instinct through the forest, making his way along the old paths, the uncharted roads used for centuries by descendants of the Maya and Toltec who had made their civilization here, before losing it to the Spaniards.
Unfortunately, all the customary roads led away from the sacred site of Xitaclan, and Pepe had to chop his own path with the machete. He wished he had taken the time to sharpen the blade.
His father had died from an infected wound, a sting from a deadly fire-colored scorpion. Father Ronald at the mission had called it the will of God, while Pepe's weep-ing mother had pronounced it to be a curse from Tlazolteotl, the goddess of forbidden loves, an indication that her husband had been unfaithful to her.
Because of this, Pepe's mother had refused to stay in the same room with her husband as he died—and then, according to tradition, she had demanded that he be buried beneath the dirt floor of their home. Then the family had no choice but to abandon their small dwelling ... and Pepe was forced to secure a new house for them.
Building a new home had merely been the first of the new financial burdens Pepe had endured. Now, to atone for his father's disgrace and fulfill his own grief-driven promise, the family counted on Pepe to take care of everything.
And he did. He had to. But it wasn't easy.
The money he received from Fernando Victorio Aguilar kept them all fed, kept the new home repaired, and had even allowed him to buy his little sister Carmen a parrot. She adored the bird and had taught it to say his own name, much to his delight ... except when it squawked "Pepe! Pepe!" in the middle of the night.
A palm tree scraped dry fronds together with a sound like a rattlesnake. Now, as he fought the dangling vines, Pepe longed to hear the parrot, longed to hear his sisters breathing softly in sleep and his mother's deep snores. But he had to get to Xitaclan first, in order to keep his friend Fernando happy.
He understood the task well enough. So long as Excellency Xavier Salida was interested and anxious to buy, Fernando must have more artifacts from the ancient ruins. Fernando needed Pepe to help him take advantage of the timing.
The ancient city was deserted, the American archaeo-logical team now gone. He was particularly glad that the foreigners no longer rooted around in the ruins— Fernando couldn't allow outsiders to make off with more of his treasures, while Pepe just didn't want them touch-ing the precious objects, cataloguing them, analyzing the pieces as amusing debris from a lost civilization. At least Femando's customers prized the treasures for what they were.
Without Femando's help, Pepe's family would cer-tainly have starved. His sisters would have been forced to work the streets of Merida as prostitutes, even little Carmen. He himself might have become enslaved in the marijuana fields of Xavier Salida or Pieter Grobe or one of the other drug lords.
Recovering precious Maya arti-facts from long-abandoned ruins seemed safer, more honorable.
Pepe's mother adored Fernando, flirted with him, praised his cologne and his ocelot-skin hat. She claimed that Femando's patronage had come to her son as a gift from the gods, or God, depending on whether she was thinking of the old images or the Catholic religion at the time. Pepe didn't complain—he would accept such luck, whatever its source.
In their church gatherings on Sundays, when the entire village came together to celebrate Mass, Pepe was entertained by some of the fanciful tales Father Ronald told from the Bible, but he doubted their relevance to his life here.
Singing angels and white-robed saints might have been fine for people living comfortable lives and attending air-conditioned churches, but here in the thick jungle, in the primeval womb of the Earth, the older ... more primal beliefs seemed to hold a greater credence.
Especially at times such as now.
A branch cracked overhead, settling into other twigs. Leaves whispered together as
Unfortunately, all the customary roads led away from the sacred site of Xitaclan, and Pepe had to chop his own path with the machete. He wished he had taken the time to sharpen the blade.
His father had died from an infected wound, a sting from a deadly fire-colored scorpion. Father Ronald at the mission had called it the will of God, while Pepe's weep-ing mother had pronounced it to be a curse from Tlazolteotl, the goddess of forbidden loves, an indication that her husband had been unfaithful to her.
Because of this, Pepe's mother had refused to stay in the same room with her husband as he died—and then, according to tradition, she had demanded that he be buried beneath the dirt floor of their home. Then the family had no choice but to abandon their small dwelling ... and Pepe was forced to secure a new house for them.
Building a new home had merely been the first of the new financial burdens Pepe had endured. Now, to atone for his father's disgrace and fulfill his own grief-driven promise, the family counted on Pepe to take care of everything.
And he did. He had to. But it wasn't easy.
The money he received from Fernando Victorio Aguilar kept them all fed, kept the new home repaired, and had even allowed him to buy his little sister Carmen a parrot. She adored the bird and had taught it to say his own name, much to his delight ... except when it squawked "Pepe! Pepe!" in the middle of the night.
A palm tree scraped dry fronds together with a sound like a rattlesnake. Now, as he fought the dangling vines, Pepe longed to hear the parrot, longed to hear his sisters breathing softly in sleep and his mother's deep snores. But he had to get to Xitaclan first, in order to keep his friend Fernando happy.
He understood the task well enough. So long as Excellency Xavier Salida was interested and anxious to buy, Fernando must have more artifacts from the ancient ruins. Fernando needed Pepe to help him take advantage of the timing.
The ancient city was deserted, the American archaeo-logical team now gone. He was particularly glad that the foreigners no longer rooted around in the ruins— Fernando couldn't allow outsiders to make off with more of his treasures, while Pepe just didn't want them touch-ing the precious objects, cataloguing them, analyzing the pieces as amusing debris from a lost civilization. At least Femando's customers prized the treasures for what they were.
Without Femando's help, Pepe's family would cer-tainly have starved. His sisters would have been forced to work the streets of Merida as prostitutes, even little Carmen. He himself might have become enslaved in the marijuana fields of Xavier Salida or Pieter Grobe or one of the other drug lords.
Recovering precious Maya arti-facts from long-abandoned ruins seemed safer, more honorable.
Pepe's mother adored Fernando, flirted with him, praised his cologne and his ocelot-skin hat. She claimed that Femando's patronage had come to her son as a gift from the gods, or God, depending on whether she was thinking of the old images or the Catholic religion at the time. Pepe didn't complain—he would accept such luck, whatever its source.
In their church gatherings on Sundays, when the entire village came together to celebrate Mass, Pepe was entertained by some of the fanciful tales Father Ronald told from the Bible, but he doubted their relevance to his life here.
Singing angels and white-robed saints might have been fine for people living comfortable lives and attending air-conditioned churches, but here in the thick jungle, in the primeval womb of the Earth, the older ... more primal beliefs seemed to hold a greater credence.
Especially at times such as now.
A branch cracked overhead, settling into other twigs. Leaves whispered together as
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