Starfields (8 page)

Halfway to the top, pure water trickled from a limestone cliff, forming a clear pool below. Lacy ferns grew at the water’s edge.

No one dirtied the spring by doing wash here or by bringing animals to drink. A white wooden cross protected the purity. And yet people left candy wrappers, crushed plastic bottles, and fruit peelings strewn over the sand.

Just before the big Festival of Santa Cruz, women would rake the sand clean. But right now it looked very messy.

Rosalba and Sylvia filled their jars, then squatted side by side, splashing their faces with cool water. After the water settled again, they looked at their reflections: two cousins who’d grown up together — one slender, the other round-faced.

They lay back on the sand. As Rosalba closed her eyes, colors swam gently behind her eyelids. First she saw a green star glowing in the dawn sky. How pretty, she thought.

But then a disturbing vision appeared: the trickling spring, instead of running clear and fresh, was red, as if bloodied. Abruptly, the red water stopped flowing altogether.

Rosalba sat up, her heart beating quickly. The real spring was still flowing sweetly. She shook her head to clear the unsettling vision. Had it been only a bad dream from eating too many chilies?

She looked up to see clouds forming at the edges of the sky. Rain would come soon — maybe tomorrow or the next day.

She stood up. Recalling the way Alicia had picked up the rusty can, Rosalba stretched her shawl across the bank. She began to collect the trash that littered the sand, laying everything on the dark blue cloth. Cleaning up wasn’t a big thing, but it was something.

“What are you doing?” Sylvia asked.

“Making the spring nicer.”

“But your
shawl,
Rosalba! You’re ruining it!”

“It can be washed. Besides, everything can be made into something else.”

“Like what? How can you turn that watermelon rind into anything? What can anyone do with one sandal?”

“I learned about recycling from the
ladina,
” Rosalba said. “All of this will be melted together to make airplanes.” She tied the bundle around her back, then hoisted the jar onto her head.

“Here. You forgot this,” said Sylvia, handing Rosalba an empty soda bottle.

On the dark moon, Mauruch changes my bandages. When I count the layers he winds back on, I count only twelve.

“Where is the last?” I ask.

“You are to begin your entry into the light, Xunko.”

“I am to
see
?”

“If all goes propitiously.”

I’ve grown accustomed to my darkness, to occasional bright visions. To my journeys into the future of the world. I lack nothing.

The next month, only eleven layers are replaced, and so on as the year of dark moons progresses.

Each month I flinch as more light arrives. What will it be like to live in the outer world? Will it correspond with what I’ve seen behind my eyes? Or will all be completely different?

“Will you remove them all?” I ask Mauruch.

“That depends on how you take to the light. And we shall see if you retain what you have learned in the darkness.”

Now that eleven moons have passed and only one layer of bandage is left, I can make out the bright eye of the sun. I perceive the blessed darkness of our cave.

“Will you take the last layer off?” I again ask Mauruch. Listening for his response, my stomach twists.

Do I even wish it? I have been comfortable in this life, seeing far into the future of the world. I lack nothing.

Mauruch doesn’t answer. His silence laps at me.

A
n early morning downpour rattled the huge sturdy leaves of the banana trees. As Rosalba drew her shawl closely around her in the newly chilled air, she thought of how the toads, in spite of the fungus, were working their magic.

The toads had brought the rainy season. Papa and the boys had finished the planting just in time. Rosalba imagined the hard corn —“little skulls” the seeds were sometimes called — bursting open in the fertile soil.

She stayed in by the fire, fashioning a doll for Adelina. She tied rough corn husks with lengths of yarn, cinching the yarn in tight, making first a head, then a waist.

“Here, she’s finished.” Rosalba handed the doll to her little sister.

“I’ll call her Rosita,” said Adelina.

As Adelina clutched the doll close, Rosalba heard a sound beyond the snap of the fire, beyond the steady
tap-tap
of rain on the thatched roof. It was a distant sound, a strange sound like a gigantic snoring. She cupped her hand around her ear, listening, until a great crack of thunder split the sky.

I am woken before the cocks crow. The copal is burned, and our chants echo off the cave walls:
“O Hunahpu Possum, Hunahpu Coyote . . .”
Finally, I am washed all over. Today is the day to remove my final bandage. Today I am to witness the world at last.

But no one touches the bandage. Instead they paint what feel like circles and stripes on my face and hands. They load my bare chest with shells and jade.

And then we go out.

After a long journey over unfamiliar paths, the sounds of crowds of people reach my ears. From the soft jungle paths my feet know well, I move onto the stones, which burn my bare feet. We enter one of the sacred cities I have seen in visions.

I am given no brew to drink, no mushrooms to chew. Hence no dreams slip behind my eyelids. I see only light and dark.

As we walk, I sense people moving out of our way. I sense great numbers on either side of me.

Mauruch guides me on the stone steps as I climb upward. Toward the sun, which burns a hole in the sky. I tremble, knowing what happens at the top of temple steps.

T
he next morning crisp black shadows crossed the patio. The sun bathed the world in a yellow glow. “Please, Mama,” Rosalba begged, “let me go see my friend. I promise to come home before the afternoon rains.”

Nana glanced at Mama, nodding slightly.

“Quickly, then,” said Mama.

Water dripped from the pine needles, catching the sunlight, and the birds sang loudly as Rosalba went down the path to the pool, to Frog Heaven. Her heart sang as always when the rainy season began. The Earthlord and his toads had done their jobs.

Alicia had been wrong. The rain was proof that all was right with the world. The prophesy of 2012 had been written just to scare people. Global warming might happen elsewhere, but not here in the Highlands.

Suddenly Rosalba heard a tumbling, rumbling, tearing sound. It was the snoring sound she’d heard the day before.

From a high point, she looked down. Far below, a large gray bulldozer moved back and forth on the forest path. Yet no road led from the highway. How had the bulldozer gotten there? Whatever could it be doing?

And then she knew. In the wake of the bulldozer lay a wide brown gash. The big machine had cut its own road!

Flying down the rocky path, Rosalba stumbled twice, righted herself, and went on.

When she arrived, the machine stood parked next to the trail that led down to Frog Heaven. Freshly cut brush rose on all sides.

Rosalba closed her eyes. This had to be a bad dream!

But the bulldozer was real — idling, spitting black smoke, while two men busily sawed away at a young pine tree.

Rosalba shouted, “No!” and ran toward the men, her looped-up braids slapping the sides of her neck.

The buzz of the saw drowned out her words.

“No!” she shouted again.

The saw stopped, and both men looked up.

“You can’t!” Rosalba cried.

“Slow down, little one,” said the man with the red cap. “You live in the village, don’t you? This road will make your life easier.”

The other man mopped his face with a kerchief. “You won’t have to walk so much. You can ride in a truck.”

“I don’t want to ride in a truck!” she declared.

The men laughed. Then they turned the power saw back on, preparing to cut the fallen tree into pieces.

Rosalba ran down into Frog Heaven, knowing she wouldn’t find Alicia. If her friend had been nearby, she’d have stopped those men.