Sky People (23 page)

I spent a half day at the museum consulting with the in-house shaman. Before leaving the museum I purchased traditional medicines for a number of human conditions, including various herbal teas guaranteed to ensure a long and thriving life. After visiting the museum and pharmacy, I walked to Casa Na Bolom. I read that the public was invited to dine in the original dining room hosted by Franz and Trudy Blom before their passing. Because Francois Mitterand, Frieda Kahlo and her husband, Diego Rivera, and even Henry Kissinger had dined at Na Bolom, I made reservations for dinner.

When Benito and I arrived at 7 p.m. we were taken on a brief tour of Na Bolom, and then led to the dining room table that was intended for a group of thirty. The table was set for four: a Lacandon father, Balam, and Bol, his pre-adolescent son, and Benito and me. Balam and Bol spoke Spanish and the father even spoke a smattering of English. During the course of the evening, Bol told me that the world would end when the last Lacandon died. Balam said the Lacandon traditions were important, otherwise the people would become drunks and burn down the forest like the Ladinoes (a common reference to non-indigenous Mexicans).

As the evening wore on, I shared with Balam my research and why I was traveling around Oaxaca. He told me how, on many New Year’s Eves in his small village, the Sky Gods came to visit. “They come on a ray of light,” he said. When I questioned him further, he told me, “They float from the sky on a light and when they leave, they return the same way. It is a wide beam of light,” he repeated.

“What do they do when they come to your village?”

“They get medicine from the healers. It is something they do every year. My father called them ‘the people who guided us here.’ He says now they come back to learn from us about the medicines. In the old days, before coming to Earth, they were our teachers. They taught the people about the universe—today they just come to warn about the dangers of radiation, pollution, and the destruction of the climate, and collect medicines. Sometimes they go into the jungle and collect plants. They are preserving them in case the Earth is destroyed. We call them the
Tuhohani
, the people from the stars.”

“Do you think the Earth will be destroyed?” I asked.

“This is the fourth world, Señora. It has been destroyed before. Each time, people were careless with the Earth. There is a reason why we are here. We were placed on this planet to look after it. We have been allowed to evolve as a people, but we have not been able to perform the task given to us. A day is coming when we must answer for our disregard of our mission. On that day, the Earth will be turned upside down.”

“How do you know these things?” I asked.

“They tell me. The Mayan language is the language of the
Tuhohani
. That’s what they speak, too. They warn us that we must prepare for the future. You should go home and prepare. I have a place for my family underground. If you are here when the Earth renewal occurs, you will stay with my people.”

“When you see the
Tuhohani
, are they different from you and me?” I asked.

“They look like us for most part, although some are taller and fairer. They speak our language, but they only communicate with the healers.”

“Can you describe their spaceships?” I asked.

“I have seen two kinds and two different peoples. One was like a long tank, like this pen, only bigger.” He placed a ballpoint pen on the table. “It was big. And out of it came tall, white men with white suits and helmets like motorbikers wear. I think they
were very white. Another ship was circular. It made no sound. It was silver. Smaller men in silver suits got out of it. They were like me,” he said, touching his chest. “They are those who brought us here.”

“When the Earth is destroyed, do you believe that is the end of the planet?”

“There will be a fifth world. The fourth world will be cleansed and those who survive will have another chance. The
Tuhohani
will be here to help those survivors begin a new world. This will be our last chance to make things right with the Earth and to fulfill our tasks.”

“Do you believe the Lacandon will be among the Earth’s survivors?” I asked.

“We are the caretakers of Earth. We will survive.” We sat for another hour after the table was cleared and talked about the apocalyptic prophecy. Before long a waiter appeared announcing that the dining room would close in ten minutes.

R
eluctantly, I left Na Bolom and the Lacandon father who shared with me some of their most sacred beliefs and prophecies. I have returned to Na Bolom three times. Unfortunately I never connected with Balam or Bol again. One of the workers told me that Balam only visits San Cristóbal once or twice a year
.

C
hinkultic is a moderate-sized archeological ruin in the state of Chiapas, Mexico. It is part of Lagunas de Montebello National Park. When Stephens and Catherwood crossed into Mexico, they camped in the village of Comitan, which was called Balun Canan, the Place of Nine Stars, by the Maya prior to the Spanish invasion. Chinkultic is about thirty-five miles from Comitan; however, Stephens and Catherwood never passed that way
.

The site made national news in October 2008 when six local Indians were killed at a demonstration at the site. They were a part of an indigenous group demanding to take part in managing the archaeological site, which was managed by the National Institute of Archaeology. At the time of my visit in December 2008, the site was officially closed
.

In this chapter, you will meet a young indigenous boy who tells stories of Sky Gods who have visited the site since his grandfather’s day
.

In 2008 I returned to the Chiapas. By e-mail, I had again made arrangements with Benito, who would be my guide for the next several days. I arrived at Tuxtla Gutierrez International Airport in Tuxtla Gutierrez, Mexico, the capital city of the state of Chiapas, on the afternoon of December 10. In contrast to the rest of Chiapas, it is a modern, bustling city with beautiful hotels. We drove to San Cristobal, where I spent the night. The city had not changed during my four-year absence. After dinner with Benito’s family, we returned to the city, took a walking tour, and spent two hours at the Zocalo enjoying the evening entertainment.

On December 11, we set out for Chinkultic. On our way Benito warned me that the ancient city had been the site of bloodshed. Despite its remoteness, Chinkultic had made international news only a few weeks before my arrival. It was the site of a battle between the state and federal police and local villagers. According to various reports, the villagers from La Trinitaria, who believed that INAH (National Institute of Anthropology and History) was neglecting the site, occupied it on September 28, 2008. In the process, the villagers successfully apprehended, detained, and disarmed some seventy-seven policemen who had been sent to arrest the occupation’s ringleaders. A month later, the state and federal police entered the village to rescue their officers, weapons, and the site itself. During the course of action, six villagers were killed and seventeen were wounded.

A few miles from the site, several men appeared on each side of the road and raised a chain across the highway, forcing us to come to an abrupt stop. They demanded fifty pesos to pass through their village in order to get to the archaeological site, claiming they owned the road. Although we knew it was a public highway and we had every right to pass without paying fees, we paid the five dollars without protest.

When I arrived at the site a ten-foot chain-link gate closed off the entrance. As I stood there considering the odds of scaling the fence, a young indigenous boy named Diego, astride a rusty bicycle, appeared and offered to be my guide.

“Where did you learn to speak English?” I asked.

“From the sisters [Catholic nuns] who work with the women and babies, and from American tourists. The gringos say I speak good English,” he said, with a broad, proud smile.

“Your English is very good,” I replied. “But how can we get into the site?” I asked, pointing to the sign with large letters declaring
No Pasar
. In other words, no trespassing. He shook his head and smiled.

“Follow me, Señora,” Diego said. He guided me along the side of the fence to a stand of low-lying shrubbery. He lifted the fence, and I crawled under. He followed. Benito brought up the rear, but I noticed that he appeared somewhat apprehensive.

Although the site was quite large, little effort had been made to restore the ancient city. The grounds were totally abandoned. There was no military, government, or local presence. Chinkultic contained some 200 mounds grouped into six clusters, but the locals were correct: Little effort had been put into restoring the site. We wandered the grounds for approximately three hours while my young guide pointed out spots of particular interest including the remains of several small temples and a series of
stelae
that depicted Chinkultic’s rulers celebrating victories over captives.

We climbed to the top of the Acropolis, a massive pyramid set on the side of the mountain. The site itself was awe-inspiring, and the view was magnificent. The Maya knew how to take advantage of the natural terrain to provide for both defense and aesthetic beauty. Below was a sacred
cenote
, a natural sinkhole filled with water.

“You can almost see forever up here,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Yes. At night it is magnify.”

“Magnify?”

“You know, beautiful, amazing,” my companion responded smiling.

“Yes. Magnificent,” I replied and Diego repeated the word a number of times memorizing the correct adjective. Several times throughout the day, he used a word to confirm the accurateness of the usage.

“I’ve seen UFOs from here at night,” he said.

“Really?” I responded. “I bet you can see lots of things from here. I am not surprised.”

“If you like, we could stay tonight and we will watch. It is very nice here at night. The sounds of the night are like music.” I looked at my youthful companion. Even though his invitation was appealing, I saw Benito shake his head and frown. I understood that he felt it was not safe.

“Maybe, the next time,” I said.

“You will not come back,” he responded. I heard the disappointment in his voice and looked at Benito again, who shook his head, impressing upon me that I should not stay. “No one ever comes back to Chinkultic. You will be sorry, though. You might have seen a UFO or many of them,” he said. “Sometimes they come on balls of light and sometimes they appear from nothing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes they are invisible and then appear from nowhere.” I understood him to mean the ships are invisible and that they suddenly appear for the eye to see.

“When my grandfather was a boy, about my age [Diego was twelve], he told me that UFOs often descended into the
cenote
. This
cenote
is the only one in the Chiapas,” he said.

“Did your grandfather tell you what they were doing in the
cenote?”
I asked.

“He said they came to retrieve the treasures left behind by the
Dioses del cielo
, the Sky Gods, and that they had the ability to walk around under the water to retrieve the objects.”

“How did your grandfather know that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he told me but I don’t remember.”

“Is your grandfather still alive?” I asked.

“No. He died last winter. Weak heart, Mama said. Sometimes he told me they came to rest after their long voyage. He said he saw them sometimes, but they never came into the village.”

“Did anyone else know about the visits from the
Dioses del cielo?”
I asked.

“When my grandfather was a young man, the government arrived in helicopters, drained the
cenote
into a nearby lake, and excavated the bottom. Some say they were looking for signs of the
Dioses del cielo
. Others say they were looking for treasures. My grandfather said they found nothing.”

“Did your grandfather believe they were looking for signs of the Sky Gods?” I asked.

“Sí. They came into the villages and asked the people if anyone had ever searched the
cenote
for ancient things.”

“Did your grandfather tell them what he saw?”

“None of the villagers said anything. They all said they knew nothing. The people would never betray the
Dioses del cielo
, especially not to the government. My people do not trust the government.”

I sat at the top of the Acropolis with Diego admiring the ancient site. “They come from that direction,” he said pointing off toward the mountains in the west. “Sometimes one, sometimes more. My grandfather said they like to visit. They like the Earth. He said that one time they lived here, but they went back to the stars. Perhaps life was too hard for them, or maybe they missed their home. I heard one of our wise men say that the
Dioses del cielo
guided us here, and then they went back to the stars and left us here. If they had stayed, maybe life would be different.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“When they left, they took with them all the knowledge about life. They planned to return, but when the Mexicans [Spaniards] came, the
Dioses del cielo
never came back. We were left alone to survive. That is the only thing we know. We know how to survive. When the world ends, we will be the ones who survive. The gringos tell me that they would never be able to survive the way my people live.” I listened to this young man who was far too wise for his age and did not speak for several minutes. “I believe when the next world comes, life will be easier for us. There will be no Mexicans. Only the Maya.”

“When the Sky Gods visit today, do they ever talk to the people?” I asked.

“My grandfather said they sometimes gave warnings about things to come. They said we are living in a very dangerous time when the Earth will change.”

“What kind of change?” I asked.