Chapter Eighteen
Phillip Gadner lives in a two story brick house at the edge of town. The front yard is very neat, every hedge clipped to perfection, flower beds precisely aligned and symmetrical. Even the wildflowers planted in the flower beds seem to adhere to a strict design. The house could be straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting.
I am absolutely shocked when my grandpa’s friend opens the door wearing faded striped pajama bottoms and a terry cloth bathrobe over an old t-shirt. His hair looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in weeks and his beard is a little lopsided. He couldn’t have hosted a book club looking like that, could he? The books must be terribly interesting. His startling appearance severely diminishes the perfection of his home and yard.
“Alden,” he says with a crooked smile. “Are you ready for another match already? Are you so eager to be beat again?”
“It was just a fluke that you beat me last time. I’m sure it won’t happen again,” my grandpa says reaching out to shake his friend’s hand. “How are you doing, old man?”
“He’s calls me an old man,” Phil says, looking at me and laughing. “I’m two years younger than he is, and smarter.” He winks at me. “But you probably don’t believe that, do you?”
“Not at all,” I say uncertainly, glancing at my grandpa. The man is hardly what I expected for a retired history professor. His wild hair and eccentric behavior make me wonder whether his retirement was wholly of his own free will.
My grandpa pats my shoulder. His aging frame shakes with laughter at his animated friend as well as my confused expression. “Get out of the doorway, Phil, and let us in,” Alden orders, still laughing.
“Of course, of course, please come in.”
The three of us walk through the beautiful old home to a small sitting room. Phillip Gadner tells us to make ourselves comfortable before excusing himself to the kitchen. I am relieved to find that the same care Mr. Gadner seems to take with his yard, if not his appearance, carries over to the inside of the house. The home looks much the same as I imagine it did back when it was first built. Mr. Gadner’s antique furniture completes the picture.
Sitting on a delicate looking couch, I look around the room in amazement. The walls of the room are lined with shelves. Laden with books of every size and shape, the parlor looks more like a library than the town’s actual library did. A beautiful globe, bigger than the coffee table, sits to the side of the fireplace. The storybook feeling persists.
Mr. Gadner saunters back into the room carrying a tray filled with tea cups and turkey sandwiches cut into triangles. I stifle a laugh. I’d imagined in his absence that the elderly professor would swoop into the room with a full tea service, dressed in old English garb, and smoking a pipe. It’s close enough. Unfortunately, he is still wearing the ratty pajamas and robe. I accept the tea gratefully.
“Now, I suppose you didn’t actually come by to play chess today. Poor Arra would be bored to tears,” Mr. Gadner says knowingly. “So why have you dropped by, Alden, other than to introduce me to your lovely granddaughter, that is?”
“We need your expertise,” my grandpa says, careful to keep his tone light. My mood, which had been temporarily lifted by Mr. Gadner’s eccentricities, crashes low with the reminder of why we are here.
“Wonderful. I am always willing to impart my vast knowledge to those seeking to learn,” he says graciously. “What subject would you like to discuss? The Cradle of Civilization? The founding of America? The Ming Dynasty?”
“We need some information about the ancient Aztecs,” my grandpa says. “Human sacrifices specifically.”
“A very interesting topic indeed,” Mr. Gadner muses. “Human sacrifice is a gruesome thing. Why do you want to learn about a thing like that?”
I choke on my sandwich. Why? I didn’t expected him to care about the why.
“Well, Phil, there is a very old story in my family about an ancestor who was chosen to be a human sacrifice. I was telling the story to Arra here and she became curious about the culture.” His voice stays surprisingly even as he speaks. I am still trying to swallow the lump of bread and turkey stuck in my throat. I take a deep sip of the tea, my eyes fixed on my grandpa. How can he talk about this so calmly? I wonder.
“There were many occasions for human sacrifice unfortunately,” Mr. Gadner says with a sad shake of his head. “Do you have a specific ceremony in mind, or a specific God? Different ceremonies and gods required different sacrifices and rights.”
I stare at him dumbly. How could we possibly know the exact ceremony or God involved? That’s why we’re here, to have him tell us what we need to know. I realize that the dreams probably hold some clues about why the ceremony is being performed, but I have no idea which details are important. Perhaps the way Kivera’s face is painted, or the obsidian blade? I just don’t know, and spelling out the dreams will be a clear clue to the professor that something very strange is going on. I don’t think I want to go that direction at the moment.
“The Day of Tlaloc, or the New Fire Ceremony,” my grandpa says. His voice is quieter than when he had spoken before, but the words freeze my wandering thoughts immediately. I gape at him. I thought he told me everything he knew yesterday. Obviously he was holding back a few important details. My grandpa avoids my questioning gaze.
Mr. Gadner appears not to notice the change. “Wonderful,” he exclaims, fully focused on my grandpa’s words. “Now I know where to begin.” He springs from his chair and goes immediately to a bookshelf. After only a second or two, he pulls a book from the shelf. Flipping through the pages as he walks back to his seat, he mumbles quietly to himself as he searches for the correct section.
“Ah, here we are. The Aztec Gods.” Settling back into his chair, he continues. “Tlaloc was the God of Rain. The Day of Tlaloc would have been on the summer solstice, June twenty-first.”
“That’s my birthday!” I gasp. Staring into my grandpa’s eyes, I shake my head. I have the distinct feeling that the date is not a coincidence. My grandpa visibly cringes at the mention of my birthday.
Mr. Gadner, however, notices neither my outburst, nor his friend’s change in demeanor. “Some years the summer solstice falls on June twenty-second, but that hardly matters, I guess. How interesting that you should ask about this ceremony today. Tomorrow is June twenty-first, the summer solstice. Did you realize that?”
“Yes, actually,” my grandpa admits. He squeezes my hand, trying to reassure me. It doesn’t work. “What was the ceremony like?”
“The ceremony, yes. That would have been an interesting sight to behold, horrible no doubt, but still very interesting.” Mr. Gadner seems to be lost in his thoughts.
“What happened to the victim?” I ask. What does he mean by horrible? My face is no doubt several shades paler than it was a few minutes ago, and I am holding my hands tightly to keep them from shaking. Suddenly scared to hear what he is going to say, I remind myself that I will see it all tonight anyway. Knowing will only help me prepare. I tell myself that, but I don’t really believe it.
“Well,” Gadner begins, turning to me. He stops when he sees my face. “Are you alright, dear?”
“I’m fine. Go ahead.”
“Are you sure? It’s not very pleasant,” he warns.
“Really, I’m fine.”
He nods and continues. “Before the ceremony, the victim, almost always a child, would be cleansed and adorned in ceremonial clothing, most likely a simple white shift, symbolizing purity. Then the victim would ascend the steps of the temple in Tenochtitlan to where the ceremony would take place. The victim would then be stretched across the altar and the victim’s heart would be cut out while they were still alive.” Gadner pauses, looking at me again.
I keep myself composed as best I can. It must be good enough, because the professor goes on.
“The heart is still beating as it is thrown into a sacrificial fire. Now the New Fire Ceremony you mentioned is very similar to the Day of Tlaloc, but a
little more complicated.” He thumbs through the pages of his book, looking for something specific. After finding the information he needs, Mr. Gadner lays the book on the coffee table, turning it so me and my grandpa can see it clearly.
“The Aztecs used two calendars, a three hundred sixty-five day calendar, and a religious calendar of two hundred sixty days. The two “years” would end on the same day, June twenty-first, every fifty-two years. On this day, the sacrificial fire would be put out and a new fire, hence the name, is lit as a sign of cleansing. The new fire is lit within the chest cavity of the human sacrifice, while they are alive, burning the heart.”
He pauses, glancing at me once again. The green tinge to my skin and the panic in my eyes simply makes him shrug his shoulders. “I’m sorry, dear. I told you it was unpleasant.”
“It’s alright, Mr. Gadner. I wanted to know.” I shiver and try to shake off the sickening feeling spreading through my body. My grandpa said “or” when he mentioned the two ceremonies, but I have a sinking feeling that Kivera was involved in both. Fire and blood await me as well. “Is there any way that someone could get out of being sacrificed once they were chosen?”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Gadner says. “Once a victim was chosen, the decision could not be changed, for any reason. The Aztecs were very superstitious. They believed it was an honor to be sacrificed. To offer a sacrifice and then deny the god his promised feast would mean years of suffering. At least that’s what they believed.” He laughs at the absurdity of such belief. I can’t even pretend to smile.
Mr. Gadner continues throwing out tidbits about Aztec culture and theology, but I’m not really listening and it doesn’t look like my grandpa is either. My grandpa finally breaks through his friend’s chatter to suggest that I might need some fresh air. I thank him with a quick look for his thoughtfulness. The antique house has gone from charming to cloying during Mr. Gadner’s account. The gory details of the ceremony mixed with the stuffiness of the room are quickly making my stomach unstable. I want to get out into the sun as quickly as possible.
“Of course, of course. I do tend to get carried away when I start taking about history.” He leads us back to the front door with only a few more random comments. “Are we still on for chess next Tuesday?” he asks casually.
“You bet,” my grandpa says halfheartedly. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Hurriedly, I make my escape before Mr. Gadner thinks of something else to say. Taking a deep breath, I close my mind off just for a second. The fresh air does help. Breathing it in deeply, I try to calm my queasy stomach and nerves. My grandpa leads me away from the professor’s house. After a few short blocks, he steps off the sidewalk and guides me to a small park. It is thankfully empty. My grandpa’s arm settles across my shoulders, pulling me against his chest.
“Are you okay, honey?” he asks.
“No, not really, Grandpa,” I snap, letting my anger and fear slip into my voice unexpectedly. The harsh sound surprises me, but I don’t let up. “I’m going to be sacrificed to some crazy Aztec god. Tomorrow! How am I supposed to feel about that? I’m terrified.”
My grandpa wraps me in a silent hug. He smells like hot chocolate. The comforting scent takes a little of the edge off my anger, but only a little. My grandpa probably wants to tell me that it will be okay, that we will find a way to save me in time, but his open mouth can’t utter the words. I know he would give up his own life to save mine, but he knows he has no say in the matter. The ancient god will claim me and there is nothing he can do about it. Tears flow freely down his face.
“I hate her,” I say, my voice muffled by my grandpa’s shirt. “I hate her!” I repeat, this time more vehemently. “All of this is happening because one selfish girl wouldn’t just die! How could she do this? I hate her!”
“Arra,” my grandpa says. His voice is stern. “She was asked to be a human sacrifice! How could anyone walk into that willingly?”
Pushing away from my grandpa as if he has just turned to fire, I glare at him fiercely. He was the one to get upset when I presented my theory that helping Kivera might save my own life. How can he judge my behavior now? “You’re siding with her? Are you really that willing to watch another family member die? To stand by and accept what fate has in store for me?”
“Of course not,” he says. “I will do anything to protect you. I just meant that she must have been incredibly scared and foolish. Not everyone has your strength, Arra. You shouldn’t judge her when you have no idea what she went through. It’s not fair.”
“But how could she do this? Given the choice of dying yourself or dooming your posterity to a fate you can’t even face, how could she choose herself? Every daughter that has died was murdered because of her. She might as well have done it herself.” I lean back against my grandpa’s shoulder. “How could she do that?” The softness in my words reflects the defeated thoughts running through my head.
I listened to Mr. Gadner’s horrifying description, hoping for some kind of clue, some way to save myself, but nothing. He said there was no way out, no way to escape the fire. There is no hope anymore. Not for me, at least. “How could she do this to me?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” my grandpa says. His voice is a barely audible sigh. “We’ll know soon enough, though.” I stare at him, wondering exactly what he means.