Sky People (25 page)

“Correct. We called them our ancestors because they were an older civilization. After all, we are all related. Everything in the universe is related—even the plants, the trees, the water, the stars, the people of Earth, the people of the stars.”

“Are there stories about the women who married the Star Men? Did they ever return to Earth or bring their children?”

“I only have heard of Star Men who took Maya women for wives. But they never returned.”

“Do you believe the Star Men helped build the ancient cities like Monte Alban?”

He shook his head. “The Star Men who came to the Zapotec were not builders. They were scientists who roamed the universe looking for plants and medicines to help the civilizations of the world. No, Señora. The Zaptoec and Mixtec built their own great cities. Just look at the diversity of languages and cities. They are all unique. It would take dozens of different Star Groups to have built this [sic] cities. That did not happen.”

“When was the last time you saw the orbs?” I asked.

The waiter appeared with hot chocolate and ice cream flavored with rose petals, interrupting his reply. When he was gone, Rodrigo continued. “They come almost every night. You only have to look. To most, they are invisible because they do not have that inner eye or a heart that is open. I think you will see them if you look. You have the right kind of heart.”

That night, we lingered over two cups of hot chocolate and talked about our lives. We walked slowly back to the hotel. He held my hand and guided me carefully over the uneven cobblestone
street. Occasionally we stopped and Rodrigo scanned the sky. I knew he was looking for the orbs, but they never came. The next morning, I woke to a knock on my door. One of the young hotel workers handed me a vase of roses as large as a funeral spray and the largest box of chocolates I have ever seen. “From Rodrigo,” he said. I read the attached card.
“Si tan solo fuera forty años más joven. Ahora debo esperar hasta mi próxima vida.”
I smiled at the message. Translated it read: “If only I was forty years younger. Now I must wait for the next life.” There was no question: Rodrigo was still flirting.

When I inquired about Rodrigo as I checked out at noon, the hotel manager said that he had gone to one of the villages to visit his brother who was very ill. He was taking medicine to him. “He asked me to apologize for his absence, but hopes that the señora will return soon and he will count the days until you return.” I smiled as I walked out of the hotel with my roses and chocolates and joined Benito at the waiting van.

Two years later, I returned to Oaxaca City. After registering, I inquired about Rodrigo and learned that he was still working at the hotel. I spent two weeks at the hotel as Rodrigo’s guest. Every evening he arrived promptly at 7 p.m. to accompany me to dinner. On the last day of my trip, I learned that he was not the gardener, but the owner of the hotel. Six months after my last visit, I received word that Rodrigo had passed in his sleep. He had made it to his 94th birthday, a few years short of the life he planned. He left the hotel to his two most faithful employees with the stipulation that I receive free, all-inclusive access to the hotel for the rest of my life. At his funeral, the new owner pulled me aside and said, “You made a big impression on him, Señora. He told me that he would see you again in another life.” I have never returned to the hotel, nor to Oaxaca City. Without Rodrigo, it would not be the same.

I
think of Rodrigo every time I look at the night sky. He told me that he never worried about dying: “When I pass, the ancestors will come for me and I will sit with the wise men once again. I want no one to grieve for me. I will be with my family where I belong.”

T
eotitlán del Valle, a small village located 31 kilometers from Oaxaca City in the foothills of the Sierra Juarez Mountains, was founded by the Zapotecs around 465
BCE
. It was originally named Xaquija, which meant “Celestial Constellation” in the Zapotec language, but in the Náhuatl language, Teotitlán del Valle was known as the “Place of the Gods.” Though Stephens and Catherwood never ventured into this part of Mexico, a Spanish friar named Juan de Cordoya recorded a legend in
The Catholic Encyclopedia
that reportedly occurred in 34
CE
in Teotitlán del Valle. According to the legend, a huge bright light came out of the northern sky. It glowed for four days in the sky and then lowered itself to a rock in the center of the village. From the light, there came a great, powerful being who stood on top of the rock and glowed like the sun. He stood there for the whole village to see. He glowed both day and night. He lit up the whole village like day. When he spoke, his voice was like thunder booming across the valley
.

In this chapter you will meet contemporary Zapotecs who offer their own version of the story and their encounters with visitors from the sky
.

One morning after breakfast Benito and I drove to the Zapotec village of Teotitlán del Valle, a place populated by famous Zapotec weavers. The village, about fifteen miles from the city of Oaxaca, is home to approximately 150 families. The majority were engaged in the rug-making business. Weaving had become the main occupation of the villagers since about 1535, when
Dominican Bishop Juan Lopez Dezarate arrived in the village and introduced borregos, a type of sheep that produced wool. The first loom, shipped from Spain, arrived shortly thereafter and jump-started a cottage industry producing serapes, blankets, and rugs. Today the village is home to some of the most famous rug-makers in North America.

As we entered the village sleeping dogs woke from their middle-of-the-road naps and ambled toward the side of the road, waiting with reproachful eyes until we passed. We drove directly through the town surveying the many shops on each side of the road that boasted vibrant displays of weavings in many sizes, colors, and designs.

Stephens and Catherwood never visited this village; their focus was strictly on finding Palenque once they entered Mexico. I, on the other hand, had come to the village to follow up on the ancient legend of the Sky God who arrived in the village on a beam of light from the sky, and to locate a weaver who might create two rugs from my own design.

I visited several weavers, many well-known in the United States. At my last stop I met a young weaver named David, who admitted he was not famous and explained that he did not have the money to attend major art shows. He was an independent artist, depending on tourists not associated with bus tours. He showed me around his small display room. As I examined his work, I knew I had found the weaver to create my rugs. I showed him my design, and after carefully selecting the yarns, I went to his small office to complete the transaction. As he wrote out the dimensions and information about the rug, I asked him about the ancient legend of the Sky God of Teotitlán del Valle.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the legend?” I asked.

He shook his head as he handed me a receipt for the rug. “Maybe it is only a legend, Señora, or maybe it is true. I always watched for Sky Gods when I was a boy. My grandfather told many stories about the men who came from the sky. There were many times that we saw lights in the sky that hung over the village.”

“Have you ever seen a UFO?” I asked. He slowly shook his head from side to side.

“Not me, but I have a friend who is visiting his grandmother. He is from San Cristóbal. He has seen them many times. He tells me they are tall men, white skin with white hair and white suits like your astronauts wear.”

“Do you think your friend would tell me about his experience?” I asked.

“Sí
. If you wait a few more minutes he should come by. We have an appointment to play basketball. I love basketball. He is a very good player. He gives me a good workout,” he said, “and keeps me in shape.” As he elaborated on his love of basketball and his skills as a player, my eyes were drawn to a photo on the wall behind his desk. He was dressed in a yellow basketball jersey, posing with a basketball on the tip of his fingers. The irony was that David, the rug-maker, stood about five feet tall.

Within the next half hour his friend, who introduced himself as Victor, appeared on a rickety, rusted bicycle intended for a girl. After introductions, Victor told me about an encounter that he had experienced a year earlier.

“I was gathering wood for my grandmother. I was maybe seven kilometers (4.3 miles) from the city. I got a late start and the sun was going down. I knew I had to get home. It is dangerous on the highway at night. I could be hit by a car. I could be beaten and robbed. As I was tying my bundle of wood, I worried that I might not be able to balance myself on the bicycle with the wood on my back. The pack was large and heavy, and my bicycle was not the best. As I lifted the wood to my back, the ground around me suddenly became like daylight. When I looked up, I saw this strange, blinding light shining down upon me.” At that point, Victor began to pace.

“Are you sure you want to continue?” I asked.

“Sí
. I was just thinking about how mistaken I was about what happened. At first, I thought God had come to take me to heaven. I asked to be forgiven for my sins, and then I waited. The light did not move. It stayed there for what seemed like minutes. I got up and walked toward my bicycle, but suddenly two men appeared out of the darkness. They blocked my way. The next thing I know, I am in front of my grandmother’s house and
I did not know how I got there. The wood is on my back and my bicycle is parked by the door.”

“What do you mean that you didn’t know how you got there?”

“I did not remember riding there. When I told my grandmother what had happened, she said that I had been cursed. She said a witch had put a spell on me. She put me to bed immediately and made a remedy that she said would break the spell. I did not tell her that the witches were strange men. I drank the remedy and fell asleep immediately.”

“How did you find out what happened to you?” I asked.

“In the middle of the night I woke up. At first, I thought it was a nightmare but then I realized I was awake. I was extremely thirsty. I got up to get some water. That’s when I remembered being forced to drink a thick liquid by the two strangers who walked out of the light. I suddenly recalled being in a strange place. Nothing was familiar to me. I remember seeing others, but no one I recognized. I did not know the place or the strangers who took me. They put me in a room with light that came from the walls. But there were no light bulbs. I felt dizzy. There was a strange smell. There was a fog in the room. I could not see my hands in front of me. My skin was cold but I was sweating. My clothes were damp. I was led to a bed—a hard bed. I remember nothing else.” He paused for a moment, allowing me to complete my notes, and then began again.

“The next day, I was headed back up the road looking for wood for my grandmother. Jorge, who lives in my grandmother’s village, said he saw the men from the sky take me the night before. He said I rode on a river of light into this machine and he thought he would never see me again. He was surprised that I was still alive. Slowly the memories returned, but like my grandmother said, they cast a spell on me. I still do not know why they took me.”

“How many men did you see?” I asked.

“There were two. Tall men. But I also remember smaller men. Men smaller than me,” he said as he lifted his arm and measured the size slightly above his waist, making them smaller than three feet.

“Can you describe them?” I asked.

“The strangers who took me were twice as tall as me. Jorge said they were white with thin, white hair. I never saw their faces, but Jorge said they looked like ghosts in their white suits. I do not remember those things. Only that they were tall and they would not let me pass.”

“Can you remember anything else?” I asked.

“
Nada
. Nothing.”

“What about the spacecraft? Do you remember anything about the inside of the spacecraft?”

“I remember being very cold. I cannot remember any details about the craft. I saw other people. People who were not from Mexico. I saw two blonde women. I like blonde women. So I did not forget them.”

“Do you think I could meet Jorge?” I asked.

“I don’t know where he lives. After his grandmother died, he never came back to the village. One of his cousins said he moved to San Cristóbal. Another one told me he got married to a woman who lived in Cancun. She was from Germany and had lots of money. Jorge always had a way with women. They all loved him.”

“One more question. You said your grandmother made a drink for you to break the curse of the witches. Do you know what she put into the drink?” I asked.

“No. It is her secret.”

“Do you think she would share the recipe?” I asked.

“No. No. It would be offensive to ask. I could not allow you to do that.”

“I’m sorry. I meant no offense,” I replied.

“It is okay, Señora. She is a good medicine woman. She protects the people from witches and curses.”

“I understand,” I replied.

“Why do you think these space men would kidnap me, Señora?”

“I really don’t know,” I replied.

A
fter saying goodbye, I left Teotitlán. I accomplished more than I set out to do. I had ordered two custom rugs of my own design and found the rock of the Sky God, which still stands in the village. But more than that, I met a Zapotec whose grandmother could break a spell of alien abductors. Although I was unable to get the recipe, at least I know that such a potion exists and apparently works
.

T
he Zapotec say that their people emerged from the caves in the earth. They believed their ancestors were rocks, trees, or jaguars that were turned into people. Reportedly the elite that governed them descended from supernatural beings who lived among the clouds, and upon death they would return to the clouds and assume their status as supernatural beings. The Zapotec call themselves the Be’ena’ Za’a, which translates to mean “Cloud People.”