at Muluc with a confused expression on her face. "Thank you, kind mistress."

Snake's wife narrowed her beady eyes. "It's my pleasure."

Muluc and her new owner, a tiny, wiry woman with calloused hands, walked through the Great Plaza near the traders' road, but they continued deep into the jungle. The huts grew farther apart and poorer, all wood and thatch with dirt floors.

"I don't know why she sent for me," the woman said. "I've never sold to a warrior before—and at such a price." She looked at Muluc. "I can use the help, I guess, with the big ceremony and all the pots needed." She shook her head. "You never know the way of the gods."

Muluc thought the woman's voice sounded kind even though she had tired eyes and wore a threadbare dress. Once she had gained some strength, Muluc felt certain she could escape.

They approached a small wooden hut with a wide yard enclosed by a short rock wall. The place did not look busy like the other family compounds they had passed, but the air felt hot and stagnant with the stink of burning clay. A dog lay in the dirt, sleeping through their arrival. A few rangy ramon and avocado trees grew above a dry-looking garden: small hard squashes, scant tomatoes, some beans and corn, a few chilies. Muluc did not expect to relieve her hunger here.

The woman walked into the hut, leaving Muluc standing in the yard. The dog lifted his head, flopped his chin back onto the dirt, closed his eyes, and slept. The woman returned with three small vases and an incense bowl. None as beautiful as those Snake's wife had broken. She whistled, and a small dust-covered boy appeared.

"Take these to the warrior's house—the one with the snake winding around his neck." The boy's eyes grew wide. "Yes, the warrior from the parade." She handed him the bowls. "Be careful."

"Who's she?"

"That warrior's crazy lady gave me this girl for the bowls," she said. "I don't know why, when I would've preferred cornmeal to another mouth to feed."

Muluc knew why.

***

T
HE
D
AY
6 C
IB

Vulture

Muluc fell asleep remembering the marriage feast of the king's son: chocolate, roast peccary, roasted birds, stewed deer, potatoes, tomatoes, tamales, coconut, chocolate ... Her wedding feast with Parrot Nose would be the same, except she'd request more chocolate. But then owls swarmed into her dream, their faces painted with blue streaks, like the warriors from Chichén, and her mother screamed as the owls flew off with the baby clutched in their furry talons. One of the owls had a snake for a head and hissed at Muluc.

She sat up, startled in the darkness, her heart beating fast. Listening to the eerie sounds of night creatures creeping near the house, she tried to go back to sleep. A jaguar growled. Muluc froze. Finally, focusing on the easy sounds of breathing coming from the wiry woman, Macaw, and her thin boy, Mol, she slept again, falling asleep just before daylight.

Macaw and Mol had gone when Muluc finally tore herself from sleep late in the morning. Spider monkeys prattled in the trees. The dog barked in the yard, and Muluc guessed the monkeys had swung in to steal avocados. Back and neck aching, she sat up from her thin, worn mat on the dirt floor. A small fire burned in the three hearthstones in the center of the hut, reminding Muluc of last night's tortillas made from starchy ramon instead of corn. She'd gagged on them. No one in Cobá ate so poorly! Did they?

Feeling a bit dizzy, Muluc walked into the yard to look for Macaw, but only the dog lay sleeping in his usual position, as if he were a clay figure. Muluc walked over to the dog and nudged him with her foot; he sneezed, but didn't move, so Muluc went around the back of the hut to look for Macaw.

"Who are you?" A man's voice called to her from the road. "What are you doing?" A short man with thick arms entered the yard.

As he approached, Muluc saw that he was only a few years older than she, but his body had grown thick and strong from hard labor, and he had short-cropped hair in the style of stonecutters. "Answer me, girl," he said. "Who are you?"

"I'm here to work," she said in a shaky voice. In Cobá she'd never respond to such a rude commoner!

"My mother cannot afford help," he said. "Where
is
my mother?"

"I don't know," Muluc said. "I just woke up."

"Some help." He tilted his head and looked at her, blushing the color of dried chilies before averting his eyes in a way that pleased Muluc's elite vanity. "You are not from Chichén." He glanced up at her shyly. "But you don't really look like a slave."

Slave.
Tears blurred Muluc's vision before dropping onto her cheeks, and she felt lightheaded as images from her nightmare swirled in her mind, confusing past with present, dream from reality, life from death. Was she dead? Was he a guardian of the Otherworld, Xibalba?

He took one of Muluc's hands gently, tracing his calloused finger across her smooth palm. "You've never worked a day in your life." He spoke in a whisper. "Where are you from?"

Muluc shook her head. Cobá. She could not utter such a beautiful word in such a dry, forlorn place.

"What is your name, then?"

"Muluc," she said, gathering strength as the sky collects clouds before a storm. "I was stolen, traded, and now I'm here." Remembering her noble birth, she looked him in the face. "I don't know why."

"My name is Balam."

Thinking that his powerful body
did
resemble a jaguar's, Muluc flushed as she looked into his dark brown eyes, kind like his mother's. He kept his eyes locked in Muluc's bold gaze, but did not leer at her with greed as Snake had done.

"My mother is probably gathering clay," he said a moment later. "Have you eaten?"

Muluc shook her head, so Balam plucked avocados from the tree and picked a couple of reddish-green tomatoes from the garden, then walked into the hut.

"Any tortillas left from last night?"

Muluc pointed to a small basket near the grinding stone.

"Ramon?" he asked. "She doesn't have any corn left?"

"I don't know. I just got here."

Balam threw the tortilla back into the basket. "I knew she wouldn't get the corn planted without me."

"Where have you been?"

"Building another temple for the gods," he said. "Warriors came and took me from my mat one morning, not caring that my father had just died."

Biting into a hard tomato, Muluc tried to keep her thoughts away from her own family. The image of her father working in his studio, paint spots splattered on the cool marble floors, popped into her head—her mother in a crisp white gown walking to the market, passing by the colorful murals on the great temples. Cobá. She saw the tall green trees, shimmering lagoons, and bright temples painted with the stories of the gods, warriors, and kings from the beginning of time.

"The Lords worked him to death, carrying all that stone," Balam said. "His body shrunk with dragging those heavy blocks. His neck almost disappeared as he shrunk to the size of a boy. Then a stone fell from its ropes and crushed his leg."

The avocado skins cracked and sizzled as Balam threw them into the fire. He handed Muluc a thick slice, and she devoured it in two bites, even though it was not quite ripe. At home, her mother would've scolded a slave who served unripe fruit.

"His friends carried him back here in the middle of the night so he could die with his family." Balam grimaced as he bit into his bitter slice of avocado. "Some men who die are buried within the temple walls—sacrificed to the gods."

Muluc blinked back tears, thinking about her own father. She couldn't imagine losing him. "I didn't know."

"How could you? You just got here."

"No. I mean, I didn't know."

Surely the temples of Cobá were not built with the blood of boys' fathers.