01 _ Xibalba Murders, The (26 page)

I sat with my back to the side wall of the cave to try to get my breath. I could hear voices now, and sounds of activity from the cave. I had an idea that I could outlast them, maybe wait for the staff to come to work in the morning. But I was not sure that I could climb out of the cenote, and I was afraid that whoever was up there must have heard the splashing as I moved into the cave. Either he would find some way to come after me, or would wait long enough that he was sure I was drowned.

So I sat there for what seemed to be a long time, watching from the darkness of the cave as the beam of light flashed around the sides of the cenote from time to time.

I wondered who would be up there. Had those shadows I thought I had seen while I waited outside the cave been Martinez and his killer, or had he been killed during the day? The last person to leave had been Lucas, that much I remembered, but I had not seen Martinez enter in the daylight. I found it difficult to think the body had been there all day unnoticed by the workmen. No wonder they went on strike! But maybe they were all in on this. I’d heard more than one voice above me, but could not recognize them, perhaps because of sound distortion in the cenote.

And why was Martinez here at all? Still looking for me?

Despite the dank, humid air, I began to get very cold. I was wet, and I was frightened, and my teeth were chattering. I tried to huddle up to keep warm. It was some time before I realized that I could feel a definite draft on the right side of my face, the side away from the cenote. Air was coming from the darkness on my right.

That had to mean that there was another way in, or more importantly in this case, out. I turned my face toward the darkness. I could see nothing at all. But I could feel the cool air on my face.

Turning my back on the menacing light, I began to edge my way into the inky darkness. The walls of the tunnel were very damp and the floor very rough. Many times I lost my footing, a couple of times I banged my head on protrusions. I could taste the saltiness of the sweat and probably blood that was running down my face.

From time to time I was wading through water as deep as my thighs. Other times I had to crawl on my hands and knees to clear overhangs.

Another time I felt something brush past me, and it was all I could do not to scream. I could hear a loud squeaking from off to one side, perhaps a side tunnel of some sort, and a stench assailed my nostrils. Bats!

As one swooped past me I lost my balance and fell, lying breathless for a few minutes, the wind knocked out of me by the fall.

But always I felt the draft, the breath of hope, on my face. I picked myself up and kept going.

At some point in my long journey, I began to feel that this was what the last several days had been leading up to; that I had been destined to make my journey through the dark and watery realm of Xibalba from the moment my feet had touched Maya soil. That the darkness I had sought, my almost nightly nocturnal journeys, had been but a preview of this night and this journey.

I began to realize that my obsession with the dark, the pain the light had caused me, had been a symptom of a dark depression of the soul that had begun to show its face during the last few months of my marriage, divorce, and the loss of my precious business, and had become a pervasive and powerful force with my discovery of Luis Vallespino’s body and the death of my friend Don Hernan.

I began to see this journey, the crossing of the river of blood, the fall into the dark chasm, and the struggle through this house of darkness and bats as my own personal life test.

I wondered what creatures could live in this darkness so far from the light of life. I remembered having read about fish in the waters of underground cave systems that, in a stroke of Darwinian logic, are born with no eyes. I thought how strong the life force must be for there to be fish with no eyes in these waters.

I had no idea how far I had come, or how far I had yet to go. But I knew that I wanted to live, to see the light again, to regain the zest for life that I knew I had once felt and whose loss was a terrible ache. I knew that I wanted to love again, no matter what the risks.

I felt, or imagined I did, that the breeze was becoming stronger, fresher, every step I took. That the path was angling upward, to safety.

And then I hit the wall. Literally. I was up to my waist in water when I came upon a wall of solid rock.

But the breeze was still there. I could even hear the air whistling. This had to be the way out. I felt the rock like a blind man, trying to fathom what was ahead of me.

And then I realized where the breeze was coming from. It was through a crevice only about six inches wide and maybe fifteen inches high. On the other side might be freedom, life, and love. But I could go no farther.

I pulled myself out of the water onto a narrow ledge, leaned my forehead against the opening, and cried.

AHAU

I awoke, cold and cramped, the breeze still on my face. But now I could see a hint of light through the slit in the rock, a tantalizing glimpse of a world I could not reach.

It was very clear that I could not get through the hole in the rock. I watched, like a prisoner on death row, as the light I might not live to see again, only a few feet away, grew brighter with the dawn. I clawed at the rock face in frustration until my fingers bled.

The light outside began to illuminate my little prison more and more.

I looked above me, and in the dim light it seemed there might be a way out, a trapdoor of sorts to the outer world. I climbed up a shaft, but there was a slab of rock across the top of it. I pushed with all my might, but could not budge it.

As I sat there in despair a shaft of early-morning light shot through the crevice and shone on the rock on the other side of the stream. I looked longingly toward the light, then looked back again. The sun had illuminated what seemed to be a small niche in the wall of the tunnel. I jumped across the stream to where the ray of light ended, and looked inside.

What had Ernesto said? A stone box, sealed with wax, covered with some material that would keep it dry. It was a stone box, all right, and there were remnants of some material, possibly leather or pelt on the outside.

I tried to open it, but the lid fit too tightly. Perhaps it contained Smoking Frog’s precious codex, perhaps it didn’t. What difference did it make? I wondered. I was trapped here. If I went back, I’d surely be murdered. If I stayed, I’d eventually starve to death, or maybe die of thirst. The water tasted slightly salty.

Didn’t people go mad from thirst? Maybe I’d spend my final hours trying to pry the box open. Decades from now I would be found, a skeleton with a ghastly grin on my face, my bony arms wrapped around a stone box.

Alone, I watched as the beam of sunlight continued to bring my little prison to life. I looked more closely at the rock face at the end of the tunnel. There was a carving here, too. Similar, but not identical to the one at the other end of the tunnel in the cave. This one, if I remembered correctly, was the carving that would be seen from inside the realm of Xibalba, the one that led to the world of men.

I sat watching the light catch the water of the little stream, so very clear. I was mesmerized by the interplay of blues and greens as it rippled along. I watched as tiny little silver-gray and blue fish dodged the currents and each other, and wondered where they came from.

Then a mental light dawned, too. I rolled into the water and sank beneath the surface.

I could see the brightness ahead of me, a watery pathway through the rock. The way through was several yards long, and it narrowed menacingly in places. But it was the only hope I had. I surfaced, took a deep breath, and swam as hard and as fast as I could, pulling myself through the narrow opening and then up toward the light.

I was free.

I surfaced gasping for breath into the light. I found myself in a primeval world, a lovely cenote—the clearest water I have ever seen—surrounded by forest. Long vines tumbled down toward the water from the banks several feet above me.

Towering over the cenote was a pyramid-shaped structure, which must have been at least forty or fifty feet high, judging by the fact that I could see it while floating in the waters of the cenote.

I swam to the water’s edge and pulled myself out using one of the vines, stumbled up the embankment to the forest, and looked about me.

It was not long past dawn, and the forest was still filled with mist. Faint tongues of sunlight were breaking through, breathing life into the wakening world. I looked at the azure of the cenote below me, the pinkish blue of the sky above and the fresh greens of the forest washed clean by the rains of the previous day, and I thought the world had been created again, all shiny and new, just for me.

I turned to survey the pyramid, guardian of this magic spot, custodian of the entrance to Xibalba, for that is what it must have been. It was in ruins, the steps the Maya climbed for centuries now a ramp of rubble. Two or three enormous ceiba trees, the sacred trees of the Maya, now grew out of the structure, their roots entwined about the huge stones. The temple at the top could still be distinguished, but barely, its lintels and doorway now covered in vines.

But even in this state it was magnificent, and I felt as the early explorers must have when they first set eyes upon the ruins of the great cities of the Yucatan. Even in its desolation, a sense of the magnificent civilization that once flourished here was evident, and I thought of the people who had lived here, the sculptors, warriors, and kings, the scribes and farmers, now forgotten, whose lives might yet be illuminated by the words of Smoking Frog’s codex.

There seemed to be a path of sorts leading away from the pyramid and the cenote. It snaked past other heaps of stones and other ceiba trees that appeared to mark the cornerstones of a giant plaza.

I followed the narrow footpath, which became a wider path of stone, then finally a road. I just kept walking.

The day was going to be a very warm one, I could tell. Already ahead of me I could see shimmering in the pavement, and from time to time I thought I could see people in front of me. But I was too tired to catch them and they got smaller as they moved on ahead of me.

Two little figures, however, seemed to be coming my way, and I watched them get bigger and closer with a rather strange detachment.

I recognized one of them. It was Esperanza, and with her a man dressed in the traditional guayabera of Maya men. As I approached them I could see the shock and concern on their faces, and I realized that I must look dreadful.

Trying to reassure them, I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue felt swollen, and my voice came out a croak. “I’ve had a bit of an accident,” I said. “But fortunately I’m all right now.”

And with that my new and shiny world became much too bright, then faded to darkness once again.

I came to in the back of a pickup truck, looking up at several grizzled faces. One of the men was holding a rifle. Guerrillas, I thought. But my head was reassuringly on Esperanza’s lap, her cool hands stroking my face and head.

It was very hot now. My mouth felt very dry, and I couldn’t move or open my eyes. I felt strong arms lifting me from the truck and carrying me to a bed. Darkness came again.

Later I knew the Lords of Darkness were angry with me. I had found something they did not want me to find. Their voices were all around me, their hot breath on my face, their hands, rotting from disease, reached up from the underworld to pull me back to their realm beneath the heap of stones in the forest. I tried to call out, but could not; I tried to run away, but my legs would not carry me.

I felt arms around me, and a voice I knew I would recognize if I were able to pull together threads of consciousness told me I was safe. Finally I slept.

I awoke late in the afternoon, judging from the light filtering through the cracks in the walls of the room. I was in a room I did not recognize, on a simple cot. A jug of cool water and a plate of fruit, cheese, and tortillas was on a small nightstand, and I ate and drank gratefully.

I could hear no sounds outside the room, but I got up quietly and tried the door. It was locked. I seemed to have gone from one prison to another.

I was still feeling very weak, but I knew I must get away from here. These people had seemed nice enough, but I was developing a real aversion to being trapped in small places. Furthermore, I was convinced I had to retrieve the box that I felt must contain the codex. Only then would I have some bargaining power with those who pursued me.

I opened the shutters on the window, only to find another set of shutters, these latched on the outside.

There was a crack between the two outside shutters, however, and I was reasonably sure I could lift the latch clear if I could find something that I could maneuver through the crack. I looked around the room until I found a metal coat hanger, which I pulled apart and made into a long stick.

I eased it through the crack, and slowly and as quietly as possible started inching the bolt up. The shutters opened, and I climbed out.

I found myself in back of a small thatched-roof cottage on the edge of a clearing. There were chickens in the yard, and in the distance I could see smoke rising from cornfields as the farmers went back to clearing them for next year’s planting. After all the rain, there was definitely more smoke than fire, but perhaps it would afford me some cover.

The pickup truck I must have arrived in was in a shed at the back of the house. There was a flashlight in the back of the truck that I thought might come in handy, so I grabbed it.

A road, or rather a muddy track after the rains, seemed to end at the house, so I moved into the brush at the side of the road and moved parallel to the track away from the cottage.

Eventually I came to a paved road. I looked toward the sun, now low in the sky, and thought very hard about the direction of its rays when I came out of the forest in the morning. I turned in what I hoped was that direction.

A couple of times I heard vehicles approaching, but with the brush at the side of the road so close to the pavement, it was relatively easy to step quickly out of sight.