his tall father, the Director. For another, they were all very brown, their skin glowing with a tan that might have been enhanced byoil. The men wore headdresses and cloths that were tied around their waists and between their legs. The women had dress-like shifts and long hair tied back. The children seemed to wear the same costume as the men, though some were naked.
The noise was terrific. There was shouting and laughter and chatting and arguments. Some kind of nobleman, more elaborately dressed, was carried past in a litter. A dog-like animal, tied to a stake in the ground, was being fed by a child. James began to notice details, to sort out the full and complicated picture that was before him. Goods were spread across the ground and on stalls, from one corner of the concourse to the other, and people wandered among them comparing, examining, negotiating. He saw a man buying a small woven basket from among a collection tied to a pole, and James strained to see how he paid for it. Something changed hands â perhaps some small coins â but he could not see what they were. He started to look more closely at the array of goods on display. They seemed to be mainly foods of all kinds. Fruits, beans, seeds, carcasses of freshly killed animals, smoked meats, herbs in baskets. Many were varieties that he did not recognise but others were familiar. Some were obviously types of bread and there were many kinds of melon, pineapples, avocados, strawberries and tomatoes. As well, he recognised potatoes, sugar cane, and sweet corn.
Yet many of these foods were different in shape, size and colour from the way James knew them. Thepineapples and tomatoes, in particular, were smaller than the ones from the Defence Forcesâ canteen. The tomatoes were more orange than red. There were rabbits hanging in a shaded corner of the concourse, but they had dark tails and long ears, and they looked quite big.
James turned his attention to his own position. He was standing among rich, dark, exotic trees in an uncleared patch of rain forest or jungle. The wall in front of him was about chest high. Made of stone, it seemed old and neglected. Although it was cool among the trees, the early morning freshness was starting to go, and the sun was beating onto the paved road of the marketplace. Insects, mainly mosquitoes, were beginning to find James and to swarm around him.
He took another step forward, a little further out of the shade and shelter. At last a realisation of his difficulties began to dawn on him. He was wearing blue denim jeans and a T-shirt with a frog on it. He was blond, fair-skinned, blue eyed: the complete opposite of these people. He spoke English and no other language. Starting to sweat, he looked down at his hand, seeking visual reassurance of what he was holding in a tight grip: Mr Woodfordeâs machine. He moved it slightly, so that his thumb was better placed to hit the Return button if things got out of control. Then he took a deep breath and walked to the wall.
He expected to be noticed at once, but because the wall came up so high on his body he was still concealed from the marketplace. He waited a moment, then putthe machine on top of the wall to free his hands, levered himself up, grabbed the machine and dropped to the ground on the other side.
For the few seconds that this took he did not have time to look at the people in the marketplace, but as he landed on the stone pavement, facing the wall, he felt a prickling in his back and a dryness in his throat. He gripped the machine even more tightly, taking care to align his thumb with the Return button again, before turning to face the Indians.
A silence had descended over the market: a silence so sudden and complete that it was hard to believe a clamour of voices had filled the air a moment earlier. Sweating all over now, not just in his hot hands and wet armpits, James looked up at the Mayans.
They were all frozen, all quiet, gazing at him. Most had drawn
The noise was terrific. There was shouting and laughter and chatting and arguments. Some kind of nobleman, more elaborately dressed, was carried past in a litter. A dog-like animal, tied to a stake in the ground, was being fed by a child. James began to notice details, to sort out the full and complicated picture that was before him. Goods were spread across the ground and on stalls, from one corner of the concourse to the other, and people wandered among them comparing, examining, negotiating. He saw a man buying a small woven basket from among a collection tied to a pole, and James strained to see how he paid for it. Something changed hands â perhaps some small coins â but he could not see what they were. He started to look more closely at the array of goods on display. They seemed to be mainly foods of all kinds. Fruits, beans, seeds, carcasses of freshly killed animals, smoked meats, herbs in baskets. Many were varieties that he did not recognise but others were familiar. Some were obviously types of bread and there were many kinds of melon, pineapples, avocados, strawberries and tomatoes. As well, he recognised potatoes, sugar cane, and sweet corn.
Yet many of these foods were different in shape, size and colour from the way James knew them. Thepineapples and tomatoes, in particular, were smaller than the ones from the Defence Forcesâ canteen. The tomatoes were more orange than red. There were rabbits hanging in a shaded corner of the concourse, but they had dark tails and long ears, and they looked quite big.
James turned his attention to his own position. He was standing among rich, dark, exotic trees in an uncleared patch of rain forest or jungle. The wall in front of him was about chest high. Made of stone, it seemed old and neglected. Although it was cool among the trees, the early morning freshness was starting to go, and the sun was beating onto the paved road of the marketplace. Insects, mainly mosquitoes, were beginning to find James and to swarm around him.
He took another step forward, a little further out of the shade and shelter. At last a realisation of his difficulties began to dawn on him. He was wearing blue denim jeans and a T-shirt with a frog on it. He was blond, fair-skinned, blue eyed: the complete opposite of these people. He spoke English and no other language. Starting to sweat, he looked down at his hand, seeking visual reassurance of what he was holding in a tight grip: Mr Woodfordeâs machine. He moved it slightly, so that his thumb was better placed to hit the Return button if things got out of control. Then he took a deep breath and walked to the wall.
He expected to be noticed at once, but because the wall came up so high on his body he was still concealed from the marketplace. He waited a moment, then putthe machine on top of the wall to free his hands, levered himself up, grabbed the machine and dropped to the ground on the other side.
For the few seconds that this took he did not have time to look at the people in the marketplace, but as he landed on the stone pavement, facing the wall, he felt a prickling in his back and a dryness in his throat. He gripped the machine even more tightly, taking care to align his thumb with the Return button again, before turning to face the Indians.
A silence had descended over the market: a silence so sudden and complete that it was hard to believe a clamour of voices had filled the air a moment earlier. Sweating all over now, not just in his hot hands and wet armpits, James looked up at the Mayans.
They were all frozen, all quiet, gazing at him. Most had drawn
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