Clash of Star-Kings (11 page)

“Still,
Viejo Poderoso
, though we hold only a handful of our
ejido
lands, it is better than being flung upon the altars of the vile Tenochas, to have our hearts cut out and our skins flayed off!
Ai!
I do not know what powers the Huitzili still may have, or how such power may compare to the military and air force and the armada of Mexico. I have heard it said, though, that it matters but little to the pitcher whether it is dropped upon the stone or if the stone is dropped upon the pitcher. We do not want war, we do not want sacrifices, we do not want drought. We want only our old
ejido
lands — and if we cannot have them back, then let us at least have peace. We look to you, Great Old One, to save us from this present threat.”

A faint and infinitely patient smile passed across the massy features of the Elder Old One. “We hope you do not look in vain…. There is, we must tell you, more at stake here besides Anahuac. In the Great Heart of Tlaloc — and need I tell you that it is not indeed a real heart — that it is, how shall I compare it, an engine, a device of infinite power and infinite potency, such as our own much reduced capacities are no longer capable of replacing … dwindled as we are from centuries of combat — in the Great Heart of Tlaloc lies more than the ability to insure rain. In it lies the means of turning life to death, matter to not-matter. Should the Huitzili succeed in capturing and mastering it, not Anahuac alone, but the entire universe may well be helpless before them. The struggle between us has been costly to them as well as to us. The few of them who are here once again, once again masquerading as gods, are all of them that are anywhere.

“This is their last chance!”

Some of the men spoke in favor of proceeding at once, then, to seize and remove the Great Heart from where it had so long lain concealed. But others counseled caution. “It is not the Huitzili alone who are sniffing like dogs,” Domingo Deuh pointed out.

“They know that the Great Heart exists, but they do not —
yet
— know that it is hidden inside the Tlaloc under the Monte Sagrado,

“But the government has sent troops — the government is going to remove the Tlaloc and take it to the new Big House of Old Things in ‘Mexico’ — but the government and the military does not know —
yet
— that anything is inside of it. Many of the people in the district are very uneasy, and say that if Tlaloc is moved then there will be no more rain within the whole land of Anahuac, that is, the Valley of Mexico. And, they, too, stirred up as they are without fully realizing the whole of the matter, may prove a danger.”

The huge head of the Elder Old One slowly went down and as slowly came up again. “Then we must move,” he said, “not only as swiftly as possible, but as secretly as possible.” His great golden eyes sought those of his fellows, and, as slowly and deliberately, they nodded as well.

A wind, chill and pure from the heights of the snowy mountains, came through the village and shook the cedar trees until the air was filled with their rustling.

“Let it be done. Let it be done.
Let it be done
.”

• • •

Jacob Clay nibbled at his pipe and stared at his typewriter. Truthfully, he had no inspiration for writing anything at all at the moment and the long hours he had put in on the manuscript just completed had deplete his nervous energy to the point where he felt in need of rest. How nice it would be to throw a few things into
abolsa
and take off for a few days in, say, Cuautla, or Cuernavaca! But this dream died aborning. They were too broke. And even though nothing he could begin writing now could possibly bring in any money soon enough to take the vacation while he was feeling the need of it, still, conscience would not allow him just to say “The Hell with it!” and have Sarah pack a picnic lunch which they could eat in the arcadian beauty alongside one of the little rivers. In short, the time would just go for nothing — unless, most unlikely, the Paraclete would be pleased to descend after all, with an Idea clasped in its bill like an olive branch.

“
Bienvenida
, Luis,” he called out, thankful for an excuse, as he saw the young man hesitating in the patio. “Come on in … sit down….”

“Jacobo, you are not too busy?”

“No, no. All the time in the world.”

“But I think maybe you are too busy. I was rudely bothering you the last occasions.”

Jacob winced. “No … I’m afraid that I was the rude one then. But then I was busy and now I’m really not. Take a chair, please.”

They looked at each other, smiled a trifle constrainedly, said nothing. Finally, Jacob, to break the ice, said, almost without considering, “Luis, have you ever heard of any kind of club or cult or something which meets in the woods up there and then some of them dress up in coyote skins and the others dress up like the old Aztec gods? Have you ever heard of — ” He broke off. Then he said, “Oh. You have. Well. I see. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I see by your face that I shouldn’t have.
Dispenseme
.”

Luis touched his tongue to his lips, swallowed. “No. No, Jacobo, it isn’t that you — Jacobo, Jacobo! They do not dress up like. No, ah, no — They are the old Aztec gods! Very terrible!
Ai de mi!
”

“You’ve seen them, too, then? But you’re not one of the, mmm, worshippers, then? No. Good…. ‘Terrible’? Christ, yes! Gave me the creeping meemies. But, now, Luis, when you say that those characters really
are
the old Aztec gods, well, come on now! You know better than that, for crying out loud. You’ve been to school.”

Luis stretched out his hands, automatically beginning to gesticulate, and Jacob’s eyes saw the marks on his wrists. Luis saw that he saw, and exposed his ankles as well. Jacob grunted. “Ah, these are nothing, the marks are already fading and will be soon gone, thanks to the power of the
sigilo
of the Great Old Ones,
Los Viejos Poderosos
. They gave me this, you see?” He opened his shirt, and there against the tan skin of his chest was the golden object with the ocelot’s head.

Jacob peered at it. “This sure looks-old,” he said. “I’m no judge of such things, really, but it does look very old … Toltec, maybe … or maybe even Olmec…. Where did you get it, Luis?”

And Luis, talking more rapidly than quite coherently, told him of the Great Old Ones who were now returned and had their place on, or in, or perhaps only very, very near Popo — and of the also latterly returned Aztec gods, and what they had tried to do and almost did do to him a while back that day. “They fear the power of the Great Old Ones, Jacobo! They fear them, but they do not yet know that the Great Old Ones are already here.”

Jacob got up. “Well…. Something is sure as hell going on that’s not strictly kosher. Tell you what. Let’s go talk about this to Macauley. What do you say?”

Luis’s face lit up. “Bueno! Excellent. Don Roberto is a very good person to consult. He knows much of all the
costumbres
of the countryside, and of our history as well. Good, good!” He almost danced in his excitement.

Jacob knocked on the window of the living room to attract Sarah’s attention. She looked up, her face tear-stained and abstract. She was engaged in painting a picture from memory of poor sweet-tootsie-little Evans.

“Luis and I are going over to Mac to see him about that business of last night.”

“Oh…. All right, dear….”

“We may not be back till quite late, I don’t know. Be sure to lock and bolt all the doors, particularly the back one into our patio. I’ll get in from the front patio. Okay?”

“Oh…. All right, dear….”

She had forgotten all about him by the time the door to the front patio had closed. How fortunate that she had thought to bring these paints and papers with her. And that she’d gotten the idea to do this picture while his little memory was still fresh in her mind — not that it could ever possibly fade! — but still…. She brushed her hair back, absentmindedly smearing her face with paint. Then she smiled fondly as she looked at the outlined figure on the paper. Perhaps a black background, to show off his white markings? No … that would never do … it would fail to show off his
black
markings. Blue, perhaps … or red…. Blue would go best with his poor little golden eyes.

Sarah bent over her portrait.

Sometime later she looked up, aware of being faintly disturbed by something. What was it? Hunger, that was it. The tamales had been very good. Perhaps some of them were still left. But would Jacob want some? No, Jacob had gone to Mac’s place and he said he’d be there quite late, which meant that he would eat as well as talk. Sarah got up slowly, considering. Heat up some tamales … and what else? Not much, of course…. Maybe a few tostados. Nothing heavy. Cheese, perhaps. And a little salad on the side. A cup of tea. And
a pastelito
, if there were any. Perhaps a piece of fruit.

People had to
eat;
they had to keep their strength up, even if their hearts were just
breaking
. Look at all those rich, yummy recipes Martha Washington was always working on. She probably had cried
buckets
while George and those tootsie soldiers were freezing their toes at Valley Forge, but
that
didn’t prevent her from trying out a new way to make pound-cake, did it? Although, when you come right down to it — Sarah moved into the kitchen — what it was that George
saw
in her, well, really. “
She’s
nothing to look at, wouldn’t you agree?” Sarah asked aloud of no one in particular.

Certainly of no one in the kitchen, for there
was
no one in the kitchen. Oh, well. She would toss up her little meal by herself. She looked around for pots and pans and utensils and dishes. There were none. “Hasn’t Lupita finished washing them
yet?
” she exclaimed. And went, frowning, out into the patio. The dishes and pots and other utensils were there all right, grease and all, in the concrete sink by the water barrel. Only Lupita was not there.

“La Lupita?” repeated the landlady, looking a bit displeased. Yes, Lupita had been seen. First,
el joven
Luis had gone into the
oficina
of Don Jacobo. Then, la Lupita, the without-shame, had been perceived to listen at the door. Then she had left the patio — “going very, very rapidly” — and the house, and disappeared into the streets.
Donde?
“Ah, where indeed? Who knows? The Señora would be well-advised to examine well among her own possessions, to see if la Lupita did not have ‘little hands.’”

The usually most pleasant landlady struggled with her feelings, finally admitted, “She is neither amiable nor sympathetic, that girl.”

Sarah gave a small moan. “Do thou was knowing also possibly to have another girl for employer more responsible?” she inquired.

Señora Mariana shrugged, threw out her hands. “Ah, poor lady! But these girls today prefer to go to ‘Mexico’ to seek employment, because there they can obtain more pesos.” She quirked her mouth and made a circle with thumb and forefinger to indicate the roundness of the peso. But more than this she was unable to do.

Sarah returned, slowly, and lugubriously. She reheated the tamales and ate them, somberly. Then she went out and looked at the pile of dirty, greasy dishes and pots again. She tested the water with her little finger. It was very, veiy cold.

• • •

Mac, advised in English that a matter of the gravest importance was to be discussed, had sent his lady friend and her ancient aunt out to buy pulque, and grilled
carnitas
. “Be sure to hurry there and back,” he had told them.

The lady scowled. “Securely, we will sprout wings like the birds and fly,” she said. “With the gringos it is always,
pronto, pronto, pronto!
”

As they left, twitching their rebozos indignantly, he smiled at his guests. “That should insure us at least an hour…. So. What’s up, Doc?”

Jacob sighed. “Well…. It doesn’t sound as crazy to me as it would have yesterday. But … well … Luis claims that those oddballs in the boondocks, the Aztec-god ones, I mean … he claims that they captured him early today and tried to turn him into a human sacrifice. The cardiectomy clinic — just like you said.”

Macauley pursed his lips and let out his breath in a near-whistle, so that his golden mustache floated up. “Well, well,” he murmured. Then he turned to face Luis. “
Digame
,” he ordered.

Luis, after hesitations and stumbling starts, began by recapitulating the various rumors sweeping the town on the eve of the fiera of the Holy Hermit: that lights had been seen on both Popo and Ixta, that the government was going to take away the Tlaloc from under the Monte Sagrado, that smoke had been seen rising from Popo, that soldiers were in town on an unholy mission, that there would be trouble with the procession, that the abominable
Naguales
, or were-coyotes, had been seen once more, and so on.

He described his visit to the Moxtomí pueblo, San Juan Bautista, in hopes of discussing these rumors — how he found them in an uproar, how they put him off. He described the fight, the genuine and not symbolic attempt to seize the catafalque as it passed through the
Barrio Occidental
, and then: “And then,
hombre!
My word of honor! The catafalque fell and the Hermit tumbled out and then he walked away —
he walked away!”

And so all the other details came out, how the Hermit was really the long-time Guardian of the Entrusted Object and how the Entrusted Object was the Heart of Tlaloc, only it was not really a heart; how the true or false “Aztec gods,” the Huitzili, were, like the pseudo-gods of the old Olmec and Toltec days, really denizens of other and distant worlds … detail by incredible detail, the story emerged.

Macauley chewed the ends of his long mustaches. “Wow, boy,” he said. “Well, Jake, I think we’ve got two choices, count ‘em, two. The first is that Luis’s story is the real McCoy, the clean quill, weird and way-out as it is. And the other is that
some
body out there” — his hand gestured toward the wild uplands crowned by the snowy sierra of Ixtaccihuatl and the shining cone of Popocatapetl — “has (a) been reading one hell of a lot of science fiction, and (b) been spending one hell of a lot of time and money and effort….