He had been fourteen at the time, and she quickly saw that he had none of the insights she had had at five, for even then she had been a genius, one of those miracle children born attuned to the universe and its arcane movements, and that kind of knowledge no mother could automatically impart to her son; such geniuses arrive in the world at broken intervals and their coming is inexplicable. But if she could not bestow on Bolón her veiled power, she could teach him to be a solid mathematician and to use the tables her predecessors had compiled over thirty centuries, and this she did.
As the boy learned the manipulative secrets of the priesthood, his father became satisfied that his son had the qualifications to follow him as High Priest of the Cozumel temple, and he began to instruct him in the practical aspects of that role: ‘Your mother has taught you to read the principles on which our temple rests. It’s ancient, powerful, and worthy of the respect the women pilgrims give it. But to protect it you must be attentive to every shift in power among those who rule, for we exist at their pleasure? And for the first time the boy heard the two powerful names which summarized so much of Maya history—Palenque and Chichén Itzá.
‘Very long ago, in a place I’ve never seen, Palenque, far to the west,’ and he pointed vaguely to where the sun sank, ‘the learned priests and powerful rulers uncovered the secrets which made it the most glorious city of our people. Much, much later, enemy aliens from valleys far to the west* invaded our peaceful lands and thrust upon us a cruel new religion, which they established at Chichén Itzá and later at great Mayapán.’
Here Ix Zubin interrupted her husband in order to make a most disturbing observation: ‘It was not until those horrible strangers came with their bloodthirsty gods that our people began human sacrifices. The rain god Chac Mool is insatiable. He demands sacrifices of many slaves, and what is worse, he must have our young too. In the old days our benevolent Maya gods helped us to tend the fields, and give birth to strong sons, and maintain a quiet home. We never sacrificed any human being to a stone statue …’
‘Zubin! No!’ her husband cried in terror. ‘Never speak against the sacrifices. I’ve warned you a hundred times.’ Then, turning to his son, he added: ‘Forget that your mother said that. If the priests who conduct the sacrifices heard you …’ He paused ominously. ‘Cleanse your mind and keep it clean, or you won’t live to be a priest.’
But when Ix Zubin was alone with her son she whispered: ‘My grandfather, wisest of them all and the only one on this island who personally had been to Palenque, told me quite forcefully: “Before the intruders came, there was no sacrifice of our best young people. Without such bloody help the sun returned each morning and started its northward journey at the appointed time each year. But new rulers bring new rules, and those who are sensible obey them.” ’
It was here that Bolón betrayed the fact that he might not prove a fervent follower of the adopted religion from the west based at Chichén Itzá, for he asked: ‘Was our temple here before the new religion arrived?’ and his mother said: ‘Yes,’ and that was all that passed between them on the subject, but she remembered well the day on which she had asked her grandfather that same question and had received the same one-word answer: ‘Yes.’
In the two months following the death of his father, the High Priest, Bolón, then sixteen, and Ix Zubin faced a series of difficult problems, for it became evident that the rulers of Cozumel, having received no orders from Mayapán about the Temple of Fertility, were determined to shut it down, but were prevented from doing so immediately by the continued influx of women from the mainland coming to seek assurance from the gods that they would become pregnant. Deciding to wait until steps could be taken to halt this flow, they turned their attention to a great ritual ceremony which was being planned to terminate worship at the temple.
The affair was to have a dual purpose: a dismissal of the old gods of the ancient Maya and a showy confirmation of the new gods of the newer religion. To accomplish this most effectively, the civil authorities decreed that an offering be made to Chac Mool, the powerful rain god, whose benevolence assured proper amounts during the growing season. When Ix Zubin heard of this decision, she was sickened, for there was no god in the pantheon that she detested more than Chac Mool. With ample reason she felt that his savage rites debased the fine temple whose high quality had been protected and enhanced by the men of her family.
Chac Mool, in both appearance and function, was one of the ugliest gods which the conquering strangers from the west had imposed upon the Maya, a deity from strange lands demanding strange sacrifices. He appeared in hundreds of massive stone statues throughout Maya lands, a fierce warrior shown lying flat on his back, his chest propped up by his elbows, his knees flexed, his feet resting firmly on the ground. This unnatural posture meant that his cramped stomach area provided a broad flat space into which was carved a big saucer held in place by the idol’s two stone hands. Obviously, the waiting receptacle was intended to be filled by donations from women who came to seek help from the gods, and on festive days it overflowed with flowers and bits of jade and even pieces of gold, a form of worship to which Ix Zubin did not object.
But the civil authorities, not the priests, ordained that on certain great days, Chac Mool, this brutal figure lying uncomfortably on his back, must receive rather more important gifts than bits of jade. When this edict was made known, male slaves on Cozumel and all young men of the island grew apprehensive, for they knew that what the empty saucer resting on the god’s belly wanted now was a human heart, ripped out of a living body, and that nothing else would satisfy.
When Ix Zubin heard news of the impending festival of rain, she quietly took her son to the temple, being careful not to step in any areas forbidden to women, and led him to the statue. ‘Look!’ she whispered. ‘Have you ever seen a more terrifying face?’ With her customary insight she had identified the real horror of Chac Mool, for in an already awkward position his stone head was turned ninety degrees to the left, so that his warrior face, topped by a big stone helmet covering his hair and with protuberances jutting out from his ears, glared malevolently, the corners of the mouth drawn into a ferocious grimace at whoever might be approaching.
It was a brutal, deformed depiction of the human body, but she had to admit that it was powerful: the figure of a vindictive god demanding his sacrifices, and wherever he appeared throughout the land he was instantly recognizable, for his curious posture was invariable, except that occasionally his ugly stone face was turned to the right rather than to the left. Chac Mool was a god calculated to produce terror in the heart of any beholder, and that had been the purpose of those who had inflicted him on the people.
‘He’s waiting for a human heart,’ Ix Zubin whispered. ‘That was never intended in this temple. He’s an impostor.’
‘When did he arrive?’
‘In my grandfather’s day. They placed two Chac Mools on the island, but not in our temple, and sacrifices became quite common, slaves usually but our own sons when required, and Grandfather spoke out against the practice.’
‘What happened?’ Bolón asked, staring at Chac Mool.
‘Something Grandfather never anticipated. When an unseasonal drought came, they decided that an additional Chac Mool must be installed in our temple, and over my grandfather’s objections this beastly thing was hauled in here and placed as you see it,’ and now she, too, stared at the implacable stone visage. ‘And on the day it was finally set in place, more than fifty men edging that huge rock into position, the other priests suddenly grabbed Grandfather, dragged him to that stone altar over there, bent him backward across it, and with a sharp obsidian dagger, slashed open his chest like this.’ With a trembling forefinger she indicated the passage of a knife across her son’s belly, then added in a voice choking with remembered grief: ‘The priest holding the knife dropped it, reached his hand into the opened gash, fumbled for the still-beating heart, ripped it from Grandfather’s body, and threw it in there.’
Po
inting to the stone saucer held by the statue, ugly in every perspective, she shuddered and led her son from the temple, with Chac Mool’s evil gaze following them as they left.
Ix Zubin spent the month prior to the impending sacrifice adding two pages to the papyrus record of Cozumel, and in them she summarized the achievements of her renowned grandfather and the lesser accomplishments of his son. With Bolón watching and confirming the accuracy of her symbols, she added the specific dates during which each had exercised power, and when she had finished, mother and son looked at the scrolls with pride. ‘There the record will be,’ she said. ‘Your forebears were men to be remembered.’ Then she pressed her son’s hand: ‘And so shall you be. To guide us through the stormy days ahead.’
She had barely made this prediction when the clouds began to gather, for three burly messengers from the island leaders came to confiscate the scrolls: ‘These are to be kept by those in charge,’ and for the first time in centuries the scrolls left the confines of the temple. As the messengers disappeared she called after them: ‘Why?’ and one called back: ‘They believe all that your grandfather did was wrong. That’s why they want to close down what they call “his temple.” ’
Stunned by this desecration of the sacred scrolls, Ix Zubin wandered for two days about her lovely island, nodding to the pregnant women climbing out of the canoes after their long journeys. Then from a hilltop she studied the endless sea as it came to the eastern shore, but always she came back to that handsome assembly of nine buildings at the shrine, with their white-pebbled walkways, tall trees and flowered nooks. They formed a noble scene, one to gladden the heart, and she was not prepared to surrender it to mean men who lacked vision or appreciation. Her mind was made up.
Returning to her quarters at the rear of the main temple, she told her son: ‘We must leave at once and make our plea in person at Mayapán,’ and Bolón had been so startled by recent developments on the island and so aware of their significance that he did not have to ask his mother why. But he was not prepared for what she said next: ‘We shall set forth on a mission of extreme importance—to you … to me … to Cozumel. If you are to save our temple and serve in it, you must understand the glory of our accomplishment. You must see what we were and what we might become again.’ And a new sense of gravity was introduced into their pilgrimage.
But now Ix Zubin was confronted by an almost insurmountable problem, for according to Maya custom it would be unthinkable for a lone woman accompanied only by a sixteen-year-old to make a journey of any distance, and to make one of protest to the faltering power of Mayapán would be preposterous. It was obligatory that she find some man older than herself to serve as head of her expedition; she might be the most capable woman in all of Yucatán, but tradition insisted that for her to make such a journey, she must have a man to lead her.
She spent the next two days discussing the situation with Bolón, reviewing and discarding candidates: ‘Too frightened. If a fox jumped, he’d cry for help.’ ‘Too stupid. I’d never be able to explain.’ ‘Too indebted to the rulers, whoever they might be at any time.’ Irritated by her inability to visualize a trustworthy man, she fell silent. Just then, as they sat quietly under a tree near the temple, she saw, picking his way among the flowers, the answer to her needs: her aged uncle Ah Nic (Ah indicating male)—a minor priest at the Cozumel temple who had few interests in life save for his love of flowers and his tender concern for orphaned children. A man who minced when he walked and smiled when things went poorly, he was easily dismissed by better men but tolerated by them for his gentleness. Ah Nic’s going would occasion no comment, so as he moved toward her she called ‘Uncle! Please, I need your help,’ and when she outlined her plan to approach the authorities at Mayapán, he said quietly: ‘If you are willing to waste your time going to that powerless place, I will accompany you. But first I think we should show your son a real monument—Chichén Itzá.’
At the mention of this once-great city she drew back, for it had been believed in her family that when the alien invaders from the west established their new religion there, they destroyed much of the greatness of the Maya people. ‘It’s a harsh place,’ she said. But her uncle remained firm: ‘Its gods are cruel, its temples sublime,’ and with these words the old man struck a responsive chord, and she turned to her son: ‘When I was a girl your age, Bolón, my grandfather took me on a journey to see Chichén Itzá, and when I saw the deep well into which they threw young girls to appease the gods, I was terrified.’
‘Then why would you go back?’ her son asked, and she explained: ‘But I also saw greatness, and long after the hideous gods retreated from my dreams, I remembered the noble temples and the beautiful courts. You are entitled to see them, Bolón, so that you’ll know what greatness is.’
So, in the dark of night, without a light to guide them lest it attract attention, the three gathered the clothes and goods they would require: the good cotton tunics Ix Zubin had woven and sewed, the extra pair of boots shod with heavy skins, the rain covers made from tightly woven reeds and slender lianas, and most important, the three types of money they would need for the purchase of food along the way: jade, gold and cacao beans.
Ix Zubin produced from various hidden places the bits of green jade she had sequestered through the years; some of them, she knew, belonged to the temple, not to her, but she justified what amounted to theft by telling Bolón: ‘Your father and I worked for this jade. It’s only proper.’ Bolón had gathered up wealth of a radically different kind, and in this case he was certainly entitled to it, for he spread before her the precious cacao beans, each one worth a meal, that the Maya used for money. It was, perhaps, the most interesting kind of coinage used anywhere in the world, for after it had passed as currency for a year or two, it finally gravitated into the hands of some man already wealthy who ground up the beans to make the delicious chocolate drink which Maya people craved. Bolón, treasuring the bag in which he had accumulated such beans by doing small jobs for important families, assured his mother: ‘This takes us there and back.’ Both Ix Zubin and Bolón were surprised when Ah Nic brought forth a small horde of gold pieces which through the years he had hidden from offerings made to the temple, and in the middle of the night they set forth.
The men who owned the big canoe they would be using for the important first leg of their journey were not happy about venturing south in darkness, but since they had taken such trips twice before they knew that disaster was not inevitable, so when Bolón took from his bag four cacao beans, the canoe men grabbed them and started paddling.
As the rowers strained at their oars through the quiet night, with gentle water from the Caribbean lapping at the sides of their canoe, Ix Zubin revealed her plan: ‘There is something of importance you must see at Tulúm,’ and she explained how they would go south to Tulúm, then to Chichén Itzá before going to Mayapán.
Bolón was not really listening, for her reasoning was so personal and mystifying that he could not follow it; his attention was on the musical, mysterious sea, that strange body of water that he had never before ventured upon, and it captivated him: ‘Why don’t we build really big canoes and explore this great body of water?’ and Ah Nic gave the answer that had been given for the past thousand years: ‘We’re land people. We know nothing of water like this,’ and he told Bolón of how adventurous it had been, many generations ago, for the Maya to quit the land which was their home and make the bold leap across water to Cozumel, a distance of not much more than eleven miles, with land visible at all times: ‘It was a brave act, and many of those first people died still convinced that catastrophe must overtake them because they had broken with tradition by crossing water to an island.’ Ah Nic enjoyed giving such explanations.
‘Would you have that same fear about venturing into that sea out there?’ and the way in which Bolón phrased his question revealed that he thought of the waters they were traversing as safe, because land was visible throughout the starry night, while that ‘other water
’ would be terrifying beyond belief once the reassuring land had become invisible.
His mother confirmed this fear: ‘When Grandfather first took me down to Tulúm in a canoe like this, four big men paddling, I was sure we were heading for the end of the world. And I can tell you, I was relieved when we climbed back onto safe land.’ Chuckling at her fears, she added: ‘As for venturing out there, I’d be terrified.’
‘So would I,’ Ah Nic agreed.
It was only about forty miles from the departure point at Cozumel to Tulúm, and since waves could be high and progress slow, it was not until dawn of the second day that they approached the temple area. As the two sailors beached their canoe, the occupants could look up and see some forty feet above them the grim outlines of a fortress tower unlike anything on Cozumel. Poised on the edge of the sea, it appeared to shout a warning to those down below: ‘Do not attempt to assault the city I guard, for we are impregnable!’
When they had bade their paddlers farewell and climbed the steep slope to the town they found the impression of defense intensified. Once more they faced something Bolón had not seen before: the entire central area of forts and temples also was enclosed within a massive unbroken stone wall twice as high as a man and unbelievably thick. It did contain several portals, and when the pilgrims passed through the one nearest the landing, they saw a collection of many temples lined along a main street running east to west, the whole creating a strong sense of order, with the homes of ordinary citizens scattered far outside the walls.